“Look after him,” she says as she gives the boy a quick hug.
“But Mum should come with us. We should stay together.”
“I’ll just be in the way,” his mother returns. “I’ll hide like Bill said. I’ll be safe. Now go and show Bill where you saw the van.”
Relieved that she’s so clear-headed, Bill checks the surrounding area then runs with the boy, Uri, and Jessie as the woman disappears to the back of the building.
Two minutes later they reach the narrow alley where Aaron had seen the van but there’s no sign of Bin Sayeed or any of his cronies.
“Are you sure this is the one?” he asks as they watch the van from across the road.
“I saw one of them come out through the side door earlier.”
“You were supposed to stay at car,” Uri chides.
“Nothing was happening-”
“Is important to follow orders.”
“It doesn’t matter right now,” Bill interrupts.
“If they’re not here then where the hell are they?”
“Shh!” Jessie says and cocks her ear. “Do you hear that?”
Bill quiets and listens. In the distance he can hear the chunter of voices and a clattering as though objects are being moved or kicked. There’s also the distinctive but muffled noise of a woman’s pain.
“I think we’ve found our terrorists,” he says as he continues to listen.
Two minutes later they watch as Bin Sayeed and two of his men drag Jasmin up the steps and go back into the Palace of Westminster via the delivery area.
“This is a déjà vu!”
“They’re going back in.”
“He’s going to finish what he started.”
As the men disappear, Bill gives Aaron instructions to go back to his mother and wait with her there. He resists for a moment until Bill insists that she needs him then disappears. Relieved to have the boy safely out of the way, Bill enters the building. The stench of petrol is strong in the air and, as Bill sweeps the area with his torch, liquid reflects in the light. Petrol has been sprayed in arcs across the counters, shelving and doors. Reaching the door, Bill pulls it open and peers into the black of the hallway beyond. As he squints an arm hooks around his neck and he’s pulled to the floor and gunshot rings out. Uri shouts and the dog barks as his torchlight clatters to the floor. Taken by surprise, Bill is pinned down, unable to see in the pitch black of the unlit hallway. The attacker’s breath is hot and fetid on his cheek and pain wracks through his skull as a punch hits home and his cheek scratches against cold tiles. Uri groans somewhere behind. Steel fingers lace through Bill’s hair, pulls his head back, and slams it against the tiles. Blood, hot and metallic tastes in his mouth as teeth cut against flesh.
More weight presses Bill against the floor and then a scream, guttural and piercing, vibrates painfully against his eardrums. The man writhes on Bill’s back and something sharp presses into his flesh. Snarling fills the space above him. The terrorist gurgles as he screams and his fingers release Bill’s head. Claws, sharp through his jacket, dance over his back and he grunts with the weight and the pain as he pulls himself from under the man, and the snarling dog pinning him down. The man screams and bucks as the dog snaps and snarls.
Torchlight fills the hallway as he pulls himself to the far wall. Highlighted, and writhing in the middle of the floor, the terrorist lies with the dog standing on his belly. The dog’s jaws are sunk into his throat. Hitting at the dog’s ribs with clenched fists, he grabs for its head. The dog bites down harder and shakes its head, its wide bite narrowing as its teeth sink into the man’s flesh. With a final snarl and jerk it lifts its head. Ripped flesh dangles from its teeth and the man lies flailing, unable to make a sound as blood pools around him, a gaping hole ripped in his throat. Bill pushes himself up against the wall and stares at the dog as it drops the flesh to the tiles and then pads towards him. Bill flinches as the dog reaches him but then relaxes as it merely turns at his knees then sits on its haunches.
A muffled scream breaks into his consciousness and he’s alert again. Uri was hurt and Bin Sayeed had the women.
“Are you hit?” he asks as he walks back through the doorway, stepping over the dying man.
“Da,” Uri replies. “Shoulder.”
“Can you get up?”
“Da.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Niet. I will hold you back. I will wait here. I shoot if they come past.”
Without time to lose, Bill accepts Uri’s decision. “Jess, let’s go,” he says as the injured man’s writhing stops.
“One down two to go,” Jessie says as she steps over the body. “Did you see the dog go for him?”
“Yes,” Bill replies as it follows his steps, walking at his side down the long corridor.
“Do you think he’s trained?”
“Perhaps,” Bill replies noting the anxiety in her voice. “Don’t you like dogs?”
“Yes, but I’ve never seen one do that.”
“He was protecting me.”
“Just remind me not to have an argument with you,” she whispers as they reach the door at the end of the corridor.
Bill listens. Behind the door he can hear movement. “This time no surprises,” Bill says as he reaches for the door’s handle, the dog by his side.
“No surprises,” Jessie repeats as she shines the torch onto his hand and the red-stained fur of the dog’s white muzzle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Throwing the door open it slams against the wall and Jessie shines the torch into the room. It appears empty until she sees the women slumped in the corner. Where the hell is he? Bill holds her back as he too scans the room. His torch lights on an open window.
“He’s gone!” he says stepping forward.
Alert to any movement, Jessie makes her way to the women. She shines her torch on their slumped bodies and dismay overwhelms her. Both have been doused in petrol, both are covered in blood. “They’re dead.”
“I thought he wanted to burn them alive?”
“We must have interrupted him. He’s stabbed them both,” she says as she trains the torchlight on their chests. The girl’s nightshirt is tattered where a knife has been plunged into her chest and blood has soaked across the fabric.
“He made sure there was no chance of them living.” Bill squats down. “He’s stabbed them and slit their throats.” He takes the girl’s arm. It lies slender and pale in his large, browned hand. Two fingers placed against her wrist, he’s silent as Jessie waits. He shakes his head then takes Jasmin’s hand, feels for her pulse, then lays the arm gently across her lap.
“Both gone?”
“Yes.” He sits back on his haunches.
“Bastard!” Jessie spits.
“How could he have done it so quickly—if he was interrupted?”
“There were two of them.”
“Bill. We have to put an end to this monster—right now.”
He stands and takes a step away from the women. “When I catch him, I’ll kill him,” he seethes.
“Unless I get to him first.”
BIN SAYEED HITS THE ground with a thud then sprints down the side of the building, with Jamal close at his heels. Jasmin’s blood is still wet on his hands. Stupid bitch! She got what she deserved. His only regret is that he didn’t set light to her first, and he would have done if Jamal hadn’t lost the lighter. Idiot! As he reaches the corner, a body blocks his way; a huge man dressed in leather with a dark helmet hiding his face. Bin Sayeed jolts to a stop and Jamal knocks up against him with a grunt. He turns to look back down the pathway. Two figures, a broad-shouldered man and what looks like a woman are running towards him.
“Stop him, Harry,” the broad-shouldered man shouts and the biker takes a firm, escape-blocking stance across the path. In his hands is a heavy chain. As he lifts it, Jamal shouts in pain and stumbles. A dog barks then growls. Twisting to look at Jamal, a silver rod protrudes from his neck and he clings to the wall, the b
ricks biting against his fingers as he slides to the path. The dog barks and the girl raises her arms level with her shoulders in a classic firing pose. Through the brightening light of morning he can make out the crossbow she holds. Bin Sayeed looks from the bolt stuck through Jamal’s neck to the snarling dog and then to the chain swinging through the air. He has only one option—jump over the balustrade to the path below.
He turns to grab the stonework railing. The chain whips through the air and its tip catches his back. He shouts in pain as the metal beats his flesh. The dog snarls. Gripping the top of the balustrade, he vaults over just as the dog pounces and the woman fires. Metal clanks against stone as his feet arc over the railing and the dog yelps, its snout caught by his foot. Missed me! As he rotates, he catches a glimpse of the ground below and in that moment determines to cling onto the stonework; the drop is long, far longer than he expected, made deeper by a flight of stone steps that leads to a basement. Iron railings, black and spiked, run along its edge. If he simply drops he will certainly break his legs on the steps. Pain sears his shoulders as his fingers grasp the stonework and his leg catches on the stone lintel of a window below. As the dog’s claws scratch against the stonework Bin Sayeed’s grasp slips.
.
JESSIE REACHES THE balustrade as Bin Sayeed’s scream of agony fills the air. She pulls back from the grotesque scene, takes a breath, then looks back down. Speared through the torso by long black railings, their spikes pointing out through his shoulders, Bin Sayeed floats above the path in an impossible vertical pose and stares blindly at the river.
“Now, that’s karma!” Harry says as he steps back from the balustrade.
“It certainly is,” Bill grimaces then lets out a low chuckle. “Mission complete. I think our job’s done here, Jessie.” He pats her on the back as a pair of large white paws land next to him on the balustrade. “Time to get back to Bramwell. Sam may need a little bit of help.”
“Sam may need a lot of help,” Jessie replies.
“True, but he’s a capable man, Jessie.”
“Oh, I know that. I just meant the situation was getting pretty desperate back there and it’s not going to get any better until the grid’s back up and running.”
“True.”
“What about the girl?”
Bill quiets for a moment, his face draining. “I’ll tell her father.” The dog pushes its head against Bill’s arm and he strokes at his head as he looks out over the river.
Harry winds the chain around his arm and takes a final look at the body of Bin Sayeed. “That is just gross!” He grimaces and pulls back.
The dog nuzzles at Bill’s hand as he steps back from the balustrade. He strokes its head in response.
“Looks like you’ve got a new best friend,”
Bill stares down at the dog. “He’s a bloody hero. He saved my life.”
“And killed a couple of terrorists.”
Harry looks at the dog with a quizzical frown.
“Yep. He tore their throats out.”
“Hell!” Harry stares at the dog and takes a small step backwards. “What’re you going to call him then?”
“You can’t keep him!” Jessie buts in.
“Nelson.”
“Bill-”
“Yes, Nelson. After-”
“Mandela?”
“No. Horatio. Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson. He called on every Englishman to do his duty and fight to stop the invasion of Britain—we all need to remember that.”
As the sun begins to rise, casting a thin yellow light across the river and the pavement below, a crow swoops to the railings. As Jessie takes a final look at Bin Sayeed the crow hops closer to the skewered body. It caws, then, with a determined flap, lands among his black and curling hair, leans over and begins to peck at his eyes.
TOWN OF FIRE
CHAPTER ONE
Sam opens an eye and immediately shuts it against the thin shaft of light seeping through the gap in the blinds. He pulls the edge of the sleeping bag to his neck, searching in his half-sleep for understanding, then groans with realisation. He’s on a camp bed in the nursery manager’s office playing prison guard to a bunch of raving and murderous fanatics. A dull ache throbs inside his skull.
With a weariness that is overwhelming, he unzips the sleeping bag, staggers to the manager’s desk, slumps down on the high-backed office chair, and sinks into its padded leather. His head pounds and his stomach aches as he waits for the exhaustion of sleep to pass.
As his eyes clear he checks his watch. Five-thirty am. What the hell was he doing awake at that time in the morning!
Forcing himself up, he pulls on his jeans, shirt, and shoes then makes his way outside to the improvised latrine. He sucks in the cool air of early morning, welcoming the cold, and shaking off the remnants of sleep as he relieves his bladder then goes back to check on the prisoners. It was unreal. Only the other day he’d been a quivering wreck and now he was the one making sure the whole town didn’t go into total meltdown. He opens the door to the small room designated as the guards’ headquarters. “Morning, Baz.”
Baz, his legs splayed and his head nodding, starts at the sounds of Sam’s voice and jerks upright, suddenly alert. “Morning, Sam.”
Sean and Ollie lie on improvised beds, dead to the world. Ollie snorts, his mouth open, head back.
“Get one of these buggers up and get some rest.”
Baz runs his hand through his hair. His eyes are bloodshot. “I’ve got another hour on watch, and then I will.”
“Quiet night?” Sam nods in the direction of the cells. He’d last checked at two o’clock, shone the torch through the peephole to a grunt, but, apart from one angry scowl, the other men had been asleep, slumped against each other or curled against the wall.
“Yep. Just a lot of shouting and banging until about midnight then it all went quiet. Not a dicky bird since.”
“Good.” Sam’s relief is undisguised. “They’ll need breakfast at eight am. There’s enough water for a bottle each and cereals too though don’t overload the bowls—we’ve got to make it last.”
No response from Baz and his eyes flit to the wall. “Baz? A bottle each and a bowl of cereal at eight am. Got it?”
“Sure.” He stares back at Sam.
Recognising Baz’s dissatisfaction, Sam chooses to ignore it. “Good. Well ... at least there’s steak for later.” He forces a smile.
“Cannot bloody wait for that!”
“About two o’clock. Bring the missus and the kids to the park. Martha’s organised games for the kids.”
“Sounds like a party.”
“She thinks it’ll help keep things calm.”
“You expecting trouble?”
“No—just a lot of hungry kids and stressed parents—the games and entertainment will bring a bit of relief.”
“Aye,” Baz agrees. “You’re doing a good job, Sam,” he calls as the fireman leaves the room. “People will remember it.”
Sam stops and the weariness fades. “You think?”
“Sure. It’s been crazy around here. You’ve brought a bit of sanity back into everyone’s lives.”
“Thanks, Baz. That means a lot.”
Banging and dull thuds vibrate from the back of the building as fists beat on the thick doors of the Victorian cells. “Sounds like our guests are waking up.”
A voice shouts and then another joins it. The doors bang against their frames.
“Yeah,” Baz returns with a sigh. “Bunch of arseholes.”
“Don’t underestimate them, Baz,” he warns. “They’re dangerous. Don’t forget that,”
JAY PULLS HIS LEGS up to his chest and rests his head in his hands. Sleep had been difficult; the room is stuffy, rank with body odour and the stench emanating from the slop bucket. Worse is the fear. It rose within him like a snake curling through his innards, wrapping around his lungs then tightening around his throat. He takes a breath; it amplifies the hard and sickening beat of his heart and does nothing
to ease the tightness across his chest.
An arm jostles Jay as Khaled pushes up from the floor. The sour waft of his breath is warm on Jay’s cheek as the man crouches then stands. He stretches, runs fingers through his dark curls, then jabbers in Arabic. The other men grunt or laugh and jabber back as Khaled steps over legs, makes his way to the cell wall, and looks out through the small, barred window before striding back to the door. He hammers against the wood. Shouts, listens, then bangs again. The cell reverberates with noise and Jay covers his ears, blocking the painful vibrations assaulting his ear drums. The massive door bangs against its frame, and the metal of its bolts and locks clangs. Jay wants to scream at Khaled to shut up, to just sit down and shut the fuck up, but the consequences, he knows only too well, would be brutal. He strokes a soft finger over the swelling on his forehead. Blood is caked across his brow. He picks at the dried mess avoiding the tender area around the wound. Dark blood pushes into his nails. His belly aches with a queasy and rancid hunger.
Abdullah, a thin weasel of a man with narrow shoulders and a beaked nose that springs from between his eyes like a claw, coughs and spits on the floor. Dirty bastards. They were all dirty bastards. Dirty bastards full of hate. What the hell had he, Jay, done? He swallows as his chest tightens a little more. He was trapped in a room full of monsters who made Derek and his gang of teenage wannabe gangsters look like sugarplum fairies. The men continue to jabber, their language incomprehensible to him. He twists the ring on his pinky finger - a gift from his father - and a lump sits in his throat. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Man up!
Joining them in prison had seemed the right thing to do—the best way to stay safe. The first few days at Olney had been alright. Casey and Rob were both inside, serving out the last couple of weeks of their sentences for dipping a couple of rival gang members, and he’d tried to keep a low profile, but then Khaled had latched onto him. When a group of muslims had ganged up against Jay, it was Khaled that had come to his rescue, and when the taunting began it had been Khaled who’d stuck up for him. Rob had been vocal against them, warned Jay to stay away, said they were all extremists, they weren’t being nice for no reason, that they were sucking him in and once they’d got him they’d never let go. One quick stab to the back was all that it had taken to shut Rob down. After that Jay had joined them; a new religion, a new name, a new gut full of hate. Rob had been right; Khaled was dangerous and there was no escape. Now, here he was—locked up with the monsters. A terrorist; just like them. Jay’s skin crawls.
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