Conspiracy

by Adrian Wills

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  Pixie crawled onto Jenni’s mattress and pulled her into her bosom, stroking her hair and cooing soft comfort.

  ‘I’m sorry if I scared you,’ said Blake.

  Jenni stared at her hands as she twisted the cuff of her jumper around her fingers.

  ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you out right now,’ said River.

  ‘You need my van to get into the city tomorrow,’ said Blake, deadpan. It occurred to him the simplest course of action would have been to carry Jenni out of the house, over his shoulder. None of them had it in them to stop him. River was physically no match for Blake. He was all talk dressed up with the arrogance that came from a privileged upbringing, a kid who’d clearly never wanted for anything in his life. He talked about the oppression of the working classes, but he was nothing but a public-school toff, too lazy to make his way in the real world. As for the others, they’d consumed so much dope, they hardly knew what day it was.

  But it was supposed to be a low key, undercover operation. Minimal disruption. No fuss and no drama. Blake reminded himself it was why they’d sent him in the first place.

  River stood over him stroking his chin. ‘Right, grab your things and follow me.’

  Chapter Three

  At the end of the alley Blake found a wooden door locked and secured with a combination keypad. No point trying to guess the code. As a wail of sirens drew closer, Blake kicked the frame at its weakest point and the door splintered open into a shady courtyard stacked with piles of rubbish and empty boxes at the rear of a four-storey office block.

  ‘Great, what now?’ asked Jenni, staring up at the narrow rectangle of blue sky above. There was no obvious way out other than going back the way they’d come.

  Blake circled around, thinking. He didn’t want to have to retrace their steps out onto the main street. The risk of being caught was too great.

  ‘And I want to see River.’ Jenni crossed her arms across her chest and stuck out her bottom lip.

  ‘Forget him.’

  ‘And the others. What if they’re hurt?’

  ‘They’re fine. Trust me.’

  ‘But they’re in trouble. I should be with them.’

  Blake grabbed her by the shoulders so roughly she squealed. ‘Listen,’ he said. He wiped away a smudge of blood on her cheek with his thumb. ‘Don’t worry about them. They knew what they were getting into. We can’t risk you being arrested too.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Well, you should. Anyway, it’s not up to you anymore.’

  Blake let her go and turned his attention to a set of dark grey doors at the top of a shallow concrete ramp. There was no handle and no keyhole, only another numbered keypad. Did nobody use keys anymore? He jabbed his thumb on the bottom left button marked ‘Tradesmen’ and left it there until the lock clicked and the doors burst open from inside. A weaselly man with a hooked nose and oiled, black hair appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Delivery,’ said Blake, with a smile. He took Jenni’s hand and pulled her inside before the man could stop them. A maze of anonymous corridors and swing doors led them past stores and post rooms and eventually into a marbled reception area with soothing piped music and exotic plants in tall pots. An attractive receptionist with lustrous black hair that spilled down to her waist stared at them blankly.

  ‘Morning,’ said Blake, smoothing down the straggly mess of his own hair.

  ‘Good morning,’ the receptionist said with a practised smile but little warmth.

  Automatic doors leading out onto the street hissed open, and Blake stole a glance outside. Somewhere in the distance he heard the roar of an angry crowd and more sirens. He pulled Jenni outside and turned left along a pedestrianised lane, heading north towards Moorgate station. He stretched his legs, hurrying along and yanking Jenni’s arm, forcing her to keep pace.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ she said, stopping suddenly and freeing her hand.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She clutched her stomach and bent double, grimacing with pain. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Take a deep breath. It’s probably the shock or a touch of concussion. As soon as we’re out of here, we can get you looked at.’

  ‘I want to see River.’

  ‘How many times, Jenni? I’m taking you home.’

  ‘I’m not going home.’

  ‘It’s not up for debate. Your parents are worried.’

  ‘Seriously? My father only cares about his stupid reputation.’

  Blake tried to take her hand again, but she snatched it away.

  ‘Get off me! I’m not going anywhere with you!’

  A middle-aged couple slowed and shot them a concerned look.

  ‘Daughters,’ said Blake, raising his eyebrows in mock exasperation. They smiled sympathetically and walked off. ‘Come on, let’s get moving.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. And you can’t make me.’

  ‘Don’t push me.’

  ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone? I’m old enough to look after myself.’

  ‘You’re fifteen years old.’

  ‘I need the toilet.’

  Another roar carried over the roofs, the sound of an angry mob, drowned out by a helicopter buzzing overhead on a long, lazy sweep. The police or a news crew. It was difficult to tell.

  ‘Come on, hurry,’ said Blake. ‘There’s a cafe up here.’

  He guided her into a quiet street towards the familiar colours of a well-known chain of coffee shops. ‘You have five minutes,’ he said.

  Jenni breezed past a queue of customers at the counter towards the toilets at the back, and slammed the door in Blake’s face.

  ‘For customers only,’ said a young man with a heavy Eastern European accent and carrying a tray piled high with empty cups.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s an emergency,’ said Blake. ‘She won’t be long.’

  ‘You have to buy something.’

  ‘I said, she won’t be long.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed. He tutted and walked away.

  ‘Bloody job’s worth,’ Blake muttered under his breath, patting his pockets and remembering he’d left his mobile phone in his rucksack in the van. He’d have to find another way of contacting Patterson to confirm the rendezvous. Just like everything else about the operation, he would have to improvise.

  ‘Are you waiting?’ asked a short, dumpy woman dragging a toddler behind her.

  ‘No, my daughter’s in there,’ said Blake, forcing a smile. ‘She shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘She’s been a long time.’

  Blake banged on the door with his fist. ‘Jenni? Come on, there are people waiting.’

  No reply. He put his ear to the door but heard only silence. A bad feeling swelled in his stomach.

  ‘Do you have a key for this door?’ Blake asked the Eastern European waiter who’d returned to clearing tables. ‘My daughter’s in there. She was feeling ill.’

  The man shrugged. ‘No key,’ he said.

  ‘Great.’ Blake sized up the door and threw himself at it with his shoulder. On the second hit the flimsy lock gave way with a loud crack, and Blake stumbled in. He’d expected to see Jenni standing at the sink, fixing her eyeshadow or washing her face. He didn’t expect to find the room empty.

  Chapter Four

  The previous night

  River stood to one side as he opened the door to what was left of a bathroom on the first floor. ‘You can spend the rest of the night in here,’ he said.

  Blake stepped inside and looked around. Capped off copper pipes poked through the floorboards where a toilet and sink had been ripped out and a dozen holes in the ceiling announced where recessed spotlights had been removed.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Blake.

  River smiled as he shut and locked the door, plunging Blake into darkness.

  ‘Come on, you’ve made your point. Let me out.’

  As River�
��s heavy footsteps receded along the hall, Blake found the torch on his phone and eyed-up the filthy bath coated in black builders’ dust. At least he was assured of some solitude for a few hours. A chance to recharge his batteries. He climbed into the tub, stretched out his legs and scrunched up his rucksack for a pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to summon sleep, but finding he was still wired from the coffee and adrenaline, tossed and turned for the next few hours.

  It was gone eight when Blake heard the key being turned in the lock. He sat up stiffly in the bath feeling as though he’d barely slept. His back ached and his shoulders were sore. Narrow beams of sunlight needled through thin cracks around the plywood boards over the window and traffic noise from a new day carried up from the street below.

  ‘Get up,’ said River, throwing open the door. ‘Time to go to work.’

  Blake smiled. As far as he could remember from the previous evening’s conversation, work was a form of slavery imposed by the ruling classes on the masses to keep them in their place. Or words to that effect.

  ‘There’s tea downstairs.’

  In the basement, everyone else was already up. Pixie was brewing tea on a camping stove. Woody, Leif and Ed were at the far end of the room rolling cigarettes and chatting in low voices, while Jenni sat alone on her mattress, detached from the others. She watched Blake warily from under her sleeping bag as he took a steaming tin mug from Pixie.

  ‘Right, listen up,’ said River, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips like a general about to lead his troops into battle. ‘I want everyone ready to leave in an hour. If we go in fast and aggressive, we’ll have surprise on our side. I want everyone tooled up; whatever you can lay your hands on, I don’t care. There’s bound to be a police presence around the city, but they can’t cover every street. We’ll find a way in. The entrance to the bank itself is only usually covered by a couple of security staff. I don’t expect they’ll put up much of a fight, plus we have numbers on our side. Once we’re inside, feel free to tear the place up. Go wild. Use your imaginations,’ he said with a grin.

  Woody whooped with delight and high-fived Leif, who was sucking on a skinny roll-up.

  ‘You still good to drive?’ River asked Blake.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You’re going to trust him after what he did last night?’ asked Pixie.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’

  ‘I’m not comfortable with it.’

  ‘Well, don’t feel you have to come.’ River’s face darkened.

  ‘I was just saying —’

  ‘But don’t expect a bed tonight either. You can find somewhere else to sleep. Anyone else got a problem with him driving?’

  Silence.

  ‘Jenni?’

  She shook her head, her eyes hidden behind her fringe.

  The white Ford Transit had been a steal on Ebay. Two hundred quid cash in hand. It had been round the clock twice, its wheel arches were riddled with rust, it was missing a wing mirror and the driver’s seat had worn through to the foam. It wasn’t much to look at, but at least it was anonymous. There were thousands of vans just like it all over London, and apart from a minor mis-firing issue, it ran soundly enough.

  River seemed less than impressed. ‘That’s it?’ he said, standing on the pavement outside the house running his fingers through his foppish hair.

  ‘What were you expecting? A Bentley?’

  Blake heaved open the driver’s door which had bent and warped badly out of shape over time. He hauled himself in behind the wheel and wiped a hand over the dusty dashboard.

  ‘You sure it’ll get us there?’ River asked, a little of his earlier confidence gone.

  ‘She might be old, but she’s good for the job.’

  River pulled a face as he noticed a tangle of wires hanging loose under the dashboard. ‘I’m not sure I share your confidence.’

  Blake shrugged. ‘You’ll have to trust me then, won’t you?’

  River sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. ‘Listen,’ he said, almost under his breath, as if that made him sound threatening, ‘if you lay a finger on Jenni again, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard you before, but like I said, you’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘I trusted you when I let you into the house.’

  ‘And you were happy enough to smoke my drugs and make use of my van,’ said Blake. The boy was beginning to get on his nerves with his pseudo tough-guy act. Blake slotted the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered and choked into life, then settled into a steady, rattling hum. ‘See. She’s all good.’

  ‘Just keep away from her, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Blake, killing the engine and sitting back in his seat. ‘But I’ll need her up front with me if we’re going to do this right.’

  River laughed. ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘The city’s going to be crawling with cops. At least if we get stopped, Jenni can smile sweetly and flutter her eyelashes.’

  ‘No,’ said River. ‘She can go in the back with the others.’

  ‘Fine. You can make your own way.’ Blake yanked the key out of the ignition and shoved it in his pocket.

  ‘Not going to happen,’ River hissed. ‘I’m not putting her at risk again.’

  ‘Your decision.’ Blake heaved open the door. ‘I’ll just grab my things and get on my way.’

  ‘Okay,’ said River, after a moment’s hesitation weighing up his options. ‘But I’m sitting up front too. I’ll go between the two of you.’

  ‘A chaperone?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Blake chewed his lip. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. Having River up front was the last thing he needed.

  ‘It’s that or nothing.’

  Blake watched a cat nonchalantly cross the road and stop briefly to wash its back leg. ‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Get the others. You and Jenni can sit up front, but we really need to get going.’

  The journey took a little over forty minutes, through Shoreditch and into the square mile of the City of London, the heart of the financial quarter where the police appeared to be on almost every street corner, redirecting traffic and looking nervous. Blake had to take a long sweep out to the east to reach Threadneedle Street where grand buildings sculpted in chalky Portland Stone flanked the road.

  ‘I doubt you’ll be able to get through this way,’ said River.

  Annoyingly, he was right. A little further on two armed police officers with Heckler and Koch MP5s slung across their chests stood in front of their stationary patrol car blocking the route ahead and shepherding traffic away from the Bank of England.

  Blake slowed down as his mind raced through a myriad of scenarios. He was getting closer to the drop off and still didn’t have any clear idea what he was going to do about Jenni.

  As he lifted his foot off the accelerator, the engine stuttered and for a second he thought it was going to die. ‘Come on, come on,’ he urged under his breath. He slammed the pedal into the floor and with a belch of filthy diesel fumes, the engine roared and the van lurched on.

  ‘Hey, take it easy,’ said River as he grabbed the dashboard to steady himself.

  In the back, Blake heard muffled groans and a few choice words thrown in his direction. ‘Right, hang on,’ he said, a plan forming in his mind as he turned sharply into Broad Street, narrowly avoiding a black cab as he cut the corner. His eyes scanned the street ahead. On the left, he spotted a narrow lane. Perfect.

  Blake slammed on the brakes and turned in with a squeal of tyres. A gaggle of pedestrians scattered in all directions. He jumped back on the accelerator and thrashed the engine, building up speed and ignoring Jenni’s screams of terror as they shot along a lane barely wide enough for the van to squeeze through. Brickwork, glass and people flashed past in a blur.

  ‘Slow down!’ Jenni shouted over the grinding howl of the engine.

  Blake glanced briefly in her direction. Her face had drained of colour and her gaze was fixed a
head. He double-checked she was wearing her seatbelt.

  ‘I’m sure this comes out behind the bank,’ said Blake, as calmly as if he was conducting a double decker bus tour around the city. ‘It’s the closest I can get with such a big police presence.’

  The familiar limestone walls of the Bank appeared at the end of the lane. Blake lifted off the gas then deliberately hit the brakes too hard, locking the front wheels and putting the van into a sideways skid. They screeched to an inelegant halt with the tyres smoking. The engine phutted and groaned. River had turned green.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Blake, smiling.

  ‘You’re a fucking lunatic.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Blake.

  ‘It wasn’t a compliment.’

  ‘Actually, I think I can get closer.’

  ‘No —’

  But Blake’s foot was already on the accelerator. He let up the clutch and they took off again. He over-revved the engine in first gear and snatched second so violently they were all pitched out of their seats.

  As they emerged out of the shadows of the lane, the outer walls of the Bank of England loomed large, two storeys high and inset with decorative doric pillars. It was as solid a wall as you could find anywhere in London. Blake straightened the wheel and aimed directly for it, watching their speed creep up. At thirty miles an hour the impact might kill them all. The van was old and lacked any of the safety features of a modern vehicle, but it was the only plan he had.

  He took a deep breath and let his hand fall to his thigh, close to the buckle securing River’s seatbelt. And then to their right he saw another roadblock. A police patrol car parked across the street opposite a bank flying the Chinese flag where two armed officers with their backs to him were waving traffic on.

  Blake dabbed the brakes, scrubbing off a little speed and changed direction at the last minute, bumping over the pavement and scratching the van’s paintwork along the length of the wall.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ River screamed, clawing at the ceiling.