No Turning Back

by Sam Blake

  She felt another flutter in her stomach. But it was definitely one of excitement this time. She should get a date for her interview with the ERU through soon. The tech and firepower she’d seen them use was just so impressive. She was dying to expand her firearms training, and getting paid to jump out of a helicopter? She’d be the first in the queue to do it for free. She was really trying hard not to get too excited – what if she didn’t get in? Just because Eddie Flint, the ERU inspector, had been on to O’Rourke didn’t mean it was a given. There could be hundreds of others applying, all with years more experience than her, she was quite sure.

  But God, she hoped she got in. She couldn’t stay in Dun Laoghaire much longer. And she needed to be busy, to stop her mind wandering to what O’Rourke might be doing. Like now. She wasn’t sure if she was worried about his lack of communication, or if she was totally overreacting that he hadn’t been in touch, and shouldn’t be worried at all. He didn’t owe her anything, really. He had a big job, was pulled in a million directions. Would he have been in touch normally by now if they hadn’t had a mega snog?

  Maybe, maybe not.

  But, much as she hated to admit it, a part of her was trying not to be devastated that he hadn’t contacted her. What was that about? She tried to shake off the feeling. He wasn’t dead, he was just busy. He’d said he’d see her in the morning and something had come up. He’d called Frank, perhaps he was just too busy to text. How busy was that exactly?

  Chapter 52

  Thursday, 2 p.m.

  Dublin Airport was always hectic. Cathy scanned her boarding pass and smiled at the security staff as the gate slid back. She recognised members the same way they recognised her. And there were loads of retired Gardaí on the airport security teams. If they had their thirty years’ service done, or had reached the retirement age of fifty, they were still young enough to tackle a whole range of security jobs, and had the skills to know exactly what to look for.

  Reaching the X-ray machines, she put her leather jacket, wallet and phone into the box on the conveyor belt, and walked through the gate, promptly setting off the alarms. She flipped open her ID, suddenly remembering the handcuffs clipped to her belt loop, concealed by her sweater. She showed them quickly to the security staff. Most members preferred plastic handcuffs these days but she’d always found the sound of steel to be very satisfying. She couldn’t bring her gun into a foreign jurisdiction, though, and she felt a bit lost without the weight of it. Like her cuffs, it was part of her. But that wasn’t a problem right now; she was going to a case conference, not into a war zone.

  Weaving through the crowds heading for the departure gate, Cathy kept an eye out for O’Rourke, expecting to see him ahead of her in the crowds of travellers. As she passed WHSmith, the day’s papers were displayed outside in angled boxes. A man standing in front of the display bent down to pick up his suitcase and she caught sight of the tabloid headlines. ‘Karen Moves Out’ was slapped across the front of the Irish Daily Mail with a full page photo of Karen Delaney, wearing dark glasses and a long black coat, throwing a holdall into the back of her white jeep. Cathy didn’t need to buy the paper to guess at the press speculation, but her heart did a quiet cheer for Karen. She’d be so much better off without her husband.

  As Cathy headed down to the departure gate her phone pipped with an incoming text. She felt her heart leap. O’Rourke, had to be. She stopped on one side of the broad walkway and pulled it out, her stomach fluttering with anticipation. But Sarah Jane’s name flashed onto the screen: Have fun! with a series of emoji, boxing gloves and thumbs up symbols. Cathy was tempted to ring her back, to update her on everything that had been happening, but she could do that when she got back from London – when hopefully she’d have some real news. Sarah Jane was probably in the library at this time of day and wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. She texted back: TY, have news will call later xxx

  The area beside the departure gate was already filling as Cathy reached it, collecting a coffee on her way. But there was still no sign of O’Rourke. She had another half an hour to wait before boarding so there was lots of time. Sipping her coffee, she went to look out of the floor to ceiling plate glass window that overlooked the runway. Planes fascinated her. One day she’d love to learn to fly. She watched the aircraft taxiing in, passengers disembarking, thinking about each of their stories, wondering where they were going, why they were coming to Dublin. Completely absorbed in her thoughts, Cathy jumped as the flight was suddenly called and snapped back to the departure gate, looking around. Where was O’Rourke?

  As Cathy reached into the pocket of her combats to pull out her passport, she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘Cathy Connolly? What are you doing here?’

  Cathy turned around to see Anna Lockharte, pulling a silver Samsonite cabin suitcase. She looked smart in what could only be a very expensive black trouser suit and high-heeled boots, a gauzy cream silk shirt setting off her pale skin. Her red curls tied back in a low ponytail, she looked like she’d stepped out of a photoshoot for executive women in Vogue.

  Cathy looked at her for a second in total surprise.

  ‘Anna? What are you doing here?’

  Anna laughed. ‘I’m speaking at a course in New Scotland Yard tomorrow, then we’re going to see some shows. This is my niece, Hope.’

  Anna looked around at a flame-haired teenager standing slightly away from her who was so absorbed in her phone that she hadn’t noticed their exchange.

  By way of explanation, Anna said, ‘She’s sixteen. We’re going to see how much we can pack in before she has to be back in school on Monday.’

  As she spoke, Cathy’s phone pipped with a text. ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’

  O’Rourke at last.

  Xavier Ayari drives a blue BMW. Looking for him. Running late have to get Heathrow flight. Meet u at NSY. They are sending a car to meet us, will collect you at London City.

  Xavier Ayari again. A guy who has loads of cash and could travel freely on his French passport. A guy who is studying something to do with technology. Was he behind the websites and the hacking? If Tom had been about to blow his cover, he’d definitely have a reason to run him down. Perhaps Anna Lockharte’s instincts had been correct. They’d know for sure as soon as they found his car – and took his fingerprints.

  ‘Sorry. That was my inspector. We’re heading to a meeting. Well, we were, he’s catching a different flight now.’

  Before Cathy could finish the flight was called again.

  Anna smiled. ‘Sounds like we’ll be seeing you on the other side.’

  *

  It had been a smooth flight until the pilot had announced that they couldn’t land in London City because of fog, so they were diverting to Luton. A collective groan swept down the plane like a Mexican wave. Cathy stretched. She was getting stiff, wasn’t used to sitting still for so long. Further down the aircraft she could see Anna Lockharte’s head beside her niece’s, their shade of red distinctive.

  The woman in the seat beside Cathy shook her head.

  ‘Marvellous, I’m supposed to be going to the theatre.’

  ‘How far is Luton from London?’

  ‘Only about thirty minutes. The train runs straight from Luton into St Pancras – you can get the tube anywhere from there. I’ll be lucky to make it to Covent Garden on time, though. Let’s hope there’s no fog in Luton.’

  Great. Now they’d both be late.

  And she didn’t have details of O’Rourke’s contact in London. Meeting at London City Airport seemed a bit of a mad idea now, but until she got hold of O’Rourke she’d have to stick with plan A – that’s where the driver was meeting her. She’d text him as soon as she got reception, although presumably O’Rourke would still be in the air when she landed.

  Cathy still couldn’t believe that Anna Lockharte was on the same flight and heading to New Scotland Yard as well, but then, as O’Rourke had pointed out before, she was a world leader in her area. Which was one of the thing
s that had made Cathy wonder what she was doing in Trinity College at all. It was one of Ireland’s top universities but on a global scale there were others that ranked much higher. When O’Rourke had given her the full picture it made more sense. But Cathy was sure Anna Lockharte could have walked into a job anywhere in the world.

  But what was going on with Xavier Ayari? She was desperate to know more. Did he have links to the cases in London too?

  This trip should tell them more about the victims and the evidence the British police had gathered. Karen had said that Tom had planned to do something about the video of Lauren – had he known who was behind it, and perhaps behind Discovery Quay too? Or perhaps he was working with Xavier Ayari? Perhaps he followed in his mother’s entrepreneurial footsteps? Could he be the link they were missing?

  Cathy stretched in her seat. She had checked her phone one last time before she’d switched it to flight mode to see if O’Rourke had texted again. He hadn’t. She sighed, closing her eyes. What on earth was she going to say to him when they did finally meet? He’d obviously been busy but why had he gone all quiet on her?

  Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t know what to say to her?

  For feck’s sake, he was old enough to be able to work it out. To be honest with her. And it wasn’t like they’d only just met, but perhaps that was the problem.

  As the wheels hit the tarmac, she felt an ache for him, for things to work out. She really didn’t think she had the mental or emotional strength for this to fall apart. But if it did, at least they wouldn’t be working together; they would be at opposite ends of the country. She reached for her phone as the plane taxied in and switched it on.

  It pipped with a series of texts. Two missed calls from Orla Quinn. Still nothing from O’Rourke. She fired off a text to him explaining she’d been diverted to Luton. She’d ring Orla back as soon as she got a chance.

  Chapter 53

  Thursday, 6.10 p.m.

  The escalators heading up from the platform in St Pancras Station were packed. Cathy had forgotten how busy London was, just quite how many people there were constantly on the move. But the fog and extra train trip had meant they’d well and truly hit the rush hour – it was just past six. The meeting with the Met team had been scheduled for 6.30. They were going to be late one way or another.

  Anna and Hope had been waiting for her just inside the terminal building in Luton when she’d eventually got off the plane, and she’d chatted easily to them all the way in on the train. Glancing out of the carriage window, they’d passed places Cathy recognised: Elstree, Mill Hill and Hendon, with its Air Force museum and the Peel Centre, the Police Training College where she’d been on a course a couple of years ago. Cathy had spent most of the journey trying not to look at her phone too often. The reception was patchy here, but she’d texted O’Rourke to say that she’d arrived safely – late and in the wrong place – but that she was on her way and would go directly to New Scotland Yard. Now she found herself waiting for him to text back. Again.

  Arriving at the top of the escalators and following Anna and Hope out of the ticket barrier, Cathy was struck, as she always was, by how beautiful the station was. It was ages since she’d been here. The marble-tiled concourse with its mall of select boutiques and coffee shops was topped with an incredible arched glazed roof that was pure Victorian elegance. She’d read somewhere that when the station first opened it had been the largest building in the world, and it had a majesty to match.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Hope righted her wheelie suitcase and looked to Anna for direction.

  ‘I’ve got to collect a dress in L.K.Bennett here in the station, so straight on. Then the tube to Tottenham Court Road. Our hotel’s only a couple of minutes from there, the Bloomsbury on Great Russell Street. It’s behind the Dominion Theatre – we can see what’s on, on the way past. I think you can get to St James’s Park on the circle line, Cathy. It’s not far in a cab from here, but at this time of night the Euston Road is like a car park.’

  Following Anna and Hope, Cathy could see a pair of armed police officers in the distance, walking across the concourse. They were glued to their radios. Then from somewhere above her a recorded voice came across the tannoy with a safety message: ‘See it. Say it. Sorted’. They were obviously on high alert.

  ‘Here, let me get a photo of you to show your dad and Uncle Rob that we’ve arrived.’

  Smiling, Anna held up her phone, gesturing for Hope to take a step backwards. She turned it around to get in as much of the station as possible. Hope pulled a face and waved for the camera.

  ‘There. Just let me send it.’ Flicking open her email, Anna took a moment to attach the photo. She turned to Cathy, grinning. ‘Rob made me promise to get lots of photos. He’s Hope’s uncle. It’s her first trip here.’

  Cathy kept her face straight but Anna Lockharte’s close relationship with the CIA began to make even more sense.

  ‘Come on, let’s get this dress and head over to our hotel, I’m starving.’

  Hope began pulling her case towards the shops. Anna caught up with her. Someone started playing a piano further along, filling the concourse with music. From the pocket in her combats, Cathy’s phone suddenly pipped with a text. At the exact same moment as Anna’s. Before Cathy could pull out her own phone, she could see Anna looking at her phone and her face creasing into a frown.

  Anna looked around for Hope, who had gone on ahead to listen to the piano player. Then, as if she’d caught something out of the corner of her eye, Anna looked quickly over to the café on their left, its stainless steel tables crowded. Her expression changed abruptly from a puzzled frown to something much more serious. She glanced at Cathy.

  Something was wrong.

  Anna turned around so she was facing the middle of the concourse, her back to the café. Ahead of them, Hope had realised that her aunt had stopped and turned back, waiting for her expectantly. Cathy raised her eyebrows in question. Anna seemed to be gathering herself. What could she have seen that shocked her like that?

  Cathy’s phone began to ring. Realising she hadn’t looked at her own text, she checked the screen. O’Rourke. She had to give him full marks for timing.

  Cathy swiped to answer it but didn’t have a chance to speak before he said, ‘Where are you? There’s some sort of attack going on in London.’

  ‘I’m with Anna Lockharte and her niece in St Pancras. Where are you, what’s happening?’

  ‘My plane’s been delayed, fog or something, then my battery died.’ As if suddenly registering what she’d said, he continued, ‘Anna Lockharte? Jesus Christ, what’s she doing there? We’ve been trying to get hold of her all afternoon. The lads got a match on that print from the box of Modafinil in Lauren’s room, the one that’s linked to the Paris case. It’s Xavier Ayari. Her instincts about him were right – she could be in danger.’ Whoa. Cathy couldn’t get a word in as he continued. ‘That’s what held me up. And his BMW was orbiting Ulverton Road the night Tom was killed. He was there all along, supposedly meeting Conor Quinn, but I’m starting to think that could be a fairy story. We’ve a warrant out for his arrest but we haven’t found him or his car yet.’

  Cathy turned to Anna, her mouth open to speak, but Anna pointed over her shoulder, keeping her voice low.

  ‘I just got a text from Rob about Xavier Ayari.’ Cathy nodded quickly to indicate that she was in the loop as Anna continued, ‘His brother Olivier is sitting outside that cafe behind us. Long fringe. Laptop open. There are two of them.’

  Cathy glanced behind her to see two dark-skinned student types sitting at one of the outside tables, both glued to their laptops. One of them flicked his fringe out of his face as she watched; the other had a thin pencil moustache.

  Cathy whispered into the phone to O’Rourke, ‘There’s something weird happening, Olivier Ayari, Xavier’s brother, is right here.’

  Anna cut across her. ‘He came to my office the other day, was asking about Tom, about the investigation, s
aid he would get in touch with you. I gave him your number.’

  Cathy raised her eyebrows. After her leaving countless messages, he’d got in touch eventually. ‘One of our lads spoke to him – he said he was in the Trinity library the night Tom was killed. Their system showed him entering.’

  Anna took a deep breath and pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. She shook her head.

  ‘Maybe that’s so, but this can’t be a coincidence. I ordered a dress the other night and arranged to collect it here when we landed, it’s easier than Oxford Street at this time of day. When Rob’s guys cleaned my laptop they found spyware as well as the virus that accessed my webcam. But they never checked my desktop in the office.’ She bit her lip for a moment, then continued calmly, ‘I ordered the dress from the office. Olivier Ayari must have hacked my computer. What are the chances of him being here otherwise?’

  Cathy put her hand on Anna’s arm, her phone still to her ear as O’Rourke said, ‘What’s happening there, Cat?’ Cathy could hear the impatience in his voice.

  Glancing quickly behind her, Cathy looped her arm through Anna’s and, glancing at Hope, indicated that she wanted her to follow them. Cathy guided Anna to the opposite side of the concourse. She kept her voice low as she repeated everything to O’Rourke.

  His voice sounded strange as he replied, like he was trying to stay calm. That wasn’t like him.He spoke slowly as he said, ‘Listen to me, Cat. There’s something big happening over there. Trains are colliding with each other all over the place.’ He paused. ‘It started in Scotland. There’s been one in Birmingham and just now in Victoria. It’s looking like terrorists.’

  She cut him off. ‘How many accidents?’

  ‘Four so far, eight trains. All major stations.’

  As he spoke there was an earth-shattering crash that felt like it came from the bowels of the earth.

  ‘Holy feck.’

  Anna was already reaching for Hope. Around them people continued to walk to wherever they were going, some of them glancing over their shoulders, looking up, their faces puzzled. This part of the station was packed; further up, what looked like a huge group of students and another of elderly Japanese tourists were crowded around their suitcases, standing outside the Eurostar departure gates. They looked around them, dazed.