No Turning Back

by Sam Blake

  No wonder nobody could reach her. But what the feck was she doing here?

  At the sound of footsteps, Ayari and his friend looked around, their faces frozen. Orla stopped about twenty feet from them. And as Cathy watched, she reached into the bag under her arm and drew out a gun.

  Whoa.

  Cathy almost said it out loud. She hadn’t been expecting that. Was this what Orla had wanted to talk to her about? Must have been. Something had happened to bring her here, something big. And that something had to involve Tom.

  Orla was determined they find and punish Tom’s killer, like any mother would be, but she was a driven woman who got things done – she hadn’t built her companies by sitting back and keeping her fingers crossed. The same focus that had got her onto the Irish Olympic Pentathlon team had earned her a fearsome reputation in business.

  I won’t rest until whoever it is pays.

  Cathy suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the building.

  Taking her time, Orla checked the firearm was loaded, the safety off, and then pointed the gun at Ayari. Two-handed. Cathy could see she was relaxed and confident with the weapon. Orla had been a top sportswoman and pistol shooting was a vital part of the pentathlon. She knew exactly what she was doing.

  But where had she got the gun from?

  There was no way she could have brought it in through airport security. She must have bought it in London. Guns weren’t hard to procure if you knew who to ask and had the cash. Something chimed in the back of Cathy’s mind, something Fanning had said about Conor Quinn owning nightclubs – wasn’t one of them in London? No doubt Orla took a hand in managing that business too. And nightclubs weren’t always run according to the letter of the law. Orla must have known exactly who to ask to get her a gun. And fast. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that Cathy was losing track of time. Marie, their family liaison officer, had told her Karen Delaney had been at Orla’s house when she’d called in with Tom’s effects. Had they planned this together?

  Cathy was close enough to recognise the gun was a 9 millimetre Glock – a self-loading pistol, with a 17-round magazine. Cathy wasn’t as familiar with it as she was with her own SIG Sauer P226, but she’d used them on the range, knew its capability. It was proven, reliable and accurate. In the right hands it was absolutely deadly and Cathy was one hundred per cent sure Orla Quinn knew what she was doing. From the moment she’d drawn the weapon there had been no turning back.

  Confirming her thoughts, Orla’s voice rang out across the empty station.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t guess, Olivier? Did you?’ Her voice was full of emotion, high-pitched, bouncing off the polished surfaces.

  Ayari didn’t respond, just looked at her, his mouth open, as if he was frozen in the middle of getting out of his chair. Beside him his friend slipped his phone into his backpack. Olivier Ayari was killing commuters with his hacking and his worms, but from the look on his face, Cathy reckoned this was the first time he’d been faced with his own imminent mortality.

  ‘Did you think Tom hadn’t worked out that it was your brother running those websites? You swore him to secrecy but you had to brag, didn’t you, about knowing people, about how much “they” needed you to make the sites work. About how much money you were making? He knew straight away you didn’t have the ability to set up an operation that big. He was my boy, he understands business. It didn’t take him long to work out who the mastermind really was. And he knew how much you love your brother.’ Her tone was dripping sarcasm. She paused, shaking her head. ‘Tom told me about his suspicions, but we didn’t have enough to go to the authorities. It could have all been hot air – a socially awkward nerd who was bragging because he needed to be liked – and he didn’t know exactly which sites they even were. But then you showed him the video of Lauren, didn’t you, and he worked it all out. He told you to stop, to leave her alone.’ Orla’s face twisted. ‘My lovely, lovely boy. Always looking after everyone else.’

  Xavier Ayari ran Merchant’s Quay? And Olivier was the tech genius. It suddenly all made sense. Adrenaline coursed through Cathy’s system as she assessed the scene, working out the distance between herself and Orla, between herself and Ayari. If ever she needed her own weapon it was now, but it was safely locked up in the gun locker in Dun Laoghaire station. Would Cathy be able to talk Orla down? She’d seen hostage negotiation in action, had studied the psychology of situations like these as part of her Master’s. But this didn’t look like a hostage situation. Cathy bet Orla Quinn had one thing in mind, and it wasn’t holding Olivier Ayari for ransom.

  Cathy could feel the nervous energy that always came before a fight building inside her. She couldn’t let this escalate any more. She needed to come up with a way to distract and disarm Orla, ideally without getting herself shot in the process

  She drew in a breath. The Met knew she was here, that Ayari was here, but they had a lot on their plate right now. Christ, this was a mess.

  She hoped to God someone was watching them on CCTV. She couldn’t call for backup – the phone signals were jammed by now. She was on her own. Assessing all the available options, Cathy kept her eyes fixed on Orla. Then at the edge of her vision Cathy caught Ayari’s partner Karim Malik moving very slowly, easing out of his chair, trying to put one of the steel pillars that supported the roof between himself and Orla. Was he going to run? Part of her hoped so. He’d draw Orla’s fire and Cathy might be able to get to her.

  But Orla didn’t seem to notice as she continued, ‘You couldn’t have Tom messing with your sleazy filming, though, could you? Couldn’t risk him revealing what he knew? Karen told me. She came to see me to help me plan his funeral and she told me how much she loved him. And she told me about the video, about Lauren, about how he’d told her he was going to sort it out.’ As Orla paused, her voice suddenly husky, Cathy felt her stomach lurch – she’d been right. Orla’s conversation with Karen had filled in the missing pieces. Orla continued, ‘And then I knew. It took me a while, but you were his friend, the only person he might have told about Karen. You were the only person who could have known he was there that night.’

  Cathy felt a bead of sweat run down her back. She had to stop this. Orla was here to kill Ayari, there was no question in her mind. And he knew it too. He was still paralysed behind the table, apparently unable to speak. Did Orla realise that there were likely to be armed officers in the building, that they could have their sights focused on her right now? Did she even care? She’d lost her only son and her husband was a lying bastard. Her whole world was crumbling.

  Orla had her eyes fixed on Ayari. Would she see Cathy if she moved?

  It was a risk. But life was a risk. Every time she went into the ring, Cathy took risks. Calculated risks. And right now, she reckoned she didn’t have anything to lose. Completely focused, she planned her next move.

  A few feet away, a backpack lay where it had been abandoned by someone desperate to get out of the station, a steel water bottle stashed in its side pocket. Cathy moved slowly towards it, her eyes never leaving Orla. Her gun trained on Ayari, Orla began speaking again.

  ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Olivier. But you forgot about your phone, didn’t you? They gave me back Tom’s phone yesterday. It’s got that “find my friends” app on it. I could see exactly where you were. Friends?’ She snorted. ‘Tom was Lauren’s friend. But she was so terrified of your video going public that she came to my husband for help. He told me that much before I threw him out. He pretended there was nothing going on between them but I’m not stupid.’ Orla shook her head. ‘How taken in, how conned, was Lauren O’Reilly that she thought Conor would help?’ Orla laughed, a note of hysteria in her voice. ‘The poor idiot girl.’ She shook her head again in disbelief, as her voice took on a hard edge. ‘Tom’s phone was with his personal effects, Olivier. In a brown cardboard box. With his wallet and his student card. His belt. It’s stained with his blood, Olivier.’ She paused. ‘I read his tex
t to you: You around? Need to talk to u. No more email. Nobody knew what it meant, but after speaking to Karen, I did. Tom had told you to keep away from Lauren, hadn’t he, told you not to send any more emails?’

  With every word Cathy could see Orla was getting closer to the edge. Cathy watched as she licked her lips.

  ‘You couldn’t risk him telling anyone about your sick webcam hacking, about the websites. So you killed him?’ Her voice went up a notch. ‘You ran him down in your brother’s car, didn’t you. I remember Xavier arriving at the opening of the Ayari Building in a blue BMW. I should have realised before. The Guards told me, Olivier, they told me it was a metallic blue BMW that hit Tom. But Xavier wouldn’t have been stupid enough to use his own car. You killed my boy, didn’t you?’

  Cathy glanced up the concourse. There was no time to wait for backup. She needed to act. Kick-boxing was all about short sharp bursts of intense activity, it was what she was trained for. And she’d been up against a lone shooter before, one who was better trained and practised than Orla Quinn.

  But she’d been armed then. This was going to be the test of all her skills.

  Cathy reached out, slid the rucksack closer to her and pulled out the water bottle. She needed to create a distraction so that she could disarm Orla.

  The water bottle was full, heavy in her hand, its smooth steel sides cold. Cathy got into a crouching position. Could she startle Orla enough to draw her fire away? She had to try.

  Orla’s voice rang out again across the concourse. ‘Did you think you could get away with it, Olivier? Did you?’

  In her peripheral vision Cathy could see Karim Malik beginning to back away from the table, his rucksack in his hand. He was staring at Orla, hadn’t noticed Cathy’s movement. It was all the cue she needed. If Orla saw him move she’d fire. Cathy launched the water bottle across the concourse, aiming for a point somewhere behind Orla. As it hit the ground with a clatter, Cathy exploded into a run.

  The distance wasn’t big and she’d never moved so fast in her life, but she was a moment too late. Cathy was only halfway to Orla when the first shot rang out. In her peripheral vision she saw Olivier Ayari crumple, blood plastering the glass wall behind him. The glass exploded, shattering as Karim Malik tried to run, stumbling over the tables and chairs in his path, his panic blind, the sound of falling furniture blending with the echo of the shot.

  And a split second later, Orla turned the gun on herself.

  Cathy was already springing into a kick, aiming to knock the gun out of Orla’s hand.

  This had worked the last time she’d done it, but she’d had the element of surprise then; it had been dark and she’d been attacking from above. Now she knew she needed speed and luck. And wings.

  But a bullet had already left the chamber.

  As Cathy’s Nike reached her, the back of Orla’s head exploded, but Cathy couldn’t stop the momentum of her kick. Her body collided with Orla’s as the older woman’s knees collapsed, blood spraying across the smooth grey marble. Cathy landed heavily, her body tangled with Orla’s.

  And around her she could hear the sound of running feet, heavy boots on the hard floor. Cathy closed her eyes.

  She was too late.

  Chapter 56

  Thursday, 8 p.m.

  ‘So just run that past me again.’

  With the noise going on around her in the station concourse and the sirens outside in the street, Cathy could hardly hear O’Rourke. She pressed the phone closer to her ear, cradling it in her shoulder, wishing he was with her as she repeated what she’d just said.

  ‘I was too late. I couldn’t get to Orla fast enough. She shot Olivier Ayari and then she shot herself.’ Cathy’s voice caught. She took a deep breath, tears pricking her eyes. ‘I tried to distract her, I thought I might be able to get to the gun. There was just no time.’

  His tone softened. ‘Are you OK?’

  Cathy sighed. She was sitting on her own in the middle of a row of steel chairs in the centre of the station concourse, near the ticket barriers where Anna had taken her photo of Hope. Behind her, the cafe where Olivier Ayari and his friend had been sitting was taped off, the windows shattered. Ayari’s blood was everywhere – copper-coloured skid marks on the pale grey tiles where his friend had slipped in it and fallen. Around her the station staff and police officers were milling about, a white plastic tent already erected over Orla’s body, white-suited techs huddled in small groups. Karim Malik had given them a good run but they’d caught him in the Underground. Led him away in handcuffs. She shifted in her seat.

  Was she OK?

  Cathy looked down at the dried blood on her black sweater and combats, which would be going into an evidence bag as soon as she got a change of clothes. Her hair was a mess and she had a huge bruise on her hip where she’d hit the floor. But a few minutes before, as she’d pulled her phone out to call O’Rourke, a man with a dark beard who seemed to be the manager of a coffee shop further along the concourse had appeared with a takeaway cup of sweet, steaming milky coffee. She didn’t think she’d ever been more grateful to see a cup of coffee. He’d handed it to her without speaking and patted her on the shoulder, and left her to it.

  She sipped it now before she answered. She was starting to feel cold, the sides of the cardboard cup deliciously warm in her hand. It was the small acts that changed people’s lives, unexpectedly locked a memory into a moment. Like when O’Rourke had pulled her to him as the helicopter had taken off from Keane’s Field in Ballymun, airlifting Sarah Jane to hospital, like when he’d cradled her in his arms after the explosion.

  ‘My hip’s a bit sore, but everything else is grand.’

  There was a pause, like he was about to say something but changed his mind. ‘So what are you doing now?’

  ‘Well, I’m guessing our meeting got cancelled so I’m having a coffee.’ She took another sip. ‘The Met Police have been lovely, I’m just waiting for the DI to finish up and he’s going to take me to the station to clean up and give a statement.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Can you ring Sarah Jane in case she sees it on the news? Just let her know I’m OK?’

  Cathy had mentioned to Anna about knowing Sarah Jane’s dad on the way into London, and they’d marvelled at how small the world was, agreed that they should all go out for a drink soon.

  But right now Cathy was sure Anna had other things on her mind.

  She’d been the target of a sexual predator who had murdered one of her students and been the cause of the murder of another. And her friend Orla had taken her own life. It was a massive fecking mess, particularly coming on top of Anna’s previous experiences.

  Olivier Ayari was some warped creep.

  Cathy hadn’t been one bit sorry when Orla had pulled the trigger, but she couldn’t say that to anyone. Orla was an astute woman; she knew as well as Cathy did that even if they’d arrested Olivier and got a conviction for murder he could be out of prison after twelve years. Orla had wanted whoever had killed Tom to pay, she’d been very clear about that, and twelve years for her son’s life was never going to be a deal she’d accept graciously. Cathy just wished she’d been armed. Not that she could have fired on an unarmed civilian, no matter now despicable his actions had been, but she could have disabled Orla, or at least have tried. And stopped her from killing herself.

  O’Rourke’s voice brought her back from the thoughts whirling around her head.

  ‘Of course I’ll ring her, no problem.’

  She tried to smile. ‘Thanks. I’ve got to do a full debrief, I’m not sure how long it will take.’

  O’Rourke’s voice hardened. ‘So how’s Olivier Ayari?’

  At the other end Cathy heard someone say something in the background; it sounded like 007. Cathy smiled. She’d miss him and his antics when she left Dun Laoghaire. Not as much as she’d miss O’Rourke, but she didn’t want to think about that now.

  She answered quickly. ‘He’s in hospital on life support. The lads here have got his laptop, though,
and they’ve already been in touch with Rob Power. They have a lot to work with. It’s looking like his friend, this Karim Malik character, has been planning this thing with the trains for a while. He’s head of a group of hackers who call themselves Unanimous. He’s a big catch.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Apparently the world of hacking is very competitive, they are always looking for something bigger and more damaging to make their group top dogs.’ She paused. ‘The Met lads reckon this Unanimous crowd wanted to do something bigger than that attack on the NHS. To be the best.’

  The world of super-hackers made no sense to her; it was like they were all totally socially dysfunctional, couldn’t see that their actions affected real people with real lives. People with hopes and dreams and families. She felt something shift inside her but she couldn’t get emotional now; she needed to hold it together so she could give her statement. Which was likely to be a long one. She tried to move the conversation on.

  ‘So what’s the story now on the train crashes?’

  ‘Sixty-eight dead, about two hundred injured. They were pretty catastrophic. Something called a Trojan worm infected the signalling, you were right on that. Basically it was sending trains into one another instead of separating them.’

  ‘Jesus. We’d only got off the train from Luton Airport when all this kicked off.’ Cathy felt herself chill. ‘So tell me about Xavier. How did you come up with a match on his prints when the CIA and Interpol couldn’t?’ She knew he could hear the amusement in her voice.

  O’Rourke half-laughed. ‘Well, you may ask. We scored a hit on the biometric data from the marina. Fanning spotted the BMW first, orbiting the area prior to Tom’s accident, then picked it up again on CCTV heading into town on the N11. As soon as we checked who it was registered to, we were almost there. But when Starsky fed the data from the marina into the system, hey presto, doesn’t Xavier’s name flash up in lights. Pearse Street have found the car now, in an underground car park in town and there’s substantial damage to the offside. The car park CCTV tapes show Olivier driving it out of the car park the night Tom was hit.’