The London Cage

by Mark Leggatt

  Arkangel began to laugh and red froth bubbled from his chest.

  “Hey, I’m glad you find it funny. Cracks me up.”

  Arkangel shook his head slowly. “No. No attack.”

  “Yeah, you see, as soon as the attack began you were no longer useful to anyone. Besides, budget restrictions, you know?”

  “No, there is... no second attack.”

  Kane stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “It did not...”

  “You texted me. You said the attack had started. If you’re telling me...” He brought up a pistol and pointed it at Arkangel’s face. “Tell me the second attack is underway. You’re not dead yet. Think about it.”

  Arkangel struggled for words. “There is nothing you can do. You need me. There is no attack.”

  “You were holding out for more, weren’t you? You slimy prick.”

  Arkangel grimaced. “Get me help. I will tell you.”

  “There is a very thin thread holding me back from kicking you to death right now. You break that thread and I will make you suffer for as long as your miserable death takes.” He stepped forward and placed his boot on Arkangel’s balls. “Okay, so you want to play poker. I’ll show my hand. Final offer. You tell me what I need to know and I’ll get you a medic. I’ll hand you over to the British. They’ll take care of you. Otherwise, you’re mine. You’ve some time left. And then you’ll tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

  “Two passwords… And an activation code.”

  “Yeah, I know about the code. Spit it out.”

  Arkangel’s eyelids began to close. “I had the code.”

  Kane pressed his boot down. “Last chance.”

  Campbell ran over. “Our technicians can’t bring up the satellite login. It won’t respond.”

  Arkangel smiled. “Pretty girl.”

  “Listen, you piece of shit, you tell me what’s going on or I will rip your throat out.”

  The froth bubbled from Arkangel’s chest. “I am dying. But I die knowing... that you... are fucked.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Sir!” said Campbell. “This one’s still alive.” He dragged over a technician.

  Kane pistol-whipped the man’s bloody face and knelt, forcing the barrel into his mouth. “Tell me the code. Or I’ll blow your fucking head off, right now.” He hauled back the pistol, taking two front teeth with it.

  The technician spat out blood. “I don’t know. She must have changed it.”

  “She?” Kane stared out to the street.

  Chapter 25

  Shattered glass from the café lay strewn across the road, thousands of tiny shards sparkling in the sunlight. Montrose pushed up his pollution mask and edged forward. A taxi pulled up beside him.

  The driver leaned out of the window. “Bloody hell, mate. What happened?”

  Black-suited figures wielding machine pistols emerged from the café, dragging bodies behind them.

  Jesus, please, not her. Then he saw her, stumbling out behind them, her arms around the shoulders of an old lady. Holy shit. He pulled down the mask to cover his face. They don’t know.

  “Is that the SAS?” said the taxi driver.

  “Yeah,” said Montrose. “SAS. Probably. Looks like they’ve taken out some terrorists.” He kept his gaze fixed on Kirsty. Another black-suited figure ran towards her and held her by the arm, then helped both her and the old lady across the road to the wall bordering the house.

  Montrose looked at the taxi. “We have to get these people to hospital.” He began to run to her, but stopped. If they see us together…

  The taxi driver stuck his head out of the window. “Wait for the professionals. They’ll be quicker through the traffic.”

  Kirsty, just look at me. “No, we should get them out of here. Right now.”

  “Listen, mate, I was an army medic. I know what I’m talking about. You need an equipped ambulance, not a taxi.”

  Shit. He glanced behind the taxi. The road was clear. “You were a medic? Okay, help me out here.”

  Montrose ran over and knelt beside Kirsty, brushing shards of glass from her hair.

  “Connor!” she shouted. “What happened?”

  “She’s deaf,” said the taxi driver. “Stun grenades, probably. Her hearing should come back soon.”

  “Okay, but let’s get them further away in case it kicks off again. We’re too close.” Last chance, fella. He could hear the taxi engine idling behind him.

  The taxi driver looked at the bodies being bundled into the back of a Range Rover and the figures standing around, machine pistols hanging loose at their hips. “Looks like they got it sewn up. Threat’s over. We should wait.” He pointed to the old lady. “She could go into shock. Ambulances have got the equipment. If she does, at her age you’ll need oxygen and specialist care.”

  “Connor!” Kirsty shouted. “I can’t hear you!”

  He gripped her hand and pressed a finger to his lips. He flicked his eyes to the junction around fifty feet away then mouthed the words. We go. Now. Ready?

  She nodded.

  He tried to help her up, but she shook him free and grabbed onto his T-shirt.

  “I’ll look after this one,” said Montrose. “Check the old lady. I think there’s blood coming from her ears.”

  “Blood?” said the taxi driver. “That could be her eardrums from the stun grenades. Or it could be a serious head injury.” He held the old lady around the shoulders and began checking her for injuries.

  Montrose stood and Kirsty held on to his T-shirt and pulled herself up. She was about to take a cautious step forward when Montrose grabbed her and pulled her over to the taxi. He bundled her into the back, then ran to the driver’s door, jumped in and slammed the stick into reverse.

  “Hey!” The taxi driver stood up, but the old lady slumped to the side and he grabbed her before she fell.

  The taxi shot backwards, throwing Kirsty to the floor. “For fuck’s sake!” She scrambled to her feet and stuck her head through the gap in the glass partition. “Connor!” She pointed back down the street. Kane was running towards them, holding a pistol in his hands. “He’s going to shoot!”

  Montrose flicked his eyes between the rear view mirror and Kane. He wrestled the steering wheel and the taxi weaved from to side, striking a parked car with the fender. A side mirror flew off and sprayed glass into his open window. He heard a round thud into the headrest and looked up to see a ragged hole in the windshield.

  Kane was ten feet away, his gun aimed directly at the taxi. Behind him, two men began to raise their machine pistols.

  Montrose stood on the brakes and rammed the stick into first gear. “Down!” He held the steering straight and dropped between the seats. The taxi lurched forward and he heard the thud as Kane slammed into the hood. Montrose looked up.

  Kane’s face was flattened against the windshield. “You fu…”

  Montrose hit the gas and the taxi flew backwards. Kane slid from the hood and bounced onto the road. The gun flew from his grasp. In the rear-view mirror, a gap appeared between the parked cars. Montrose swung the rear of the taxi sideways into the gap, then twisted the wheel around and took off down the street. “Get down!” The rear windshield exploded into the cab as rounds flew past his head. He held up his arms to block the flying glass, just as the windshield exploded around him. The taxi careered around the corner and he hauled himself up. The street was clear. “Kirsty?” He hit the gas and could hear her rolling around in the back. “Kirsty!” he screamed.

  A face appeared through the remnants of the glass partition. “Slow down, you bastard. I nearly broke my fucking neck.”

  “Are you hit?”

  “What?”

  He looked around to see her sweeping glass from the back seat.

  “What?”

  �
�Are you hit?” He shouted.

  “No, I don’t think so. And stop shouting, I’m not bloody deaf.”

  Houses and cars flashed past. “Kirsty, where do we go?”

  “Head north.”

  “Which way is north?”

  “No fucking idea, where are we?”

  “About half a mile from the café. We have to ditch this taxi.”

  A car shot out from the curb and stopped in the road.

  Montrose hit the brakes and his chest slammed into the steering wheel. He heard Kirsty swearing as she hit the floor. He made to grab the gear stick when a woman jumped from the Audi and pointed a pistol at his head. “Hands in the air.”

  Another woman got out and ran over, hauling open the driver’s door. “Get out.”

  The first woman moved around to the corner of the taxi and kept the gun pointed at him, while the other pulled open Kirsty’s door. “You too.”

  Kirsty held her head as the woman pulled her from the taxi and pushed her towards the Audi.

  The first woman motioned with her gun. “Quickly.”

  Montrose stared at her.

  “Do you want me to shoot her?” She pointed the gun at Kirsty.

  He stepped from the taxi.

  She leveled the gun at his chest. “You are Connor Montrose.”

  “Who?”

  “It wasn’t a question. Hands on heads. Get in the front.” She flicked her to head to the Audi.

  “In the front?” said Montrose.

  The other woman helped Kirsty into the back of the Audi.

  Montrose stood still.

  “Get in. Now. Your friends will not be far behind.”

  That accent… He climbed into the Audi.

  The driver got in and dropped the pistol between her legs. The Audi’s engine roared and they took off down the street. The driver flicked up and down the gears as she maneuvered the car through the back streets. The pistol slid around between her legs. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said and reached down to grab the pistol. She held it by the barrel and thrust the pistol grip towards Montrose. “Take it.”

  He stared at it for a moment then took it from her hand.

  She dropped three gears at the end of the road and flipped the steering left and right, sending the rear of the car into a power slide around the corner. “And if you’re not going to use it, put the safety catch on.”

  Montrose held the warm metal in his hand. A 9mm. Grach. “I thought you were going to shoot me.”

  “If we had wanted to shoot you,” said a voice from the back, “you’d already be dead. We hoped that it would not be necessary. Do not disappoint us.”

  “We aim to please.” He looked down at the dull gun metal. “So, you guys stopped using the Makarov.”

  “We move with the times. Makarov is Cold War shit.”

  A burst of Russian came over a walkie-talkie.

  “What was that?” said Montrose.

  “We have a spotter. There are CIA and MI5 Range Rovers waiting for us.” She slid the Audi to a halt. “Get in the back.”

  Montrose heard the door open behind him.

  “Move.”

  He got out and looked along the road, but could see nothing except a busy street at the end. The second woman pushed him into the back seat and closed the door.

  “Where are we?” he said.

  “That’s Kensington High Street,” said Kirsty.

  “You okay?”

  “Apart from a few serious head injuries and being half-deaf, I’m just fucking peachy.”

  The door locks clunked shut. Dark window blinds rose up covering the rear windshield and the passenger windows. The Audi accelerated towards the end of the street.

  “Whatever happens,” said the driver, “don’t get out of the car. And turn off your phones.”

  “I don’t see any Range Rovers,” said Montrose.

  “Not yet, but you will.” The Audi slipped into the traffic on Kensington High Street and indicated right.

  Kirsty leaned forward. “Oh, fucking fuckitty fuck. I know where we’re going.”

  *

  Kane leaned back, his breathing ragged as he gingerly touched his ribs. “Where is he?”

  Campbell concentrated on his iPad. “Montrose isn’t the target. It’s that bitch in the café. She’s the one.”

  “He broke my fucking ribs.”

  A paramedic undid the front of Kane’s shirt. “I have to bind your chest. But I need to check for fractures.” He ran his finger down Kane’s ribs.

  Kane’s head snapped back. “Jesus! You fucking idiot!”

  “Listen, mate, it’s going to hurt whatever I do, so sit still and don’t talk. You’ll make it worse.”

  “It’s her,” said Campbell. “I have the number.”

  “Where?” grunted Kane.

  “Don’t speak,” said the medic. “I have to bind this properly.” He pulled the shirt out of Kane’s waistband.

  Kane shoved the medic’s hand away. “Why don’t you just fuck off? I’ll do it myself.”

  The paramedic stood up, “Yeah?” He tossed the bandage at Kane’s ribs and turned away. “Best of luck, you mouthy prick.”

  Kane’s jaw clamped shut and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Fucking Brits, I swear...” He tried to breathe slowly through his nose. “Tell me where she is.” He turned to one of the men in a black suit. “And you. Get me some fucking drugs. Lots of them.” He let his head drop back against the headrest. “Okay, you find her. Leave Montrose to me. Get the team to log into the sat and start the attack.”

  “We can’t. The Red Star is not responding.”

  “Then crack it.”

  “That’s going to take at least an hour. We need her. The laptop that she used in the café is completely wiped. We can access the satellite, but we can’t restart the attack. It’s ready to go, but we need the password. She must have changed it. That’s what Arkangel was hiding.”

  “Then find the bitch and drag her back here by the fucking hair.”

  “We’re on it. We have her phone. We’ve checked all the other numbers in the café, but only one was a new number on the network. Connected fifteen minutes ago. It was heading north.” Campbell stared out of the car window. “The last known signal was half a mile away from here. Then it dropped.”

  “Dropped?”

  “It’s gone. She’s turned it off again.”

  “Find her. And if she doesn’t want to talk, start cutting bits off her until she does. Start with her fucking hands.”

  Chapter 26

  Through the windshield they saw armed police standing either side of a security barrier, flanked by high stone pillars. Behind the barrier, metal teeth stuck out from the ground.

  “This car is the property of the Russian State,” said the driver. “It is protected by diplomatic law. No one has a right to interfere with the passengers. Whatever happens, remember that.” She looked quickly over at Montrose. “My name is Lara. Get your heads down.”

  He dropped onto the rear seat, catching a glance out of the driver’s window. Two black Range Rovers stood either side of the pillars. Kirsty lay beside him, her head on his chest.

  Lara turned towards the guardhouse and the barrier. A tall figure in a suit held up his hand and walked in front of the car. Lara blasted the horn and hit the gas. The man leapt out of the way at the last moment and slid along the side of the car. The nose of the Audi dipped as she hit the brakes and brought the car to a halt just under the barrier. She held an ID card up to the window.

  The guard looked at her, then back at the black-suited figure as he scrambled to his feet.

  She rapped on the window. “Open it. Open the barrier. Now!”

  The black-suited man stood at her window, blocking her view of the guard. He grabbed the door hand
le, but it was locked.

  Lara brought up the barrel of the Grach to the window and pointed it at the man’s stomach. She leaned forward, looking past him towards the guard. “Open this fucking barrier or in five minutes I’ll have the American Ambassador hanging by his balls from a Kremlin window!”

  A loud buzzer sounded. The metal teeth slid into the ground and the barrier lifted.

  She hit the gas, the edge of the barrier glancing off the top of the windshield as the Audi lurched forward. She flicked up the gears and then slowed, checking her mirrors. “Okay, they’re not following. Just as well. They’d be dead within seconds.” Lara looked around. “You can get up now.” A Russian voice came over the walkie-talkie. Lara nodded. “They are stopping each car as it arrives at the end of the street. They are pretending it’s a security incident. If they had seen you, it would not have been pretty.”

  Montrose lifted his head and looked through the windshield at a tree-lined road and driveways leading off to three-storey Victorian villas, hidden behind high walls. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Kensington Palace Gardens,” said Kirsty. “Home of, amongst other things, the Russian Embassy.” She squeezed his hand.

  Montrose said nothing.

  “I hear you’ve been here before,” said Lara.

  “Me or him?” replied Kirsty.

  “Both of you. By the way, nice trick with the hair spray and the fire alarm.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yes,” said Lara, “and thanks to Mr. Connor Montrose for flooding the basement with raw sewage. We had to break the pipe to find out what was going on.”

  Montrose cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  Lara grinned. “Well, given what we found, I think you’ll be forgiven.”

  Montrose saw several men with automatic rifles standing in the road. “Who…?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Lara. “It’s the Israeli Embassy. They’re on full alert.” He saw the men lower their weapons as they recognized the driver. Through the trees he could see the other gatehouse at the far end of the road, flanked by more black Range Rovers. “Why don’t they just come down? It’s their country.”