In one respect being shot in the foot was a blessing. Had I been upright when I'd heard his voice I'd probably have burst into tears and run into his arms like a teenage girl in a pop video. But I was already crying in pain and I couldn't walk, so that wasn't really an option. I tried to play it cool, not let Cooper see how much I cared for Lee. I treated him like he was just another kid from the school. But I think Cooper knew; I think Lee's reaction to seeing me shot gave the game away.
I probe the small hole in the top of my foot. The bullet had passed straight through, right next to the bones that run to my big toe. Luckily it's not hit any of them, so I'm not going to be crippled. The damage is to flesh and muscle only, so if I can sew it shut, sterilise and bind it, then it should heal all right. If I stay off it for about a month, that is.
As I sew the wound closed I say to my guard through gritted teeth: "I'll need a cast. Go through the store rooms, there should be some somewhere. Hard plastic shell, foam lining, velcro straps, shouldn't be hard to miss."
The guard lingers, unsure.
"Oh for God's sake, I'm hardly going to be running away am I? Just fuck off and find me a cast, will you?"
He grunts and leaves. I glance out the window.
The moon is just starting to wane, and the snow is still coming down. We took a jeep across Waterloo Bridge to get to the hospital. The snow was so deep it was hard to drive, and I wonder if we'll find it as easy to get back. I know I've got to hurry. Cooper could be torturing Lee right now.
I splash some more antiseptic on the closed wound and stifle a cry of pain. The morphine's beginning to wear off. No chance of finding any of that here, it will all have been cleared out long ago. I bind my foot tightly and then grit my teeth and try to stand. It feels like someone's shoved a knife through my foot and every time I take so much as a fairy step they twist it savagely. I collapse back into the chair. No use pretending. I'm hobbled. The cast should help, though. Where the fuck is that squaddie?
I hear the door swing at the end of the corridor. Thank fuck for that.
"Did you find one?" I shout. There's no reply, but I hear footsteps crunching in the broken glass and detritus that litters the corridor. They sound strange, as if the person is limping, and each alternate step sounds hard and heavy, like a peg leg pirate. The footsteps get closer until I see a figure come to a halt in the darkness outside the room. Whoever they are, they're too short and slight to be the squaddie. The figure stands there, arms by their side and I make out a knife hanging from their right hand. I feel a shock of fear. Then I shine the torch on the figure and gasp in surprise.
"Hello Jane," says Jack.
I fire off a thousand questions. How did Lee and the others survive Thetford? Where are they all now? He answers me impatiently until my enquiries are exhausted and
I ask him to find me a cast for my foot.
"Will this do?" asks the boy king as he appears at the door again a few minutes later, holding a blue foam cast.
"Yes!" I shout, and grab it off him. I gingerly place my foot in it and pull the Velcro straps tight. Once it's secured I stand up, waving away Jack's offer of a helping hand. I take a step and, while it hurts like hell, it's more bearable.
"Thanks, Jack, that's much better."
"You know," he says with a wry smile, "you could just cut it off. I hear they can do wonders with prosthetics these days."
I look down at the piece of table leg and foam that he's gaffer taped to his stump.
"How did it break?" I ask, walking out as I talk. Together we hobble down the corridor, two cripples together, both too proud to join arms for mutual support.
"Lee, this Ranger bloke and me, we're climbing into Parliament, right? Up a rope, from a dinghy on the Thames," he explains. "It's bloody tough going for me, but I manage it. The Ranger, his name's Ferguson, he helps me in through the window. So he turns back to help Lee climb up, and I grab the kit bag. But as I do that, two soldiers come into the room and tell us to put our hands up. Ferguson spins around, fast as you like, and he's just a blur, right, all martial arts and stuff. But one of the guys manages to shoot me. I'm standing right in front of the window and I bring the bag up as a shield, but the bullets shatter my prosthethis, I lose my balance 'cause the bag's so heavy, and I go flying back out the window."
We reach the top of the stairs and finally admit that we need help, so we link arms and begin going down the stairs sideways, like some ridiculous quadrupedal crab.
"I swear, I thought I was, dead. But dumb fucking luck, I land flat on my back in the dinghy. The bag knocks all the air out of me and I'm laying there, pinned down and legless, gasping like a guppy. And I can hear shooting from above me, right, so I reckon Lee's gone in the window. I roll the bag off, get my breath back, and try to climb up and help. But it was hard enough when I had the prosthethis; it's fucking hopeless with one leg.
"Eventually the firing stops and I wait for Lee or Ferguson to call down for the bag, but they don't. So I reckon they're dead or captured, yeah?"
"Captured," I say as we pause to catch our breath on a landing. The corpse of my guard lies on the floor beside us, staring at the ceiling in surprise. My torch picks out the dark stain that marks where Jack's knife punctured his heart. "They're not dead yet."
Jack smiles. "Thank fuck for that."
I kneel down and rummage through the dead man's clothes until I find the keys to the jeep. I also take his machine gun, sidearm and a nasty looking knife. Jack and I link arms again and resume our ungainly descent.
"So I figure our mission's a bust," he says. "But I reckon I can still be useful, right, so I untether the dinghy and manage to row to a mooring and haul the bag up onto the embankment up these old stone steps. I figure I can flag down the others and give them the bag."
"Others?"
"Yeah, Tariq, Green and this crazy girl who says she knows you."
"Caroline?"
"Yeah, that's her. They've got this army of kids and they're gonna turn up at dawn, get inside the gates and then storm the place."
I stop dead in amazement and he topples forward, unbalanced, and slips down a few steps before he grabs the railing and manages to stop himself.
"But that's suicide!" I say.
"It wouldn't be if Lee and I had managed to pull off our little plan," he replies, righting himself and flashing me a sour glance.
"Which was?" I ask. "What was in the bag?"
So he tells me what their plan was. I stare at him for upwards of a minute, running it over in my head.
"That," I say eventually, "is fucking genius."
Ten minutes later we hobble out into the snow. My feet sink in it halfway up my shins, and it's still coming down.
"So where did you stash the bag?" I ask as we crunch across to the jeep.
"I was waiting halfway down Whitehall when I saw you being driven past," says Jack. "I just buried the bag in the snow and took off after you. I followed the tyre tracks. Sorry it took me so long. I'm not as light on my feet as I used to be."
"You and me both."
I pull open the driver's side door and clamber in. I tentatively depress the accelerator with my knackered foot. It hurts, but the cast makes it doable. Jack climbs in the other side. I turn the ignition and gun the engine. The wheels spin uselessly in the snow for a few moments and I fear we're going nowhere, but eventually they find purchase and we slip-slide away.
Without the orange streetlights making everything look slightly disco, London seems pristine and beautiful in the moonlit snow as I fight the wheel back to Westminster.
"The snow is our best friend," I say as we come down the Strand past Charing Cross station. "The guard has a little booth by the gate. He's expecting me back, and in this weather he won't be able to make us out properly from where he's sitting. There's a good chance he'll just pop the gates and wave us through."
"You don't want to wait and hook up with Tariq?"
I turn left onto Whitehall.
"Why should we? I
f we can get inside before they arrive, you can still fulfil your part of the plan. I'll stall Cooper and keep Lee alive until things kick off, then it's every man for himself."
"Here," shouts Jack. I slam on the brakes and we spin through 360 degrees before we stop. Jack lurches out into the snow and walks to the side of the road where he digs out the kitbag and limps back.
He tosses it in the back seat and gets back in. Another wheel spin, another moment of fear, but the four wheel drive doesn't let us down. I turn the jeep back the right way and we head off again. As we approach Big Ben I note the time: ten past seven. There's a faint hint of dawn across the river as we pass the road that runs to the ruins of Westminster Bridge.
A minute later we pull up to the gate. I flash my headlights and honk the horn once.
"Be lazy," I mutter. "Just this once, be lazy." I have the sidearm ready in my hand, just in case.
The gate swings open, pushing a tide of snow away into a thick drift. I send up a prayer to numerous Gods, drive through the gate and down the ramp into the underground car park.
I pull into an empty space and switch off the engine.
"You know where you're going?" I ask.
Jack nods, resolute but nervous. "I think so."
"You can do this, Jack," I say. "Everything depends on you now. Go slow, go quiet, but get there. When was the attack scheduled to start?"
"The first strike of eight o'clock."
"Then get moving, and remember: every year the monarch should come to the Lords to make their speech saying how things are going to be different from now on. This is your chance. Make it good."
He nods, grabs the bag, and climbs out. In moments he is lost to the subterranean darkness.
I wait for a moment, gathering my thoughts, preparing. Then I too get out of the vehicle and walk into the Palace of Westminster, knowing there's a good chance I will never walk out again.
I limp as fast as I can to the Speaker's Cottage. There is no guard at the door, and all is silent when I enter. A sudden thought grabs me, so I hobble as softly as I can — not too difficult on this deep carpet — across to Cooper's bedroom door. I take the cold brass doorknob in my hand and turn it ever so slowly. It rotates without a squeak, the door is unlocked. Careless, Cooper. Thought that since I was out of the way and guarded, that he could relax a little.
I push the door open. The well-oiled hinges do not betray me. In the half light I can make out his bed. There, fully clothed above the covers, Cooper snores gently.
I can't believe it can be this easy. I glance over my shoulder, wary of sudden discovery, of a soldier who will leap out of the shadows and shout "fooled you!" But there's nobody. I step forward, drawing the knife from my belt as I do so. Normally I would have gone for my gun, but something in my subconscious diverts my hand to the hard metal blade.
I advance towards the bed. One strike, swift and sudden, and it will all be over. He lies on his side, his right temple presented as if offered to the knife.
I stand above him and raise the blade but before I can strike the door to the cottage clatters open and a soldier bursts into the hallway. Cooper starts up in sudden surprise, woken from deep sleep. He registers me in the darkness. I plunge the knife down with a scream, but the moment had passed. He's too fast for me. He spins sideways and the blade hits the eiderdown, sinking deep into feathers and mattress.
"Freeze!" comes a voice from the doorway. I let go of the knife and slowly raise my arms.
Cooper scrambles across the bed to the other side, where he switches on the bedside lamp. He's genuinely shocked, the first time I've ever seen him on the back foot.
I have no idea where it comes from, but I snarl at him, hissing like a cat, feral, furious and thwarted.
"Kate," says Cooper, panting with sudden exertion. "You are endlessly surprising." He turns to address the soldier in the doorway. "Report."
"We got them, Sir. Two lorries of kids. Armed to the fucking teeth. We've got their leaders downstairs now."
Cooper nods, arranging his clothes, making himself presentable. "Good. Keep Miss Booker here until I return."
He leans forward and picks up the knife. As he does so he notices the guns and wags his finger like a teacher remonstrating with a naughty pupil. He holds out his hands and I pass him the firearms. He shoves the handgun in his trouser pocket.
"I'll deal with you later," he says, then he strides from the room, closing the door behind him as he goes. I throw myself upon the bed, furious at myself for wasting such a golden opportunity.
I sit and stew for twenty minutes, trying to come up with a plan. Now that Tariq's forces are captured, Jack's diversion is the whole of our attack. It's not going to be enough.
If I do manage to slip away when Jack makes his move, I need to know where to go.
Twenty minutes later Cooper returns, smelling of gunpowder.
"What have you done with the children?" I ask the second he enters.
"They're safe, don't worry. They'll be held until the snow clears then we'll just ship them straight back to Heathrow. I must say, your friends are a resourceful bunch. Their plan was a good one, and it almost worked. But my men are better."
He sits on the edge of the bed and throws the handgun onto a dressing table. I see the top slide is retracted, indicating it's been fired. He follows my gaze.
"You really should have told that Iraqi not to be such a smartass," he says by way of explanation.
Oh no. Tariq.
He nods in response to the look on my face, and he taps the spot between his eyes.
I fly at him, fists swinging, teeth bared, but he bats me away as if I were a kitten. I tumble to the floor, my foot burning with agony.
"You know, Kate, I think I made a mistake with you. I thought perhaps we could be friends. I see now that I was naive."
I spit in his face.
He wipes it away with a sneer. "Your friends are no use to me. The kids I can use. But the adults…" he shrugs. "I think it's time to end this."
He reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. "Follow me," he says and walks out of the rom. I hobble after him. I have to buy some time for Jack.
"What are you going to do?" I shout after him.
"A ten gun salute, I think," he says over his shoulder.
He hurries down the staircase to the front door. I limp in pursuit.
"Why kill them? They're no threat to you now." I know that sounds lame, but even if he pauses for a second to argue with me, it'll be a second gained. He sweeps out the front door, passing a guard from whom he grabs a fresh sidearm.
I trail after him, beginning to beg. He ignores me. He turns a corner and I hear him declaim: "lovely day for a shooting!"
I follow him outside into the stark white dawn. I see Lee, Green and a Ranger lined up against the fence, a group of armed soldiers opposite them. Oh god, it's a firing squad. My knees momentarily go weak with fear.
"Cooper, please," I say, choking back tears. "I'm begging you, don't do this."
He slaps me, Lee protests and a soldier opens fire. For a sickening moment I think he's shot Lee, but it was just a warning shot.
I'm crying now, pleading with Cooper, barely even conscious of what I'm saying. I step forward and come on to him. I'm sick at myself as I stroke his chest, all the time driven by the voice at the back of my head saying 'just play for time, just play for time'.
Cooper shouts an order then shoots one of his men, and the next thing I know I'm being dragged across to the fence and stood up next to Lee. I reach out and grab his hand.
I lean towards him and whisper: "be ready to run" but my voice is drowned out by Big Ben's insistent chime.
The men line up. Cooper joins them. They raise their guns as the clock counts down the final seconds of our lives.
Where the fuck is Jack?
I turn to Lee and we embrace.
Dear God, I may actually die here.
He whispers something to me, but I can't make it out.
<
br /> Then my senses explode in fire.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As the final chime pealed I heard a deafening burst of machine gun fire. I braced for the impact, but there was none.
My ears rang as the shooting got louder. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Put the woman down and fucking run!" yelled Wilkes above the cacophony.
I opened my eyes, totally confused. Jane was already pulling away, dragging me along the edge of the fence to a stone alcove in the far wall where we could shelter.
I tried to make sense of what was happening. Cooper and his men were ranged along the far edge of the fence, backs to the river, engaged in a fierce firefight with a group of young women who were shooting at them from the covered stone walkway down which we'd been marched minutes earlier.
I glanced ahead and saw a figure beckoning us to a doorway. I thought my mind must be playing tricks on me, because it looked like Jack. Jane pulled me sideways as a stream of bullets whipped past us cutting a straight line in the old stonework. We scurried through the doorway and behind a stone wall, under cover. Green was already there, gun in hand, raining fire on the pinned down firing squad. Wilkes hurried in after us.
Jack shoved a gun in my hand and smiled at me.
"What the fuck is going on?" I shouted above the din.
"I landed in the dinghy," he shouted back. "I had the bag. Jane got me back in. Voila." He indicated the groups of armed women and beamed.
It takes a minute for the penny to drop. Somehow Jack has pulled it off and completed our mission — he's got the kitbag of guns to the women held captive in the Lords and turned them loose.
Jane turned, popped her head above the parapet and sent a burst of fire towards the bad guys. Then she ducked back under cover leaned over to me and kissed me long and deep.
We only broke apart when there was a huge explosion from behind us. I peered over into the yard to see the last of Cooper's men pouring through a gap in the wall. They must have blown it open with a handful of grenades so they'd have somewhere to retreat. The snow-covered grass was littered with corpses and red with blood.
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