by Greg Elswood
Brandon watched his screens. Every so often he would lean forward, flick to a different display or inspect a chart. In the background, his computer programs monitored market trends and prices and executed automatic trades. When the rolling news became repetitive, he changed channels. He was in his element.
It was in this laid-back pose that Brandon had his epiphany.
Like Michael, he became mesmerised by the reports of the transport strike, the sea of people at the rail terminus, who filled the walkways whilst they waited for buses or crammed themselves against the drawn shutters to the Underground station. But where Michael saw people crowded around pop-up stalls and visualised death and destruction, Brandon saw thousands of phones and gadgets clutched in commuters’ hands, and imagined the virulent cyber havoc he could wreak.
This is what Replicant had been designed for. It was the perfect target.
Convergence
The union leader spoke confidently into the microphone, his back-drop the bright, expansive Liverpool Street concourse, his audience a group of reporters clamouring for his attention.
‘Our members’ actions will change the face of travel in this country. No longer will our workers suffer so-called technological advances that replace drivers and signalman with computers. The proposals of the railway companies are nothing more than penny-pinching; insidious measures that will cost many of our members their jobs and will put our passengers’ lives at risk. We understand our customers’ frustration at having to make alternative travel arrangements at this time, but their pain will be short-term. Mark my words, our industrial action will protect the jobs of our members and will make our passengers safer. In short, it will change lives forever.’
Michael and Brandon couldn’t help smiling at the pompous official’s grandstanding.
Two men, two very different weapons of terror.
One place, one time: Liverpool Street on strike day.
14
Switch on your TV news, pictures of Liverpool Street. We need to talk. I have a new plan.
Michael’s message to Paddy was deliberately vague. Whilst he was confident that WhatsApp communications couldn’t be intercepted, he was worried about Paddy’s health and the risk that his phone might fall into the wrong hands if he took a turn for the worse. There was no telling who could get hold of it, and Michael wasn’t taking any chances.
The response from Paddy took only a few minutes:
OK, watched TV. See you @ lock-up asap. Our delivery is this pm.
Adrenaline surged through Michael without warning as the magnitude of what they were about to do struck him. He hadn’t felt this excited for a long time, so psyched up for battle. This time tomorrow, London would be soaked in blood, cowering from the ferocity of their attack, and he would be a hero of the Brethren. Revenge would be sweet.
***
When he arrived at the lock-up, Paddy was already there. He looked pale and drawn.
‘So, Michael,’ Paddy said with no preliminaries, ‘I’m guessing that you now want to hit Liverpool Street, rather than Spitalfields. Is that it? It’s a little late to change our plans.’
‘Yes, too right I do. It’s a much larger target and imagine how many more people we can kill.’
‘But larger targets have more security.’ Paddy wasn’t yet convinced that the last-minute change was a good idea. ‘And think about it. Liverpool Street is harder to get into, whereas you can drive right up to the entrance of Spitalfields and wheel the bomb straight in. It’s all been planned.’
‘Ah well, that’s where you’re wrong. You can easily wheel it into the station too. Didn’t you see the two stalls in the TV shots today? Apparently, it happens almost every day with demonstration stands and giveaways. You know the kind of thing. Right in the middle of the station, no problem.’
‘OK, well what about reconnaissance? We haven’t even looked at where things would go or escape routes.’
Michael felt that Paddy was ticking off a list of objections he had already rehearsed and he was happy to play along. This was an easy one to quash.
‘Oh, that’s fine, we can do it today. No one will take any notice if we wander round and take a few pictures, they’re so busy down there. As an added bonus, I have the name of one of the security guards, and I’ll go see him this morning. I reckon I can convince him to let us in with the carts.’ He rubbed his thumb against his middle finger to indicate he’d bribe him. He paused. ‘But actually, there’s one more thing I want to change.’
‘Tell me you’re joking. Isn’t changing the target hard enough for you?’
‘I want two carts, two bombs.’
‘What? Are you crazy?’ Paddy threw his hands up in exasperation and stared at Michael. ‘I haven’t even told the Brethren we’ve changed the plan yet, although I think they will go along with that. But there’s no chance they’ll get two carts organised in time.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Look Michael, I admire your ambition, but I don’t think this is going to work. And haven’t you forgotten something? We’d need two people to man two carts, and we only have one, your new friend Maria.’
‘Actually, it’s worse than that, but hear me out on this.’
Paddy rolled his eyes, but then nodded to Michael. ‘Go on, let’s hear it.’
‘In the TV pictures, I counted four helpers handing out bits, probably to avoid mayhem as people grab their free stuff.’
Paddy opened his mouth to object but Michael cut him short. ‘I can get four people, and in fact I think it helps us in other ways. I’ll get to that in a minute. But the reason I think we go for two carts is that it’s a big target, it can take two bombs. I was originally going to rig it up to detonate remotely, and I can still easily do that with two. And imagine, one goes off, carnage. People panic and they end up running straight into the second one, which I detonate a few seconds later.’
Michael’s eyes blazed as he pictured the horror of mass murder.
‘What about the four people? Where do you get them from?’ Paddy asked.
‘You know one of them, Maria, and she’s keen, as you saw yesterday. But I’ve also been thinking about how I cover my tracks once we’ve finished here. Orla knows too much about me, and I found out last night she also knows Maria—’
‘What? Oh, that’s just great, a link back to Maria!’ Paddy’s face turned crimson and he looked ready to explode. ‘I told you it was a mistake to use her.’
‘Calm down, yes, you did, but don’t you see? It’s divine intervention again.’ Michael put his hand on Paddy’s shoulder. ‘Orla was going to be a problem, so we’d have to get rid of her anyway. Shooting her and dumping her somewhere isn’t without its risks, whereas if she goes up in the explosion, no one will ask any questions. And Maria and Orla will make one team.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so. And the others?’
‘Well, one of them is a guy I know, a barman at my local. He needs the money and I’m sure he’ll do it. It’s also one less person who knows me who may wonder afterwards where I’ve gone. Good riddance. The other is Orla’s neighbour, who lives across the hall. She and I, well… we’re friends.’
‘Which means you’re screwing her too. Christ Michael, what’s the matter with you?’ Paddy shook his head in frustration and disbelief. ‘And what makes you think she’ll do it?’
‘I think she’ll do whatever I say at the moment,’ he replied, and he grinned at the memory of their recent early mornings. ‘I’ve a feeling Orla will be hardest to convince. But she’ll get there. Don’t panic, it’s all under control.’
Paddy closed his eyes and considered the options. He liked the boldness, the daring of Michael’s plan, but what if he couldn’t recruit the four sacrificial lambs? It wouldn’t matter anyway if the Brethren couldn’t give them two carts, but he may as well try. What did he have to lose? After all, he wouldn’t be around much longer, and he certainly wasn’t going to die from the embarrassment of having only one cart at Liverpool Street if Michael couldn’t deliv
er.
‘OK, OK, I’ll give them a call. Be it on your head, though, if they don’t like it.’ Paddy reached for his phone. ‘Your turn to get the teas.’
When Michael returned with two steaming cups and two bacon rolls on a cardboard tray, Paddy was leaning back against a table, smoking. He took his tea and nodded.
‘Yes!’ Michael cheered, almost spilling his tea as he clenched his fist. ‘Two carts, two bombs?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, you lucky bugger. It seems they have a spare cart, a back-up in case the first one gets damaged. Standard procedure, apparently. The extra explosives, well, they were never in doubt, as they’re always available.’
Michael whistled and clapped Paddy on the shoulder, the ecstasy clear in his face.
‘A word of warning, though, before you get carried away. They like the new plan, but they’ve warned us both, Michael, any screw-ups and it’ll be on our heads. We can’t leave the second cart unused to be found afterwards. No trail back to them, or us. I get the feeling this operation is being closely watched from the very top. I just spoke to Donovan, who even seemed to know about Maria, God knows how. This is a big one for the Brethren, and they won’t be very forgiving. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘Relax man, relax. Have faith. I’ll get onto it now. When’s the delivery?’
‘Nine o’clock tonight. The load isn’t coming very far, but they didn’t say where it is now. We’ll have all night to rig it up and make the changes to the snacks, which should be enough time between the two of us. At least one of us will have to be here all the time once it arrives, as we can’t let it out of our sight.’ He looked around the look-up. ‘But at least it will all be over soon, and we won’t have to spend much more time in here.’
Paddy took a wheezy breath, straightened his back and spoke with greater determination and urgency. ‘Right, let’s do it. We’ve got a lot of work to do, especially you. It’s time we got to Liverpool Street and took a good look at our new target.’
***
Donovan stared at her phone with a frown. She had been surprised to receive Paddy’s call, and taken aback at his request for two weapons for a new, larger target. Now that Paddy had explained it to her, she was annoyed that her advisers hadn’t suggested Liverpool Street in the first place, as it would cause much more damage and give the Brethren far more exposure and publicity. She made a note to check that out, once she returned home after the event.
Paddy had credited Michael with the idea, maybe to avoid potential recriminations for himself if anything went wrong, or possibly as a sign that he wanted to pass the mantle of leadership to Michael after this operation. He was unwell, so that was natural, but Donovan wasn’t sure Michael was ready yet. She hadn’t been impressed with him so far on this mission, recruiting a helper off the streets on a whim, then not detecting Donovan when she had tailed him last night. But he was ambitious and committed to the cause, and she needed that in her men.
She watched the two men leave the lock-up. Paddy, a jaded figure, pale alongside Michael, who strutted along Rivington Street as if he owned it.
A new leader? Maybe. Just don’t get ahead of yourself Michael, with the prize so close.
***
Maria watched Jacob doze, and yawned. What was it about seeing people sleep that made you feel drowsy yourself? But maybe it wasn’t that. After getting back to the Refuge late last night, her mind had been buzzing with the excitement of her newfound job and it had taken her a while to get to sleep. How annoying, now that she wanted to stay awake, she couldn’t help nodding off every few minutes.
She watched the clock and concentrated on the second hand, ticking round the dial, and counted in her head. But she soon found herself drifting off again. In her boredom, she studied her hands, still pink and blistered from all that scrubbing yesterday, but she smiled at the thought that the cleaning was over. She had proved herself to Martin and the next part should be much easier. After all, how hard could delivery be?
She couldn’t wait to return to the lock-up, not only to be involved in the new product launch, but also because she was keen to see Martin again. A good-looking man, and kind too. He’d offered her a job when everyone else had ignored her. He had walked her home and had been very chivalrous, and he’d even paid her more money than they had agreed. He had an air about him, something she couldn’t explain, an edge, and she remembered his reaction when he’d found out she lived at the Refuge. For an instant he had felt dangerous; Maria shivered at the memory. She recalled being a little scared at the time, but in the light of the new morning, it felt exciting. Maria didn’t think life would be dull with Martin.
She looked at Jacob. Although he was now covered in cuts and bruises, she remembered thinking when she spotted him yesterday that he was striking for someone who had lived on the streets for a few years. He was tall, yet didn’t stoop the way people often do after sleeping rough for a while. His slow deliberate walk was graceful, not lethargic, and he gave the impression of possessing great physical strength. Yet when he spoke he was hesitant, almost humble, as if his unkempt appearance and reduced status in life were sources of embarrassment to him. But her most vivid recollection was the way he had looked at her before saying she reminded him of his dead wife. In his eyes she had seen utter desolation, as if he was haunted by his past. A deep sorrow that he couldn’t dispel.
Jacob opened his eyes. He looked around the room until his eyes settled on Maria, and he smiled.
‘How do you feel,’ Maria asked. ‘Any better?’
‘Not much, although the headache’s not quite so bad. Can you help me up please?’
Maria held Jacob’s arm and then propped the pillows up behind him. He shifted up in the bed and grimaced from the obvious pain in his chest, but once he was comfortable, she gave him a glass of water.
‘Thanks, I needed that,’ Jacob said and he sat back for a few seconds with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he looked at Maria and she saw the same sadness from yesterday. She waited for him to speak, feeling herself blush under his gaze.
‘You don’t have to sit with me, you know, I’ll be OK. I’m sure you have better things to do.’ Jacob spoke gently, without any bitterness or hostility, and Maria took no offence at his words.
‘I know, but I want to be here, as long as that’s OK with you.’
‘Thanks, yes, it’s fine with me.’ He paused. ‘So, I guess you didn’t have any joy with the job-hunting yesterday then?’
‘Oh, you remembered. It couldn’t have been that bad a knock to the head then,’ she said, grinning at him. ‘Actually, I did find a job. But the hours aren’t regular yet, so I can sit with you for a while. I will need to go in about an hour or so, though, sorry.’
‘That’s OK. I expect they’ll kick me out soon enough,’ he replied. He looked around the room. ‘I don’t think I can take much more of this anyway. This room is so stuffy and these sheets are really itchy. I’m not used to beds and I won’t get any rest here, especially with that nurse fussing about, poking and prodding me.’
‘They said you should stay here in case you have any problems with your head.’
‘You mean I might have concussion? No, I feel fine now, just a slight headache, and my chest will be OK. The rest is cuts and bruises, nothing serious. Believe me, I’ve had much worse. There’s nothing they can do about my rib, so I may as well get out from under their feet in case someone else needs this bed. It’s no use to me, I won’t be able to sleep in it anymore.’
‘Oh, come on, it’s not that bad, and surely it’s better than going back to the streets. You asked to come here, remember?’ Maria reminded him.
Jacob grunted but said nothing.
‘I can grab you some lunch if you want,’ Maria said, changing the subject. ‘Maybe you’ll feel a bit better after that. You must be hungry.’
‘Thanks, yes, I am. As long as it’s not the veggie option.’ He chuckled, then winced and held his hand to his chest. He looked up at
Maria. ‘Then I will leave.’
Maria rose from her chair and turned for the door. ‘You’re a pig-headed idiot,’ she said, and left the room.
But Jacob heard Maria laugh as she went to fetch his lunch and he slowly shook his head. I was right, she really is just like Selma.
***
Michael’s plan relied on the cooperation of the Liverpool Street security guards to give them access to the station. Michael knew it would be easier to buy Bill’s allegiance than to sell him a sob story about helping hungry commuters during the strikes, and he had come to the station prepared to pay whatever it took to turn this busy London rail terminal into a slaughterhouse.
Paddy went ahead to the station concourse, leaving Michael to find Bill. In Broadgate Circle, the bars and fast food outlets were bathed in bright sunlight, burning away the dampness from the previous evening. A group of three security guards stood to one side, apparently with nothing to do but watch office workers at lunchtime, who sat in small groups eating their lunches. The trio appeared to be paying particular attention to a cluster of young women on the top step of the raised podium in the middle of the bowl-like amphitheatre, who reclined on their forearms, heads tilted back and their eyes closed, taking in the sun.
‘Hello guys,’ Michael said with a forced smile.
The three guards looked at him with a mixture of disdain and hostility, but Michael ignored their reaction. ‘I was looking for a guy named Bill and wondered if you knew him?’
‘What do you want him for?’ the shortest of the three guards demanded.
‘I have a business proposition for him,’ Michael replied, without looking away from the man who had answered. From the way the other two guards were staring at their colleague, Michael guessed he had struck lucky first time. ‘I think he’ll find it very interesting.’
