The Necessary Deaths

by David C. Dawson

  “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll break in. I’m sure I can find something to force the door open. Soon have you out.”

  MILES HAD just returned to the security lodge when his phone rang.

  “Mr. Torrington. We presume you have the package? Please step outside and head back towards Kingsway. We’ll meet you now.”

  The soft Irish voice was unmistakable and chilling in its command. “Oh, and please be alone. You don’t want anything to happen to Delingpole.” The call ended abruptly.

  Miles looked at the security guard. “Do you have those cameras working again? I’d feel happier if somebody was watching my back.”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not. The engineers seem to be a little slow in coming out on a Saturday night. Bit like plumbers, it seems.”

  “Remind me to take it up with the property management company. That’s if I return.” Miles gave a mock salute to the security guard and stepped out of the lodge into the chill of the night. This was far worse than appearing before any High Court judge, he reflected.

  He had only walked a few paces down Serle Street, when he saw three figures pull out of an alleyway. A large man with a shaven head strode toward him. Miles had little doubt of his identity.

  “Wait there,” said Krasov. “Face the wall and put your arms up high. Spread your legs and stand still.”

  Miles did as he was commanded. Krasov stood behind him and began frisking him. Finally he reached up and took the envelope from Miles’s hand.

  “Stay there and don’t move.”

  From the corner of his eye, Miles saw the woman of the group take the envelope from Krasov’s hand.

  “So you’re Downpatrick? The high-flying woman banker with 19th century views on women.”

  Krasov kicked out hard, and Miles fell to the ground, clasping his leg. As he lay still, Krasov kicked him in the stomach with equal force.

  “Leave him, Viktor, he’s really not a threat. Thank you, Torrington. Presumably this is a copy?”

  Miles groaned.

  “You don’t have to answer. We know it is because our partners recovered the original from your safe earlier. You’ve just confirmed that you really are the deceitful lawyer we expected you to be. Krasov, it’s time to dispose of Delingpole.”

  STEVE WAS standing at the entrance to the car park. He looked at his watch. It was twenty past eleven. Faldon, Simon’s killer, would be taking over at the hospital. He had to alert John to what was happening. But every time he called, John’s phone rang for a moment and then went to voice mail.

  He started to walk down the ramp into the car park, pressing redial every time John’s voice mail cut in. He could hear Jonathan shouting for him from the parking level below. There were sounds of thumps and metal buckling. What the hell was he doing?

  Steve looked at the signal strength on his phone. He was down to one bar. He paused, torn between going to help Jonathan and carrying on trying to get through to John. He could think of no one else to call. If he called the hospital, they would not believe him, and he would need to get back to the Lexus to find Samantha Gregory’s number.

  “Steve! Where the hell are you? Get down here now. I can’t get Dominic out.” Steve could hear the panic in Jonathan’s voice. As he started to walk forward, he pressed redial on the phone once more.

  “Who’s that?” came a faint Australian voice from the receiver.

  Steve stopped and started to walk back up the ramp. “It’s Steve, and I could ask the same question, mate. Where’s John?”

  “You’ve been ringing this phone off the fucking hook for the last five minutes. John’s getting his hand fixed. I’m Jay, and who the hell’s Steve?”

  As he got nearer to the car park entrance, Steve could hear Jay’s voice more clearly. “You don’t need to know. But if you’re at the hospital with John, then you’ve got to get to Simon. He’s in serious shit. The police officer who’s just taken over guarding him is an assassin. You’ve got to stop him getting to Simon.”

  “Shit, mate. It’s coming up to midnight now. I think I saw the guy come in a while ago. Are you sure?”

  “’Course I’m fucking sure. His name’s Faldon, and he’s in with the same bastards who—”

  There was the sound of a loud crash from the depths of the car park, followed by a scream from Jonathan.

  “Steve, help! Dominic’s dying!”

  Steve shoved the phone into his pocket and sprinted into the murky half-light of the subterranean car park.

  JAY RAN down the corridor that John had indicated led to Simon’s room. As he got closer, he could see a uniformed police officer walking toward the room facing him at the far end, a Styrofoam cup in his hand. There was a woman standing in the doorway, presumably Simon’s mother.

  “Hey, Faldon,” Jay called out. The man looked up. It was enough to confirm his identity. Jay sprinted, lowered his shoulders, and threw himself at Faldon in a rugby tackle.

  The two men smashed against the fragile partition wall of Simon’s room. Samantha Gregory retreated into the room and slammed the door. As Faldon sank to his knees, Jay tried to get him into a headlock. But as he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, Faldon managed to land a punch in Jay’s groin. Doubled up in pain, Jay rolled to the side and then kicked out and upward with his right foot. Faldon gave a satisfying yell, hunched over, and clasped his stomach.

  Jay scrambled to his feet and turned. Astonishingly, Faldon had already straightened up. In his hand Jay saw the glint of a thin metal needle. Breathing heavily, Jay kept his eyes on the hypodermic, not knowing what move to make next.

  Samantha’s voice sounded from inside Simon’s room.

  “Call security! Someone’s trying to kill my son. Again!”

  A terrified nurse emerged from a neighboring room and ran off toward the reception desk.

  Faldon glanced around at the retreating figure of the nurse. As he did, Jay lunged forward. He pinned Faldon’s left hand against the wall and twisted his wrist as hard as he could. Faldon grimaced with pain but held tight to the syringe.

  Jay brought his knee up hard into Faldon’s stomach, then launched forward and head-butted him full in the face. Blood began to pour from a cut below Faldon’s nose. Jay gave one final twist, and the hypodermic clattered from Faldon’s fingers to the floor.

  Jay reached down to pick up the syringe, then choked as Faldon brought his fists down hard on the back of his neck. Winded, but now furious, Jay again got in a low rugby tackle and dragged Faldon to the ground. He leapt on top of him, then wrapped his hands around Faldon’s throat, lifted the man’s neck a few inches, then smashed his head down onto the floor.

  Jay started to scramble to his feet, but, out of nowhere, a heavy metal object smashed into his back.

  A searing pain spread across his shoulders. He turned to see Samantha Gregory clutching a large red fire extinguisher.

  “What the fuck are you doing, missus? You’ve got the wrong bloke. Stupid woman!” As Samantha opened her mouth to speak, Jay grabbed the fire extinguisher. “Give me that. Bloody hell! I’m the good guy, right?”

  He turned to see Faldon staggering to his feet. As he straightened, Jay swung the fire extinguisher upward in an arc. There was a thud as it connected hard with Faldon’s head, and he crashed back to the floor.

  Smiling triumphantly, Jay turned to Samantha.

  “See? Never trust a copper with a Tom Selleck mustache. Especially a British copper.”

  JONATHAN YELLED with frustration. Using a thin metal strip that he had snapped off a broken sign, he was trying to force open the door of the Mercedes. It was making little impact. Occasionally he forced open a small gap. But all too quickly the German engineering sealed it shut again.

  He could see Dominic inside, still patiently sawing at the webbing straps restraining him in the backseat. Jonathan felt impotent; his efforts to rescue Dominic seemed so futile. And they were running out of time. He was certain that it would not be long before Janet Downpatrick and her henchmen
would return to the car.

  Throwing the thin metal strip to the ground, he looked around for anything that might help him free Dominic. In a far corner, he could see a broken lump of concrete with rusty metal reinforcing rods sticking out of it.

  The concrete was heavier than he expected. Staggering toward the car, he wondered how he could summon the strength to lift it high enough to break any of the windows on the Mercedes.

  Reaching the window on the opposite side to Dominic, Jonathan heaved the rock at the glass. He jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the concrete landing on his feet. It had made no impact, save a few dents and scratches on the car’s bodywork.

  He bent down to pick up the concrete once more. There was an electronic beep from inside the Mercedes followed by a steady tone. A few seconds later, the engine fired into life. Then it roared and began to rev at high speed.

  Jonathan looked around, but there was no one else in the car park. The Mercedes seemed to have developed a life of its own. He looked into the car as Dominic started banging on the window.

  “Jonathan! Get me out. The exhaust fumes are coming in!”

  With renewed strength, Jonathan bent, picked up the jagged lump of concrete, and swung it with all his energy at the side window. Again, the glass stood firm.

  “Steve! Help. Dominic’s dying!”

  Jonathan had never felt so terrified in his life. The man he loved like none other was dying in front of him. And he was powerless to help. He turned as he heard the sound of feet sprinting down the ramp.

  “Steve, thank God you’re here. Dominic’s being gassed in this car, and I can’t get him out.”

  As Steve ran toward him, there was a squeal of tires from the floor above.

  “Quick!” shouted Jonathan. “It could be more of those bastards.” Together they lifted the lump of concrete high and launched it at the windscreen. The car rocked, and there was a creaking noise from the glass, but it failed to break.

  “I’ve got an idea, Jonathan. Give me a few seconds.” Steve crouched down at the front of the Mercedes, its engine still revving at high pitch.

  The squeal of tires grew louder as a dark gray Lexus hurtled down the ramp and spun around toward them. It screeched to a halt, and the driver leapt out.

  “Pat the Pecs!” Jonathan yelled. “Am I glad to see you. We’ve got to get this door open before Dominic’s gassed to death.”

  Jonathan watched as Pat opened the boot of the Lexus and pulled out a twenty-kilogram gym weight. “Much as I admire your muscles, young man, this is hardly the time for a workout.”

  Pat ignored the remark and swung the weight with enormous force at the rear window of the Mercedes. It landed with a loud thud, but the glass held firm. Pat took a step back to add more momentum to his swing. Again the glass refused to give way.

  “It’s got to be bulletproof, Mr. McFadden. We’re not going to break that.”

  Jonathan peered through the tinted glass of the Mercedes. He could see Dominic slumped in the backseat. His breathing seemed increasingly shallow. He felt sick to his core as he looked helplessly at Pat and then across to Steve, who seemed to be fiddling with his cell phone at the front of the car.

  Jonathan’s fury overwhelmed him, and he shouted at Steve, “Will you stop fucking about and come and help us?”

  He looked into the back of the Mercedes once more. Dominic’s chest was scarcely moving. He grabbed the gym weight from Pat and swung it back with all his might. As he did, there were a series of electronic beeps and a metallic clunk as all four doors and the boot of the car sprang open.

  The stench of exhaust gas flooded out of the car. Pat the Pecs pushed past Jonathan, took out a Leatherman knife, and rapidly cut through the webbing straps binding Dominic’s inert body. Pulling him from the fume-filled car, Pat gently laid Dominic on the concrete floor. Having checked his airway, Pat began compressions on his chest. After nearly two minutes, Dominic gave a faint sigh and then coughed before drawing his knees up to his chest.

  Jonathan slumped against the car and looked across at Steve, who was holding his cell triumphantly in the air. “Thank you,” he breathed. “You’re one hell of an electronics wizard. I take back the crap I just said.”

  Steve’s face broke into a broad, beaming smile. “You’d be amazed at what happens when you do a bit of reprogramming on a smartphone, mate. I wrote that one myself. Doesn’t take long to crack security codes for a guy like me.”

  There was a shout from somewhere near the entrance to the car park, and Jonathan looked up to see the distant figure of Krasov break into a run.

  “Pat, I think you’re about to earn some overtime.”

  Chapter 30

  “WHAT’S THE latest on your chums in the Met, Harrison? Did you tell them about where we thought they’d find the car?” Miles was slumped in a chair in the security lodge, nursing the wounds that Krasov had inflicted on him.

  “They’re on to it, Mr. Torrington. I don’t think that trio’s going to get far tonight. More importantly, the ambulance is on its way. We need to get you to hospital and check there’s no internal damage.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Harrison. I’ve had worse kickings in the High Court. I just hope dear Dominic hasn’t suffered at the hands of that Russian ape. He’s a little more sensitive than me.”

  Miles picked up the large envelope he had recovered from his law office’s storeroom earlier.

  “We have much work to do on this, Harrison. Those students have given us enough evidence to link Barton Kane with some very backhanded funding from the EU, doubtless manipulated by that little tyke Randolph James and the poisonous Downpatrick. They must have siphoned off millions over the last four years, judging by the paper trail we’ve seen on that memory card so far. I just wish we’d got the burglars on video tonight.”

  Miles looked up at the security monitors on the far wall of the lodge. “When’s your engineer chappie going to turn up to fix those things?”

  The security guard glanced up from his copy of Heat magazine. “It’s a weekend, Mr. Torrington, I told you before. They’ll probably get here in a couple of hours.”

  Harrison set the laptop he had been working on in front of Miles.

  “I don’t think you need worry on that score, Mr. Torrington. Last year I took the liberty of investing in some discreet security coverage for the law offices.” He looked across at the security guard, whose head was again buried in his magazine. “Just in case Lincoln’s Inn let us down.”

  On the screen of the laptop was a freeze-frame of the room in Miles’s law office where the safe was located. The faces of two men could be seen clearly.

  “I think these images will be very helpful for the police in tracking down our burglars, don’t you, Mr. Torrington?”

  JONATHAN AND Steve gently moved Dominic’s semiconscious body from the concrete floor of the car park to the gray Lexus, where Pat now waited with the engine revving. Jonathan sat in the backseat behind Pat, cradling Dominic’s head in his lap. Steve jumped in the front passenger seat and slammed the door. Pat put his foot to the floor, and the car headed straight for the running figure of Krasov.

  The Russian veered behind a row of parked cars, pulling out a gun from his jacket as he did. As the first bullet ricocheted off a concrete pillar, Pat braked hard and threw the Lexus into reverse. The car weaved backward at high speed along the length of the parking lot as a second bullet hit the wing mirror.

  Pat spun the car around in the confined space. At the far end of the floor, they heard the roar of an engine. With the smell of burning rubber, the rear wheels of the black Mercedes spun. Krasov headed toward them at gathering speed. Pat accelerated forward and at the last moment turned the Lexus hard left to avoid a head-on collision.

  “The exit’s behind us!” shouted Jonathan. “Loop round here.”

  As the Lexus turned again, they could see their escape route ahead. Out the side window, Jonathan saw the black Mercedes cut through a narrow gap in the parking bay
s, heading to cut them off at the exit ramp. Pat braked hard, and Jonathan ducked instinctively as a bullet ricocheted off a pillar beside them.

  His exit blocked, Pat turned the car to the right and down the ramp that led to the lower floors.

  As he reached the next parking level down, he spun the car around and stopped, holding the car on the clutch, ready to move. Facing the ramp from which they had just come, they waited for Krasov.

  “What now?” breathed Jonathan. “We need to get up, not down. We’re fast running out of options.” He leaned forward to Steve in the front seat. “I don’t suppose you’ve got some clever technology up your sleeve to get rid of unwelcome assassins with guns and high-powered cars?”

  Dominic groaned and tried to sit up. Jonathan helped him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my love. I’m sure Pat the Pecs will think of something. He’s got many more remarkable talents than I first thought. One thing’s for certain—” Jonathan kissed Dominic gently on the forehead. “—your hire-car bill for this evening’s little jaunt is going to be a bit more than you expected.”

  WHEN TWO security guards arrived at the intensive care unit a few minutes later, they found the phony police officer tied to a bed frame with bandages and surgical tape. A nurse stood guard over him with a bedpan.

  Nursing staff had transferred Jay to the accident and emergency department to check his head injury. Fortunately Samantha Gregory hadn’t the strength to swing the heavy fire extinguisher with any force. Jay had a throbbing headache, and the ER staff were preparing him for a scan as a precaution. But it looked like there would be no lasting damage.

  John conveyed all this news to Samantha, who had been waiting anxiously with Simon.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gregory,” John told her. “Jay’s going to be fine. Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling. As for you”—John held Simon’s hand tenderly—“the police have caught that phony, so once they start questioning him, perhaps they can make sense of what’s going on. You’re going to have to tell them everything you’ve found out. You can’t be the secret investigative journalist any longer.”