by Tom Marcus
‘What do I want? I’d like my memories back. I’d like to be who I was – you know, when I was just an ordinary fuck-up. Before you killed me.’
He nodded. ‘I can do that,’ he said, taking a step towards me.
‘Shut up, you murderous cunt,’ I said, stopping him in his tracks.
He looked at me. Those X-ray eyes. ‘You’re not Stevie, are you?’ he said slowly.
‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ I said. ‘All that matters is that you’re finished. The Tenth Crusade, brainwashing poor sad bastards to wage a holy fucking war while you sit here praying – all that’s finished.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘So what are you going to do? Have you come to arrest me?’
‘I’m not a policeman,’ I said.
‘Then what?’
‘I haven’t decided yet – I mean, about your punishment. I think you need some time to reflect – have a nice long chat with God. Then we’ll see. The Holy Spirit might speak to me, you never know.’
I took him by the arm and, again, for a moment I thought he was going to resist, but he must have felt the fierce strength that was suddenly coursing through me and went slack.
I pushed him towards the vestry. Once inside I pointed to the bookcase. He looked confused, then panicky, as he suddenly realized where we were going. I shoved him forward and together we moved the bookshelf aside.
‘Where’s the lamp?’
‘Over there.’ He pointed to the corner, his hand shaking.
I picked up the lamp and turned it on. ‘The padlocks?’
He fumbled inside his robe and came out with the bunch of keys.
‘Let’s go.’
Nothing more was said as we made our way down the ladder into the bowels of the church, then along the dank passage to the cell where Stevie Nichols had died. I opened the door and pushed him in. In the beam of the lamp, I could see that it was still empty. I should have at least brought down a bucket of water, I thought. Oh well, too late now.
‘What now?’ he said. For the first time there was genuine fear in his voice.
‘I’m going to leave you. The dark’s a bit scary at first. And the cold. But you get used to it.’
He reached a hand out, as if he was going to tug at my sleeve, but I stepped back, out of reach.
‘When are you going to come back?’ His tone was pleading.
‘Soon,’ I said. ‘When you’ve had time to think about things.’
‘And then?’
‘Like I said, then we’ll see.’
I took one last look at him, his mouth open, lips trembling, eyes wide with terror, then walked out, slamming the door behind me.
As I went through the passage, I heard a sudden scurrying. I stopped for a moment and smiled.
Back in the vestry, I snapped the last padlock shut and heaved the bookcase back into place, then turned off the lamp and put it back in the corner. I shut the door behind me and groped my way to the altar. There was one candle left, sputtering feebly in the cold air. I blew it out, picked up the matches and lit three more, then stood back. No: one more. I lit a final candle.
‘That’s for you, Stevie.’
Opening the church door, I could see the rain was coming down even harder. The sky was so dark it almost seemed like night. I slipped out, closing the door behind me.
As I breathed in the damp air, I could feel the strength beginning to leave me. I needed to get a move on, while I still could. I walked down the alley, past the bins, shivering as the rain soaked into my shirt.
When I got to the street behind the church, the gutters were already surging with water, the potholes in the road overflowing. I found a drain and knelt down on the kerb.
One by one, I slipped the keys off the keyring and dropped them through the grate.
61
It was a strange sight. Five glasses of champagne, along with an empty bottle, and beside them on the table, looking like some sort of weird cocktail shakers, four brushed-steel canisters containing one of the deadliest nerve agents ever made.
Mrs Allenby handed round the glasses, then picked one up for herself. ‘Cheers,’ she said, raising it towards me.
I took a sip, not quite sure what the alcohol was going to do to me. After a shower and a change of clothes that Alex had somehow found for me, I was feeling halfway normal again, but with everything my body had been through in the last few days, I wasn’t taking any chances. I looked at Alex, with her fat lip and bandaged nose, and raised my glass.
‘Cheers.’
‘And you’re certain this is all there is?’ Mrs Allenby asked. ‘He didn’t have any more hidden in the church?’
‘No, this is it,’ I said.
‘And there was no sign of Martindale?’
‘I think he scarpered as soon as he realized the attacks hadn’t happened. He must have thought John and the others had been arrested and would tell the police everything.’
‘Where do you think he’ll go?’
‘He knows he can’t run forever. I think he’ll just crawl into a hole somewhere and top himself. I don’t reckon we’ll be seeing him again any time soon.’
Mrs Allenby nodded. ‘Probably for the best.’
We all sipped our champagne in silence for a few moments, unable to take our eyes off the canisters.
‘I’m sorry I missed all the action,’ Alan said eventually.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Ryan said, putting an arm round his shoulders. ‘There was nothing much we could do at this end, anyway, when it came down to it.’ He raised his glass to me and Alex. ‘It was these two that got the job done.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Allenby. ‘If I had medals to hand out, you two would definitely be in line for very splendid ones. But this was a team effort. We wouldn’t have been in a position to stop Martindale in the first place if it hadn’t been for everybody’s hard work.’
‘Do they know who the bloke under the train was yet?’ Alan asked.
‘They just released it, yeah,’ Ryan said. ‘John Jennings, I think the name was.’
‘Jesus.’ Alan just managed to put his glass down before he dropped it.
Mrs Allenby put her own glass down. ‘Mr Woodburn? What is it?’
‘If it’s the same bloke, John Jennings was the techie who took my place on that course, along with Claire and Craig.’ He sat down, his face pale. ‘That could have been me.’
We all let that sink in. ‘So if it is the same John Jennings, and he was also seconded to Tenniel’s squad surveilling Terry Mason . . .’ I let the thought hang in the air.
‘Then it looks like Mason’s widow, or whoever it was, has now taken all three of them out,’ Alex said.
‘Yes, but how would she know?’ Alan said. ‘How would she know the identities of three MI5 surveillance operatives who were drafted into an undercover NCA team looking at her husband? You don’t find out information like that on the gang widows grapevine.’
‘Someone must have told her – someone on the inside,’ Alex said.
Mrs Allenby looked thoughtful. ‘Well, this is for another day, but perhaps we do need to take a closer look at John Tenniel. Not to mention Mrs Mason.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be easy,’ Ryan said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone put a bomb under her car. At least, that’s what it looks like. There’s no official confirmation of the device yet, but she definitely isn’t going to be available for interview.’
Mrs Allenby put a hand to her throat. ‘Quite an eventful morning.’
I smiled wryly. ‘You could say that.’
Alex nodded towards the canisters. ‘What are we going to do with this lot? We can’t just say we found it under a bush and hand it over to Porton Down. They’d stick us in a cell and throw away the key.’
‘There would certainly be rather a lot of awkward questions to answer,’ Mrs Allenby agreed. ‘For the moment we’ll keep it here, in the safe.’
‘There’s a safe?’ Alex s
aid.
‘Didn’t I mention that?’ Mrs Allenby said innocently. ‘Clearwater is a security company, so I thought it stood to reason we ought to have one. I believe it’s top of the range.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
‘I’ll have to talk to the Director General. Hopefully he’ll be able to come up with a solution.’
‘What about Shlovsky?’ Alex asked. ‘Do we let him just get on with his life as if nothing’s happened?’
‘We put a stop to an absolutely horrendous terror attack. We saved countless lives, and quite probably prevented an outbreak of bloody civil unrest. I think we are going to have to be satisfied with that.’
‘No justice for Shlovsky, then? Is that because he’s still protected by the PM?’ Alex said with real bitterness. ‘And to think I almost voted for her.’
‘I might have something on that front,’ Ryan said.
Mrs Allenby turned to him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We had other things on our minds, I suppose,’ he said apologetically. ‘Anyway, once we knew the PM didn’t turn up at Wyvern Lodge to see Viktor Shlovsky, I thought I’d have a look at his wife to see if there were any connections there.’
‘And were there?’
‘Possibly. The PM had a year abroad as part of her university degree course. In Geneva.’
‘And I’ll bet Ekaterina Shlovsky was there, too,’ I said.
‘Well, she wasn’t Ekaterina Shlovsky then, of course, but she was studying art history. The two could certainly have met, maybe become friends.’
‘There’s a story there, I’ll bet,’ Alex said.
‘Got to be,’ I agreed. ‘If the PM is willing to risk her career—’
‘Not to mention the security of the fucking country,’ Alex chipped in.
‘I’ll bet you anything Ekaterina Shlovsky has something on her,’ I said. ‘Either that or she did the PM a hell of a favour back in the day.’
‘I’m free, if you were thinking of sending anyone to Geneva,’ Alex said brightly, turning to Mrs Allenby.
‘Again, for another day,’ Mrs Allenby said. ‘We’ll need to think very carefully before we do anything precipitate. We’ll be walking into a minefield. Anyway, I must go. All Clearwater Security employees should take a well-deserved break.’ She nodded at me. ‘You in particular, Mr Logan.’ She turned back to the canisters. ‘Now, we just need to put these things somewhere they can’t do any harm.’
Ryan and Alex helped her scoop them up.
I followed Alan to the kitchen area. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle. ‘Twelve-year-old Macallan,’ he said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a proper drink.’
He filled a couple of glasses. ‘Slainte.’
‘Happy holidays,’ I said.
‘Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it was all going down. I know what Ryan said, but I should have been here. I guess I lost my nerve a bit.’
‘Forget about it,’ I said. ‘Nothing you could have done. I’m just glad it wasn’t you under that train.’
He nodded, then took another gulp. ‘Anyway, I don’t know if this is all too late, but I found out a bit about what you wanted.’
‘Mikhail? The brother?’
‘Yeah, seems he’s a bit of a black sheep. Almost got chucked out of the posh boarding school they sent him to when he was fifteen. Complaints from a couple of girls in the village. Daddy coughed up for a new library and it all went away, but it looked like Mikhail didn’t exactly mend his ways after that. A couple of police cautions – impossible to say if any money changed hands, but he seemed to have a knack of wriggling out of difficult situations.’
‘Sexual assault?’
‘Yeah, that seems to have been his thing. But nothing ever stuck.’
‘And now he’s safely tucked away in New York.’ None of that surprised me. In fact, I would have put money on it. But there was still another piece of the puzzle I needed. I knew I couldn’t push him, though. Either it was there, or it wasn’t.
‘You asked about Daisy, too, didn’t you?’ Alan said. ‘To see if the name ever came up in relation to Mikhail.’
I took a sip of the Scotch, trying not to seem too eager. ‘And did it?’
‘Afraid not. Anastasia, the sister, was at another school only a few miles away. Seems there was always shenanigans with boys from Mikhail’s place going over the wall, midnight trysts, that sort of thing. There was a bit of a scandal when her best friend disappeared. She’d been staying with them at Wyvern Lodge, then one day – poof – gone without trace.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Duscha. Duscha Zinchenko.’ He looked at me. ‘Does all that help at all?’
I finished the last of the whisky. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it does. Thanks, mate.’ I gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘Right, I’m off back to the flat to get some kip.’
‘Well deserved,’ he said.
‘What about you?’
‘Yeah, go back home, I suppose. I’m going to take the bus.’
Mrs Allenby had gone. Ryan was just clearing his desk, putting his laptop into a backpack.
‘Look, when we’ve all got our heads back in place, we need to meet up for a drink – the whole team,’ he said.
I looked at him.
‘Well, maybe not Mrs Allenby. Not that there’s anything . . .’
‘Yeah, good idea. Now that we know there isn’t anybody trying to kill us.’
‘Exactly. I tell you, I can’t remember the last time I had a proper night’s sleep.’
‘I’ll bet. Right, text us, yeah?’
‘Definitely.’
I put my hand on his arm. ‘One thing. You can’t remember what Weston’s regiment was, can you? Before he went into MI?’
He grabbed his coat off the rack. ‘Let me think . . . Oh yes, Twelfth Armoured Infantry Brigade. Any reason you need to know?’
I shook my head. ‘Just curiosity.’
He nodded dubiously as he closed the door behind him.
‘Pub?’ Alex asked, putting her biker jacket on. ‘Or hospital?’
‘You can talk,’ I said.
She shrugged. ‘I was thinking of getting a nose job anyway. This way was cheaper.’
‘And no waiting list,’ I said.
‘Exactly.’
‘Look, Alex, I’d like to talk. It’ll be a fucking boring evening for you and you probably won’t get a word in edgeways, but if you can face it, that would be good.’
She gave me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Of course. I’ll bring a book if I get bored. I know: Crime and Punishment.’
I gave her a blank look.
‘It’s Russian. Very famous. Never mind. Give me a call when you’re ready.’
‘Thanks. Will do.’
‘Don’t forget to turn the alarms on.’ She gave me a wave over her shoulder and left.
I stood for a moment, swaying a little, and I had to put my hands down on the table to steady myself. The booze had definitely been a mistake. Still, it wasn’t every day you stopped a mass killing, was it? And there was still plenty of time to go back to the flat, sleep it off and then get ready. I felt I could sleep for a million years.
But if I wasn’t going to have bad dreams, there was still one more thing I had to do.
62
This time I didn’t bother covering my tracks. In fact, I wanted to leave as clear a trail as possible. I left the metal plate swinging down from one bolt, so anyone shining a torch up from below could see the open window where I’d got in, and heaved myself over the sill.
With my feet planted on the bare floorboards, I stopped and listened. All I could hear was the swooshing of branches in the wind and the slow drip of water from my rain jacket onto the floor. As I took the familiar route along the corridor and up the stairs, the house felt somehow emptier than before. But maybe that was just my imagination.
I opened the door and shone my torch into the room in a slow arc. Nothing had changed since the last time I’d been there. Daisy
was still hunched in her corner, her head lolling to one side, her legs splayed, like an abandoned rag doll.
‘Hello, Daisy,’ I said.
I let the beam of the torch move slowly over her, the light glinting where the bare bone showed through the parchment skin. If she was pleased to see me, she didn’t show it.
I went to the window and opened the shutter wide, then shone the torch out into the dark so the light caught the water dripping from the trees. Would he see it? I couldn’t be sure, but something told me he would occasionally look over, perhaps before he went to bed, just to make sure all was as it should be. I waved the torch around some more, wondering if I should have brought some music, blasting some heavy drum and bass out into the night. That would definitely have got his attention. But it might have got some of the neighbours out of their beds, too, and I didn’t want that. Plus, Daisy didn’t seem to be in a party mood.
What if he didn’t come? How long could I keep this up? I hadn’t really thought past this one night.
The video camera was still there, aimed at the front of Shlovsky’s place. It didn’t really matter now, but I took a break from the lightshow and put it in my daysack. I went back to waving the torch around, wishing I’d planned things better. Then, twenty minutes later, just as my arm was starting to cramp up, I heard it. Someone entering the house, the same way I had. The only difference was, they were trying to make as little noise as possible.
‘He’s coming,’ I said to Daisy. ‘But don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.’
I turned the torch off and waited.
I had to admit, he was good. After the initial soft thump of his feet as he jumped down from the window, I’d heard nothing, not even the creak of a floorboard. It was only when the door started slowly opening that I knew he was there. I waited behind the door as he moved cautiously into the room. I could see the beam of his torch playing across the floor and over the walls. Then it stopped. He was looking at Daisy.
That was my moment.
He was standing side-on to me and I caught him just as he turned with a right-hand punch to the kidney, followed by a ridge-hand to the throat with my left. As he instinctively tried to shift out of range, I slipped behind him and caught him in a chokehold, my forearm slammed against his throat like an iron bar. Instead of pulling against me, he let his weight fall back, trying to push me off balance, feeling behind him with his hands for anything he could grab or twist, but I planted my feet firmly, gritting my teeth as I kept the pressure on. Soon I could feel his body going slack, his hands falling limply to his sides, but I wasn’t going to fall for that one, and made my grip even tighter. Then his head fell forward with a kind of choking grunt, and I knew he was out.
