Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1)

by Paddy Magrane

  Frears rushed down the corridor towards the lift.

  Chapter 67

  Downing Street

  Eleanor realised how little she’d eaten that day. The gin & tonic, and now the sip of wine she’d drunk simply to settle her rampant anxiety, had gone straight to her head. She was giddy, nauseous. Her head ached. She felt as if she were waiting for the executioner.

  That this might be Aidan no longer seemed likely. She was no expert in psychosis, but the idea of him attacking her, when she visualised it in her head, seemed absurd. Whether he’d killed that girl or not, there was no anger right now, no whiff of madness about him. No, the threat she was convinced she faced was from the men in the pub. She shuddered, her body breaking out in goose bumps.

  ‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Aidan. ‘You know where it is – just down the hall.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  The conversation had become stilted. Attempting to be chatty and normal was becoming an unbearable strain.

  Locking the door behind her, she sat down on the closed toilet seat, took out her phone and began texting:

  Forced to come to downg st with aidan. They threatened to kill my mother.

  She felt the futility of the message even as she pressed ‘send’. What could Samdo? But to feel even vaguely connected to him seemed somehow comforting. She leaned back against the toilet, scanning the room to distract herself. There was a large, free-standing bath, an antique table by it – Indian perhaps – covered in shampoos and conditioners. A shower enclosed in glass. A basin sitting beneath a mirror-fronted cabinet. What secrets would she find in there, Eleanor wondered? To the right of the basin, just before a window, was a large red push button at shoulder height. She’d seen a similar one in the kitchen.

  Eleanor closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of her fears, and how they shaped the way she’d been all evening. Desperate not to upset Aidan in any way, to play to his interests. Her shoulders ached with tension.

  She stood, flushing the toilet, and then unlocked the bathroom. As she walked back towards the kitchen, the front door of the apartment opened.

  Chapter 68

  St James’s, London

  Sam was walking north away from St James’s – his mobile gripped tightly in his hand as he debated the pros and cons of dialling Eleanor’s number – when he received her text. The stomach-churning theory that had been building since she’d disappeared was now confirmed. Eleanor was in Downing Street.

  Sam froze for a moment, the air around him suddenly cold. How could they have been so naive?

  He looked around him. There was a man at a stall selling hotdogs, the whiff of onions and sausage fat nauseating. An old woman feeding pigeons by a lake in the park. Moving towards him, a group of schoolchildren shepherded by a teacher.

  He’d never been more alone.

  Chapter 69

  Downing Street

  Eleanor recognised the tall man immediately from the pub. He was still wearing a suit but had removed his tie. He seemed to be rapidly assessing the situation, a look of mild surprise on his face. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this.

  He held up a hand. ‘You need to stay right where you are, Miss Scott.’

  Aidan had emerged from the kitchen and was now in front of her. Eleanor was trapped behind them.

  ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’ Aidan groaned.

  ‘Because it’s not safe to do that,’ hissed the man.

  He began directing both of them towards the kitchen. Aidan moved first but Eleanor paused. The man moved down the hall at a pace, grabbing her arm and wrenching it as he pulled her back towards the kitchen. He flung her into the room, her thigh slamming hard into the table. For a moment, she found the man’s eyes staring at her, pupils blazing with anger.

  But a second later, the man lashed out to the right. Out of Eleanor’s vision, Aidan had clearly made a movement towards him, and the tall man had reacted with force. She watched in horror as the two men grappled in front of her, blocking her route out of the kitchen to the lift.

  The man elbowed Aidan in the stomach. He let out a winded cry of pain and bent over, clutching his belly. He then dropped to his knees in the hallway outside the kitchen.

  In a swift movement, the man was behind Aidan. He pushed him stomach-first on to the carpet and sat astride him. He then yanked both of Aidan’s hands behind his back, holding them with one of his own. With the other, he pulled his tie from a jacket pocket.

  Eleanor stood, frozen on the spot with terror. She wanted to run as fast as she could from the apartment. But she was trapped by the men blocking her path. At the same time she knew that, with Aidan almost restrained, the tall man would turn on her. She looked round frantically, then saw the red button. She darted towards it, pressing down firmly with the palm of her hand.

  The sound of an alarm instantly broke out. It was like a repetitive klaxon, far louder than a fire alarm.

  ‘You stupid bitch!’ shouted the man over the deafening din. Beneath him, Aidan had started to thrash about. A leg shot out and kicked the tall man in his crotch. He momentarily lost his grip, groaning in agony. Aidan seized his chance, crawling forwards away from the kitchen and down the corridor towards his bedroom. But as quickly the tall man was on his feet and moving towards Aidan to leap on to his back.

  There was now a clear path out of the flat. Eleanor grabbed her bag and Aidan’s glass, dashing from the kitchen.

  A moment later she was out of the apartment’s front door and in front of the lift. The light above the doors indicated ‘G’. She didn’t dare wait, turning left through a door marked ‘emergency exit’. She found herself on a staircase. It had to be the same service access that connected the kitchen with the ground floor. If she went down, she was confident she’d soon find herself back in the reception rooms – and close to the front door. In between the rhythmic screeches of the alarm she could hear other sounds, raised voices from downstairs, people running.

  Chapter 70

  Downing Street

  Even from his position on Horse Guards Road, Sam could hear the alarm. The two policemen on the gates reacted immediately, visibly tensing, heads dipping as they listened to the crackle on their shoulder-mounted radios.

  Moments later, four more policemen joined them. Two took up positions facing out, the remaining four facing in. Their machine guns were no longer loosely held, but gripped tight, aimed forward.

  Had Eleanor activated a fire alarm? Or, judging by the policemen’s reaction, something more serious?

  Through the gates in the distance, Sam could see people spilling on to the pavement in Downing Street, moving towards the gates at the eastern end. If Eleanor was among them, this would be the direction she’d come. He had to get round the other side. He looked to the north. Horse Guards Parade Ground stretched across several blocks. There was no way he’d be able to cross to Whitehall through there. He turned south, breaking into a jog, his leg wound protesting with sharp jolts of pain every time his left foot hit the pavement.

  Chapter 71

  Downing Street

  On the next landing Eleanor joined others, staff that had been working on the third floor. They pushed through double doors on to the landing. Behind them, Eleanor saw a corridor, doors opening and more people emerging.

  ‘We need to evacuate the building fast,’ said a man who seemed to be acting as a kind of marshal. Suddenly their path down the stairs was blocked by a team of police pacing up the stairs. They were dressed in flak jackets and clutching handguns.

  The staff paused, united in their shock at seeing armed men move through what should have been one of the safest houses in the world.

  With the police now on the next flight up, Eleanor joined the others on their journey out of the house. They moved down the service stairs to the second and first floors, where more staff members joined the exodus. There was a sense that they’d all been trained for this moment. Th
e pace was calm, a shared understanding that, if they panicked, people would be trampled. Yet the expressions Eleanor saw on faces suggested another story. The woman next to her – in her fifties, with greying hair – was fraught, her eyes darting about as if she were a trapped animal.

  Finally they were on the ground floor and then moving through double doors into one of the reception rooms Aidan had shown her earlier. She remembered the vast Persian carpet, a wall painted in deep terracotta. A moment later she could see the open door ahead.

  Two armed policemen, standing right outside the front door, were directing them left, telling them to keep tightly to the side of the building and move in single file towards the Whitehall entrance. Ahead, at the open gates, police cars were streaming through, blue lights flashing. The gates were then closed again. Eleanor began to panic. Would she be stuck here?

  As she moved slowly along the side of the building, she looked out at Whitehall. People were beginning to be ushered away. But across the road, a crowd of spectators was gathering. She scanned their faces, willing Sam to be there.

  A moment later, she joined a group of around fifty people at the gate. She pushed herself through the throng and looked out at Whitehall. It was then Sam came into view. Jogging, with visible difficulty, from the direction of Parliament Square. He was on her side of Whitehall but she knew he’d soon be directed across the road.

  Sure enough, he came up against a wall of police who gestured for him to move to the other side of the road. She watched Sam cross in front of the now stationary traffic, halted by a police car parked at an angle across the road, blue lights pulsing.

  As if the bomb-proof steel of the gates wasn’t enough of a barrier, there was now a line of police officers directly outside the gates.

  Eleanor’s stomach lurched as she realised what would happen next. She’d be interviewed – grilled as to why she was here, and what had happened.

  She closed her eyes momentarily, attempting to form a coherent and plausible story in her head. She and Aidan were old friends; he was her father’s godchild.

  A terrifying possibility interrupted her thought process. What if the tall man caught up with her?

  There was a crush at the gate as the group she was with was herded into a corner. She found herself pressed against the railings. On the other side, the police line had momentarily shifted. They seemed to be gathering around an officer, listening to instructions about what was turning out to be a rapidly developing situation.

  To her left, another crowd had developed, held in check by a single officer. Another officer rushed over to him, cupping a hand over his ear. A moment later, he shouted at the crowd, asking them to stay where they were, then rushed to the huddle receiving orders by the gates.

  It was then that Eleanor saw Sam emerge from the crowd to her left. He was walking towards the railings, mouthing the words ‘You OK?’

  Eleanor nodded. Sam was now feet from her. She turned to her right. The officer giving orders at the gate seemed to be winding up, the men around him ready to resume positions. It was now or never.

  Eleanor passed her bag through the railings. Sam snatched it and walked quickly back in the direction he’d come.

  *

  Sam was half-expecting one of the police officers to call out. But there was no shout. He merged into the crowds, pushing past people too interested in the drama in front of them to notice him. Then, with a final shove of his shoulder, he was free.

  As he moved further away from Downing Street, the pavements were eerily quiet. Up ahead, Whitehall had been sealed off at Trafalgar Square. The few people remaining were being ushered to a cordon at that point.

  Sam sneaked a look inside Eleanor’s bag. There, nestling on the soft bed of her scarf, was a wine glass.

  They had the evidence they needed. But, in the process, he’d lost Eleanor.

  Chapter 72

  Downing Street

  The police unit at Downing Street, part of the Met’s Diplomatic Protection Group, is based in a small building at the western end of the street. Here, in addition to providing a 24-hour operations base for the officers protecting the PM, a small cache of arms is kept and there are briefing rooms and two seldom-used cells. While there are plenty of incidents outside the sealed-off zone of Downing Street which are dealt with by the Met, it’s extremely rare that anything occurs within.

  Frears stared at the blank walls of his cell, trying to form an action plan in his head. His brain longed for the comparative simplicity of a combat situation. Manpower and weaponry available, terrain, conditions, enemy position, objective. Sure, the situation could change rapidly, but at least you were trained for that. For this, he had no training.

  He heard the door being unlocked and a man in a grey suit walked in.

  ‘Major Frears, I’m Commander Lynch. This won’t take long. Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?’

  Frears shook his head.

  ‘Fine,’ said Lynch. ‘Then let’s get started. Can you tell me why you were in the Prime Minister’s private apartment?’

  Frears looked up. It was then he realised what the best approach was.

  ‘Major Frears?’

  Lynch sighed. ‘How about why you were found restraining the Prime Minister’s son with extreme force?’

  Silence again.

  ‘Of course it’s your prerogative to remain silent, but in time you will have to explain your actions. And in the meantime we will be listening to whatever Eleanor Scott says with even greater interest.’

  The door shut behind Lynch. Frears clenched and then unclenched his fists. This was Stirling’s mess and his alone to resolve. But did the PM really have the ingenuity – or the balls – to do that, wondered Frears? Or would other measures be necessary?

  *

  Two doors further down, Eleanor sat in more comfortable surroundings, in a small lounge where members of the DPG took their breaks. She was trying to slow her heartbeat as she struggled to convince herself that those who’d drawn her out of the crowd and gently led her to this room did not mean her harm. It was all too official somehow, wholly lacking the dark threats of the man from the pub or the violence of the tall figure who’d attacked Aidan. And of course there were now dozens of witnesses who could attest to her presence in Downing Street. They couldn’t just make her disappear, surely? She thought of her mother, and her heart began to race again. She had to call her.

  There was a brief murmur of conversation outside and then a man stepped into the room.

  ‘Hello Miss Scott,’ he said, with a stern expression, ‘my name’s Lynch. You realise you single-handedly triggered the largest security alert in Downing Street’s history since the IRA fired a mortar into the garden in 1991.’

  Eleanor smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was terrified.’

  She felt her eyes welling with tears, though for reasons Lynch could not know.

  ‘You scared the hell out of a lot of people today, Miss Scott,’ said Lynch. He appeared to soften. ‘But I dare say they’ll recover. And practising the evacuation procedure never hurts.’

  He smiled, suggesting that this issue was resolved. ‘Can I ask about the other man now?’

  Eleanor nodded, a brief shudder running through her as she remembered how close she’d come to the man who, she now knew, had been hounding them so relentlessly.

  ‘You say you were having a drink with Aidan, chatting about your late father.’

  Eleanor focused her dark eyes, now rimmed with tears, on Lynch.

  ‘And the other man arrived, unannounced, and attacked Aidan.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘This attack,’ said Lynch. ‘Can you tell me what might have prompted it?’

  Eleanor closed her eyes, replaying the horror, while mulling over an adequate response. She now realised that, in all likelihood, the tall man was restraining a killer. But as an answer, that would not do right now. She settled, in the end, for a partial truth.

  ‘I’m not sure
,’ she said. ‘It all happened so fast.’

  ‘Take your time, Miss Scott.’

  ‘All I know is that he came in and Aidan seemed really angry about him being there, saying something like “why can’t you leave me alone?” Then the other man said that it wasn’t safe to do that. He moved us both into the kitchen and that’s when it happened. I’m not sure if Aidan attacked him or whether the other man just lost his temper, but within seconds the two of them were on the floor.’

  Lynch nodded. ‘And then you got scared, and pressed the alarm.’

  Eleanor nodded.

  ‘OK,’ said Lynch. His eyes remained locked on Eleanor’s. She kept the contact.

  Finally Lynch broke it, smiling again. ‘I don’t think there’s any reason to keep you any longer.’

  Eleanor felt a rush of such huge relief, she began to cry.

  ‘Traumatic experience, I’m sure,’ said Lynch. ‘Would you like me to arrange for someone to accompany you home?’

  Eleanor shook her head.

  ‘I’ll call a cab then. If we need to ask you anything else, we’ll be in touch.’

  As soon as she was outside the west gate, Eleanor dialled her home number. It began to ring. And ring. Eleanor wanted to scream.

  ‘Hello?’

  It was Jill’s voice. Cheery, optimistic, and most definitely alive. Eleanor collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter 73

  Downing Street

  The sitting room in the apartment had finally calmed. Aidan sat on the sofa, heavily tranquilised, while Charlotte, in the floor-length gown she’d worn to the state dinner for the French President – ears and neck dripping in Bowlby family jewellery – signed a series of forms at the table. Seated next to her, a softly spoken psychiatrist was explaining where they were taking Aidan now. Hopefully to a bloody big hole, thought Stirling.