High Pressure

by Sam Blake

Chapter 36

  Untangling herself from the sheet, Marissa staggered to the bathroom and retched again. She had nothing left in her stomach, but the sickness wouldn’t go.

  It was almost lunchtime, and the scent of curry drifted in through the open bedroom window, hitting her full in the face as she headed to the bedroom. Leaning on the door frame, she ran her fingers into her bobbed hair, now dark brown. The tiny flat was like an oven if she shut the window, but having it open was inviting in the smell and making her nausea worse.

  It was such a dump – peeling lino, the paint chipped. But it was cheap and anonymous and nobody gave a damn who she was. Not that she hadn’t been careful, but everything had happened so fast in the end – what had been half a plan in her head had suddenly become reality.

  The timing had been perfect, the execution not so.

  Mar coughed, her stomach muscles wrenching again. This bit definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed into the kitchenette and switched the kettle on, sitting down at the tiny glass table. The USB stick was sitting like a time bomb beside her pile of cash.

  Picking up the notes, she counted them, checking to see how much she had left.

  Not enough to head for the sun, that was for sure.

  She’d taken the flat for a week, had walked into the letting agent saying she needed something for her sister. The man behind the desk had been utterly obnoxious, had an outrageously arrogant attitude, the type that was grounded in complete ignorance. But he’d also had his eyes glued to his phone, shouting to someone in another office about the bomb – he hadn’t even looked at her. He’d taken her cash and got her to sign some sort of contract, and then thrown the key across the desk, not interested in who Minnie Mouse might be. In another life she’d have walked out, but right then, ignorant suited her just fine.

  Marissa ran her hands into her hair as another wave of nausea swept over her. What was she going to do next? Brioni was in London now – had she been trying to get in touch? Did she know she was missing?

  Thinking of Brioni made Marissa’s heart ache. She couldn’t get in touch with her now, she needed to sort all this out first and then …

  She almost had – almost. She’d gone to the address in Stratford Brioni had given her, but as she’d stood in the side passage, her heart pounding in her chest, she’d realised that she couldn’t compromise Brioni either, couldn’t put her in danger. So she’d left as quietly as she could.

  Mar didn’t want to think about not being able to contact Bri. She would, one day. She’d keep an eye on her from wherever she was, make sure she was all right.

  Marissa rubbed her hands over her face, fighting the waves of nausea. She had no idea how this was going to play out, but she knew she needed a few days, time to reconcile what she knew with exactly what she was going to do about it.

  The minute she’d felt the impact of the explosion, she’d known she had to move. The women in front of her had been blown off their feet, their designer bags scattered across a pavement covered in blood. She’d put her phone in her bag, taken her house keys and cash, and dropped her bag among their possessions. A scarf had fallen out of one of their shopping bags. She hadn’t even processed the thought, but had picked it up, and as the smoke began to clear and the noise began, she’d wrapped it around her head and had run down the road, weaving into the side streets.

  She’d found the letting agent months before, discovering the apartments on booking.com after she’d called into the library in Islington to use their internet. She hadn’t even had a plan then, had just felt huge relief in knowing there could be an escape option, even if it was only for a couple of days. The comments under the photographs of the apartments she’d found had all been from transient travellers on world trips, many of whom the letting agent had let down when they arrived. One had been so appalled at the lack of fire safety information that they had left. It was exactly the type of place she needed, run-down and a bit shady, but in the city where no one noticed what went on around them.

  When the bomb had gone off, suddenly it had been her moment of opportunity.

  If she’d known about the Indian restaurant downstairs, though, when she’d spoken to the letting agent’s receptionist in her terrible fake French accent, she might have had second thoughts.

  From the letting office she’d gone to a convenience store, one of the tiny super-expensive ones that seemed to pepper the streets around central London. There had been waves of people heading towards the sound of the explosion, trying to see what had happened, more running away from it. In the chaos she’d bought hair dye and scissors, a loaf of bread, ham, tea, milk. The basics.

  Taking a deep breath, Marissa left the bathroom and went into the kitchen diner to get a glass of water. She’d run out of bottled water, but she wasn’t ready to go out again yet. She’d spent most of the last few days in bed, sleeping some of the time and the rest of it lying awake. Thinking about what she’d done, about what she needed to do.

  About how, in order to do the right thing and keep herself from getting killed, she would have to give everything up that she loved. How was that even a choice?

  If she handed over the USB, Steve and Reiss would know exactly what had happened, and that she’d taken it. And they would come after her. They’d all come after her. But if she didn’t, how many people would die? If she handed it over and went into witness protection, she’d be safe, but she’d never be able to reconnect with her old life, with Brioni and …

  Christ, it was all such a horrible, horrible mess, and it made her sick just thinking about it.

  Being here, having space and peace to think in, had been like a decompression. The tension at home had been increasing from bad to unbearable, and she hadn’t realised quite how much she’d needed head space. But she had that now. And there was so much to think about.

  Leaning over the sink, Marissa rinsed her face with cold water. She still couldn’t believe what she’d heard that night.

  Thelma had let her off from the soup kitchen early because she’d been feeling ill. She’d put it down to a stomach bug, to the heat, had been about to call Steve when she’d realised she needed some fresh air and the walk to the house would be welcome.

  She’d forgotten her key, had come down the side passage. The patio doors had been open and she’d heard the murmur of voices, picked up the tension in the atmosphere before she’d even stepped inside. They’d been in the living room arguing when she’d come in – Steve and Reiss. She’d slipped into the kitchen, her arrival hidden by the L-shape of the room.

  It had taken her a few moments to work out what they’d been talking about. Words like ‘effective’, and ‘operative’ had been thrown about, Steve arguing that it was too soon to step up ‘the action’, Reiss disagreeing vehemently, saying they were growing and now was the time to act. He’d kept his voice down, but she’d still heard him clearly.

  ‘We have to act now, what better time could there be? The country’s divided by Brexit, and London Bridge was only a year ago. Memories are raw and fresh. IS opened the fucking door for us …’

  And then she had begun to understand what they were talking about, and why. And if it was possible for blood to run cold, hers had.

  ‘The manifesto is ready now, it’s going to be a bestseller. This is our time. Time to recruit and grow, to really make some noise.’

  She could still hear Reiss’s voice echoing inside her head.

  She’d been about to leave, but Reiss had said something about how their operational safety was paramount. Steve had said that they were getting big now, that they had to maintain control, that the USB key was safer than the cloud.

  She’d slipped out of the patio doors then, creeping across the deck, praying it wouldn’t creak, and down the side passage to the front of the house. Sick with shock, her mind a tornado of swirling information, she’d hesitated, trying to work out what she should do. The #LondonAttack messages came back to her – they were al
l over London, in every Tube station, on every bus. Run. Hide. Tell.

  But how could she? How?

  The word echoed in her head, making her dizzy, nausea rising again.

  The only thing she knew for sure, was that it was vital that the two men inside her house didn’t realise she’d overheard. Vital that things went on as normal, and that she acted as if she didn’t know anything.

  She’d gone around to the front door and leaned on the doorbell, her phone to her ear as if she was in the middle of a conversation. She’d smiled when Steve had opened the door, stunned to see her. He’d been furious that she hadn’t called him, that she’d walked home, but she’d told him it was a beautiful evening and then she’d greeted Reiss with a kiss and asked them if they’d like sorbet. Breezed in as if she hadn’t a care in the world, and was completely oblivious to the mood in the room, as hot and heavy as a summer storm.

  The USB stick had been on the coffee table in the living room.

  Without thinking, she’d put down her bag down on top of it and had started collecting the remnants of their supper, the beer glasses and plates, chatting away about the church and Thelma, and how she’d asked Dalton to come and sort out the hanging baskets next week when he’d done the lawn.

  Reiss had left, trying to hide his anger, his responses to her greeting monosyllabic, his eyes chill.

  Neither of them had realised the USB key was missing until the next morning.

  Steve had mentioned it casually at first, said it was the only copy of some major presentation they were working on at Cybex. She’d shrugged and shaken her head as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, but from the way Reiss had looked at her, she was sure he knew she had it.

  Marissa had thought about copying the data off it and giving it back to them. But Reiss would have it security locked, she was sure. He’d have something encrypted that would notify him if it was opened – who had done it and where. And wipe it, too, probably. She couldn’t take that risk.

  Instead, she’d hidden it.

  And the next day Brioni had messaged her to say she was coming to London. Trying to distract him, she’d told Steve, had acted so excited that her sister was coming home after all this time, but it hadn’t seemed to make any difference to his mood.

  That had been over a week ago. A week in which every day she’d been terrified they’d realise she had it. She hadn’t slept while she tried to work out what to do.

  Brioni hadn’t messaged again, Marissa had no idea why; she’d been so preoccupied that she’d thought that perhaps Brioni had changed her mind or lost her phone. It had taken Mar a while to work out that maybe the messages were being deleted, that Reiss was pushing Steve to keep an even closer eye on her than normal.

  And she knew exactly why they wouldn’t want her seeing Bri.

  For the same reason that Steve interfered in all her friendships – she was vulnerable on her own.

  He’d always been paranoid about her telling someone their business, as if Cybex’s activities were government-level secret or something, but he couldn’t stop her talking to Bri, and Brioni talking to her and telling her what Mar actually already knew – that she was in a relationship with a man who insisted on knowing her every move. Talking to Brioni might give her the courage to act. To leave.

  Marissa sighed. She had left now. She’d left because she feared for her own life. The question was: what did she do now? She’d thought about it long and hard.

  Witness protection would mean turning her back on everyone she loved, and she didn’t know if she was strong enough for that.

  Chapter 37

  ‘Christ, he gives me the creeps.’

  The doors to Islington Police Station closed behind her as Brioni stepped out into the blazing sunshine. It was almost one, and the sun was beating down on the street, passing cars throwing up dust that caught in her throat.

  ‘You mean Reiss?’

  ‘Who else? Even if the house wasn’t sealed, why would I give him the house key so he can creep about? I mean, what papers does he want from the house?’ Brioni paused.

  ‘He said something about doing a thesis when we were there yesterday. Perhaps he means that?’ Anna grimaced. ‘But you’d think he’d have it saved on his computer. It’s not like he’s a proper student who can’t afford to get it printed twice.’

  ‘Did you get a look at the stuff on the dining room table? His “thesis”?’ Brioni emphasised the word, her tone full of sarcasm. Anna shook her head as she continued. ‘He’s got a long way to go if he thinks that’s going to work for any academic establishment here.’

  ‘Maybe it’s distance learning or something?’

  ‘It would need to be. Maybe somewhere in China, where they don’t speak good English. The title of the thing was almost a paragraph long.’

  Anna smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s something technical? He works in cybersecurity, doesn’t he?’

  Brioni screwed up her face. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t remember it exactly, but it started with “We must secure the existence” of something. But it was literally fourteen words long. I counted them.’ She grinned. ‘I’m better with numbers than words. It sounded like some deep philosophical thing. Hardly job related.’

  Brioni didn’t notice Anna’s face pale. Before she had a chance to reply, Brioni’s phone rang.

  ‘Ooh, it’s work. Better take this.’

  A few moments later she hung up on the call.

  ‘That was Siobhan. She was mortified about ringing, but she’s been badly let down by some staff and was wondering if I could go into work.’

  ‘Are you going to?’

  Brioni shrugged. ‘I need funds and, honestly, it’ll take my mind off all this.’

  ‘I’d have to agree with you there. We have to keep going. Mike will keep us posted as far as he can.’

  Brioni pushed her phone into her backpack. ‘What about Reiss getting into the house?’

  Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Not our problem. The police will find Steve’s next of kin’s details now. I just thought he might have them handy. They’re going to be taking the house apart. This has gone to a whole different level now Counter Terrorism are involved. Whenever there’s a suspicious incident like this, it initiates a protocol that goes straight to Downing Street.’

  ‘You serious? Crap.’ Brioni couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘It’s logical, though, really, isn’t it? You’d want everyone to take things seriously and someone to co-ordinate everything so nothing gets missed.’

  ‘Exactly. Now go. Call me when your shift finishes and we’ll see where we are. Where will you be working?’

  ‘The London Irish Centre in Camden. I just have to go home to get changed and I should be able to get a bus.’ Brioni swung her backpack onto her shoulder and let out a sigh. ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t blow up while I’m there, will we?’

  Anna shook her head, half-smiling, and gave her a hug.

  ‘Go.’

  Leaving Islington Police Station, Anna headed to her hotel. She wanted to touch base with Rob, and she couldn’t have a sensitive conversation with him in the street. She checked her watch. It was early morning. in New York. She had an hour or so before Rob hit his desk.

  The Lighthouse Bar was blissfully cool after the heat of the street, but Anna went straight through and called the lift to take her to her room. She’d left the air conditioning on and she knew it would be much cooler upstairs. With the front doors open to the outside and no curtain to stop the heat coming in, the corridors of the hotel were dark, but hot.

  Upstairs, she checked her watch again and called Rob’s mobile. He answered on the second ring.

  ‘Good morning, honey, how you doing?’

  ‘I’m good. You were right about Steve’s death having an impact on the investigation. Mike’s got a whole team over at the house. He said it could take days, but they’ll literally look at every piece of paper.’

  ‘That’s good. Let’s see what they turn up.’
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  Anna sat down on the bed. ‘Listen, I was talking to Brioni earlier. She mentioned that when she was in the house, Reiss had a whole load of papers on the dining room table. He said it was a thesis. I was going to ask him what it was about, but I think Steve said something and the moment passed. The thing is that Brioni got a proper look at it. She said it had a really strange title. She can’t remember it exactly, but she thought it started with “We must secure the existence”, and it was fourteen words long.’

  There was a pause on the end of the line. Anna could imagine Rob’s face. Finally he spoke.

  ‘You serious?’

  Anna could feel her stomach twisting. ‘She didn’t know what it meant.’

  ‘We Must Secure The Border And Build The Wall To Make America Safe Again …’

  Anna could hear the hard edge in Rob’s voice as he paused. President Trump’s own fourteen words had been a less than tactful nod to a white supremacist slogan, and had set nerves on edge across the administration.

  Rob continued, half to himself. ‘We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.’

  The phrase had been coined by the leader of domestic terrorist group The Order, a guy called David Lane, who Anna knew was serving 190 years for racketeering and conspiracy to murder. She had a whole module for her second-year students on the rise of the right wing and neo-Nazism. She didn’t need to tell Rob that the numbers 14 and 88 linked to Hitler’s Mein Kampf and had great symbolic importance to white supremacists. And apparently to Reiss Chanin’s ‘thesis’.

  ‘It’s such a strange choice of words for the title of anything, that it has to be significant. Can you check him out? It could be a total coincidence—’

  Rob interrupted her. ‘I rather doubt it. As you pointed out yesterday, he and Steve are from Charleston. The probability of it being a coincidence is less than zero.’

  ‘What do you think it means?’

  ‘I don’t know, honey. I’ll alert Mike and I’ll see what we’ve got at this end.’