High Pressure

by Sam Blake

  ‘Those were my thoughts. But there’s even more. He would have been fifteen when Hurricane Bonnie hit. The parents’ house is close to the seafront. It took a real beating and his sister was killed. The mother was very badly injured, but local news reports suggested his sister was raped and it was made to look like she was a hurricane victim.’

  ‘Did they find her killer?’

  ‘Nope. I’d guess the cops were pretty stretched with hurricane relief – it’s not the ideal environment to secure a crime scene. It’s not clear who the attacker was, but the local press suggested it was a coloured parishioner who had just got out of gaol. He wasn’t accounted for post-hurricane, anyway.’

  ‘Probably had nothing to do with it. Perfect scapegoat.’

  ‘Have to agree with you there. It could be coincidental, but from the age of about sixteen onwards Chanin became much more radicalised, speaking at rallies, leading marches. Homeland Security have had their eye on him more recently.’

  ‘But then he came here to London? Is he still involved?’

  ‘That’s when it gets interesting. He met Steve in school, and Steve recommended him for a job in New York, and then when he moved here to work with Cybex, he bought Reiss over.’

  ‘They were best friends?’

  Anna pulled the sheet up to her chin.

  ‘Apparently. And with that type of history, it’s likely they shared political beliefs. Steve’s father is a judge, one who’s very fond of death row, from what I can gather. His mother comes from old cotton money.’

  ‘Which would account for Steve’s attitude to Marissa, and women not working or driving.’

  ‘It would. What’s strange is that Steve’s records are very vague. I’ve got social security numbers, driving licence, everything you’d expect, but beyond that he’s invisible. He’s never even had a parking ticket.’

  Anna screwed up her nose, trying to take in what he was saying.

  ‘Is that unusual? I’ve never had a parking ticket.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right. I need to do some more digging. I just want to be careful. We’ve no idea where their people might be, and I don’t want to alert Chanin.’

  Anna drew in a breath. ‘Is it a big network?’

  She could almost hear Rob nodding at the end of the phone.

  ‘Big and powerful, very close to the administration. They call themselves the White Wolves.’

  Chapter 43

  In Stratford, Brioni lay in her single bed, listening to the sounds of the night floating in through the open window: the constant rumble of traffic on the main road – it reminded her a bit of the sound of the sea; a dog barking; a gang of teenagers going home, or maybe out. She wasn’t sure – either way, they were drunk.

  When she’d got home, she’d had a shower, stuck her head into the living room to say goodnight to Malachi and gone straight to bed. But unfortunately, not to sleep. She turned over, trying to get comfortable. The mattress was slightly too soft and she was too hot, the air still and solid, with her own tension as much as the heat.

  Brioni didn’t want to look at her phone and check the time; she knew if she picked it up, she’d spend an hour scrolling through Instagram and Twitter looking for some sort of emotional connection. She wouldn’t find one – she’d see people talking about their cats, and stories about the world falling apart, and idle shower thoughts that would make her smile, but she’d end up feeling lonelier and more isolated than she had when she’d started. And she would have lost another hour of her life, with nothing productive to show for it.

  Brioni hated this feeling of stasis, of emptiness, of not knowing. It was as if she was in suspended animation, unable to move. She wanted things to happen; she wanted to make things happen, to find Mar and do all the things she’d been excited about when she’d arrived in London – having fun, seeing the sights with her big sister, to go to the Tate Modern, to sit out in the sun having lunch, and to wander through Trafalgar Square looking up at the lions. But right now, everything she wanted was outside of her reach. There was nothing she could actively do to make any of those things happen, and that made her feel sad and empty and out of control, a sort of hopelessness that she wasn’t used to.

  All through her Leaving Cert she’d hated school, hated the exams, but she’d applied to Empress College, and taken the scholarship exams, and whatever happened with her results and her college place, she’d made up her mind that she needed to go travelling. It had given her focus, given her something to dream about, to plan for. She’d got a job in the Hare and Hounds down the road at the weekends to start saving for her ticket, and she’d planned fifty different routes around the world, eventually settling on starting in India. When she’d got her results, with the full scholarship, her immediate future had been secured.

  Brioni turned her pillow over, trying to find a cool spot. She might only be eighteen but she’d learned that, realistically, she could do anything she wanted to in life. There was always a way. She’d always seen ‘obstacles as opportunities’ – she couldn’t remember who had said that, but she was pretty sure she’d read the quote in Time magazine and she’d loved it. It described her perfectly.

  Until now. Now she was helpless. She couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t already being actively done to find Mar. Thelma at the soup kitchen had put out the word out among the homeless Brioni and the police were investigating. Anna had given the number of the man Marissa had met in the restaurant to Mike Wesley, and his team would follow it up. Brioni still had it in her phone, but Anna’s advice – to leave it to them – was very sensible. Brioni didn’t want to call him and blunder into a delicate situation with no idea who he was, or why he had been meeting Mar. The police could find that out.

  Right now, Brioni knew she just had to trust the universe to show her the way, and pray things would work out. Brioni rubbed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist and closed her eyes. The universe had brought Anna into her life, and there had to be a reason for that.

  She sighed; she wasn’t good at not doing anything. In her head she saw things in numbers, in patterns. She subconsciously worked out the probability that she’d catch or miss the bus if she was running late. She understood time and relationships – there were patterns in everything. Pythagoras had discovered the relationship between numbers and musical notes, realising that the vibrations made by stringed instruments could be mathematically explained. Perhaps that’s why she was good at music – she’d aced her Grade 8 piano and had to be one of the few non-nerd teenagers who preferred classical music to pop. Except Queen, of course, but rock was a different thing, and Freddie Mercury was a total genius.

  Brioni turned over again, kicking the sheet off her feet. She had thought long and hard about the patterns that had brought her to this point. She’d always been fascinated by the numerical coincidences between the ratio of the age of the universe and the atomic unit of time, the number of electrons in the universe, and the difference in strengths between gravity and the electric force for the electron and proton. Were they coincidences? What was a coincidence?

  Was it a coincidence that Mar had vanished the week she’d come home? That her suitcase had been lost at the airport? That she was the one who found Steve? Brioni didn’t know, but there had to be a bigger picture here, something they weren’t seeing. But it was not knowing what that was, and feeling totally out of control of events, that was making Brioni feel so thoroughly miserable. She felt a tear slide down her face.

  Thank God she’d met Anna.

  She’d lost a sister, too, and she had survived.

  Brioni knew she was going to have to learn coping mechanisms to get through this. She turned over again. She couldn’t imagine life without Mar in it. And she wasn’t ready to, yet. She was someone who needed answers and she was going to find them, even if that meant taking small steps instead of the giant leaps she wanted to take. There had to be an explanation for everything that was happening. Buddhists didn’t believe in destiny, they believed
in karma, that every deed has a consequence, as the young priest had explained it to her in Bangkok. She’d recognised the connection his belief system had with physics – that every action has a reaction – and she’d had started to think of karma as being like an empowering energy connection that bound the human race to the universe.

  Right now she needed some karma, and she needed some answers.

  Chapter 44

  Marissa wiped a tear out of her eye. She could feel Mike’s hostility from across the room. This hadn’t been what she’d expected. Was he so furious with her for disappearing and not telling him? Turning, he ran the tap and filled a glass with water, putting it down in front of her. She reached for his hand but he avoided hers, went to lean on the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

  He had no idea of the turmoil she’d been in over the past ten days. She’d been about to tell him at lunch in Verdi’s – not everything, but to explain – but then he’d got a call and a moment later a police car had arrived to collect him.

  She put her face in her hands.

  ‘I was going to tell you. I’m so sorry. When the bus blew up, I just had to act. I knew I’d never get the chance again.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Mike shifted on the other side of the kitchen, his voice hard. She couldn’t look at him. She needed his support now, not his disapproval. Had she totally misjudged him?

  Christ, could this situation get any worse?

  Marissa drew a shaky breath. She needed to explain; he’d understand when he had the full picture. She cleared her throat.

  ‘It was a week last Thursday – I came home from the church early and I heard them talking.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Steve and this guy he works with, Reiss Chanin. They are best friends. Reiss is always at our house. I just didn’t realise why before.’

  Mike didn’t answer, just stood there waiting, his arms folded. Marissa continued.

  ‘They were talking about the bomb hoaxes in Central London, about how successful they’d been. About what they were going to do next.’

  Across the room, Mike’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’

  Marissa nodded miserably, nausea rising at the memory. She didn’t have time to be sick now, she needed to explain.

  ‘They mentioned wolves. I didn’t understand that, but Reiss was saying something about the social media being genius, about how they needed to move the action outwards now, make it bigger. He said something about making each incident look more real and how they could scale up to cover Birmingham and Manchester.’ She paused, looking up at him. ‘They are behind the hoaxes. I’m sure of it.’

  Mike took this in, his lips pursed. ‘And the bombs? Did they plant them, too?’

  Marissa looked at him, shocked.

  Was she getting through to him at all? His face was so closed.

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t able to listen for long. I was terrified they’d realise I was there. It was horrible, they were talking like it was a war. They wanted people to think the hoaxes were ISIS planting bombs, so the media would turn against the immigrant population. Reiss was so vile.’

  Mike put his hands in his pockets and nodded slowly, obviously thinking. Marissa held her breath as he spoke.

  ‘They’re called false flag attacks. Incidents that make it look like one side is the aggressor when actually it’s not them at all. It’s a tactic to get a place to implode on itself.’

  ‘They’re terrorists, aren’t they? Steve and Reiss and these wolves people. They’re putting lives in danger by dividing your resources, and inflaming the media against Muslims.’

  ‘Not just Muslims. But yes, you’re right.’

  Marissa put her hand over her mouth, closing her eyes. She’d known it since she’d heard them talking, but hearing it confirmed by someone else was overwhelming.

  ‘I think there’s more – something much bigger. Reiss was saying it was time to act now, but Steve said something about putting it all in the plan first, about needing to have all the information to communicate with and build cells outside London, that they couldn’t rush it. They’d had a lot to drink, I could hear it in their voices. Reiss kept saying it was stupid to put all their documents in one place, but Steve said the USB was safer, that it was encrypted, that they couldn’t save their working documents on an individual machine in case it was stolen, and the cloud can be hacked. Reiss sort of agreed, then he said they needed to be really careful, that he’d locked the key so it would wipe if the wrong person opened it.’

  Marissa took a sip of water from the glass in front of her, stared at it as she continued, reliving everything.

  ‘I left then. I went back down the side passage and rang the front doorbell. Steve was really cross I’d walked home. When I went into the living room, I saw the USB stick. They had it on the table. There were all these empty beer glasses. I picked them up and cleared everything away. But I picked up the USB, too. It’s here.’

  Reaching for her bag, she unzipped it and fished out the small black plastic stick. It looked so innocuous, but she knew how valuable it was.

  ‘They must know you’ve got it?’

  Marissa shook her head. ‘They were both well-oiled. It was wasn’t until the next day that they realised they didn’t have it – I think they both thought the other one had it.’

  She paused, putting the USB down on the polished pine table in front of her, and picking up her glass to take another sip of water. Her mouth had gone dry.

  ‘Steve tore the whole living room apart searching for it, but I pretended I hadn’t seen it. Our cleaner had been in by then, I kept buying time by saying I’d forgotten to ask her about it. He couldn’t make too much fuss – he said it was to do with work.’

  ‘Tell me what happened with Steve then?’

  She took a shaky breath. ‘He came to the restaurant. He pretended he was just walking past, but I think he’d guessed I was meeting someone. I was so frightened, Mike. I was going to tell you then, but you had to go. Every day I had the stick I’d thought I should take bring it to you directly, but if Steve knew I’d gone to New Scotland Yard…” She put her hand to her head. “I’d put in my diary that I was meeting someone called Jacinta. You know how he checks everything, how I have to be doing something real whenever we meet.’ Marissa paused, her voice starting to shake. ‘After he left, I had to keep going like normal. He could have had someone following me – so I went up to Oxford Street. I was so frightened, and then Thelma texted and I realised I’d forgotten about going to the church.’

  She could feel her panic rising again, could hear it in her voice as she continued.

  ‘As soon as I overheard them that night, I googled these Wolves. It’s a group Reiss started. They’ve killed people, Mike. In America, there are a string of racist murders they’ve been linked to.’ She shuddered; the murders she’d read about had been brutal. The images had stuck inside her head. Some things you could never unsee. ‘If they knew what I’d heard, that they were behind everything … I started planning how to get away then. I’d already found this letting agent that took cash. I knew I had to leave my phone or Reiss would be able to find me – he can hack anything. So then when the bus blew up …’

  ‘But Steve?’

  ‘He can’t know. He can’t know I’m not dead. I can’t go into witness protection – I can’t leave everything. And my sister is back from travelling. I need to see her to explain. Steve won’t ever stop looking for me. I was going to give you the USB at lunch, but—’

  ‘He’s dead, Mar. Steve’s dead.’

  ‘What? How?’

  Even though she was sitting down, Marissa felt herself sway. She put her hand to her forehead again.

  What on earth was going on?

  Her shock seemed to make Mike relax. He left his post leaning on the counter and, pulling out the chair closest to her, sat down at the table. He put out his hand to hold hers, rubbing the back of it.

  ‘The first responders thought it wa
s a suicide, but we’ve reason to believe it was murder. There’s evidence to suggest it was some sort of lynching.’

  Marissa reached for his hand, gripping it. She needed his strength so badly right now. She could feel her stomach heaving.

  ‘Who?’ It came out as a whisper.

  ‘We don’t know. But because of your disappearance in the blast, counter terrorism is involved. Your information will be crucial.’

  Then it dawned on her why he’d been so distant.

  ‘Did you think it was me? That I’d killed him?’

  Mike looked at her hard. ‘I’m a copper, Mar, I’ve been a copper for a long time. Everyone’s a suspect. I didn’t know where you were.’

  She looked at him, dazed, her mind moving slowly as if she was wading through a patch of quicksand. Was this shock?

  ‘Do I need an alibi? I’ve been on my own since the bomb went off. I’ve only been out of the flat a couple of times. I don’t know how I can prove that.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’

  She looked at him, shocked.

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘Was it because of me and the USB stick? Perhaps Reiss thought Steve had hidden it and was going to turn it in?’

  Mike rubbed her hand again. ‘We’re looking at everyone’s alibis, and CTU are examining the house. This information changes the whole picture.’

  ‘If Reiss couldn’t get what he wanted from Steve, he’ll know it was me – he’ll come after me.’

  ‘We’ll keep you safe. I promise. He thinks you could have been on the bus. We can let him know we believe that, too. Identifying casualties is a very slow process, we’ve got a bit of time to work something out.’

  ‘Have you seen Brioni? Does she know? She’s back now, she’s staying in Stratford. I deleted her messages off my old phone, I didn’t want Steve seeing them, and now I’ve forgotten her phone number.’