by Anne Cassidy
Neither of them spoke.
Then Rose leant against him, her body heavy with worry.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He kissed the side of her hair and she felt her skin prickle. He put his arms around her and pulled her towards him and kissed her on her face and then her mouth. Her eyes were closed and she moved her head so that she could feel his lips on hers. His hands were moving up and down her back and she raised her arms to clasp him round the neck.
‘I’m not sure how right this is, you and me . . .’ he whispered.
‘It is right,’ she said, pressing into him.
He kissed her again for a long time. When he stopped she felt breathless.
‘It’s late – let’s go in here,’ he said.
He led her towards his bedroom door.
TWENTY-THREE
The London Eye seemed utterly still against a brilliant blue sky. Rose saw it as soon as they came out of the tube exit. They went up some steps and stood at the north end of Hungerford Bridge. It sat like a sombre fairground ride on the bank of the river.
Joshua was wearing a dark overcoat and around his neck was a red cashmere scarf that he said he’d been given by his uncle years before but never worn. The dressing was off his ear and all he had was a flesh-coloured plaster on the wound. The strangest thing of all was that he was wearing Skeggsie’s glasses. There was glass in the frames but he insisted he could still see through them. It made him seem like a different person.
Rose had on a Union Jack baseball cap of Joshua’s which had been left over from the Olympics. It covered her head and forehead. Underneath the peak she could hold the binoculars. It wasn’t much of a disguise but it was enough to make her look like a tourist. She had her hands-free earphones in, the remote hanging by her throat, most of it hidden by her hair.
It was 11.32 a.m.
‘I’m going across to the County Hall building. I’ll find a vantage point and I’ll call you. Once you get my call don’t disconnect even if you don’t hear me speak for a while,’ Joshua said.
She nodded and grabbed his sleeve suddenly fearful of what might happen.
‘Just look as though you’re a tourist and remember Dad’s wearing a light blue padded jacket.’
He gave her a hug and then walked off. She thought, fleetingly, of the night before. So much was happening between them and yet it had to be pushed to the back of her mind. This was the important thing, getting her mum back safe. There was lots of time to think about the two of them when this was all over. She took some gum out and put it into her mouth. The chewing calmed her and made her mouth less dry. She looked around. The bridge wasn’t crowded, just a few couples walking across. Parallel to the walkways was the train line which sliced through the centre of the bridge. Every now and again Rose could hear and feel the deep rumble of a train heading for Charing Cross. Looking across the water she couldn’t see any crowds at the base of the London Eye. There were trees alongside the river blocking her view.
She walked along the bridge, holding the peak of her cap down. That morning Joshua had taken a long call from Brendan giving them more information. He had told his employer that his wife, Kate, had been in London to visit her elderly father and found him fragile and rather unwell. She’d decided to stay with him for a few days and might not be available for Macon’s birthday celebrations. It meant that Brendan and her mother’s cover with Macon Parker was still intact.
As if that mattered to Rose – all she cared about was getting her mother safely back from Lev Baranski.
Halfway across the bridge she stopped and took the binoculars out and lifted them up to her eyes. She pointed them at the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. She stood looking at these historical sites for some minutes, playing her part as a tourist, panning the binoculars slowly to the left as though she was trying to take in every detail of the horizon. When she got to the London Eye she paused. She could see the queues of people in and around the trees that lined the river. There were a couple of buskers performing to the people awaiting their turn. Behind the London Eye was a green space, the size of a small park. There were some white marquees on it and a carousel. Rose let the glasses focus on one of the horses on the fairground ride. It was white and its mane was jet black. There were painted jewels on its bridle and its mouth was open slightly as if caught in a neigh. Rose let the glasses sweep past the queues to the left again and saw the concrete buildings of the Royal Festival Hall. She remembered then that Joshua was on the far side of the Eye at County Hall. She swivelled the glasses back and looked for him against the chunky grey building but she couldn’t see him. She decided to walk a bit further across the bridge. A train went chugging by, slowing down, its great weight seeming to fan out across the walkway. A group of tourists were lining up for a photograph and Rose waited so that she didn’t spoil the shot. They all headed off towards the Eye and she attached herself to the group, listening as they spoke rapidly to each other in Spanish. When she was three quarters of the way across the bridge she stood still and held the binoculars up to her eyes again.
She saw Brendan.
He was wearing the blue padded jacket. It was a light blue, like a skiing jacket, and he was standing by the front of the queue for the Eye. He was apart from it though as if he was deliberately placing himself in full view so that someone could see him. She had a squirming feeling in her stomach. Whatever Munroe and Brendan had planned had to go right. Her mum had to come back safely but Brendan too. She moved the binoculars back to the river so that it seemed as though she was looking everywhere and not focusing on the Eye.
Her phone vibrated. She put her hand in her pocket and accessed the call.
‘Keep the line open, Rosie,’ Joshua said, his voice in her ear.
‘All right,’ she said, adjusting the volume.
It was 11.48.
Now that she’d seen Brendan in his bright jacket she didn’t need the glasses so she shoved them in her pocket for a moment. She looked towards the building behind the London Eye. She knew that there was a road behind it and that that was the most likely place for Lev Baranski to get out of a car and bring her mother. Unless he changed his mind and came alone. Joshua had said that was always a possibility. He might tell Brendan to go somewhere with him, threatening her mother in some way if he did not. On the other hand he might just bring her mother out into the open and swap her for Brendan. Baranski knew that no police could be involved. There would be no sharpshooters perched on the tops of buildings watching for him.
‘Rosie?’ Joshua said, his voice scratchy.
‘Yes?
‘I’m by the corner of County Hall. I can’t see Munroe anywhere. Can you see him?’
‘I’ll look for him.’
She took the binoculars out of her pocket and scanned the area around the Eye. She pictured Munroe in his Crombie overcoat and looked for it for a few moments but then, by chance, she saw Munroe’s face. He was standing by one of the marquees. She had to look twice because he was wearing a dark, boxy jacket and light-coloured trousers. He turned to the side and she could see that on his back he had a rucksack which looked as though it had a French flag sewn on the side. He too was attempting to look like a tourist. She saw him lift the inside of his wrist up to his mouth and speak. He looked like a secret service man guarding a politician. She glanced quickly at Brendan who wasn’t speaking to anyone, just eyeing his watch and looking round.
‘Munroe’s by the marquees on the grass,’ she said quietly, angling her voice down to her neck.
A few moments later she heard his voice in her ear.
‘I see him.’
It was 11.57. Rose pulled the front of her cap down and stretched her arms, feeling her joints click. She took the chewing gum out of her mouth and wrapped it in a tissue and put it in the zip compartment of her bag. When she looked back to the green behind the Eye she saw three figures walking across the grass. Two men and a woman. Her jaw tightened. Even though she knew it was her mother she used the binoculars to see
who else was there.
‘Baranski’s coming with Mum. Mikey’s there too. They’re heading towards Brendan.’
‘I see them,’ Joshua said, his voice in a whisper as if they might hear him.
Rose lowered the glasses and watched the trio go past the marquees and past the place where James Munroe had been standing. She wondered where he had gone. Mikey had his arm around her mother’s shoulder and one of his hands was in her mother’s pocket, Joshua must have seen it clearly as well.
‘I think Mikey’s got a gun on Kathy.’
‘I see it.’
Rose felt her stomach contract. She put the binoculars in her pocket and walked closer to the south end of the Hungerford Bridge. She saw that the three had slowed as they came up to Brendan. Brendan gave them a scowl, not seeming to pay any attention to her mum. Baranski stood apart from the couple and spoke to Brendan pointing towards the Royal Festival Hall. Brendan shook his head.
‘He must be asking Dad to go with him,’ Joshua said.
Rose lifted the binoculars again. She focused on the four faces. Her mother’s face was calm but Mikey looked annoyed. Baranski was gesticulating with his hands, pointing up the embankment as though he wanted Brendan to walk there. Looking through the group, she thought she saw Joshua mingling on the other side of the queue, Skeggsie’s heavy-framed glasses standing out. She hoped he wasn’t going to try and do anything – they’d promised to leave it to James Munroe.
Where was James Munroe?
Brendan and Baranski started to walk away from her mum and Mikey. She heard Joshua’s voice.
‘Mikey’s staying with Kathy. Maybe he’s not going to let her go until he gets a call from Baranski to say that Dad’s got into a car. I don’t like this. I don’t see Munroe. I don’t like the idea of Dad getting into a car. Rosie, follow them, keep your eye on where Baranski takes Dad.’
Rose headed for the stairs. She had to wait as a party of tourists meandered up before she could get off the bridge on to the South Bank of the river. All the while she kept her eye on Brendan’s blue jacket. Once off the bridge she saw them up ahead. Brendan was lagging behind Baranski. Baranski wasn’t touching him or holding him and didn’t seem to have a weapon of any sort. It was her mother who had a gun pointed at her. That was the only reason why Brendan was going quietly.
‘I see them. I’m following,’ she said breathlessly.
‘I’m staying with Mikey. Cut the call for now.’
Rose ended the call. She continued to follow Brendan and Baranski. They walked ahead, like dozens of other tourists and sightseers, passing the Royal Festival Hall and the shops and restaurants that fronted the river. Brendan stopped for a moment and tied his shoelaces while Baranski appeared to be berating him. Rose stopped for a second. Was Brendan trying to slow Baranski down? She leant her elbows on the river wall, as if looking at the beach below. Then she continued after them. Up ahead was Waterloo Bridge. Rose wondered where Baranski was heading – somewhere where there was a car waiting, she thought. The man was clearly losing patience. He was tugging at Brendan’s arm, hurrying him along.
Someone bumped into her. Something hit her ankle, making her gasp with pain. She turned round but by then the person had gone past.
It was a man pulling a small suitcase on wheels. A tall man in a flowing overcoat walking swiftly as if he was terribly late for something. It was the suitcase that had mounted her ankle and he hadn’t seemed to notice.
She kept going, panicking as her view of Brendan and Baranski became obscured by other people. She sidestepped them and quickened up just as the pair went under Waterloo Bridge. The man with the suitcase had caught up with them. He was walking alongside Baranski. He seemed to have slowed down as if he was joining the pair.
Rose watched.
The man did an unexpected thing.
He raised his left arm straight out until it was level with his own shoulder. He seemed to be pointing a finger at Baranski’s head. A moment passed and Rose suddenly knew what was going to happen.
Her mouth opened with shock. She was just stepping under Waterloo Bridge when she heard the sound like a whip, a loud crack echoing. It came from the man’s hand. The man with the suitcase on wheels. Baranski’s head jerked to one side and there was a puff of vapour in the air, so slight that it vanished in an instant.
Baranski collapsed.
Brendan stepped away from him and carried on walking.
The man with the suitcase kept on going as if nothing had happened. She knew then and there that the man was Frank Richards. Maybe he had bumped into her deliberately, to slow her up, to keep her back. Now he veered to the right, pulling his suitcase with him.
People stopped and looked round not sure what the sound had been. Rose couldn’t move. Frank Richards had executed Baranski, coldly and efficiently. Her eyes dropped down to the Russian who had fallen untidily, his head at an odd angle to his neck, a dark viscous shape expanding beneath his head.
Rose felt her legs tremble.
She turned and saw a few metres away the figure of Mikey running towards the bridge. He was sprinting, his face hard and angry.
Rose pulled the earpiece from her ear and walked away, passing Mikey before he reached his boss. Other people were heading towards the bridge, some breaking into a run. Behind her she heard people shouting, ‘He’s been shot!’ ‘Someone has shot this man!’ ‘Call the police, a man’s been killed!’ She glanced round and saw Mikey on his knees beside Baranski’s body. She quickened her step staggering towards the river wall, pulling off the Union Jack cap and letting it drop by her feet. Just then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.
She spun round.
It was Joshua. She grabbed his wrist.
‘Frank Richards killed Baranski. I saw him. I know it was him,’ she said, her voice high-pitched, squeaky.
Joshua put his arms round her and shushed her.
‘He shot him in the head. It was horrible,’ she whispered.
‘He was going to kill my dad, Rosie,’ he said, manoeuvring her, moving her further along the wall.
‘What about Mum?’ she said.
‘Safe. She’s gone with Munroe.’
There was the sound of sirens in the distance and Rose could see a policeman hurrying along the pathway in the direction of Waterloo Bridge. Rose’s eyes stayed on him as he approached the bloody mess on the ground that was Baranski. Her eyes searched the area for Mikey but it didn’t look as though he was there any more. She looked back to Joshua’s face. He didn’t seem upset in the slightest.
‘It was perfectly organised,’ he was saying with awe. ‘And it happened in seconds. Mikey was holding Kathy’s arm at the London Eye when she seemed to swoon. Her legs gave way and she just crumpled on to the ground. He had to try and pull her up and then Munroe was there behind him. Munroe must have been holding a knife or gun at his back because Mikey seemed to freeze and Kathy stepped away from him. Then Mikey gave Munroe his gun and at that minute Frank Richards came past and Munroe handed it to him. No one saw a thing. The man walked on, pulling his suitcase. Just like any other tourist.’
Rose remembered Frank Richards moving quickly and purposefully. Like a relay runner he’d already picked up the baton and then overtook everyone until he got level with Baranski.
‘Munroe held Mikey there for a few minutes. He was talking in his ear and Mikey was getting more and more angry. It was like holding a dog on a leash and then letting it go. Munroe must have put his weapon away because Mikey shot off after Baranski. Maybe he thought he could get there in time.’
Rose didn’t want to hear any more but Joshua went on.
‘The gun will have Mikey’s prints on it.’
Crowds were gathering and the police siren sounded as if it was close. Rose felt unwell.
‘I want to see Mum.’
‘Soon. For the moment we’re joining in with the shocked public. We’re onlookers. Give us a chance to calm down.’
Rose stood while other people surroun
ded her. She felt Joshua’s arm around her waist, holding her up. There were people talking excitedly. ‘Murder! In daylight!’
Rose’s stomach churned with nerves. Joshua wanted her to calm down. She doubted she would ever be calm again.
TWENTY-FOUR
An hour later they were in a cafe a couple of streets away from Liverpool Street Station. Munroe had told them to meet there. Rose was drinking black coffee. It wasn’t a drink she liked much but she needed a jolt of something to shake her out of the malaise that was gripping her. She was in a corner seat and Joshua was across from her. She needed to adjust, to rearrange all the things in her head. Her mum was alive, so was Brendan. That was the important thing. She could smell food cooking and felt pangs of hunger but she couldn’t imagine herself eating a thing.
The door of the cafe opened and James Munroe came in. Brendan was following him. They were both wearing macs. Munroe’s was a dark colour, black maybe, Brendan’s was beige. Munroe spoke to Brendan then walked towards the counter.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Rose said as soon as Brendan got to them.
‘She’s at the hotel sleeping it off. She’s had a bad night,’ he said, sitting down, pushing his chair back from the table a bit as if he wanted to distance himself.
Rose felt pained. She’d been so worried about her mother, so desperate to see her, and yet her mother had gone back to a hotel room rather than come and see Rose. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t there sitting next to her. She couldn’t bring herself to ask. It would seem churlish.
Joshua reached across and put his hand on his father’s.
‘Dad, I’m so glad you’re all right,’ he said.
Rose wondered what had happened to the blue ski jacket. Had it been splattered when Baranski was shot? Had Brendan got rid of it, left it somewhere because it might identify him in some way?
‘I think we all need to discuss what happens next,’ Munroe said, putting two hot drinks on the table and sitting down.
‘Was Mum hurt?’ Rose said.
