Touched by this admission of concern, Jay put an arm round his mother’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll be all right, Mum. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Except the killers hunting for us, and the crazies trying to blow up London, he thought, but it was probably best not to mention that kind of thing to your mother.
“I do worry about you, Jay,” his mother said.
“Oh, er, sorry.” Sandra, having just walked into the kitchen, started backing out again.
“Oh, hello, Sandra. Come on in.”
“Mum’s just made us some sandwiches,” Jay said. “Pull up a chair. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“My goodness but you look lovely,” Jay’s mother exclaimed. Sandra had showered and changed and was looking fresh and relaxed in a light summer dress and sandals. “His dad and I often wondered what kind of girl Jay would bring home one day.” Jay gaped at his mother, hardly believing his ears. “We never expected anyone as pretty as you, dear.”
“Mu-um!” Wailing pathetically was all Jay could do in the face of such an excruciating gaffe. Sandra giggled and beamed at Jay, enjoying both the compliment and Jay’s embarrassment.
“So I’m the first one?” she asked, twisting the knife.
“He’s never really been much of a one for the girls,” Jay’s mother confided, and Jay closed his eyes and prayed for death. “I’ll leave you two alone then,” she said and hurried out of the room.
“I didn’t say anything that would have made her think…you know…that we were…”
“Oh, shut up,” Sandra said, laughing, and sat down to eat her sandwich. “Your mum’s sweet. And she certainly knows how to press your buttons.” She bit into the thick bread. “Ummm, I’m starving.”
“You mean she was saying all that on purpose?”
Sandra regarded him, head cocked. “Do they make you pass an idiot test or something before they let you into the secret service?”
Sulking a little, Jay sat down too.
“Did you call your friend?” she asked.
“It’s all fixed up. Or it will be by tomorrow.” He had taken a walk out to the main road and used the number Bauchet had left with him. The superintendent had been surprised, but had agreed to sort out something by the morning. Then Jay had got onto a bus, dropped his compad under the seat, got off at the next stop and walked home.
“I wish we could stay here,” Sandra said. “I’d like to get to know your mum and dad.”
Jay looked into her big eyes and wondered why she would want such a thing. “You’re an orphan, right?” A little frown crossed her face. Jay rattled off what he’d read in her file. “Born 2032. Both parents dead. Raised in orphanages and foster homes. Ran away from a foster family aged thirteen. Arrested in Ommen, Holland, aged fifteen. Sentenced to six months imprisonment under the Temporal Displacement Regulation Act, plus three years for reckless endangerment. Both of which you would have served by now—given good behaviour—if they hadn’t extradited you to the UK where they promptly detained you under Section Eight of the Mental Health Act of 2022.”
Sandra chewed her sandwich, looking at the table. She said nothing.
“How come they did that? Sectioned you, I mean.” Jay had a horrible feeling he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help asking. The whole subject was troubling him more all the time. “You don’t seem all that crazy to me.”
She looked up at him at last. “Didn’t you pull my medical records too?”
He nodded. “They didn’t really make much sense. Obsession, paranoia, post-traumatic shock, that kind of thing.” He couldn’t read her expression but he went on, anyway. “Sounds to me like you had a bad experience that really shook you up and, well, people overreacted a bit.”
Her eyes fell again. “I needed taking care of,” she said flatly. “After what happened at Ommen…and then the police and the trial…I was glad when they put me in the Institute. If they’d kept me in prison…”
On an impulse, he reached across the table and took her hand. She didn’t pull away. “But you’re all right now?”
She shook her head. “Maybe.” She didn’t seem too certain.
It struck him that he might have done the wrong thing, getting the Section 8 revoked, that maybe she would be better off where they could help her. A gritty wind pushed against the kitchen window. Jay hadn’t noticed until then that it was raining.
“Why did you run away?”
“From the Institute? I had to. I wasn’t safe there. Nobody’s safe any more.”
He thought he understood. He hoped he did. “When this is over—” he began, but she lifted her eyes and looked straight into his. He stopped, surprised by the powerful need he saw there. He took a breath. “When this is over, and we’re all safe again, will you stay here, in London, so I can still see you?”
A smile slowly grew in her. She reached out her other hand and laid it on his. She nodded, eyes bright.
* * * *
Two black armoured Mercedes pulled into the parking area in front of the offices of Bailey and Sons Light Industrial Ltd. of Deptford, London. The mid-morning sun was high and climbing. The storms of last night had washed everything clean.
Four armed men emerged from one of the cars and took up positions around the building’s entrance. Four more men got out of the other car. Two of these went into the building while the other two flanked the car. They exchanged a few words on a closed compatch channel. Then one of the men beside the second Merc opened the door and Sniper stepped out. None of the armed men looked at him as they scanned the quiet streets for signs of trouble. Sniper moved quickly into the building. One of the guards who had preceded him said, “All clear, sir,” and the group relaxed, just a fraction. A young receptionist, who had been murmuring into the comm, looked up with a smile and said, “Ms. Vergara will be along shortly, sir.”
“Ah, there you are.” Camilla managed to sound more accusatory than welcoming. Sniper was, after all, two hours late and she wasn’t going to let him get away scot-free. She bustled into the small foyer and took charge, leading him toward a double door beyond the reception desk.
“This way. We’ve all been waiting.”
Sniper shrugged her hand off his arm and stopped dead. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Camilla stopped too, as if remembering herself. She took a breath. “You’re right. I’m being rude. I get so used to people being on time for meetings, I forget that the great Sniper doesn’t live by ordinary rules. I should have asked first, of course, whether you can be bothered to come inside and do what you’re being paid to do, or whether you’d rather I pimped a couple more whores for you to go home and play with.”
Sniper hit her across the face so fast she didn’t have time to flinch. It was an open-handed slap, but it sent her sprawling to the ground, momentarily stunned. The receptionist cried out and immediately clasped her hands to her mouth.
Sniper looked down at Camilla who was too dazed to get up. “Arschloch,” he said, spitting out the word with utter contempt. Without a backward glance, he strode off through the double doors.
* * * *
“Klaatu!” Sniper shouted as he entered the workshop.
Bailey and Sons was a light engineering company that Flash had bought and used as the front for his operations. Apart from the few offices and reception at the front, the main body of the building was a large open workshop with a delivery yard and storage at the rear. There was little activity there at the moment. The F2 generators had been disconnected and were standing on palettes in one corner, and the cage itself was under a tarpaulin at the centre of the room. A forklift truck stood idle as did the drills, lathes and other machinery. A door opened from a small office at the back and Klaatu stepped out. Behind him a bank of glowing displays could be seen. Sniper strode toward his teknik and they met halfway across the stained concrete floor. They stood in silence looking at one another. Beside them, the bulk of the cage loomed.
“I have b
een a crazy man,” Sniper said, a little stiffly. “You are right to want to leave me. I would have brought us both down.”
Klaatu watched him warily, saying nothing.
“I promise you, there will be no more shit like that, no more stupid risks, no more childishness. From today, I am focused on what must be done. From today, I am completely dedicated to making this splash work.”
Klaatu studied the big man’s eyes. “Good,” he said, not bothering to hide his anger. “And afterwards?”
Sniper nodded, acknowledging Klaatu’s right to ask. “Afterwards, it is over. For me anyway. The splash is all I care about. All this other shit…” He vaguely waved a hand but Klaatu knew what it indicated. “It spoils the fun, don’t you think?” He gave a wan smile. “This is my show now. Mine and yours. Like it used to be. Camilla and the rest can go fuck themselves.”
Slowly, Klaatu nodded, hardly daring to believe the change that had come. “And the target?”
Sniper shrugged. “It’s a good target. We’ll still use it.”
“And the money?”
Sniper’s smile became wolfish. “That’s one of the big mistakes I’ve been making. Relying on other people makes you weak. I don’t like being weak. It makes me cranky.”
For the first time, Klaatu smiled too. “So I should probably start building the rig, then?”
Sniper inclined his head in agreement. “Do your thing, man. And I’ll do mine.”
He held out his hand and Klaatu shook it without hesitation. To the young teknik it felt as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud.
“I need to take care of some business,” Sniper said. “It won’t take long. Then I’ll be back to go through the plans, okay?”
* * * *
Sniper went back out to the reception area. Camilla, blood smeared across her face, was shouting into her compatch. When she saw Sniper, she stopped immediately and backed away from him.
“Hang up,” he said, quietly, and, after a little hesitation, she complied.
“Take her back to the house,” he told one of the armed guards, not taking his eyes off Camilla.
“If she resists, break her legs, but keep her alive. I need information from her—names, netIDs, account numbers.”
Her eyes flashed defiance. She turned to the guard. “Don’t you dare touch me. Who the hell do you think pays your wages?”
The guard took a look at Sniper and quickly made his mind up about where his best interests lay. He stepped forward and took her by the arm. She stiffened and for a moment it looked like she might argue with him. But the moment passed and she let herself be led outside. Sniper watched her go. Man, it felt good to be back in control!
* * * *
Bauchet paced the small sitting room deep in thought. His head was down and he walked with a slight stoop, making him look like a vulture pondering its latest carcass. Jay sat on the edge of an old and uncomfortable sofa and watched him pass back and forth.
“This is not what I expected when I gave you my number, my young friend.”
“I didn’t know who else to ask for help. If I can’t trust Five…”
They were in a Metropolitan Police safe house in the London suburb of Barnes, south of the river and well to the west of the city centre.
“I can’t keep her with me,” Jay went on, “and I don’t want to let her fend for herself. She isn’t safe.”
Bauchet shook his head in a brisk dismissal. “Of course, you did the right thing. My contact at Scotland Yard is very discreet. He told everyone he has a small-time drug dealer here ‘ratting out’ his friends, as he put it. The young lady will be safe. We can debrief her here and no one will find her.”
Sandra was in the kitchen with a plainclothes policewoman at Bauchet’s request. The superintendent’s insistence on a few minutes alone with Jay was not unexpected, but it still had Jay nervously watching him as he paced.
“Tell me again everything that was said when you introduced this girl to your superiors.”
Jay did so.
“And you told no one else about her? And you are sure she spoke to no one else about you?”
Jay gave his affirmatives and Bauchet shook his head.
“This gives us a difficult problem, you agree?”
Jay couldn’t guess from among the many problems he could see which one Bauchet had in mind.
“I don’t think MI5 is going to blow up London. Do you, Jay?”
“I suppose not.”
“So it is not MI5 that sent those killers after Ms. Malone, n’ est-ce pas?”
“I… Well, yes, but who else could it have been? Only Five knew she was with me.”
Bauchet made an impatient gesture. “Your security services are not a single organism. MI5 is just a group of people. We need to ask ourselves who in the service knew about Ms. Malone. Then we have our list of suspects.”
“You mean there’s a traitor in my office?”
“Precisely. A mole, as they say.”
“Working for who?”
Bauchet gave a Gallic shrug. “When we find him, we must ask him.”
They both fell silent.
“Only Holbrook, Overman and Porterhouse were at the briefing.” Jay was unhappy to think it could be any of them. “I don’t know if they told anyone else. It’s Holbrook’s baby, really—and Overman’s. Porterhouse was just there to act scary. Which he does very well, by the way.”
“I will look into it,” Bauchet said, ending the conversation. “It may not be easy. Meanwhile, you must take Ms. Malone to the office and she must tell them what she knows. Tell them she ran away last night but returned in the morning. She should have a story too. She has decided Sniper is trying to kill her and she will be safer with your people. Something like that. Remember, you must not tell your superiors what you suspect. Tell them you believe the girl. It is better they think you are an idiot than that they try to kill you. Do not call ahead. Do not give them warning. Just walk into the building and announce yourself. That way no one can intercept you. You understand?”
Jay understood all right.
* * * *
“This isn’t why I came to you, Jay.”
Sandra sat in the back of the taxi, showing no signs of getting out. The SIS Building gleamed in the bright sunshine, right next to them. The taxi driver, isolated in his attack-proof cage, glanced over his shoulder and then turned the meter back on.
“I just wanted you to help me get past Sniper’s guards. Something like that. I didn’t expect… all this. It’s all got out of control.”
“Yeah. I suppose it has, but what else can we do? There are people hunting for you out there. You’ll be safe with Bauchet’s people. And the deal we’ve done with Five means you’re free again. That’s got to be worth changing your plans for.”
She smiled weakly. “Tell me that your people can stop Sniper.”
“If they can’t, I don’t know who can.”
Sandra clearly didn’t like the answer. Jay could see how she must feel. She couldn’t stop Sniper on her own. The brick was so surrounded by security now that she couldn’t get near him. She had to rely on Jay. But even he realised that trusting MI5 might be a dangerous mistake. And then he had asked her to trust Bauchet and the London police too. So many people and any one of them could give her away.
“Nothing can happen to you in there,” he said, nodding toward the building. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “I can take care of myself,” she said. Just as quickly, the laugh was gone. “Sniper can’t get away.” Her eyes willed him to understand. “He has to die. Promise me that. Tell me he’ll die. That’s what I want to hear.”
Jay swallowed. He looked around as if he might find help in the taxi’s dingy interior, in the ads flickering across its seat backs and doors. Finding nothing, he said, “I can’t promise you that, Sandra. I can’t promise to kill someone. It’s just… I’ll do my best to stop him though, and bring him to justice.”
She looked away from him, at the slow-moving traffic and the river beyond. In the end, she said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Jay wanted to say more, but decided he should leave it at that. Sandra’s fragile acceptance of the situation was probably all he could hope for at the moment.
They went into the building and he called Holbrook from the front desk. Within minutes, building security officers were leading them up to the top floor, where Overman greeted them with an uncertain frown.
“I thought we’d lost you, young lady,” the section head said, leading them into a comfortably appointed meeting room.
TimeSplash Page 20
