Silent Weapon

by Andy McNab

  Over his shirt Sean stared at Emma, wide-eyed, as the wave of half-baked religious crap dried up. And remembered watching her on the laptop back at the OP. That’s what she had been doing. Buying tickets. It had looked harmless at the time …

  ‘Emma,’ he blurted, ‘how the fuck did you end up like this?’

  Her glowing smile dissolved into a snarl. ‘How did I? How did you? I wasn’t lying when I said we had a crush on you, Sean. You were bad, and we loved it. You didn’t give a fuck. You weren’t going to be told by anyone. And then what happened? You only went into the army! The army! Just like that, one day you’re with us, the next you’re with them. Do you know what that did to the people here in your old home? Do you have any idea how much we despise you now?

  ‘And then Ste introduced me and Zara to some guys he had met at college.’

  The snarl began to fade back into the happy glow again. ‘No one’s ever given a shit about us, but here’s these guys treating us like princesses without wanting to get into our pants. They showed us, Sean. It’s like … it’s like righteousness is on the other side of a door. Open that door and light will shine into the world! But you can’t open that door because the system that you work for is like this massive dead weight slumped against it. We have to make that weight shift. Then the door will open and righteousness will shine into the world. Everyone will see it.’

  She smiled knowingly, but immediately dissolved into another cough. Maybe illness, maybe smoke. It was creeping into the room through the vent over the door, and it had got stronger in the last few minutes.

  ‘It comes quickly,’ she said quietly, like she was mentioning it to someone else in passing. ‘Quicker than we thought. No one really knew how this new strain would work. Ste will tell them for next time.’

  ‘Emma. Reality check. You’re going to die, and it’s going to be slow and painful, and then you’ll be gone and that’ll be it.’

  Sean wasn’t sure why he was saying this. It was already too late to save her. If she went the same way as Zara, then within hours she would be leaking blood from everywhere.

  ‘Yeah, I know life on Littern Mills is crap. But I’m living proof you can get out …’

  The knowing smile came back, and she let the needle drop. Once again she was holding out her hands, and they were empty.

  ‘I know I’ll suffer pain, like Zee. I’m not looking forward to it. But it will only be for a while. Death takes everyone – but mine will have meaning. Let’s not kid ourselves, Sean. You’re taller and stronger than me. You probably know twenty different ways to kill me. You can escape this room and report everything I’ve said to your superiors. Maybe they’ll be able to stop Ste, maybe they won’t. But I can absolutely guarantee you won’t leave without being infected yourself.’ She grinned and then gnashed her teeth. ‘I can break your skin without a needle. C’mon. What’s keeping you? Let’s both choose to lay down our lives for what we believe in!’

  ‘Thought you were leaving it up to God,’ Sean said. His mind was in overdrive.

  Ste. He was the one who had radicalized the girls – but someone had also got to him. Ste would tell them, she had said. So Ste had someone above him, the ones who had masterminded this. Fayez? Jaz? And maybe others.

  And where was Ste now? There was no cooler box here. He still had that bad blood, ready to pump into more volunteers. Another stroke of genius for their random God.

  Emma screamed and ran at him, mouth wide open and teeth bared. Sean sidestepped quickly and tried to make a break for the door before he remembered she had the key. Shit!

  Emma swung round and lunged at him again – with another scream that turned into a wild laugh as they both stumbled in different directions. He backed away and cast about for some kind of weapon – anything at all in the room that he could use to put a bit of distance between him and Emma’s teeth.

  There was nothing except his own limbs. His legs were longer than her arms. So when Emma ran at him again, he ducked down on bended knee, balanced on one foot, and lashed out with the other in a sidekick into her stomach. Her scream turned into a sudden choke and she bent double. Her body folded over his leg and dragged them both to the floor. She twitched feebly, gasping for breath in huge whoops, while he struggled to drag his foot free. The needle was within arm’s reach. She scrabbled for it while he got to his feet, and then he brought his heel down as hard as he could on the back of her hand. He felt bones break through the sound of a different kind of scream.

  But the key was still in Emma’s pocket. He felt the room swim around him. Shit, on top of the exhaustion and trying not to panic about being trapped in a burning building, he was hyperventilating. Meanwhile Emma was up again, ignoring the agony of her broken hand as she flung herself towards him. She no longer had the needle, but her teeth caught in a loose fold of his shirt. She hadn’t been joking about biting. He hammered on the top of her head with his elbow, and she fell to her knees.

  Sean blundered backwards, and fell to his knees himself. They sized each other up through the haze, face to face across a distance of a couple of metres. They braced themselves for the next, possibly final, lunge. He stared into the hate-filled, twisted face, and for a moment his heart broke for the girl who had ended up like this.

  A red beam lanced through the smoke behind her. Sean traced its source to the grille above the door at the same time as the crack of a shot filled the room. The round punched through her heart and burst out of her chest in a red spray that Sean tried to avoid, scrambling away as fast as he could. She crumpled into a heap, face still contorted.

  ‘Harker!’ He recognized Adams’s voice. ‘Get away from the door!’

  ‘’S OK,’ he mumbled. He started to crawl towards Emma’s body. ‘I’ve got—’

  The door blew in with a snap of plastic explosive that sent a shock through his whole body, before he could finish with ‘a key’. It was a stunning blow. Sean hit the concrete, and his dazed mind thought how nice it would be to lie there for the rest of his life, cold grit pressed against his face.

  Strong hands lifted him up and he felt his arm being wrapped around Adams’s neck. A masked SAS man approached Zara cautiously, MP5 at the ready.

  She twitched and looked up through eyes that were caked with fresh blood. ‘Can you get me a doctor?’ It came out as a whispered sob.

  ‘Let’s see how you can walk,’ Adams said to Sean, his voice firm but kind. Sean’s feet made vague walking movements beneath him. His head was still ringing from the explosion, but his legs remembered what to do when they were pressed into solid ground, and he could carry about half his weight as Adams led him towards the door.

  Pure muscle memory made him flinch as a rattle of shots burst out behind him. He whipped his head round. The SAS man was turning away from Zara’s still form and lowering his weapon. His body blocked Zara from view. Sean stared at him in shock. The SAS guy met his gaze calmly, eyes unblinking through his goggles.

  ‘The fuck …’ Sean whispered. They had just shot her? Put her down?

  ‘Better all round,’ Adams muttered. ‘Come on, soldier. Let’s get you out of here.’

  Chapter 30

  Friday 4 August, 04:45 BST

  ‘They’re still out there,’ Sean mumbled. They were shambling along through the smoky haze towards the stairs. The SAS guy in the gas mask led the way, unaffected by the smoke. ‘They’ve got poisoned blood in a cooler box. We’ve got to get them …’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. You can tell your story from a safe distance to someone who can do something about it. Come along.’

  From a safe distance …? Sean thought fuzzily. And then: Oh, yeah, right.

  What else had been in the air in that room? What else was now polluting his lungs, on top of all that smoke, getting into his bloodstream that way?

  He couldn’t deal with that right now. He mentally filed it away under things to totally freak out about later.

  Adams’s arm was strong around his shoulders. ‘I have your phone, I
have your ID – but back of tower? What kind of report is that? Hey?’

  ‘A crap one, Sergeant,’ Sean mumbled between coughs. He knew that Adams was keeping him talking to make him stay with it, and he was grateful for it. Smoke was thick in the corridor, and Sean’s muzzy head found time to be puzzled by it. The fire was on the ground level and there should be fire doors, even in a place like Littern Mills. Weren’t they working?

  But then they were at the stairs that led up to the square. Slightly cleaner air gusted in their faces, and Sean’s head cleared a bit as they stumbled up.

  ‘But you still found me?’ he asked.

  Adams grinned without humour. ‘I did. I got past plod, I was making my way up the stairs as planned, and there was your little prick of a friend coming down the other way. So that speeded up the process of dangling him by his ankles. His friends were disinclined to get in my way. Your weird Littern Mills telepathy seemed to work on him – he guessed you meant the hole at the back of Gladstone. So I borrowed our pal in the mask here, and off we went. Thanks to your phone we found the hole.’

  ‘You tracked it?’

  Adams shot him a strange look. ‘Do I look like 007? I called it. And when I heard it go off, I thought only one of my lads would have a crappy ringtone like that.’

  The gate stood open, and Sean and Adams staggered out into the air and the tentative light of a new day. Sean had never been happier to see the Littern Mills estate.

  By the time they were halfway back to the cordon across the square, Sean felt he could walk on his own again. He disengaged himself from the sergeant’s supporting arm and looked around at the devastation.

  The fire had well and truly caught. The entire ground level of Gladstone was alight. The populations of the other three towers were being escorted down their stairwells and away from the square.

  He could only watch. He knew, deep down, that he would get around to caring about this. A lot. For the time being it was like someone else was seeing it on his behalf. His thoughts just couldn’t stretch beyond this present point into the future.

  The police vans were still clustered at the base of Wolsey. Fire tenders were drawn up in front of Gladstone, but there wasn’t much sign of the firemen doing their stuff. And what the fuck was that singing? He must be hearing things.

  But he wasn’t. He was hearing a chorus of teen boys’ voices tunelessly singing ‘Let it burn, let it burn’ to the tune of Let It Go. The cops had got on top of the Killaz by sheer weight of numbers, and the gang were being rounded up around the estate. Every new arrest was brought forward to be squeezed into one of the police vans, and each one added his voice to the song.

  Kieran was next in line for the back of a van, hands cuffed behind him, face battered and bruised. He was singing along with the rest of them – until he clocked Adams approaching. His defiant grin turned to fury and he lunged forward.

  ‘That fucker there!’ Kieran howled. ‘He’s the one you should be arresting! He abused my civil liberties!’

  The cops didn’t seem to care, and Kieran was bundled in with the rest of his mates, still protesting. The chorus had got to ‘I never liked the building anyway …’

  ‘It’s possible he fell against some unmoving objects in the course of our interview,’ Adams said, deadpan. ‘Now, let’s get the alert put out for Ste …’

  As they approached the vans, Sean spotted Dave and a fireman with a station manager’s helmet – white, with a single thin black stripe. They stood side by side, looking at the fire, and the fireman’s body language was absolutely rigid with fury. Sean suddenly thought: Why aren’t they doing anything to put out the fire? Why are they letting it all just fucking burn?

  Mitra came forward to meet them, and Sean could tell from his face that it was bad news. But it was Adams who held up a hand, stopping Mitra in his tracks, five metres away.

  ‘Harker and I are in our own personal biohazard zone. Don’t come any closer. What’s happening?’

  Mitra stared at them. ‘You’re—’

  ‘I asked you a question, Fusilier!’ Adams snapped. It was rare for him to snap when a sarcastic word could do so much more. Sean guessed he was feeling – or rather, trying hard not to feel – exactly like he did at the thought of the Lassa virus colonizing his blood vessels and body organs …

  Mitra held up the screen of his phone. ‘We’ve made local radio and we’re breaking news on a lot of websites. They’re saying the fire brigade have been forbidden to approach until, quote, details of dangerous chemicals stored illegally in the basement can be verified, unquote. Sorry, Stenders. They’re just letting it take its course. They’re just going to let the fire destroy it all.’

  ‘Sterilization. It makes sense. They’ll just burn out the passages,’ Adams said after a moment. ‘It probably won’t bring the building down. They won’t let it all go …’

  Sean didn’t bother saying anything. He was surprised to feel tears pricking the back of his eyes, and he blinked them away before anyone could notice.

  Adams was probably right – this wasn’t exactly a 9/11 scenario. But it was the principle. That was his childhood home over there, with flames licking as high as the second-floor balcony, and columns of smoke scorching their way up to the roof.

  Then another thought hit him.

  Shit, I hope Mum isn’t listening to the news …

  ‘Sergeant Adams! Fusilier Harker!’ Dave was striding towards them. He came to a stop a safe distance away. His face was tired and haggard, with the shadow of a dark-haired man who hasn’t shaved for twenty-four hours. He looked pretty much like Sean felt. ‘Two white females have been reported eliminated. Please confirm their identities.’

  Sean straightened. He knew how to make a report, even if it was only to a civilian, and a spook.

  ‘Zara Mann and Emma Booth,’ he said, ‘and I can confirm that Emma was Girl X.’

  Dave’s face was impassive, but he ground one fist into the palm of his other hand. The bastard’s pleased, Sean thought. He’s got a result.

  ‘And the others?’

  Sean shook his head. ‘No sign of Ste or Fayez or Jaz. Ste’s still somewhere with a case full of their infected blood …’

  ‘Understood. We’ll get him, and that cooler box. You two just stand there until we can get you your own special isolation ambulance.’ Dave turned away. ‘Shit, this square’s going to be a forensics nightmare. Once the fire’s gone down, before the civilians get here, we’ll have to get our people to retrieve the bodies …’

  ‘Yeah, it’s tough at the top,’ Adams said as Dave hurried away. ‘Bastard.’

  Sean nodded wearily; then, without asking permission, he sank down to squat on the cool concrete paving, drawing his legs up and resting his elbows on his knees.

  Adams sat down next to him. ‘How are you feeling, Stenders?’

  The question from an army colleague didn’t mean the same thing as it meant to civilians. A civvy might have understood it as an invitation to discuss his deepest thoughts, his emotions on watching Gladstone burn; the trauma of having to beat up a girl who, only hours ago, he had felt close to.

  Sean knew that Adams genuinely cared for his well-being, but when a sergeant asked a question like that, it meant only one thing: Are you battle fit or not?

  And as long as you knew you could still get up and put one foot in front of the other and charge the enemy, there was only one acceptable answer.

  ‘I’m fine, Sergeant.’ Honesty made him add: ‘Beat, though. And kind of, you know, hoping I don’t have Lassa fever.’

  ‘Yeah, that could put a serious dent in both our social lives. The wife’s already making plans for Christmas.’

  But Sean saw the grim set of Adams’s jaw. When it came to the deep-rooted terror that they might actually be infected, neither of them was fooling the other. He pictured that single, lethal shot that had torn through Emma’s chest. Puncturing the skin that was designed to keep the blood in, expelling a spurt of it out through a neat little
hole in aerosol form, for him to breathe … Shit, thanks, SAS guy.

  Adams grunted and thumped his chest. ‘I feel like I could cough for Britain after all that smoke, but under the circumstances I’d be locked up in an isolation ward quicker than you can say Jack Robinson. Mitra! Make yourself useful! Tell the ambulance people there’s a couple of guys here suffering smoke inhalation. See if you can wangle a couple of O2 cylinders to clear out our lungs.’

  Mitra hurried off towards the ambulances while Adams pulled out his phone and called up the search box.

  ‘Let’s see what delights await us.’ He began to type out: ‘Treat … ing … la … laryngitis? Lawns? Laser burns? Strange – Lassa fever isn’t in the dropdown box.’

  Sean wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If the only end was like Zara’s, then he would do it himself before it got that far, quickly and privately. While they waited, he ran his eyes over the ghouls at the edges of the square, as close as they could get to the action. Every few seconds there was a pinprick flash as some moron recorded the scene on their phone. Sean wondered if #LitternMillsfire was trending yet.

  And if so, what they all made of the two guys sitting on their own a short distance away from everyone else.

  He glared back at the crowd. He couldn’t make out any faces – just got general impressions of movement. Rubberneckers. Bunch of wankers trading a good night’s sleep for a spectacle.

  He wasn’t quite sure why one particular movement caught his eye, but it did. It was sheer instinct.

  He followed the movement with his head.

  ‘Ribavirin seems to be an effective treatment for Lassa fever if given early on in the course of clinical illness,’ Adams quoted. ‘And that’s the World Health Organization. Not one hundred per cent happy about that seems, but— Something up?’