by Alex Scarrow
He studied the face of the dying American. There still seemed to be life in those glazed eyes, Mike was still hearing this, he was sure.
‘So, the decision was made back in ’99, right at the end of that year,’ Ash laughed gently, ‘as the sheep all prepared to celebrate an exciting new century and got all worked up about that millennium bug, and had their big, big parties, and nursed sore heads the morning after. It was decided that things needed to be put in place for this; to get everything ready to turn the taps off.’
Ash nudged Mike. ‘You see, that’s the great thing about oil, it really is our oxygen, our life’s blood . . . it’s the perfect controlling mechanism. If you turn the tap up, the world gets really busy; you turn it down enough, things grind to a halt. It’s like the throttle on a motorbike - a perfect device.’
The American let out a bubbling gasp of air, a noise Ash recognised as a man’s final gasp.
‘It’s taken them some time to organise this, a very big project you see. And you know, everything since ’99 . . .’ he looked down at Mike. His pupils had completely dilated now and gazed sightlessly up at the ceiling. He wasn’t hearing him any more.
‘Everything, I mean, everything - all starting with two passenger jets crashing into New York - everything since then, my friend, has been about one thing; getting the world ready for this . . . the culling.’
The American was dead.
‘Pity,’ said Ash, and listened for a moment to the breeze, whistling along the landing and down the stairs. He’d wanted this dying man to hear it all, to understand why it had to happen, perhaps even to agree with him that it was a measure that had to be taken, for mankind’s benefit. But most probably a good portion of what he’d said had made no sense in the man’s dying mind.
‘Pity.’
He closed the American’s eyes and got to his feet, grunting with pain. Sutherland’s wife had hit him in the collarbone, and even though he’d bound the wound up efficiently, he knew all was not well - he was bleeding internally.
He felt a little light-headed.
Not good.
There were still some loose ends to tidy up.
Sunday
CHAPTER 89
12.01 a.m. GMT Shepherd’s Bush, London
Andy awoke. Something had disturbed him; a noise, one of the kids stirring? His eyes opened and he let them adjust to the dark whilst he sat still, listening.
Just the breeze outside. Mike and his colleagues were silent; there was no quiet, wary murmuring as there had been earlier.
That’s worrying.
He eased himself out of the tangle of limbs on the sofa and walked quietly across to the door that opened on to the hallway. He looked to his left and saw the weak light of the moon casting flickering half-shadows of branches and leaves through the open front door on to the smooth parquet floor.
Where’s Mike?
He turned to the right. The hallway led to the rear of the house and Jill’s sun lounge. He wondered if they were gathered back there. If they were he’d be bloody worried - leaving the front door unguarded like that?
A dozen light, soundless steps down the hall and he stood in the doorway. His eyes, now more accustomed to the dark, couldn’t pick out any shape that might be someone standing guard.
‘Hello?’ he whispered. ‘Anyone awake?’
There was no reply and, with a shudder of realisation, he knew something must have happened. His hand reached for the gun tucked into his trousers. He felt some small comfort sensing the rough carbon grip of the handle.
Then he sensed the draught of movement behind him.
He whipped round, the gun raised and ready to fire.
‘Shit Dad! It’s me!’ Leona whimpered.
He exhaled. ‘Christ, Lee, I nearly blew a hole in your head.’
She smiled and shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘What are you doing up, anyway?’
‘I can’t find Mike and his guys.’
Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened. ‘Oh God!’ she cried a little too loudly.
He raised a finger to his mouth to hush her.
There can’t have been a fight. Surely any shots fired would have awoken us all? They’re out in the front garden, checking something out, maybe?
He took a step into the hall again and his foot slipped in something. He looked down and noticed a dark mat on the floor.
‘You bring a torch?’ he whispered.
Leona nodded.
‘Shine it on the floor.’
She switched it on, and instantly recoiled at the bright red pool at their feet.
‘Oh shit!’ she hissed.
Andy grabbed the torch from her and panned it around the sun lounge. The beam picked out one of Mike’s men curled in a foetal position behind the wicker armchair beside them.
They’re here!
‘Get behind me!’ he whispered into her ear. He snapped off the torch, turned and headed up the hallway again, towards the lounge; slow, cautious steps, his gun arm extended, sweeping with quick jerks from one side to the other.
Andy knew there was only one course of action to take. Grab Jenny and Jacob, get out of the house, and run, and run . . . and keep running. He swung his aim up the stairs, a dark abyss that could be hiding anything.
They reached the open doorway to the lounge. He could hear Jacob stirring, no longer the even rasp of rest, but short tremulous gasps.
‘Jenny we have to leave now,’ he said, quietly snapping on the torch again.
The halo of light fell on Jacob, standing. A dark forearm was wrapped across his narrow shoulders, and above the tuft of blond hair he saw the dark face of a man, smiling mischievously. The tip of a long, thin-bladed knife was pressed into his son’s pale neck, creating a dimple that threatened to burst blood if another gram of pressure was applied to it.
Jenny was on her knees, on the floor, rocking, too frightened to cry, too frightened even to breathe.
‘Lose the gun, Andy Sutherland,’ the man said calmly.
Andy kept the weapon trained on him.
You drop the gun and that’s it for bargaining.
‘I won’t do that, mate,’ Andy said.
Jenny turned to look at him. ‘What? Andy! For fuck’s sake! Drop the gun!’
He hushed her with a wave of his hand. ‘I can’t do that Jenny. If I do that, we die.’
The man smiled. ‘Your husband’s being quite sensible under the circumstances, Mrs Sutherland.’
He looked up at Andy. ‘We can talk for a bit anyway. I think I’d like that. You can call me Ash, by the way.’
He’s in no hurry. That means . . .
‘The others?’ Andy nodded towards the front door. ‘They’re out there somewhere . . . dead?’
Ash nodded. ‘Just a little too keen to try and take me alive.’
‘So, this is all about what my daughter thought she saw, right?’
‘What we know she saw. You see, this lovely young lady,’ he said gesturing with his knife-hand, a flick of the wrist that took the blade away from Jacob’s throat for a moment, ‘knows enough to be very dangerous. When things start sorting themselves out again—’
‘You are mightily fucking mistaken,’ Andy sneered, ‘if you think things are going to sort themselves out.’
Ash cocked an eyebrow.
‘What? You thought it would?’ he asked, genuinely incredulous.
‘They will ensure the oil flows again, when the time’s right.’
Andy shook his head and sighed. ‘It doesn’t work that way. I thought I made that patently bloody clear in my report. It’s a zero sum thing. You don’t just bounce back from something like this. I don’t know what fucking morons you work for, but they’ve seriously screwed things up.’
The blade returned to Jacob’s neck. ‘Whatever. You’re the big expert.’
Andy nodded. ‘Yeah . . . yeah, you got that right. I’ve spent enough time thinking about it over the years.’
‘Nonetheless, I have my objective,�
�� his blade-hand flicked away again from Jacob’s neck, the tip pointing towards Leona, ‘ . . . her.’
Leona sobbed. ‘Oh, please . . .’
Ash shrugged, pouting a lip with sympathy. ‘I’m afraid so, my dear. However we resolve this situation, I can’t let you walk away. I can, however, make it quick and painless.’
‘Oh Christ! Oh God! Andy, don’t let him. DON’T LET HIM!’ Jenny cried.
‘I really don’t see how you can stop me,’ said Ash.
Andy noticed a blood-soaked bandage of material wrapped tightly around his shoulder.
Is he losing blood slowly? Can I stall him until he drops?
‘Look, it’s over. It’s out of control. Whoever you’re working for isn’t going to be able to make things right again. They’re screwed, we’re screwed, even you . . . you’re screwed too. It really doesn’t matter what my daughter saw,’ said Andy, ‘not any more. Because once things shut down at the scale that they have done, there’s no going back.’
‘I think you’re talking shit.’
‘Am I? How long will it take for the Saudi refineries to come on tap? How long will it take to get the Baku refineries, the Paraguaná refinery? Months is my best guess. And that’s plenty of time for things to get worse; for the likes of China and Russia to see an opportunity, for every simmering border dispute to flare up, for the US economy to drop into free fall. Don’t forget, that’s an economy that’s remained afloat for the last thirty years on the value of trillions of petro-dollars. That’s been wiped out.’
‘And so I should just let your little girl walk away?’
Oh fuck, am I convincing him?
‘You know, maybe the world needed something like this,’ said Andy.
Ash eyed him warily.
‘We’re a planet that was only ever capable of supporting what? Two? Three billion? We were well on our way towards eight billion before this happened,’ Andy continued. ‘I don’t know who’s behind this, and I don’t know why they’ve done this. But . . . maybe something like this needed to happen?’
Ash nodded. ‘Of course it did,’ he said, his voice sounded thick and lazy.
Make it sound good Andy.
‘So, listen. Maybe I agree with the people you work for? Hmm? Okay it’s not nice. But at least this has been a global sacrifice; everyone has paid the price, right? Not just . . . say, the Third World.’
Ash nodded again.
‘I can see now, this needed to happen. Even if we knew, we’re not about to go and tell the world who made it happen,’ he turned to Leona, ‘are we honey?’
Leona shook her head vigorously, ‘No, n-no.’
‘Please . . . she doesn’t need to die.’
Ash swayed slightly. ‘Almost convincing. But I have my contract.’
‘Contract?’ Andy shook his head. ‘You do realise the money you’re being paid, if it isn’t already worthless, this time next week it will be.’
Ash frowned, irritated by that. ‘It’s not about fucking money,’ he snapped.
Andy noticed he was beginning to slur his words.
‘Well, what is it about, for Christ’s sake? Why does my girl have to die?’
Ash sighed, his grip loosened and the point of his knife dropped away again from the scored skin on Jacob’s neck. He pursed his lips with thought. ‘You see, it’s about professional pride, I guess. It’s about finishing the job.’
Oh Christ. This isn’t about money, or conviction . . .
‘There’s a reason why I know their identities . . . The Twelve, the most powerful men in the world. It’s because I’m reliable. It’s because I always finish the job, I always come through. I’m the best freelancer. The best there is. That means something -’
This is about pride. I won’t be able to reason with him . . .
‘- to me. It’s what I am. I’ve become the best there is. I’ve earned that. So you see, I really don’t give a shit about her life. I’ve killed much younger, much more innocent victims, believe me. It’s water off a duck’s back.’
Ash swayed enough that he staggered slightly.
‘I’m not that interested in hearing any more impassioned pleas for mercy, that’s not going to help you one little bit. Oh fuck it . . . you know what?’
Ash was expecting him to answer.
‘What?’
‘I’m now getting a little bored with this.’
Shit, is he weakening? Is this the wound talking?
‘So, here’s how it goes. Drop your gun, and you can have Tiny Tim back unharmed, and in return, I’ll have your daughter, please.’
‘Oh God, no, don’t . . . !’ cried Jenny.
‘Shut up!’ Ash spat, his calm, softly spoken voice, raised for the first time. ‘The alternative is - I’ll finish him in a blink, and be upon you, Sutherland, gutting you before you know it. And then, of course, I’ll be able to take all the time in the world with your wife and your daughter. So how’s that sound to you?’
Ash swayed again, ever so slightly. ‘Decision time. I’ll give you, let me see . . . yeah, let’s say, five seconds. Five . . .’
Leona grabbed hold of Andy, she began screaming. ‘Dad! Please! Don’t let him kill me!’
‘Four . . .’
Jacob’s eyes were swollen with fear.
‘Three . . .’
Jenny sobbed uncontrollably on the floor, and Leona collapsed to her knees.
‘Two . . .’
Andy realised he’d now run out of options.
CHAPTER 90
12.07 a.m. GMT Shepherd’s Bush, London
He fired.
The shot missed his son by inches and punched a hole in Ash’s chest, knocking him back against the wall. He pulled Jacob back with him, tumbling with him to the floor, the blade still held to his son’s throat. Andy charged across the lounge, knowing in the three long strides it would take to reach them, this man could sink the blade in with one convulsive twitch of his hand.
Somewhere across the small room, his hand let go of the torch and it dropped to the floor, the beam of light bouncing and flailing around.
He hurled himself at where the man had gone down, and landed heavily on top of Jacob’s writhing body. In the dark, Andy’s hands fumbled around, desperately seeking the knife before it was pushed home and extinguished his son’s life.
Jenny could hear both men struggling in the dark and Jacob’s muffled voice, crying, presumably tangled up with them, sandwiched in between them, that blade still, presumably, inches away from his throat or his face. She reached out for the torch on the floor and swung it around.
By the light of the torch, she could see the man’s and Andy’s legs kicking and swinging around. She could see one of Jacob’s little arms emerging from between both men’s writhing torsos, it flapped around raining small ineffectual un-aimed blows on both the man and Andy.
She could hear both men grunting with effort, and then she saw the glint of the knife amidst the confused tangle of limbs. Andy had a hold of the man’s long knife by the blade. It was lacerating his fingers, and dots and splatters of Andy’s blood flew up against the lounge wall.
The man lurched to one side, pulling Andy over with him. And then Jenny saw Jacob manage to wriggle some way out. She stepped toward him, reached out and grabbed Jacob’s extended hand and pulled as hard as she could. He tumbled on to the floor with her, freed from the two men.
‘Shoot him Andy!’ she screamed, now that Jacob was safely out of the way. ‘SHOOT HIM!’
The men rolled across the floor, behind the sofa, and now all she could see in the dancing light of the torch, were two pairs of legs, kicking, scissoring, flailing . . . and more blood flicking up on to the wall.
‘Oh God, Mum!’ howled Leona. ‘He’s gonna kill Dad! He’s going to KILL DAD!’
Jenny looked around the floor, hoping that the gun might have been dropped and kicked clear in the struggle.
And then the room flickered as if a firecracker had gone off, and simultaneously they heard the
bang of the gun.
Both pairs of legs ceased moving. Jenny studied them for a moment, unable to move, not daring to look behind the back of the sofa.
‘Andy?’ she whispered.
Then the man’s - Ash’s - legs began to move, a short, jerking, twitching movement. Andy’s legs remained still.
‘Andy?’ she cried.
Ash’s legs stopped moving.
‘Oh shit!’
Andy’s voice.
‘Oh, shit!’ Andy grunted again.
‘Dad, are you all right?’ cried Leona, her voice trembling.
‘Ah, jeeez, that’s just bloody disgusting,’ sighed Andy.
Jenny watched his legs kick at the body as he emerged from beneath it, and a moment later she saw his bloodied and torn hands on the back of the sofa.
‘Don’t let the kids come round the back, Jenny,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got most of this guy’s brains down the front of my shirt.’
His face appeared and he pulled himself up, wincing as he looked down at the thick dark slick across his chest.
‘Daddy won,’ whispered Jacob, the hint of awe in his voice unmistakable. ‘He beat the baddie.’
‘Oh my God, Andy,’ Jenny uttered. And that was all she could say for the moment. The ‘God I Love You’s . . . were all going to have to come later. For now the only thing that Jenny could do was sob with relief.
Andy looked up from the splattered debris of Ash’s head on his shirt and offered his family a goofy grin.
‘Should’ve changed my bloody shirt first. I liked this one.’
Leona and Jenny both managed to push a smile through the tears. Jacob grinned proudly at his father, then studied with a mixture of revulsion and fascination, the bloody mess.
‘What’s that?’ Jake asked, pointing at another rapidly expanding crimson stain lower down the shirt.
Andy looked down, and saw the small, slim handle jutting out from his lower abdomen.
‘Oh, just great,’ he managed to mutter before collapsing.
Epilogue
