Inheritance

by Ellen Kefferty

  Andrius smiled and glanced at her. He would have spent ten times that. The money didn’t matter. She would have said no anyway.

  “Ours? But you said no.”

  “I did.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “Yes. I didn’t mean to hurt you though.”

  “But you did. Because I love you. You don’t understand that.” Then to himself. “Why am I explaining this?”

  She fidgeted with her hair. He did love her. The discussion could go on forever. Doomed to be repeated tomorrow, next week, next month, until she said yes or they split. Right now they had an hour. That wasn’t nearly long enough for the conversation. She drew up his hand and held it tight. It would keep him quiet.

  Footsteps sounded below them.

  “Raktas?” Andrius called out. The word would immediately identify Gabi or else be totally deniable.

  “Yes, I have the key.” Gabi called up. “I had to come up this way in case Sharon saw me.”

  “Of course.”

  “They would want a cut.” Gabi’s grim had faded. As she mounted the last few steps she withdrew the card from inside her tunic. “Here it is.”

  “Can we test it?” Andrius held out a receiving hand.

  “No. Money first, then you can have it.”

  He counted the notes, then masochistically counted them again into her hand. Without further word Gabi turned and flew down the stairs.

  Andrius held the treasured keycard in his palm. “We need to test this, just to be sure.”

  “Yeah, though what can we do if it doesn’t work?”

  “Well, we can kill her, at the least.” He didn’t mind that they had one plan and no time to think of a new one. There was a focus.. It either worked or it didn’t.

  “Let’s go.” Edith breezed out the door and into the hallway, careless of who might see. An hour to go, the lightness in her body craved for more than being cooped up in a stairwell.

  A fire plan attached to the wall caught her eye. She studied it, looking for the north–west corner suite. It was nearer the other stairwell. That would save valuable seconds.

  “Room 1909.” Andrius pointed and led the way. “We might as well try it there, if we can.”

  Outside the room she nudged him to one side.

  “If somebody’s in they’re less likely to be threatened by a woman. I can pretend to be the maid.”

  “In a dress? Okay.”

  She knocked. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. The keycard slid into the lock. A click. A light shifted from red to green. The gentle press of fingertips and the door swept inward.

  “We’re in.”

  Inside the room everything was unused, unoccupied. No guests. Andrius studied the view from the windows. She took Gervase’s phone from her bag.

  “Looks exactly the same.” She span round as she scrutinized the picture.

  “It would. All the rooms look the same. It’s a hotel.”

  “But look!” She pointed at the phone while facing the window. “Even the view is the same! This is the room!”

  “Let me see.” Andrius snatched the phone.

  “We can just wait here the attacker to turn up. It won’t be long.” Her voice raised. “Andrius, this is it. We’ve got him even before he has chance to do anything!”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. He took a picture at his eye height, then lowered the phone and took one from waist height. “Look. See the difference between these two pictures?”

  Both pictures showed the same view from the window over Deansgate. The angles were clearly different.

  “That’s just lowering the phone less than a metre. We don’t know how tall the person is, or where they held the phone. If they tilted it then we could be even further out. There’s no way of knowing which floor it will be.” He returned the phone and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “Actually, how do we even know the room he took the picture from is the one he’ll use? He needs this corner, but he could have booked any of them.”

  “So long as they are sufficiently high up, which I guess is half the hotel. That’s ten floors.” He circled the room. “Come on, let’s go before anybody finds us here. Attacker or otherwise. They’ll call security, and security are definitely going to call the police if they catch us with this keycard.”

  “One thing.” She rang Sunny. At the window she looked down onto Liverpool Road. Sunny was hidden among the crowds.

  ‘Hello?’

  “Hi Sunny, can you see me?”

  ‘Where are you?’

  “In one of the hotel rooms on the corner. I’ll wave, so try to spot me.”

  ‘Okay, wait. Right, I can see you clearly. Hello there!’

  “Everything’s in place. We have the card. It’s just a matter of waiting now, and that won’t be long. Ring me if you see anything suspicious.”

  ‘Good luck.’

  “Thanks. I guess this is really happening.”

  “Would you like another drink?”

  Well–dressed men and women swarmed the skybar, chatting and drinking, sure in the belief that they had paid for the best view in the city. The television news waited for the royals to leave the town hall and the parade to begin. Not that anybody was watching.

  Sometimes one or two guests pushed to the windows and surveyed the crowds below with a deliberate gasp. Then another, stood nearby, would remind them that this was the first royal parade in Manchester for years. It was a once–in–a–generation event. They would exchange disbelief that so many in the city were still ardent royalists, declare themselves ardent republicans, then trail off as they remembered that they, too, had come out to see the spectacle.

  “We said we would limit ourselves to one.” Edith shifted the glasses to one side of the table. They had found seats on the opposite side of the bar from the parade. The worst view, except that it was exactly where they wanted to be. “We need to be ready, not tipsy.”

  “I think I can handle another, I’m hardly a...,” Andrius thought for a second, “a lightweight.”

  She raised her eyebrows. Not just because his grasp of everyday English was magnificent, but because, compared to most the men she had ever known, he could put away his alcohol. Beer, spirits, wine, anything you put in front of him. He would finish the lot. She knew when he was drunk, the little tells, subtle changes, but otherwise he would appear unaffected.

  “Please, it’s important. It’s just for another,” she checked at her phone, “Fuck, ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t realize we were that close.” He stood and rested on the back of his chair, his fingers pressing deep into the cushioning.

  She dialled Sunny.

  “Yes, yes, good idea.” He paced away and back. “Call your sister. Maybe she can see something now.”

  “Take my binoculars,” she rummaged in her bag, “and see if you can spot the truck.” She kept the phone to her ear. Sunny answered after a few more rings.

  ‘What is it?’ Sunny’s tone was sharp.

  “Can you see anything?”

  ‘I would have rung to told you if I could.’

  “So you can’t see anything?”

  ‘Not yet.’

  “Are you sure? Can you take another look? Is there anybody at the windows?”

  ‘There are lots of people at the windows of the hotel, Edith, but none of them seem suspicious. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but when I see it I will tell you.’

  “We’ve less than ten minutes until the parade starts, Sunny.”

  ‘Well, then get off the phone and let me look.’

  “Okay. Okay. Just...”

  ‘I will ring you immediately. You don’t need to ring me.’

  Edith hung up and practically threw her phone back into her bag. Her glass as empty as it had been a minute earlier. Now she wanted another drink. The bar was too crowded. It would take too long. Wouldn’t it? Maybe if she pushed...

  Stop.

  Now was th
e time for control.

  Andrius stood at the south window peering down the southern end of Deansgate and along Chester Road. Edith slid her hand gently onto his back.

  “I can’t see anything.” He spoke without taking his eyes from the binoculars.

  “Sunny too. Are you sure there’s nothing?”

  “Take a look for yourself.” He handed her the binoculars.

  All along the southern end of Deansgate to its junction with the Mancunian Way to road was free of traffic. Even beyond that, along Chester Road, traffic was light.

  “There’s nothing. Hardly any cars.” She lowered the binoculars and slumped back into her seat with a sigh. “I suppose that’s good news, at least. The lorry will be easy to spot.”

  “How long do you think we’ll have.” She raised her hand to her face. “Once we see the truck?”

  He perched on the edge of his seat and shrugged. “I guess...I guess not long. It will take a couple of minutes for the truck to reach us, at most. Sunny had better spot the attacker before that, else we’ll be cutting it fine.”

  He caressed her arm. “We’ll manage. I’m sure of it.”

  The volume of chatter at the other side of the skybar suddenly rose. Chairs scraped on the floor as guests moved from their seats. They gathered together, intent on a single spot. Faces raised to the television showing the live news.

  An overhead shot of Albert Square. Crowds filled most of the available space. A small clearing to the front of the town hall and a pathway leading to the road were carved out by barriers and policemen. The camera zoomed in. Figures strolled along a red carpet, shaking hands, stopping now and then for pictures. Behind them local worthies, following at a respectful distance. The whole party worked its way toward the road. Several vehicles waited to parade them through the streets of Manchester.

  “Oh shit.” Edith muttered. She kneaded Andrius’s hand in her own and stood dumbfounded as she stared at the news. It had always been coming, now it was here. She reached up to his ear to whisper. “How long until they reach Deansgate, do you think?”

  “They have to go up Cross Street and then along St Mary’s Gate. Even at a slow pace it won’t take them fifteen minutes, most likely much less.”

  She glanced back to the television. The royals had reached the cars already. Servants opened the doors. They tarried, shaking more hands, taking more pictures. Several entered the cars and took their seats. One leant into the crowd for a selfie. A security guard leant forward instinctively but stopped. His eyes nervously scanned the hands of the crowd as they embrace the body royal. After a tense minute he pointed the way to the car.

  Bentley limousines in dark claret sat kerbside. Twice the size of an normal car. Their windows taller and wider than even cars of the same make, special adapted for occupants to sit in full view of the public. Armoured against gunshots, airtight against gas attacks, and, despite its great size and weight, could easily top a hundred and twenty miles per hour if needed.

  The limousines pulled away. Another, less stately, car drew up for the group of dignitaries. Outriders rolled ahead. A continuous line of police officers walked along the crowd barriers.

  The crowd was wild with cheers. Frenzies of Union Jacks, small, big, in the hands of every other person. An occasional flower thrown in to the road. An admirer lost in their desperation of fulfilling a long held fantasy. Backs unthinkably turned, the quest for a royal–filled selfie and not in demonstration. A few mounted the barriers seeking a better look. Police swiftly coaxed them down.

  Edith watched in horror. Buildings passed on either side of the procession, recognizable landmarks. Each one a little nearer. King Street, St Ann Street, the Royal Exchange, then the Arndale. She felt in her bag for her phone and drew it out. No messages. No missed call.

  Come on, she willed the phone, just bloody ring.

  Once more she returned with the binoculars to the south windows. Looking out in desperation, Andrius by her side.

  “Anything?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes I’m sure!” She lowered the binoculars and glowered at him. She shoved the binoculars into his hands. “You look!”

  She paced behind him. Her hand twitched over her bag. She resisted, for a moment, but it was impossible. A second later she had dialled Sunny’s number.

  Sunny was no more willing to be interrupted than before.

  ‘I told you not to ring me!’

  “But...” The call ended before Edith could say anything further. She threw her phone back into her bag in disgust. Deep breath. She turned to Andrius. “Can you see anything?”

  “No, not yet. Nothing that looks like a lorry.”

  Edith rubbed her face. “Let me have a...”

  A new commotion came from the other side of the skybar. Louder than before. The whole crowd of guests had torn themselves away from the television and shifted as one mass to the north windows. She froze beneath the television. It was clear what had excited everybody. The motorcade had rounded a corner and emerged onto Deansgate.

  “Shit. Oh, shit.” Edith barely kept her voice down. She shook her head. “Come on, Sunny, come on!”

  “Edith!” Andrius whisper–shouted across the bar. “Come here.”

  She raced back and the binoculars were thrust into her hand. He pointed, southward, to a distant stretch of Chester Road.

  “It just came round the corner now.”

  There, in the blurry, shaky image through the binoculars, she could see a white petrol tanker idling at the side of the road.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” She couldn’t move the binoculars from her eyes. She stared at the tanker, willing it not to move another metre. “It seems to have stopped. Is it waiting for something? A sign?”

  “I guess.”

  “But what?”

  “A landmark.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “As soon as the royals reach a certain point on Deansgate it will accelerate. Somebody has it perfectly timed, I’m sure. They want the impact to happen at just the right point.”

  “What could they use? A junction? A building?”

  “I don’t know. It might take three, maybe four minutes to get from where they’re parked to just below the tower. So, working back...,” Andrius stepped across to the television. After a moment he returned. “I figure the point is the John Rylands Library.”

  “Can you see it from the window?”

  Taller than average he could see above the crowd at the north window. Far in the distance he could clearly make out the John Rylands Library. A Gothic temple to literature, built from rich red sandstone and topped with two towers on its west front. It was unmistakable. A perfect landmark.

  He returned with a silent nod. “It’s easy, even with your bare eyes. The parade is the only thing in the road. So it will be obvious when the vehicles reach it.”

  “How long now?”

  He shrugged. “A few minutes. Not more than five, surely.”

  She fidgeted with her phone. No messages. No missed calls. Another call to Sunny would do no good. She had to trust her sister. The truck had moved, the attacker must be ready for the attack. He might be at the window right now. Sunny would be watching, she wouldn’t fail to catch anything suspicious.

  “Come on!” Edith held the binoculars in one hand, phone in the other. The tanker, unmoved. The phone, undisturbed. “Andrius, where’s the procession now?”

  “Hmm,” between the television and snatches of view form the window it was easy to place them precisely, “King Street.”

  She paced. Arms down by her sides. No more tanker, no more phone. There was no use. Only wait. Sunny would call, the parade would reach the library. Which would come first? And when? Minutes, at most. Maybe less. Every second gone was a second less to wait. Or another second lost. She would know either way soon enough.

  “It’s at Bridge Street now.” Andrius updated her. “It will at the library in thirty seconds.”

 
; One. Two. Three. Four. Five...

  Before she could reach thirty, he came and grabbed her arm.

  “It’s there, at the library. You have to look for the tanker.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes. “Or let me look.”

  “No.”

  She drew herself up straight and put the binoculars to her eyes. For a brief second she couldn’t find the tanker. She panicked that it had already long begun its journey. Then she saw it. It was where it had been. Or nearly so. Crawling along. Gaining speed slowly.

  Her grip on the binoculars weakened as she withdrew them from her eyes. He took them up instead. Now only the phone mattered to her. Sunny would come through.

  ‘I know you won’t let me down,’ she spoke to her phone, ‘you never did.’

  Silence. Edith stared. Her heart thumped in her chest. The crowd’s cheering grew all around though it faded away from her hearing. Her sight narrowed. Only the screen of her phone was visible.

  Wait.

  Ping.

  A quick swipe. A message. Sunny.

  ‘Four floors down.’

  “Let’s go!” Edith shouted full loud at Andrius, striking him on his arm urging him to action.

  The pair raced to the fire exit and dived through into the stairwell. Edith first. Andrius following. Their steps machine–gunned as they descended.

  “Where?”

  “Four floors down.”

  The first landing for the floor below the skybar passed by. The sign, glanced in passing, said ‘22’. Then, after two flights taken almost at a single leap, a second landing came into sight. A second door, a second sign, ‘21’.

  The breath rose in her lungs. Not exertion, but thrill. Energy surged through her. The steps were nothing, sliding away beneath her feet. A third landing, a third sign. Neither looked at the ‘20’ on the wall.

  A last two flights. The last few steps. The last turn of the stairs as they descended.

  “Floor 19!” She called out as she saw the sign. They had been there before. Where they bought the card. “You have the card.” It was a question, an instruction, a reassurance, all sought from Andrius. She slammed through the door and out into the hallway.

  “1909.” He gave the only answer needed, certainty in his voice.

  They sprinted along the hall. They rounded the corner. The room was before them.