Praise for by Claire McFall:
SHORTLISTED FOR THE SCOTTISH CHILDREN’S BOOK
AWARD AND THE GRAMPIAN CHILDREN’S BOOK AWARD.
NOMINATED FOR THE CARNEGIE MEDAL.
‘… a touching, often funny and sometimes harrowing
first novel about first love.’
The Guardian
‘A strong and moving love story that
unfurls like the most beautiful flower. It is a beautifully
written book – poignant and moving.
I couldn’t put it down.’
Birmingham Post
‘… happy, sad, gripping, beautiful, heart-wrenching and
everything in between.’
Read and Repeat
‘… will touch your heart and make you believe that
there is more to life than what we can see. A stunning
original debut from an author we will need to watch out
for in the future.’
Serendipity Reviews
‘It was amazing – gorgeous, epic, addictive…
A stunning, stunning debut that left me
absolutely breathless.’
The Book Addicted Girl
‘A beautiful take on the afterlife.’
Death, Books and Tea
‘Ferryman is an addictive read which will tear your heart
out and rip it to shreds, but carry on reading because
this story needs to be told!’
Readaraptor
‘I loved it. Could not put it down! McFall has created
great characters, a romance I loved and a landscape
that is fresh. Highly recommend!’
Readingawaythedays
‘… a fantastic book, a real breath of fresh air.’
Bookapoet
‘This book is a must-read and the only question you
will want to ask at the end is: When does the author
release another book?’
Eloise, 16
‘… probably one of the best Young Adult romance
books I have ever read.’
Harriet, 13
‘… a great choice for young adult readers. It’s a book
that gives you a wonderful warm feeling.’
Emer, 13
CLAIRE McFALL
To Ruth, for buttons and doors…
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgements
About The Author
CHAPTER ONE
My lips were dry, the moisture sucked out of them by the ragged gasping of my breathing as it struggled to keep up with the frantic pounding of my heart. I didn’t lick them, impeded by the flashlight clenched tightly between my teeth, held there because both my hands were busy. In my right hand I gripped a block of putty the size of a pack of playing cards; in my left, a blue wire, the gleaming copper ends glinting like flame in the narrow beam of the torch. Carefully, hesitantly, I eased the sharpened points deep into the block of explosive, then I raised my fingers three inches and gripped the tiny switch. Offering up a prayer to no one, I flicked the lever from left to right. A red light blinked on.
I sighed, feeling relief wash through me.
As delicately as I could manage, I lifted the device and slotted it neatly beneath a jumble of motherboards and hard drives. Then I checked each connection, each wire, each switch. Everything had to be perfect; everything had to be right. As a last touch, I pushed a discreet button, and the tiny black box emitted a single shrill beep. I looked at my watch. 11.27 p.m.
Job done, I lifted the heavy metal panel door of the servers unit and slotted it back into place. The sharp edges made a loud grating sound as they slid into position and I froze, listening. Only the whirring of the air conditioning unit kept me company. Satisfied my presence was still unnoticed, I quickly screwed the bolts back in, hiding my handiwork within the depths of the computer. The red light was just visible through the vent near the base, but nobody was going to be looking that closely. Not tonight. Not in the next twenty minutes. I snapped off the flashlight and plunged myself into darkness before I got off my knees.
Now to get out without attracting attention. CCTV cameras were fitted in every room, the overhead lights set with motion detectors. Even the most inept security guard couldn’t fail to notice if a hallway suddenly lit up when nobody was supposed to be there. There was an alarm on every window and every exterior door. A bit of a pickle for someone working alone. Luckily I was not.
I flipped out my mobile and dialled the only stored number. Someone answered after just one ring.
“Hello?” A detached male voice spoke, the crackling of the line didn’t quite mask his thick Welsh accent.
“I’m done.”
“Give me a minute and a half.”
The dial tone rang in my ear before the last word had fully formed.
Snapping the clamshell closed, I eased the phone back into my pocket and counted slowly to ninety in my head. Then I lifted the hood of my jumper and eased it over my hair, pulling it forward until it hung low, half concealing my face. I walked straight out of the door and along the corridor towards the lift.
The overhead fluorescents buzzed into life, banishing the shadows of the darkened building and lighting my way. I ignored the waiting lift and took the stairwell, jogging lightly down several floors until I reached ground level. A heavy fire door spat me out into a foyer, cavernous and sparkling white. Strolling forward, I jumped over the low turnstiles where daytime workers swiped their government IDs, letting the long sleeves of my top cover my fingers as I leaned on the pillars to leapfrog; then I marched past the empty security reception, out through the front door.
A car was waiting for me at the roadside, gleaming black in the pool of light from the wide open entranceway. I opened the passenger door, pausing to look at a noisy kerfuffle happening a little way along the street. Several security guards were struggling to contain a group of youths armed with spray cans and baseball bats. I smiled. How convenient for me.
“Get in,” a low voice ordered from within the vehicle.
I did as the man said, and as soon as I closed the door the car ghosted away. I fastened my seat belt as we turned left at the end of the road, joining a steady stream of traffic. Even at this time of night the city centre remained congested, providing plenty of cover for us to disappear, should any prying eyes be watching.
“Any problems?”
In the yellow glare of the streetlights I stared at the silhouette of my driver, Samuel. He looked straight ahead, his eyes darting from vehicle to vehicle, hunting for the red and black markings of a GE patrol.
“No,” I said, my voice hushed.
“How long have we got?”
I twisted my wrist to squint at my watch, the tiny luminous dials winking at me through the darkness.
“About five minutes.”
“Plenty of time to clear the scene.”
I nodded, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. He was on high alert, the same way he always was whenever Alexander made him travel within the Central Zone. He didn’t like it
here; it was too tightly controlled, too penned in. We were silent as we wound slowly through the maze of gridlocked cars. I wanted to turn on the radio, but Samuel hadn’t given me permission and I didn’t want to ask. Instead I stared at my watch, following the second hand as it rotated in jerking circles, counting the minutes as they ticked past. I didn’t feel it when the clock struck 11.47 p.m., but the sky behind me flashed white then orange in the rear-view mirror.
“Good work, Lizzie,” Samuel muttered to me as he passed by the bollards marking the edge of the Zone. “Alex will be pleased.”
I didn’t say anything. I hoped the security guards were still outside, dealing with the hired yobs.
We sped up as we crossed the river and made our way into the East End. Traffic was lighter here. Most people didn’t have the money for cars or, more specifically, petrol. Besides, it wasn’t the sort of area where it was safe to be out after dark. Stop-and-grabs were widespread, and it was common for drivers to ignore red lights at junctions. No one was likely to interfere with our car, however. They knew better.
Samuel pulled up outside a large tenement building. It had been a block of flats, but Alexander had bought them all and then converted the place into one huge four-storey mansion. On the outside it was as tatty and rundown as any of the other buildings on the street, but inside it was the central hub of his empire, testament to how his business had grown. And he was doing very well.
We got out of the car and a young lackey appeared immediately to take the keys from Samuel.
“Wipe it, strip it, sell it,” Samuel told him.
Then he clapped me on the shoulder and guided me inside. I felt a familiar knot tie itself in my stomach. We were going to see Alexander.
The door was opened for us before we reached it, a great hulking figure nodding curtly to Samuel, one hand on a bulge in his leather jacket. He was the gatekeeper, the man who decided whether or not you got in; and if you did, whether you went up, down or straight ahead. Business transactions happened on the ground floor, dodgy dealings in the basement. Only ‘family’ went upstairs. Those special few who made it into Alexander’s inner circle.
We headed straight for the staircase, making for the first floor where Alexander kept his private office. It wasn’t so much an office as a vast open space housing everything a gangster might need, and quite a few things he probably never would. There was a stainless steel, state-of-the-art kitchen area, which housed more booze than food; a pool table; a giant flat screen attached to the wall; several luxurious white leather sofas; a corner bedecked with office furniture and, half hidden behind a screen, a king-sized bed. The whole room was opulent and decadent, and I hated the place.
“You made the news,” Alexander said as soon as we entered, pressing a button on the remote so that the television sprang to life. “A special broadcast. It interrupted Detective Plum.”
I looked at the screen, trying hard to keep my face impassive. A female reporter stood to the left of the shot, mouthing silently into the camera. Over her right shoulder, flames and smoke billowed from a grand stone building, the government logo just visible beneath the flashing blue lights of the emergency services. Ticker tape running along the bottom of the screen announced that police suspected terrorists were involved in the bombing of the Home Office Information building.
They were right to suspect.
“I knew I could trust my Elizabeth,” he said softly, rolling off the sofa and crossing the room towards us. His walk was like a cat, stealthy and lithe. He came right up to me and placed his hands on either side of my face. “Clever girl,” he kissed me full on the lips. My mouth tingled at the same time as my stomach clenched with fear.
Then he dropped his hands and turned to his brother, dismissing me. I stared at the two of them: so similar, so very, very different. The Evans brothers. Both were on the short side of average, both had green eyes and brown hair, both spoke with lilting Welsh accents. But, whereas Samuel was lean and wiry in a tough way, Alexander, mindful of the fact that his brother was a full inch taller, had worked his muscles till they bulked out, and the broadness of his chest and shoulders was clear beneath the designer-cut suit he wore. Alexander also had the first hint of lines etching into the corners of his mouth; at twenty-eight he was four years older than his brother. But the main difference was that Samuel had the intricate, symmetrical knot tattooed on his left cheek, whereas Alexander’s cheek was beautifully smooth, lasered clean.
Alexander was also a hell of a lot meaner.
“Any problems?”
Samuel shook his head. “She went in; all the stuff was there, where it should have been; she set up the bomb; then we created a distraction to get her out. Simple. And it all went like clockwork.”
Alexander nodded, twisting one side of his mouth up into a satisfied smile. He liked it when things went like clockwork. So did I; because when they didn’t, someone invariably ended up visiting Zane in the basement and they were never seen again. Zane was Alexander’s personal bodyguard, but he also dealt with employees who had to be ‘despatched’ from the payroll. He was here now, lingering discreetly on one of the sofas, alert blue eyes watching everything that went on. His posture was relaxed, but I knew that if I raised my hand to take a swing at Alexander, he’d be across the room and I’d be face down in the thick shag of the carpet, my arm dislocated up my back, before my palm made contact with Alexander’s cheek. That, or he’d just shoot me. But then Alexander would be annoyed; he didn’t like blood in his office.
“And the car?”
“We’ll get rid of it, after it’s been cleaned down. Nobody saw us, but that doesn’t mean the police won’t go through the CCTV for the street. We’ll probably have to take a loss on it.”
Alexander made a face. He didn’t like making losses either.
“We should have used something older, a cheap car.”
Samuel shook his head.
“Bad idea, Alex. It would have looked out of place in that part of town. We’d have been stopped by a GE patrol before we got anywhere near.”
I tried not to smile as Alexander nodded in rueful agreement. Samuel was the only one who dared to argue with his brother, he was also the only person who could get away with calling him Alex. Alexander didn’t shorten names. That’s why I was Elizabeth to him, and Lizzie to everyone else.
“You’re sure there will be nothing to tie this to us?”
Samuel nodded.
“Lizzie kept her face out of the cameras; no one will be able to identify her.”
“Gloves?”
Both brothers looked to me. I paled. Samuel had told me to wear gloves, had made a point of handing them to me. And I’d deliberately left them in the car. Samuel wasn’t going to tell on me, but he wasn’t going to take the heat for it either.
“I can’t work with gloves on,” I said, my strangled whisper barely audible above the sound of four people quietly breathing. “My fingers slip.”
Alexander’s face darkened.
“If you’ve left fingerprints…”
“I haven’t!” I stammered. “I didn’t touch anything, only the gear. I swear. Even when I was taking the panel on and off, I covered my hands with my sleeves.” I held up my arms, hidden beneath the overlong fabric of my hoodie, as proof.
“I sincerely hope so,” Alexander said softly.
My pulse broke into a sprint, dewy sweat forming at the base of my back. Alexander didn’t shout, ever. Someone who had to bellow and bawl had lost control, and Alexander never, ever lost control. In any case, there was never any need for him to raise his voice, because whenever he opened his mouth to speak, everyone shut the hell up and listened. But when he was quiet, when his voice dropped to the low murmur of a lover, that was when he was most dangerous. That was when your life hung in the balance. I knew if my name cropped up in the police investigation – and if it did, even if it was only mentioned once, in passing, Alexander would know about it – then I would be taking a trip with Zane. I saw him now,
out of the corner of my eye, smiling at me.
Three sharp raps sounded. I jumped, and we all turned towards the door. We waited, but the door didn’t open. Whoever was outside knew well enough that entry to Alexander’s office was strictly by invitation only – unless you were Samuel.
“Zane.”
Though Alexander was only feet from the door, he turned and looked at his bodyguard. It was part of the charade, after all. What sort of gangster opened his own door?
Zane got up and breezed past us, shielding the room with his body as he opened the door. No bullet was getting through the thickness of his bulk to take his boss by surprise.
I tried to listen to his low conversation, but nothing audible drifted my way. After a few seconds, Zane clicked the door quietly closed and crossed to where we stood. He leaned close, whispered a few words in Alexander’s ear. I saw Alexander’s eyes narrow, then widen in warning and reproach as he caught me watching, unduly interested.
“I see,” he said, still staring at me.
Raising his right hand to my face, his fingers traced lightly around the tattoo on my cheek. I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“I have some business to take care of downstairs. Elizabeth, why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
I stared at him, mutinous. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, but Zane and Samuel were still in the room. It was a test, a vindictive game; just one more opportunity for Alexander to remind me that I belonged to him.
I did belong to him.
Turning on my heel, I made my way slowly towards the bed. Mindful of three pairs of eyes on me, my cheeks burned as I stripped off my hoodie and T-shirt as I walked. The rest of my clothes I shrugged off behind the screen. Then I crawled into his bed to wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Lying on my back, I stared at myself. Two cold grey eyes stared back. They were framed by thick, dark lashes, and stood out in a pinched, snowy-white face. My hair was a mess, the short pixie cut ruffled and sticking up at odd angles. In my nose and running up the sides of both ears, silver and diamanté studs glittered in the spotlights Alexander’s interior designer had installed along with the mirrored ceiling. The lights lit up every angle of my androgynous frame; and my face, with its set, hardened expression that was much too worldly-wise for my eighteen years. It was a hard face to look at.
Bombmaker Page 1
