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Bombmaker

Page 26

by Claire McFall


  I tried to keep a map in my head, following Samuel’s progress as he turned left and right, weaving his way across Stepney, but I got lost after a series of confusing turns where it felt as if we were doubling back, and I was sure that wasn’t right. I gave up after that, and concentrated on trying to keep myself steady and prevent the equipment in my bag from being jostled or bashed. I knew Samuel would be doing his best, but I was aching after less than a mile and I was sure my skin was going to be covered in yet more bruises. A small price to pay, though, if that was the worst that would come my way over the next few hours.

  Though I’d lost my bearings, I knew exactly when we hit Bancroft Road. The car wheels trembled as they traversed the short section of uneven patterned brickwork, put in years before as a traffic-calming measure. Now it was Alexander’s malevolent aura that kept vehicles away from this street, unless they’d good cause to be there. I held my breath as the car slowed, picturing Samuel pausing in front of the main door, then accelerating gently away. A pair of sharp left-hand turns pushed me to the back of the boot as he manoeuvred into the alleyway and then down into the garages. Unlike Davis’s set-up, they were open to the sky, although an eight-foot wall kept out prying eyes.

  A series of clicks followed as Samuel yanked up the handbrake, then came the sound of the car door opening and closing, a slight movement of the car as Samuel’s weight eased off the seat. Then nothing. I heard him call out to someone, take one, two, three steps. I waited, breath held. Samuel?

  At last came the noise I was listening for: the simultaneous beep as he engaged the remote central locking and disengaged the boot lock in the same swift motion. The door in front of me opened a crack, just enough for a slither of yellow light to glimmer around the outline, not enough for anyone to notice. If they weren’t looking too closely…

  I hadn’t been short of air in my moving coffin, but when the fresh air found its way in, little puffs of cold, fragranced with the heavy scent of car oil and petrol, I drank it in gratefully

  Now I just had to wait it out.

  On a normal night, I could expect Alexander to join me in his giant bed anywhere between midnight and 1 a.m. Zane was a night owl, but Samuel – having his flat on the same floor as the Irishman – reliably informed me that he, too, was usually asleep not long after one. We’d agreed – or rather, Samuel had told me – that 2 a.m. was the best time to strike. It gave them plenty of opportunity to drift into unconsciousness, and it was late enough that the muscle on the door should be starting to get sleepy, starting to lose focus. Which gave me… I checked my watch in the darkness, grateful for the luminous dials. Quarter past seven. I blew out a breath. That gave me a long time.

  A long, long time. Midnight came and went. I tried to sleep, thinking it would pass the time, but I was too uncomfortable and too nervous of missing my moment, of waking up to the blinking light of morning with some very nasty people standing over me. I spent a lot of time unsuccessfully trying not to think. I wondered what my life would have been like if I’d just stayed up in Scotland after I’d been branded. Short, was the likely answer. I thought about the long months I’d spent as Alexander’s little pet, trying to focus on the times he’d made me feel sick at myself, useless, worthless, doing my best not to remember the inexplicable times when he’d been kind and gentle, sweet even. I thought of Mark, poor Mark, and wondered what had happened to him, whether Alexander had left him to be found. I tried to convince myself that was all Alexander’s fault, another sin to lay at his feet, another reason to pull the trigger on him. I didn’t succeed there, either. I knew where the blame lay, but there wasn’t room for it in the boot with me; I’d suffocate under the weight of the guilt if I let myself really feel it.

  I didn’t think about Samuel, because I was too scared to hope…

  Just before one, I started to get nervous. Though it was freezing in the car, my clothes were sticking to me, sweat gathering at the base of my back and under my arms. My hands were clammy, moistening up no matter how many times I rubbed them agitatedly against the thighs of my jeans. I was nauseous, too, though that might have been from hunger as the hours ticked further away from the slice and a half of pizza I’d eaten mid-afternoon. I was spared the torment of thirst: my mouth kept filling with saliva that I’d nowhere to spit away.

  I was tempted to lift the boot a little, to peek up at the rear of the building. I knew I’d be able to see Alexander’s office, and I could probably work out which window belonged to Zane, too. I’d be able to see if the lights were off yet, maybe get a head start on my task. I fingered the phone in my pocket, wondering whether to call Samuel and suggest it. I was eager to get this over with as quickly as possible, not least because every muscle in my body was cramped and aching. But I decided against it. Samuel had a plan. If I went meddling, messed it up… And in any case, there was no guarantee, if I rang Samuel, that he’d be the one to answer.

  In fact I’d no guarantee Alexander hadn’t already done something to punish his brother that would ruin the whole operation before we’d even started.

  That thought sent another wave of palpitations through my already panicked system.

  At two exactly, I silently eased open the hatchback door of the Punto, making a gap just big enough for me to squeeze myself through. I crawled out, then dropped to the ground, pulling my rucksack with me. As soon as I felt the rough gravel of the uneven parking area, I scuttled backwards under the car and peered about me. It was empty. That didn’t mean anything, though. There were cameras covering almost every inch of the place. Almost every inch. Scooting further back, I felt my foot connect with the wall. I squirmed around until I was lying flat alongside it, the bumper just above my head; then slowly, carefully, cautiously, I stood up.

  My back to the wall, I scanned the area. My first assessment had been right: deserted. As long as I stayed here, tucked right up against the brickwork, I should be able to sidle over to the building. Out of sight. Out of the ever-alert lens of Alexander’s state-of-the-art security system. At least, that’s what Samuel had assured me. Still, I was on tenterhooks, waiting for the shout or the blaze of the floodlights that would tell me I’d been discovered.

  I should have had more faith in Samuel. All was still quiet when I touched both hands to the back wall of Alexander’s headquarters. I took a moment to inhale a few breaths of relief, then adjusted the rucksack, making sure it was firmly in place over both my shoulders. Then I took three steps to the left and wrapped my hands around the thick iron guttering that twisted, snakelike, across the wall. Taking a firm hold, I lifted one shoe onto the crumbling stone, tried to feel the grip. I was going to have to move fast here; as soon as I was more than six feet off the ground, I’d be easily visible. I looked up before I started, postponing the inevitable, and saw the open window three floors up. Samuel’s flat.

  The sight was reassuring: Samuel had made it this far in the plan, at least. That put paid to the very worst of my fears.

  But I was still standing there. Still motionless. Still scared.

  “Go!” I told myself, louder than I meant to.

  Bracing my arms, I took my second foot of the ground and started to climb.

  It was hard going, and twice I nearly fell, but eventually I made it, my fingertips curling around the lip of the windowsill. One more heave and I’d be up.

  Out of nowhere, two hands grabbed my arms, hauled at me. I yelped, startled, as I was twisted around and tugged backwards through the opening, and a hand clamped down over my mouth. That frightened me. I clawed at the hand, struggled, tried to wriggle my way free. A second arm wound round my middle, squeezed me so tight the air was forced from my lungs. I tried to scream, but the hand was so big it covered my nose as well as my mouth, and I didn’t have the breath. I didn’t stop fighting, though, knowing I’d resist until unconsciousness claimed me.

  “Lizzie, stop! Stop!”

  I stopped. At once the hands let me go and I whirled to face Samuel.

  “You scared m
e!” I accused in a low voice.

  “Sorry,” Samuel pulled me into a hug and spoke low into my ear. “When you squealed I was worried someone would hear you.”

  I let myself luxuriate in the warmth of his embrace, but all too soon Samuel released me.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked me, stroking my cheeks with both his hands. He let his right hand linger, running around the curves of my tattoo.

  Feeling the heat of his scrutiny, I nodded. Though I wasn’t sure at all.

  “What did Alexander say?” I asked, stalling.

  Samuel smiled, seeing straight through me.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head, shushing me.

  “In less than an hour, nothing Alex’s said or done will matter,” he told me. He had a point. “You remember what you have to do?”

  I chewed on my lip.

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell me.”

  I smiled. Typical, thorough Samuel. Everything checked and double-checked.

  “Four charges: here, office, ground floor storeroom, basement. Five minutes apart, ten minutes from the final charge. So that’s twenty-five minutes here, twenty in the office, fifteen on the ground.”

  “And?” Samuel raised an eyebrow.

  I looked at him, confused. That was it. Everything.

  “I…” Oh. “One in the chest, one in the head.”

  Samuel watched me steadily.

  “Are you going to be able to do this, Lizzie?”

  I took a deep breath. Thought once again of all the ways Alexander had ever hurt me, humiliated me. Pushed down the memories of when I’d caught a glimpse of another, softer side of him; what I owed him.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I can do it.”

  “Good. Where’s the gun?”

  He looked down at my empty hands like he expected it to miraculously appear.

  “In my bag.”

  Samuel huffed a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

  “In your bag? Lizzie, it’s not going to do any damned good in there!”

  “Oh, right.”

  Feeling clumsy and foolish, I slipped the rucksack off my shoulders and rooted through it until my fingers curled around cold metal. I drew out the small semi-automatic, the sleek length of silencer already attached to the muzzle.

  “You remember how to use it?” Samuel asked me.

  I nodded, though I didn’t lift my head to meet his gaze. I couldn’t take my eyes off the weapon. Was I really going to do this?

  I thought about what might happen if I didn’t, and felt steely resolution solidify in my gut.

  “Lizzie?” I raised my head. Samuel gave me a shifty smile. “Waiting on you…”

  Wordless, I dropped to my knees. I pulled out one of the heavy blocks of C4 and a timer-circuit. With hands that shook only slightly, I finished turning the components into something that would give Davis his spectacle, then held it out to Samuel.

  “Where do you want this?”

  He looked around the flat. A last look, I realised. He wouldn’t be coming back here. If all went to plan, there’d be nothing to come back to.

  “Will it fit under the sofa?”

  As he spoke he checked the large handgun he held in his hand. I looked up and my breath caught as I realised how… dangerous he looked. Though he was a saint next to his brother, I knew his hands had ended the lives of more people than I wanted to know about, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes not. Which was this?

  At that moment it hit home to me just what it was costing Samuel to go through with this.

  And that he was doing it, in large part, for me.

  “Yeah.” I thrust the contraption under the leather two-seater until it was all but out of sight, then smiled at him as I sat back on my heels, trying to put all of my gratitude into the gesture.

  “Okay, should I set the timer?”

  Samuel checked his watch.

  “Do it.”

  I reached down and flicked the switch. A tiny red LED light immediately began flashing. It seemed an anti-climax after all the tension, and Samuel and I grinned at each other for the briefest of moments. Our expressions didn’t last long, though. I lifted myself to my feet and, sombre faced, we turned towards the door.

  Samuel moved first, crossing the room, then pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I’ll deal with Zane, then head down to the front door,” he whispered. “Downstairs should be clear by the time you’re done in Alex’s.”

  He didn’t give me time to respond, but swung the door open and gestured me out. He waited until I’d started to ghost down the stairs before he crossed the tiny landing, his thoughts on nothing but what lay within the flat opposite.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Though my legs felt as if they didn’t belong to me, I somehow made it down the short flight of stairs. The clock was ticking and I didn’t have time for fear, but I had to stop for a second. My stomach was churning so much I thought I was going to throw up. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, to get the hell away from there. Instead, I reached forward, grabbed the doorknob, and turned.

  It swung open silently. Inside was absolutely black. Alexander couldn’t sleep if there was so much as a chink of light sneaking its way under the blackout blinds he’d had installed over the huge windows. Though the hall was dark, I knew shafts of grey would penetrate, giving me away if Alexander was anything but deeply asleep, so I slipped quickly inside and pulled the door shut behind me.

  Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. The darkness was disorientating, but I knew from experience that my eyes would adjust, that there would be just enough grey to turn the room into a world of shadows. Right now, though, I was blind.

  I shut my eyes – they were useless anyway – and mapped out the room in my head. With trembling legs I took four steps forward, then turned away from the direction of the bed, heading towards the office. Behind the safety of the desk I hunkered down. Stuffed the gun in the waistband of my jeans, right at the centre of my back, and, with incredible caution, one tooth at a time, unzipped the rucksack. It seemed like the sound filled the room, but there was nothing else I could do. When at last I’d made a big enough hole to slide my hand in, and the C4 out, I paused, listened. Was that Alexander’s breathing I could hear, closer than it should be? Was I just imagining it?

  Was that cold sweat on the back of my neck, or the cool metal of Alexander’s gun?

  I shook my head, trying to chase away my irrational thoughts before I lost it entirely. I put the second device together, checked my watch. I was early, by a minute. Time to wait? That didn’t appeal. But I heard a voice inside my head, a strange mixture of Alexander and Samuel: Clockwork.

  I made myself hide there as sixty seconds ticked by. Then I set the bomb, let the tiny LED bathe me in bloody light. It seemed fitting. Sliding it behind a filing cabinet to hide the glow, I turned my attention to my next… task.

  Alexander.

  I’d been right, I could see enough now to make out the large rectangle of the pool table, the reflective surfaces of the kitchenette. The curves of the sofas, the sharp edges of the coffee table. And there, at the far end of the room, the bed. A step at a time, I glided closer. I didn’t need to look down, to check my path. My feet knew this route like my lungs knew how to breathe, although they weren’t doing a very good job of it right now. Each gasp was too loud, too shallow.

  I was maybe ten feet from the bed before my eyes could turn the white blob into sheets, a headboard, a mattress. For the first time I wondered if Alexander would be alone. A flashback to the buxom blonde, the girl who’d never had the chance to come down from her high. That stopped me, stopped me cold. It was one thing to put a bullet in Alexander – I’d reason enough for that. But if he wasn’t alone, I’d have to pull the trigger twice, because surely – silencer or no – no one could sleep through a murder? On the other hand, if the bullet didn’t kill them, the bom
b would do it anyway.

  I hadn’t planned to murder anyone, not in cold blood. I wasn’t sure there was room for that on my conscience.

  My eyes raked over the surface of the bed, struggling to turn it into identifiable shapes. Slowly, painfully slowly, the picture materialised: a dark circle that could only be a head of closely cropped brown hair; the width of muscular shoulders just beneath it, arms splayed, holding onto an empty bed. I sighed with relief. He was alone.

  Reaching back, I grabbed the gun, pulled it round. Though lighter than Samuel’s, it still felt heavy. Maybe it was the weight of guilt, of responsibility. Still, I lifted it, planting my feet like Samuel had told me. My thumb pushed down the safety, my finger found the trigger.

  Do it, Lizzie. Pull. Squeeze. Tug. Do it.

  Five seconds passed. Then five more. I just stood there. The gun got heavier and heavier, but I didn’t lower it. And I didn’t shoot.

  I wasn’t in the room. I was back in time, almost a year. Slumped in the passenger seat of a car, crying my eyes out but not making a sound, because the man sitting beside me had shut me up, not with his hand, but with a single look.

  “Name?” he’d asked, voice barely carrying over the silent purr of an expensive car.

  “Lizzie,” I’d croaked.

  He turned the force of his eyes on me for a heartbeat and my blood froze.

  “I didn’t ask what people called you. I asked for your name.”

  I tried again. “Elizabeth.”

  That satisfied him. He nodded once, curtly.

  “My name is Alexander.”

  Now that he wasn’t looking at me, I felt the need to fill the awkward quiet.

  “Thank you,” I stuttered.

  “Thank you for saving me.”

  He lifted up half a cheek in a mirthless smile.

  “Is that what I did?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so we spent the rest of the journey in silence.

 

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