by Ken McClure
‘Christ!’ exclaimed one of the men. He said it in such a way that everyone spun round sensing something approaching panic. ‘There’s a bloke in the corner,’ said the soldier.
Torches lit up the figure of a man sitting propped up in the far corner. He was dead and his ears and nose were missing.
‘It’s Groves,’ said Steven. I recognise the suit . . .’
The search continued in silence, but all were considering what they were up against, Steven more than most.
‘How about that?’ said Andy, pointing at the wall to the right of the door.
Steven looked at a card with seven four number sequences printed on it. ‘One for each day of the week,’ he said.
‘We can get in the easy way,’ said Andy to sighs of relief all round.
‘Maybe,’ Steven cautioned, ‘we don’t know what day of the week the inmates took over the asylum.’
‘Does that matter?’
‘They might not have bothered changing the entry code after that and we don’t know what day of the week they stopped doing it,’ said Steven. ‘We might punch in the wrong code. We’ll probably get away with one wrong entry, but two or more and we’ll probably trigger an automatic lock-down with alarms going off.’
‘Right, we give it two tries but won’t risk a third,’ said Andy. ‘We’ll blow the door and follow up with stun grenades. ‘Are there any coded doors inside the unit?’
‘There are, but somehow I don’t think they’ll be operational. If you’d been locked up for years I think an open-door policy might be very popular.’
‘Good point. Beats me why they haven’t all hit the road anyway.
‘The two guys in charge are clever,’ said Steven. ‘If they let the others scatter to the four winds without a plan, they’ll be picked up within a few days and the cat would be out of the bag about Moorlock. As it is, they have what they believe is a safe and secure hideout for the time being where they can plan their next move.’
‘Only . . . they’re wrong,’ said Andy. ‘Time, guys.’
The soldiers picked up their weapons and readied themselves without comment. The man Andy had detailed to carry out a quick reconnoitre – specifically to see if anyone was in the gatehouse – stood ready by the door. Torches were extinguished, Andy opened it a fraction and listened before nodding and letting him out. He was back within four minutes. ‘Empty, boss.’
Andy nodded to the two men detailed to investigate the opening of the front entrance and they slipped out. After a few more moments he turned to Steven and the four remaining soldiers. ‘Show time.’
The five men left the office silently. Andy switched his torch back on and highlighted the electronic main entrance keypad on the wall while the others crouched down, one holding stun grenades the others pointing weapons at the entrance. Steven entered a four-number sequence he’d taken from the card. He hadn’t chosen it at random, but had deliberately picked Thursday’s number because he remembered it had been a Thursday when Barrowman had escaped in the car belonging to the MI5 agent he’d murdered. If he’d driven straight to Moorlock and initiated the coup, the code might not have been changed after that. Wrong. A red LED flashed and nothing happened.
Very aware that he was about to make his second and last attempt before explosives came into play, Steven entered the code for Friday. The LED stayed dark and, after an agonising pause, mechanical levers obeyed electronic instructions and the door opened.
Andy held his hand up as it became apparent that the well-lit corridor stretching out before them was empty. He and Steven exchanged glances that spoke of good fortune. They could hear voices, but they were coming from the far end. Laughter was present in the sound, another good sign. Andy signalled to the soldiers that they move along both sides, listening at doors. He and Steven led off.
Steven was first to hold up his hand. The others came to a halt while he listened more intently. He turned and silently mouthed the words, ‘A woman.’ Putting his left hand on the door handle and holding the Glock pistol in his right he waited for a soldier with an automatic weapon to sidle into place beside him. The door wasn’t locked. It swung open to reveal a single occupant, a weeping middle-aged woman whose clothes were ripped and her hair a tangled mess. She turned her tear-stained cheeks towards the two armed men, her eyes wide as if expecting some new horror to unfold.
Steven replaced his weapon and approached the woman. ‘Who are you?’ he asked gently.
The woman appeared surprised at the question, her eyes examining Steven’s face as if totally confused.
‘You’re safe now,’ Steven assured her. ‘Who are you?’
‘Lillian Leadbetter.’
‘MP?’
The woman nodded.
Steven questioned the woman as quickly and as kindly as he could. He asked if Lawler and Barrowman were in charge.
‘They killed Dr Groves in front of my eyes. ‘Animals . . . sheer bloody animals . . . I hope they rot in hell.’
‘Is there another woman here?’
‘A doctor, yes, the woman Barrowman brought here. She’s been forced to treat Lawler.
‘Treat him?’
‘He was attacked by two of the others and badly injured. They were drinking. Barrowman was furious, he shot them both.
‘Where is she treating him?’
‘I don’t know.
‘Everything’s going to be all right but we need you to keep quiet. Okay?’
The woman nodded.
‘We can hear voices, where are they all?’
‘End of the corridor, to the right. They drink and play cards . . .’
‘Steven whispered what he’d learned. ‘Andy said, ‘You look for your lady, we’ll spoil the party.’
They made their way to the end of the corridor where the soldiers turned right and Steven went left, listening at each of the four doors he found there. He thought he heard movement behind the third door and readied his weapon before opening it quietly. Tally turned to look at him, turning away from the unconscious man she had been tending to and whom he presumed was Lawler. Her face was pale and withdrawn. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for days and wouldn’t have known what day of the week it was. She stared at him as if wondering if she was seeing things.
‘Hello,’ he said softly.
‘I knew some day my prince would come . . .’
‘Always the smart one-liner,’ said Steven, his face breaking into the first genuine smile for days. He holstered his weapon and moved towards her, but, as he did so, the deafening sound of prolonged gunfire broke out. Lawler was shocked out of sedation and took in the situation quickly. He pulled Tally across the bed on top of him, holding her neck in the crook of his arm as Steven levelled his pistol at him.
‘Drop it.’
Steven hesitated, his mind furiously assessing the situation. Lawler was weak and he was unarmed . . .
‘Drop it or I’ll bite her throat out.’
Steven looked at Lawler’s snarling mouth and saw it was all too close to Tally’s neck. He dropped his shoulders in resignation and made to drop the gun on the floor, but, at the last moment, he spun the Glock in his hand and shot at Lawler’s feet in one clean movement. Lawler screamed in pain as a bullet smashed through his metatarsals and Tally took advantage of his distraction to break free and fall down flat on the floor. Steven’s second shot killed Lawler . . . and, if it didn’t, his third certainly did. Steven helped Tally to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.
After a few moments of just holding each other Steven said, ‘I think it’s all over, but I have to check.’ He let Tally go and took out the Glock again before slowly opening the door and risking a quick look out to find a man pointing a gun at him. It was Andy, taking the same precautions over someone who was opening a door. ‘All right?’ he asked.
‘All over,’ came the reply. ‘You?’
Steven brought Tally out to receive an impromptu round of applause from the soldiers who had joined Andy. Tally looked beyond
them and asked, ‘Does anyone need my help in there?’
The soldiers looked at each other before Andy said, ‘That’s a very kind thought, doctor, but no . . . no one.’
They were joined by armed police officers who had been let in by the soldiers who had uncovered the code for the front entrance and opened it.
After brief discussions, reports were called in by the senior men to the Home Office, the Ministry of Defence and other involved parties interested in hearing that a dangerous and hugely embarrassing situation had been resolved.
Despite Steven’s protestations Tally insisted on comforting Lillian Leadbetter while they waited for an ambulance to arrive. She however, declined medical attention for herself. Steven called John Macmillan to give him the information he would require for a clean-up operation to be launched. Of necessity, he had to limit details to the number of dead and leave it at that apart from highlighting the particular horror of Groves’ death and the murder of all staff save for Staff Nurse Clements who was with the inmates when the soldiers intervened. He had died with them.
‘The police have been detailed to take you and Dr Simmons home while I see to things.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are the soldiers from 22 SAS still there?’
Steven looked round and saw only policemen. ‘No, they’ve gone.’
‘It was ever thus,’ said Macmillan.
Steven and Tally were taken back to London at high speed in a comfortable five series BMW using blues but with no need for twos. Tally slept with her head on Steven’s shoulder for the whole journey while Steven’s eyes remained wide open, transfixed by thoughts of the past few days.
‘We’re home,’ he murmured as the car slowed and turned into Marlborough Court.
‘Are we . . . are we really?’ Tally whispered sleepily.
Steven thanked the driver with a nod and the man responded in kind.
Tally seemed to recover some energy when the door closed behind them. ‘I think we could both do with a drink,’ she said. When she didn’t get a reply, she turned to find Steven looking at her. He wasn’t smiling. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘When are you going to stop?’
‘Stop what?’ she asked.
‘Playing the brave little lady who takes everything in her stride, it doesn’t wash with me . . .’
A number of expressions tried to appear on Tally’s face before they all failed and she lost all vestige of control. ‘Oh, Steven . . .’ Tears flowed freely down her face as an emotional dam burst inside her. ‘Oh Steven . . . hold me, hold me, hold me.’
Steven did. ‘I’ll never let you out of my sight again . . .’
‘Even Tally in her current state couldn’t stop a slight splutter at Steven’s ridiculous promise. ‘Oh God,’ she stammered. ‘I never guessed human beings could be like that . . . vicious loathsome animals. No, they were worse than animals: they tortured and killed for fun.’
‘Pure evil is something that most people never come across,’ said Steven.
‘But it fascinated Barrowman,’ said Tally.
‘A victim of his search for truth.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘They’re all dead.’
‘Somehow . . . I find that a great comfort.
‘I suspect Mrs Leadbetter may find similar solace.’
‘Poor woman, I’m sure she thought she was doing the right thing.’
Steven gave Tally a look that left her in no doubt about his disagreement.
‘Oh, Steven, you and politicians.’
‘Let’s not go there.’
‘Okay, do I get that drink now?’
When the hour of the day and the day of the week began to recover some relevance, Tally insisted that she’d be fine if Steven left her to go to the Home Office for a debriefing session. He telephoned Jean to say that the following morning would be good and asked her to make sure that Lukas would be there.
Steven talked everyone through the re-taking of Moorlock Hall and Macmillan said, ‘Are we to assume that Barrowman’s secret died with him?’
‘We know what the secret was,’ Steven replied. ‘He found the switching mechanism for controlling genes in a number of regions on the human genome. He found it in regions of the DNA previously described as junk, but there’s more. Maybe Lukas should take over.’
Lukas nodded and said, ‘Barrowman not only described switching mechanisms in stretches of DNA we’ve been calling junk, but he came across a bank of genes which determine in broad general terms whether a person is what we might call a normal decent human being when its controlling switch is turned one way, but when it’s reversed, we get a psychopath who is as far from being decent as you can get. I think the details of how you can turn this switch on and off are on a protected disk we found among Barrowman’s stuff, but I haven’t been able to break into it.’
Steven took over again. ‘I’m pretty sure that Barrowman believed he was on the brink of being able to manipulate the switch in psychopathic killers and turn them into normal people, but somewhere along the line, he screwed up and flicked it the wrong way in himself. He turned into a complete monster.
’Do you think he was working on turning it back in himself?’ Jean Roberts asked. ‘I was thinking about the chemicals he ordered.’
‘It would be nice to think so,’ said Macmillan.
‘Having read his notes, I think it far more likely he was intent on creating more monsters,’ said Lukas.
‘Which brings us to our intelligence services,’ said Steven. ‘Does anyone know if they have succeeded in breaking the code to get into Barrowman’s last disk?’
‘I’ve not had confirmation of that,’ said the Home Secretary.
‘Well, if we see the Queen’s own regiment of psychopathic killers trooping the colour next year we’ll know that’s a yes . . .’ said Steven.
The Home secretary made a face but didn’t take Steven to task. As he left the room, she said to Macmillan. ‘He did a magnificent job.’
‘We can agree on that, Home Secretary.’
‘The way he planned the assault on Moorlock Hall and the danger he put himself in to rescue Dr Simmons was quite extraordinary.’
‘I suspect he doesn’t know he’s just a collection of proteins and chemicals, Home Secretary . . .’
Before leaving for home, Steven called Neil Tyler to tell him all that had transpired.
‘I think you’ve just told me I’m out of a job.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘No problem, it was Barrowman’s work I was interested in, but I’d like to be kept in the loop if any progress is made with understanding his switch mechanism.’
‘If I hear it, you’ll hear it’
‘Thanks, Steven. Bye the way, did you contact the Americans with your thoughts on the Yale fire?’
‘Not yet,’ Steven confessed.
‘If it helps your decision, the New Haven Connecticut police found the body of Father Liam Crossan hanging under a bridge last night. You might say justice has been done.’
‘Wow.’
‘There are some tills you just don’t put your fingers in.’
* * * *
‘How did it go?’ Tally asked.
‘It’s over and that’s all I care about right now. We should go away, take a holiday, sunshine, blue skies . . .’
Steven stopped when he saw Tally shake her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I want to go and spend some time with Mum, tell her all the things I should tell her before it’s too late. You should go and see your daughter before she’s completely grown up. You can meet Jason . . .’
‘Mm, right.’
Tally hid a smile. ‘Steven?’
‘Yes?’
‘You did give that gun back, didn’t you?’
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KEN McCLURE is an award-winning medical scientist as well as a global selling author. He was born and brought up in Edinburgh, Scotland, where he studied medical sciences
and cultivated a career that has seen him become a prize-winning researcher in his field. Using this strong background to base his thrillers in the world of science and medicine, he is currently the author of twenty-four novels and his work is available across the globe in over twenty languages. He has visited and stayed in many countries in the course of his research but now lives in the county of East Lothian, just outside Edinburgh.
www.kenmcclure.com
Other Titles by Ken McClure
The Steven Dunbar Series
THE SECRET
LOST CAUSES
DUST TO DUST
WHITE DEATH
THE LAZARUS STRAIN
EYE OF THE RAVEN
THE GULF CONSPIRACY
WILDCARD
DECEPTION
DONOR
Other Novels
HYPOCRITES’ ISLE
PAST LIVES
TANGLED WEB
RESURRECTION
PANDORA'S HELIX
TRAUMA
CHAMELEON
CRISIS
REQUIEM
PESTILENCE
FENTON'S WINTER
THE SCORPION'S ADVANCE
THE TROJAN BOY
THE ANVIL
REVIEWS
'His medical thrillers out-chill both Michael Crichton and Robin Cook.'
Daily Telegraph.
'McClure writes the sort of medical thrillers which are just too close to plausibility for comfort.'
(Eye of the Raven) Birmingham Post.
'Well-wrought, plausible and unnerving.'
(Tangled Web) The Times
'A plausible scientific thriller . . . McClure is a rival for Michael Crichton.'
(The Gulf Conspiracy) Peterborough Evening Telegraph.
'Contemporary and controversial, this is a white-knuckle ride of a thriller.'
(Past Lives) Scottish Field.
'Ken McClure looks set to join the A list at the top of the medical thriller field.'
