'Even after an explosion?'
'Sure. Off the smallest fragment. DNA, too. A few skin cells or a piece of hair. That's why the authorities spend such a long time collecting all the residue after an explosion. They'll be all over the place once it goes off. The only prints I want them to find are the woman's.' He checked his Rolex and compared it to the digital read-out on the bomb's timer. Exact to the second. 'Right, show me what to do,' he said.
McCracken talked him through the setting of the alarm, then he pressed the button to activate it.
'Okay,' he said. 'Five minutes.' He could feel his heart pounding and he smiled to himself. Nothing had changed, not really. The bomb was the same as when he had lifted it out of the boot of the Volvo. Individually, the components were exactly as they had been all day. But his body recognised what his mind was trying to ignore. By pressing the alarm button he'd irrevocably changed the nature of the beast. Now it was live. Now it had the power of life and death. He shut the suitcase lid and closed the rear door of the van.
'Better get the Volvo out before the fumes get any worse,' he said. He pulled the chain to open the door for her. McCracken got into the car and reversed it out through the doorway.
Over by the offices, Quinn threw down the two petrol cans and went over to the stack for two more. The smell of petrol wafted over from the offices. 'All of it, Mark!' Egan called. 'We want the whole place to go up.'
He went over to help Quinn, and together they doused the offices with petrol, then McCracken poured more of the fuel along the sides of the factory. Egan looked at his watch again. A little over four minutes. Plenty of time, though he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his system. The fright, fight and flight response. But Egan was well used to suppressing his body's automatic reactions, and he calmly closed the rear doors of the Transit.
He walked over to where Quinn was slopping petrol around the corridor between the plasterboard offices. 'Nearly done,' said Quinn. Egan took his automatic out of his jacket pocket and slammed the butt against the back of Quinn's head. The man fell without a sound, and Egan deftly caught the petrol can before it hit the ground. He hefted the unconscious man over his shoulder and carried him and the half-empty can of petrol over to the Transit. He put Quinn in the driver's seat, then poured the rest of the petrol over him before looking at his Rolex again. Two minutes. Time to go.
He walked quickly across the factory area, pulled the chain down to close the metal shutter, then left by the pedestrian doorway, closing the door behind him.
McCracken was gunning the engine of the Volvo. 'You're cutting it close,' she said.
'Ninety seconds,' he said, pulling open the passenger door and climbing in. 'Anyway, we want to see if it goes up.'
She looked at him expectantly. 'Where's Mark?'
'Mark's not coming with us,' said Egan, taking off his gloves.
'What?'
Egan pointed ahead. 'Lydia, I think if we're going to discuss this, we should be doing it while we're on the move. Don't you?'
McCracken looked back at the factory unit as if reluctant to leave.
'Eighty seconds,' said Egan.
McCracken put the Volvo in gear and drove off. Egan looked around casually, checking to see if they were being observed, but the industrial estate's pavements were deserted. It wasn't a place where people walked around. Almost all the men and women who worked on the estate drove in. McCracken drove quickly out of the estate and on to the main road to Milton Keynes. The road curved back along the estate, giving them a clear view of the factory units.
'What happened back there?' said McCracken, her eyes flicking between the traffic and the industrial estate on her right.
'You said it yourself, Lydia. He was unreliable. It's almost over – we don't need to be carrying a liability. For the next stage we need Andrea's total concentration. What we don't need is her looking over her shoulder at Quinn every other minute.' He looked at his watch. 'Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.'
There was a flash of light from the skylights at the top of the factory unit, followed almost immediately by a shower of debris erupting from the roof and the metal shutter being blown out of the side of the building. A second later there was a dull crump that they felt as much as heard.
Egan looked at his watch and frowned. 'Five seconds early.' He looked across at the burning building. It was already well ablaze and little remained of the roof.
The traffic was slowing around them as drivers craned their necks to get a better look at the inferno. People were pouring out of adjacent factory units and running away from the blaze. Thick plumes of black smoke were spiralling upwards. By the time the emergency services arrived, there'd be nothing left.
'And that was just fifty pounds?' asked McCracken, slowing to avoid a coach ahead of them that was barely travelling at walking pace. All the passengers had moved over to the right-hand side of the vehicle and were peering through the windows.
'Pretty impressive, huh? Andrea knows her stuff.' Egan looked across at her and smiled thinly. 'You're thinking of the damage that a four-thousand-pound bomb will do, aren't you?'
McCracken shrugged. She accelerated past the coach and switched over to the left-hand lane, where the traffic was moving faster.
'It's gonna be awesome, Lydia. Absolutely awesome.'
– «»-«»-«»Martin reached out for the black phone, but pulled his hand back when Fanning gave a small shake of his head. 'I keep wanting to check that they're working,' said Martin.
'They're fine.' Fanning ran a hand through his thick blond hair. He tapped the digital tape recorder. 'This monitors the signal constantly. Any problems with the line and it'd show a red light. Relax.'
'Relax?' Martin stood up and paced around the office. Carter and Denham watched him from the sofa. 'What if she doesn't call? What if they don't let her use the phone?'
'There are other lines of enquiry, Martin,' said Carter. 'We're doing everything we can.'
Martin continued pacing. 'What if it's not enough? What if they kill her? What if we never find Katie?' He stopped and glared at the telephones as if he could force them to ring by effort of will.
Carter pushed herself up out of the sofa and went over to Martin. She was a couple of inches shorter than he was and had to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. 'Martin, you have to take it easy. Worrying isn't going to solve anything. When she calls, the kidnappers are going to be listening in. If they suspect you're with someone, they'll cut the connection immediately. You have to stay calm.'
The door opened and they all turned to look at Patsy Ellis. 'There's been an explosion,' she said.
'Is Andy all right?' asked Martin. He took a couple of steps towards Patsy. 'Is she? Is she okay?'
'We're not exactly sure what happened, Martin,' said Patsy. 'It wasn't here. It was in Milton Keynes.'
Martin bent over as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He struggled to speak but couldn't find any words. Milton Keynes? What the hell did that have to do with Andy?
'Sit down, Martin,' said Patsy. Carter took his arm and eased him down on to a chair.
'Are we talking about an own goal here?' asked Denham.
'We've no idea what happened,' said Patsy. 'Other than that there was an explosion on an industrial estate just outside Milton Keynes. It was a device of some sort. SOCO are there now, along with explosive officers from the anti-terrorist branch. Early reports are that there was a vehicle inside a factory unit and that it exploded. There was at least one person killed.'
Martin put his head in his hands and moaned. Carter patted the back of his neck and looked across at Patsy. Patsy shrugged, not sure what to say. She fingered the crucifix around her neck.
'Just one?' asked Denham.
'That's the information we have.'
Denham went over to Martin and sat down at the table next to him. 'That's good news, Martin. She wouldn't be on her own, not with the bomb.'
Martin lifted his head. Denham could see the hope in his
eyes. 'Do you think?'
'I'm sure. If it was an accident, there would have been more killed.' He scratched the birthmark on his neck. 'And there's no reason for her to be in Milton Keynes. It's a wasteland. No terrorist is going to waste a bomb on Milton Keynes.'
Martin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Denham looked over at Patsy and grimaced. He hoped he wasn't being too optimistic.
– «»-«»-«»Andy took the Tupperware container out of the tumble-drier and placed it on the floor. She put in a new container, set the timer, then stood up and stretched. The Wrestler was mixing a fresh batch, measuring out the aluminium powder with a plastic cup. They'd done almost a quarter of the mixing, and had a line of black garbage bags, each containing about thirty pounds of explosive. The neck of each bag was tied with a metal fastener.
Andy went over to him. 'I'm going to take a break,' she said, her voice muffled by the respirator. 'I need something to drink.'
The Wrestler nodded. 'Bring me back a Coke, yeah?'
Andy went along to the office where Green-eyes had stockpiled the food and drink. She took a chicken salad roll out of the Marks and Spencer carrier bag and opened a bottle of iced tea. She listened at the door before easing it open, then padded across the corridor and into the office opposite. The briefcase was where she'd left it. Andy picked it up and carried it back into the meeting room. She put it on the table and started flicking through the combinations. She'd reached the high seven hundreds.
– «»-«»-«»O'Keefe jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, his right hand reaching for his holstered gun, but instantly relaxed when he saw it was McCracken. She'd put her ski mask on, but he could still see that she was grinning at his reaction. He pulled his respirator down. 'Didn't hear you,' he said, pointing at his ear. 'The tumble-driers.'
'That's okay,' said McCracken. 'Where's Andrea?'
O'Keefe gestured with his thumb at the private offices. 'Getting a drink.' He looked over McCracken's shoulder. 'Where's Quinn?'
'Quinn's not with us any more.'
'What? He's buggered off?'
'Not exactly.' She frowned at the line of black bags. Ms that all?'
'Come on, it's hard bloody work, this. There's only the two driers. I'm doing as much as I can by hand, but it's taking for ever.' He grinned. 'The IRA used to use cement mixers for this bit, you know? We should have tried to bring a cement mixer in, huh?'
'Yeah, sure. We've got to get this done by tomorrow or Egan's going to be on the warpath.'
'It'll be done. We could do with Quinn, though.'
'Quinn's dead.'
O'Keefe's jaw dropped. 'Dead? What the hell happened?'
'He went up with the van.'
O'Keefe put down his wooden spatula. 'McCracken, what the fuck happened?'
McCracken explained what Egan had done. And why. O'Keefe listened in silence, then rubbed his throat. 'He's a hard bastard, is Egan. You trust him?'
'He's come through with everything he promised. A third of our money in advance, this place, the Semtex.'
'Yeah, but he didn't say anything about blowing Quinn away, did he? What if he decides to get rid of the two of us the same way?'
'Quinn was a mistake.'
'Aye. But he was Egan's mistake. Remember that. Egan hired us all.'
'I'll be sure to tell him that,' said McCracken with a cold smile.
'You know what I mean, Lydia,' said O'Keefe. 'What do we really know about Egan, or what his agenda is?'
'He's a pro, and he pays. That's all we need to know.'
'Aye, that's as maybe. But watch your back, eh?'
'Maybe you could watch it for me, Don. And I'll watch yours.'
O'Keefe smirked. 'If it's all the same to you, I'll take care of my own back,' he said.
One of the tumble-driers reached the end of its cycle and O'Keefe went over to it. 'I'll get Andrea,' said McCracken. 'With Quinn out of the way, she's going to have to pull her finger out.'
– «»-«»-«»Andy clicked the end tumbler of the combination lock and pushed the button. The lock clicked open. Eight-six-four. She stared at the lock, not quite believing that she'd done it. She swallowed and looked up at the door. She'd been in the office for almost ten minutes and wasn't sure how long she could stay without the Wrestler wondering what she was doing.
She set the second combination dial to zero-zero-zero and began working her way through the combinations. After several futile attempts, she had a sudden thought. She had a briefcase of her own, though she rarely used it. The combination was Katie's birthday. Nine-one-seven. The seventeenth of September. Andy had set both locks to the same number. She wondered if Green-eyes had done the same. She set the second dial to eight-six-four, said a silent prayer, and pushed the button with her thumb. It clicked open. Her heart pounded. Would the mobile phone be inside? And if it was, who would she call?
Just as she was about to open the briefcase, she heard footsteps outside. High heels, crunching softly along the carpet tiles.
Andy fumbled with the catches and snapped them shut. She slipped the briefcase under the table and stood up, wiping her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans. The door was flung open. It was Green-eyes. 'What the hell's going on?' she asked angrily.
'What do you mean?' replied Andy, trying to sound as innocent as possible. She forced herself not to look down.
'I mean I want you out there working, not in here skiving.'
Andy picked up the chicken salad roll and waved it in front of Green-eyes. 'I've got to eat, haven't I?'
Green-eyes jerked her thumb at the door. 'You can eat out there.'
Andy stayed where she was. She looked at the video recorder, and then back at the woman. 'I've had a thought,' she said. 'About the timer.'
'That's another thing. That bomb went off early. Five seconds early. How could that happen?'
Andy pulled at her lower lip. 'The chip, I guess.' She went over to the video recorder and tapped the front where a digital clock was glowing blue. 'I was thinking, the timer in this might be a better bet. The electronics are easier to deal with. It'll be easier to set, too.'
'Have you used one before?'
'Sure.'
Green-eyes nodded thoughtfully. 'Okay. Whatever.'
'Andy unplugged the video recorder from the mains supply and then disconnected it from the television. Green-eyes held the door open for her as she carried it out.
Green-eyes looked around the room, shrugged, and followed her down the corridor.
DAY NINE
Martin looked up as Denham walked in. There were dark patches under his eyes and his hair was greasy and unkempt. He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up and loosened his collar. 'Any news?' he asked.
Denham shook his head. He looked at Carter and Fanning. They looked as tired as Martin. 'Why don't you get a bite to eat, or catch some sleep? I'll stay until you get back.'
'One of us has to be here all the time,' said Fanning.
'So toss for it,' said Denham. He smiled sympathetically at Martin. 'You should try to sleep, too.'
Denham sat down opposite him. 'The bomb in Milton Keynes. It was the van. The van we were looking for. The SOCO boys found part of the registration plate.'
Martin ran his hands through his hair. 'God. What if it was Andy?'
'I don't think it was,' said Denham.
A look of hope flashed across Martin's face. 'Why? Why do you think that?'
'She was too professional to make a mistake,' said Denham. 'She was very methodical. Cold as ice. It couldn't have gone off accidentally.'
'Maybe they wanted to kill her. Maybe they blew her up?'
Carter left the room. Denham lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. 'If they wanted to kill her, they wouldn't use a bomb, and they wouldn't do it in Milton Keynes. We're pretty sure that it was a deliberate explosion. A test, maybe. Or a way of getting rid of the van and any other evidence.'
'But there was a body.'
'It could have been anyone, Martin
. They wouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for a small bomb in Milton Keynes. Whatever they're up to it has to be much bigger than that.'
Denham saw Martin staring at the packet of cigarettes and he offered him one. 'I don't smoke,' said Martin.
'Good for you,' said Denham.
'I gave up. Fifteen years ago.'
'I wish I had the willpower,' said Denham.
Martin continued to stare at the packet. 'Fuck it,' he said, reaching for a cigarette. Denham lit it for him. Martin inhaled and coughed, then took another drag. 'Fifteen years,' he said quietly. 'You married, Liam?'
Denham nodded. 'Almost thirty years. Thirty years next year.'
'What's the anniversary? Platinum? Sapphire?'
'Something like that.' Denham grinned and tapped ash into an ashtray. 'Bound to be expensive.'
'Children?'
Denham's jaw tightened. 'A daughter.' He took another long drag on his cigarette, held the smoke deep in his lungs for several seconds, then exhaled between clenched teeth. 'She died.'
'I'm sorry.'
Denham shrugged. 'It was a long time ago. Leukaemia.'
'Oh, God. I'm really sorry.'
'Yeah, she was twelve. She'd been sick for two years – in and out of the bloody hospital we were. Chemotherapy. Radiation. Seems like most of the memories I have of her she was wearing a baseball cap.' He blew smoke at the floor.
'Children shouldn't die before their parents,' said Martin quietly. 'That's not how it should be.'
Denham nodded, staring at the floor. Fanning stood up uneasily and went over to the window. Denham looked up and locked eyes with Martin.
'If anything happens to Katie…' Martin said.
'We'll find her,' Denham assured him.
Martin's eyes were as hard and unyielding as plate glass as he stared at Denham. 'You have to find them both, Liam. You have to get them both back. I'll die without them. If they die, I'll die too.'
Denham reached over and gripped Martin's wrist. 'It won't come to that,' he said.
Martin pulled his arm away, embarrassed by the contact. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he just shook his head and put a hand up to his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and blinking away tears.
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