The two officers dragged Mickey backwards up the last couple of steps when a distant muffled sound behind Tom resounded like thunder in his memory above the shouts of the crowd. His instant recall of its significance was confirmed the same second by the two explosions of blood and fabric on Mickey’s chest. His eyes rolled upwards in their sockets as he shot backwards, with a force that sent all three men crashing to the ground just in front of the court entrance.
Taking Jo down with him, Tom dropped to the ground, shielding her with his body. The six men in the escort dropped into crouching positions with their weapons at their shoulders, looking around the scene in all directions. Reporters and photographers, slower to react, began shouting and screaming as they dived for cover.
Tom twisted his neck to look up at the three men lying prone ahead of him, and watched the trickle of blood descending the steps towards him. There was little force behind it, however; the heart had stopped pumping and the crimson meniscus came to rest on the step above where his chin was pressed to the concrete. He eased himself upwards, allowing Jo to roll out from under him with an embarrassed and trembling ‘thank you’. She was already speaking into her police radio.
As Tom tried to get to his feet, he was forced back down again from above, his arms pulled round behind him.
“Stay perfectly still, sir.”
Hands frisked him, feeling in his pockets and inside his jacket. He was half-dragged, half-helped to his feet. Jo was looking at him with something close to fright in her eyes. She glanced across at the armed officer who had searched him. The man shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said.
She spoke again into her radio. Tom dusted himself down and looked at the still form in front of him, feeling nothing but satisfaction. The two officers had got to their feet, confused and looking across at him.
“It wasn’t Mr Brown,” Jo said.
“The shots came from over there,” Tom said, turning and pointing high across the road in the direction where the armed group were now scanning the buildings.
“How do you know that?” Jo asked, with more than a hint of suspicion. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“I heard them. Believe me, Jo. I’ve heard the sound so many times before; it will always get through to me.”
More police vehicles were arriving and armed officers jumping out. Jo ran down to the bottom of the steps to give all the information she had to their commander. They fanned out, running in twos and threes down the streets opposite the court trying to cover the arc from where the shots could have come.
The original six-man team were rounding up the Press and other members of the public close to the scene, many of whom were reluctant to emerge from their hiding places.
“No-one leaves until we have taken names, contact details and statements,” Jo was telling people as they were corralled into an area near the bottom of the steps.
An ambulance screamed to a halt. Two paramedics jumped down from the cab clutching their medical packs and rushed up the steps to where Mickey lay. They crouched beside him, feeling for a pulse. One turned to Jo, shaking her head, just as another police car pulled up behind the emergency vehicle. John Mackay got out. He saw Tom straight away and went directly to him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, John, to be honest. But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“You actually confronted him, I hear.” He led Tom off to one side. “You’ve let me down, Tom. I told you that stuff last night in confidence.”
“Look, John, it wasn’t my intention to let Kadawe even see me. And surely you can’t believe that I had anything to do with what just happened?”
John did not reply but shouted across to DI Cottrell.
“Jo, can I remove Mr Brown from here. Do you need a statement right now, or will it wait?”
“Well, I…”
“We’ll be in my office. I won’t let him leave until you come to get him.”
Jo looked at Tom, then she shrugged and turned back to appease the agitated melee of reporters. She could appreciate their frustration. They would probably have spent days, possibly weeks, just standing around outside the court, on the off chance of spotting someone significant. Right now, their natural instinct would be to rush off with what would undoubtedly be one of the biggest stories of the day, starring the former Home Secretary and a murdered drug dealing suspect. And she was stopping them doing it.
*
“What I told you last night was out of courtesy and for information only! If I’d thought you were going to do anything like this, then… Well, I’ll know next time!”
From being mildly irritated when they had first arrived back at New Station, John Mackay’s anger seemed to be growing by the minute as if some dark realisation was spreading through his mind.
Tom said nothing as he watched him storm around his office, suspecting that the cause of his anger was more sinister and fundamental than Tom’s alleged breech of confidence. It appeared to him that something had spiralled out of his friend’s control and now threatened to precipitate some sort a disaster. It was a lot to read in to the man’s expression and demeanour, his darting eyes and laboured breathing, but Tom had never seen him in such a state of agitation before. Whatever was consuming his thoughts seemed to be draining him of his self-belief and composure.
He flopped into his chair, his eyes gazing at the wall behind Tom. As much as anything, he looked vulnerable. Tom waited out a long silence before speaking.
“What you said yesterday – about Mickey being linked to Jack and Jason. Does that mean they might be innocent?”
The directness of the question jolted John out of his trance.
“Well… no, I didn’t say that exactly…”
“I know you didn’t, John, that’s why I’m asking you for clarification. Does it or doesn’t it?”
“It’s not as simple as that…”
“Oh, come on, John!” Tom said. “The question was might they be innocent. We’ve got a kid out there – Jason Midanda – going through God knows what. If there’s even a chance he’s not guilty, we should take him off passage; bring him back and hold him here. Let him see his family – and Katey. Now come on – answer the question, for Christ’s sake.”
John leant forward, elbows on desk, head in hands. He was silent for a long time then slowly looked up and across at Tom, dragging his hands down his face and resting his chin on them, as if his mind was too heavy to support itself.
“Yes,” he said, in a quiet voice Tom would not have recognised had John not been there in front of him with his lips moving. It was a frightened, hesitant voice, alien to his character and position. “But even if there is a chance, there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. That will be someone else, if it happens.”
Tom looked hard into John’s eyes, sensing guilt and sorrow, before the latter looked away.
“Just do one thing for me, please,” Tom said. “Check that Jason’s okay. Contact Bull Fort – or the admin centre there – and ask if he’s alright. Say there’s talk going round that he’s ill or something and you just want to reassure his family. You can do that.”
John didn’t move or speak for a long time, still not looking at Tom. Then he reached for the phone.
“Janice,” he said, making his voice sound as normal as possible, “you know how I love setting you these little challenges…” His secretary said something in reply. John went on. “Yes, I know you do, and that’s why I keep on doing it. Well, could you get me through to Bull Sands Fort Holding Facility or – probably a better bet – its on-shore control centre?”
He listened as she read back the request.
“Thanks, Janice. And could you get past the security checks and questions before you put whoever it is through to me?”
> Another comment prompted a genuine smile this time.
“Yes, I know you would have, Janice, but it makes me feel important when I get to ask.”
His smile disappeared with the return of the receiver to its cradle.
“And that’s all I can do, Tom.” He seemed composed again. “Wheels will have to turn in their own good time – if they turn at all.”
They sat in silence, waiting for Janice’s call. It took almost five minutes. John grabbed the receiver, writing down a name on the pad in front of him as she put through the call. Tom could just about hear the deep male voice speaking a clipped greeting.
“Desmond Pritchard here.”
He waved his arms to attract John’s attention and mimed the words, “Can I listen?”
John nodded, putting his forefinger to his lips to indicate silence, before pressing the Speaker button.
“Mr Pritchard? John asked. “You’re the Immingham Receiving Facility Manager?”
“Speaking,” boomed the voice. “Chief Superintendent Mackay?”
“Yes, that’s right. Sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you could help me…”
“If there’s anything I can do, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Pritchard. It’s about one of your prisoners on Bull Fort. Jason Midanda. There appears to be some information circulating that he…”
“Who, sir?”
“Jason Midanda. He arrived there on the 10th June with a group of prisoners on passage from Guildford. His family have heard that …”
“Excuse me, sir. I’ve only been here a couple of months, so that was before my time, but I do know we don’t have anybody of that name on the Fort.”
John and Tom looked at each other, wide-eyed with surprise.
“I’m sorry, there must be some mistake, Mr Pritchard. I watched him from my office window get into the transport vehicle with the rest of the group and leave for your facility.”
“Well, he didn’t arrive here, Chief Superintendent,” Pritchard said, with palpable irritation. “I can check if you like,” he added, with all the assurance of someone who knows for certain he is right.
“Yes, please,” John said. “It seems unlikely that he just got off on the way without anyone noticing, don’t you think?”
He drummed his fingers on the desk as Tom got up from his seat and paced around like a caged animal. It took just a couple of minutes for the records to be consulted. John repeated his signal for him not to speak.
“Not here,” Pritchard said, with obvious satisfaction. “Never has been, either. So your theory seems to be correct, Chief Superintendent. He must have got off on the way. Anything else?”
“Listen, Pritchard!” John shouted. “Don’t go all smug on me! Don’t you understand just how serious this is? A high risk prisoner has disappeared whilst in transit between my holding centre and yours. Right now, I don’t care who’s to blame, but let me be absolutely clear, I certainly will care once we’ve got him back and found out what has happened. And you’d better hope that the fault doesn’t lie at your end. So I want you to get back to me in less than an hour, having spoken to everyone who was employed on the transfer from Kirmington to Bull Fort. Right? I’ll check at this end from Guildford to Kirmington. Are you absolutely clear on what you have to do, or shall I get the Minister of Justice to phone you personally with the request?”
“Yes, absolutely clear, Chief Superintendent,” he said, sounding like a man who suddenly knew his place.
“One hour!”
John slammed down the phone.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell’s going on?”
Tom had stopped listening and was already speaking to Kim Lacey on his mobile.
*
Tom was sitting in room 36A of the GCJ, waiting for Jo Cottrell, when the return call came through. In the meantime, John’s conversation had made a few connections in his mind. The visit by the judicial advisor the day after Jack and Jason’s trial had ended, with the shocking and unexpected news of the shortness of time before their transfer to Bull Sands Fort for the start of their passage to Alpha. Then his inability to contact anyone of any influence at Westminster in the following days, as if an invisible barrier had been placed around them. And now the news that Jason had failed to arrive at the first destination on his route.
“Tom? What on Earth is this all about?” The sound of Jonathan Latiffe’s voice was strangely comforting. “Kim’s just dragged me off the floor of the House. She says Jason Midanda has escaped.”
“Sorry, Jonathan, but that piece of information was just to make sure I got you off the floor of the House.”
“You mean it’s not true? Then what, for God’s sake?”
“Jason Midanda is missing – or should I say, he’s not where he’s supposed to be. But I don’t believe he’s escaped. I think I know what’s going on, and for the sake of our friendship, Jonno, I really hope you don’t!”
There was a brief pause.
“You’ve lost me, Tom. I have no idea what you mean by that, and I certainly know nothing about Midanda except that he’s supposed to be at Bull Sands. Are you telling me he’s not there?”
“He never arrived.”
“How so?”
“We don’t know, but Chief Superintendent Mackay, here at Guildford, has contacted Immingham and been told Jason never got there. They’re checking what happened at both ends to see what went wrong.”
He could hear Jonathan stabbing the keys of his laptop as he listened.
“Tom, I’ll do you the courtesy of not asking why the hell you’re involved in this, and I’ll chase it up right away from this end. According to my information, he should be on Bull. Not that I expect to be made aware of every change of plan for every prisoner in the country, but the record should be up to date, and that’s where it says he is. Obviously a different record from the one Immingham has access to. So tell me, what do you think has happened?”
“I think there are some very influential people who feel that Jason is a bit special.”
There were a few moments of silence before Jonathan spoke.
“Let me know what Mackay turns up, Tom.”
The phone went down abruptly, just as John burst into the room. He was breathing heavily and paced around as he spoke.
“Apparently Midanda got as far as Kirmington. That’s for certain, because he definitely got on the plane at Heathrow and he must have got off it there because it came straight back again with just the crew and the security guys on board. That’s all checked out one hundred percent. But our friend Pritchard has confirmed that he definitely didn’t arrive at Immingham Wharf; he wasn’t on either of the coaches. So…”
“Either he really did escape or someone got him off the plane and sent him – or took him – somewhere else. Do you fancy setting Janice another little task?”
*
The two men were back in John’s office. Janice buzzed them on the intercom.
“Sir, would you mind listening to this?”
They both went through to the small reception area annexed to John’s office, where Janice was sitting at her cluttered workstation holding the handset of her desk phone.
“I can’t raise anyone at Lochshore. I’m getting a pre-recorded message asking me for a code – listen.”
She pressed the speaker button then redialled. A digitised alien-sounding voice was activated.
“Security filter. Enter six-digit alpha-numerical code. Code will change in… thirty-six minutes.”
John looked at Tom.
“Does that usually happen?”
“No. Unless the system has changed since…” His voice trailed off.
“I’ve tried three separate phone numbers,” Janice said, “all listed on our system as alternatives.” She showed them the short list on t
he screen in front of her. “Same thing every time.”
Tom took out his mobile and entered the three numbers on his contacts list. Then he scrolled through to another entry.
“Gordon Sutherland,” he explained. “He’ll know what’s going on.”
His face screwed into a frown as he looked at the display on his phone.
“Not working,” he said. He tried again, then held the phone out for John to listen to the continuous high pitched whistle.
“Do you think it’s some sort of communications black-out?” Janice suggested.
Tom went to redial and clicked on Jonathan’s number, with the same resulting sound. He held it for Janice to hear this time.
“That’s the number I called half an hour ago,” he said. “It was okay then.”
The phone on Janice’s desk rang.
“Chief Superintendent Mackay’s office,” she said, then looked at Tom in surprise. “Yes, he’s here. Who… Yes, right away.”
She handed over the phone.
“Tom, it’s Jonathan. Not sure why but I can’t get through on your mobile – keeps telling me it’s an unobtainable number. Anyway, I’ve just spoken to Grace. It seems likely that Jason Midanda was taken straight to Lochshore. Grace says she can’t be absolutely certain – which I’m not sure I believe – but she understood there was a plan to do that; for what reason she couldn’t or wouldn’t say.”
Tom looked at his watch to check the date.
“The next group will be on their way to Alpha, won’t they? They’re the last ones for this platform, right? They’ll have just left – a couple of hours…”
“That’s the other thing. According to Grace they left at just after eight o’clock last night. The trip was brought forward because of intelligence about possible terrorist action. I’ve tried to check with Lochshore but there’s a security filter in place. I’m trying to find someone here to explain what’s going on. I can’t get hold of Harding or Weller at the moment.” He paused. “Look, Tom, I don’t know whether Jason’s still at Lochshore, on Alpha, or aboard PTV2, but it might be for the best, anyway. Getting it over with. Katey can put it behind her and move on…”
Lost Souls Page 24
