Retribution

Parker stopped at the bottom of the stairs before stepping out into the cold, wet wind. The inner pocket of the coat held the airplane tickets and visa pressed against his chest. A lower side pocket bulged with the scarf that Atwan had just given him. Parker pulled the zipper up; only a sweater cap protected his head.

Parker glanced at his bearded, somewhat wild-looking reflection in the storefront’s glass window. God, what a sight. She would laugh at me.

As he moved out of the doorway a double-decker bus stopped directly in front of the building. Parker stopped again, waiting for it to move on. It pulled away to reveal a man standing across the street under the cover of the overhang of the extended roofline of a government building. It was someone that he did not recognize.

The stranger, dressed in a dark ski coat, looked not at the traffic or the pedestrians or the storefronts, but above Parker, to the second floor and the Al-Quds office.

Parker sensed trouble. His stare met the stranger’s for a moment, but a passing lorry broke their eye contact. Once the truck cleared, the man was gone.

Oh, shit.

Parker wheeled around, back to the newspaper building, pulled the door open, breaking the lock as he did, and headed up the stairs two steps at a time. After the first two steps, a flash picked him up and threw him back down the stairs and through the closing glass door. The heat, plaster, and wood hit him like a shotgun blast.

Parker reached to his face. In the stunned moment, he felt his own, unfamiliar beard, along with a new, sticky substance. As he tried to sit, his head began to swirl. Little stars flashed across his vision as a woman bent down beside him. Another man came out of nowhere and grabbed Parker under the arms and was pulling him down the sidewalk, away from the blaze. The woman’s mouth was moving, but Parker could only hear a ringing in his ears. He sensed the wet sidewalk, though, and his pants being drenched in the rain puddles.

Slowly, the ringing started to quiet.

“You’re bleeding.” The woman was shouting the words, looking at the top of his head.

Parker reached up and pulled his hand away, seeing blood—his blood.

“I’m all right.” He mumbled the words in English, then realized he needed to slip back into the Bosnian dialect. He closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he was looking at the second floor of the building, which was ablaze.

“The people.” He pointed to the second floor.

The man who had pulled him out of the debris was shouting the words as well.

An ambulance technician leaned over. Parker saw him before registering the wail of sirens in the background. The technician dabbed his forehead with a large gauze bandage while another felt Parker’s legs and arms.

“Not bad, lad.” The technician cleaned the head wound. “Anything else, George?”

“I don’t think so. Bloody lucky he was standing where he was. One step to the left or right and he would have gotten a chest load of glass fragments.”

“Thank you,” Parker mumbled in accented English.

“We need to take you in.”

“I’m okay.”

“Still, we need to take you in.”

Sadik’s wife. The thought struck Parker harder than the explosion. If, by chance, I was the target, Zdravo and her niece could be next.

“Check on the others. I’ll be all right here. Just let me sit here for a moment.”

“Let’s pull him up under this doorway. I’m hearing we have badly burned victims behind the building.”

The two techs pulled Parker to a nearby foyer, retrieved their bags, and headed to the back of the building.

Parker watched them disappear, then rolled over on his forearms, waiting a second for the vertigo to abate, and did a push-up to his knees, finally standing up. He leaned against the doorway, trying to get his balance back. The rain drenched his face as he crossed over King Street, heading south to the tube.

He removed the bandage and trashed it quickly.

Good God. His head was still swimming, causing him to stop again in the doorway of a café. Parker looked back at the raging fire that was consuming what was left of the newspaper. King Street had now been blockaded by the fire trucks and police vans.

On a nearby light pole Parker noticed for the first time a pair of security cameras covering the street. As he made his way down the street, he pulled out his PDA and checked the time. He had two minutes until the next train on the Victoria line. It was a straight shot to Walthamstow. He started to run across the tube’s entrance, past the stores, reaching into his pants pocket for the rail pass, and once through the gate ran down the escalator, running past the Londoners standing on the steps.

The clock was ticking.

He heard the train and felt the warm wind blow through the connecting tunnel. It was still a long walk to the train heading north, but the express would be faster than even what Scott could do. Parker ran through the walkways, down another escalator, and reached the train just as its doors started to close.

He took a seat.

The woman sitting across from him had a young girl, perhaps four or five, who was staring at him. Her eyes were like saucers, big and brown, looking frightened.

Parker saw why when he glanced up at his reflection in the glass of the train’s window. Blood still streaked his face. He pulled the sweater hat off only to find a shard of glass caught in the fold. The hat was soaked from the rain, and he used it as a rag to clean up his face. He smiled at the child, who smiled back now that the blood was gone. The entire time her mother never looked up, talking intently on her cell phone.

Parker looked at the PDA again. The train had another ten minutes until the last station. He put in the password and texted Scott.

Explosion ws Al Q

It didn’t take more than a second for the reply.

We know

Parker began typing another reply.

Check street sec cam

Again, the response was immediate.

Got it

Parker thought a moment and looked at the time again. The train was still five minutes out of the station. He thought of Zdravo and the child.

The police officer who patrolled the station. He would be the closest source of help.

Parker starting texting Scott again.

Woman n child at rsk . . . gt wrd to p at W.Sta . . . he is close

This time there was a delay. Scott was reading the text and then, Parker hoped, he was talking to his man at Scotland Yard.

Come on, come on. The train was still two minutes out from the station. There was no text reply. Parker sent another.

Status?

Still no reply. Perhaps being in the tunnel had interrupted the signal.

The train pulled in to the station. It seemed an eternity for the doors to open. Walthamstow was aboveground and open. Parker stepped through the doors as soon as they started to pull apart. The station was empty. He sprinted across to the entranceway, looking for the police officer who always stood in the corner. The policeman was missing.

A good sign. The policeman was never missing. He must have gotten the word.

Parker began to run. The street was just ahead. Ahead he saw an object lying across the curb and sidewalk. As he moved closer, he saw the limp shape of a body dressed in a blue shirt and dark pants. The shirt was stained in a circle of blood that went down the side to a puddle below. It was the station officer. Scott had gotten the word. Parker stopped, checked for a pulse, and looked down the one-lane street. It was empty. He could hear the sirens in the distance. Parker felt around the officer’s waist, looking for a weapon. There was none.

He started walking down the street. It remained quiet and empty. No one was moving. He saw no one. The sirens were getting louder. He was alone. Only him and the man.

Parker kept walking down the street, keeping a car to his back as he moved, expecting anything. Just as he got to the flat, he looked up at the window where she would sit with the baby. It was vacant. He moved up to the front door. It was ajar, opened only the width of a man’s fist, but the opening caused him to shudder.

She would never leave that open.

He slid the door open with his foot, staying behind the protection of the wall and staying in the alcove, just out of sight from anyone on the street. Parker paused, planning his next move. The sirens were getting closer.

They’re on the street.

In moments, an armed team would be charging through this doorway. He—

The second explosion of the day ripped through the brick building around him.