The black Mercedes swung into the alleyway behind the hospital and parked behind a large skip.
Lionel knew the three agents in the car by face but had never spoken to them before. They were new recruits, part of a fresh crop that had been enlisted a year before. Square jaws, buzz cuts and calculating manners that seemed to inject threat into every interaction. He knew without needing to ask that they reported directly to Salt rather than to him.
The driver was Jonas, the one in the front passenger seat was Bonner, and he couldn’t remember the name of the one sitting next to him.
Jonas turned off the car and twisted in his seat to face Lionel and the other man.
‘There’s three units here. They’re covering exits on St Thomas Street, Great Maze Pond and Snowsfields. Remember: this is not a live-fire mission. She is to be taken alive.’
He twisted his head to make eye contact with each of them in turn, driving the point home.
‘This is a ninety-pound girl, so one shot only. We stay in radio contact with the others. First to get line of sight engages.’
He twisted around, reached under his seat and pulled out a black briefcase. The tumblers on the combination lock rotated under his fingers before he flipped the lid open, revealing four outsized black plastic guns resting in contoured depressions in the grey foam lining.
Jonas handed one to each man in the car.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ said Lionel.
Jonas ignored him as he passed out the guns.
‘Those are the orders,’ said Jonas as he handed the last gun to Lionel.
‘I’m the ranking officer here,’ said Lionel. ‘That gives me operational discretion. And I know the asset better than anyone.’
‘You’ve got a problem with the plan?’ asked Jonas.
‘Firing on sight means an open-air confrontation. If we miss, she runs. Too many escape routes. She’s eluded us for three weeks. We can’t risk losing her again.’
Lionel could see that the logic of what he was saying was landing with Jonas. His hint at the risks of a botched mission being on Jonas’ hands was a calculation. Salt had likely involved Jonas and his team as an insurance policy against Lionel’s failure. And Jonas knew that too. The stakes were high for him, and failing Salt was not an option. If Jonas succeeded, he was likely to get Dobbs’ job.
‘So, what’s your suggestion?’ asked Jonas, his eyes flickering for a second.
‘We let her into the building,’ said Lionel, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘The four teams then seal off all exits. I go in and find her. She knows me. There’s a better chance I’ll convince her to surrender. And if not, I’ll take the shot.’
Lionel could almost hear Jonas’ thought gears churning this time. The plan had the attraction of sealing the girl inside a building, so was tactically sound. Jonas’ men were properly employed, as well, stationed at the exits. The icing on the cake was Lionel had the responsibility of capture. And a lame leg made this unlikely, so Jonas would get his asset and get rid of Lionel at the same time.
Jonas looked over at Bonner. ‘Call the other units. Tell them the new plan.’
The food delivery motorcycle driver parked his scooter in front of the main hospital entrance and lifted the bike back on to the stand. Without taking off his helmet, he heaved the huge, black box on to his shoulder and walked up the hospital stairs.
Several doctors and nurses crowded around the front reception desk, talking on house phones. One doctor moved a phone from his ear to his chest and addressed the others.
‘Ambulances four minutes out!’
The delivery driver wedged himself between them and flipped up his visor.
‘Janey Small?’
A harried-looking nurse turned away from the group and ran a finger down a chart.
‘D-4. Third floor,’ she said, without making eye contact with the helmeted man.
Lionel stepped out of the car and walked down the alleyway towards the hospital entrance. There was no point waiting for Sara to arrive. He knew her better than that. She would never just walk in through the front door. He knew where in the hospital she was headed.
He walked past the skip, adjusting his path so the container blocked the Mercedes from his view. He pulled out the Taser Jonas had given him and tossed it in.
Lionel spoke into the microphone in his collar.
‘I’m heading in. Get into position.’
As he turned the corner, he reached into his jacket holster, pulling out his personal Browning HP35.
Jonas would ensure the other teams stayed outside the hospital, guarding the entrances, which would give him the time he needed to complete the mission. He pulled a suppressor from his pocket, screwed it into the barrel, then slipped the pistol into the rear waistband of his jeans.
The delivery driver stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the third floor. As the lift began to move, he took off his helmet, carefully lowered the box to the floor and stood back and watched as the lid lifted of its own accord.
Sara’s head emerged, followed by the rest of her body.
‘I didn’t see anyone suspicious on the way in,’ said Baz. ‘Maybe you were wrong?’
Sara shook her head.
‘No, they’re already here.’
Four ambulances parked in zigzag in front of the entrance stairs of the hospital, their rear doors open. Doctors and emergency workers streamed down the stairs to help disgorge stretchers from inside the vehicles.
A hospital security guard walked in front of Lionel and raised a hand.
‘Wait here, please.’
Lionel reached into his jacket and pulled out his service identity card.
‘Official business.’
The hospital security guard kept his arm raised.
‘Sorry, sir. No one in or out. Those are my orders. Not until we get all the injured inside.’
Lionel’s face darkened with frustration.
‘Is there another entrance?’
The guard nodded, tilting his head behind him.
‘At the rear of the building.’
Lionel looked up at the hospital. Sara was inside somewhere and, with the exits sealed off, wasn’t going anywhere.
He turned away from the guard and spoke into his microphone.
‘I want the front entrance sealed. I’m going in the back.’
The room was small, only slightly larger than the lift Sara and Baz had taken to the floor. It contained a single bed, as narrow as a door, and a worn chair. Pushed into the corner of the room was a wheel-mounted square monitor with an extendable arm that ended in a flat pad.
The person in the bed was less a body than a husk, sunken into itself, folds of skin hanging from bone like rags on a washing line. Its pallor was the yellow of cigarette stains. Baz stepped closer to the bed, then turned around to see Sara was frozen at the doorway.
Images were ripping through her, like air bubbles escaping from something submerged in deep water:
A faceless person pulling Sara into a smothering embrace.
Sara watching out of the corner of her eye as someone crushes a handful of tablets with the flat of a dirty spoon.
Sara being lowered into the warm water, her body displacing it and causing it to wash over her, forming archipelagos of her knees, chest and face. Headphones are placed over her ears, and she hears the metallic snap of the button that precedes the soft voice.
Then the lid is pulled over her, plunging her into darkness.
Lionel turned the corner of the building. The rear entrance steps were a short walk away. He looked around as he approached them. Two men standing nearby, ostensibly having a conversation, met his eyes and nodded.
Lionel lifted up the wing of his collar again and whispered into it.
‘I’m going in. I don’t want to see anyone else inside until I give the order.’
Sara snapped back to the present as she realized someone was talking.
‘… communicate?’
A male nurse with a shaven head was now in the room. He stood next to Baz, and the two of them turned to Sara, as if expecting an answer.
‘What did you say?’ asked Sara.
Baz nodded to the nurse, who spoke gently to Sara.
Sara realized from his sympathetic tone that he presumed Janey was a family member of hers.
‘She’s had a stroke. This morning. Speech has been lost.’ He pointed to the device in the corner. ‘We brought that in …’ he said, looking at Sara, as if gauging sensitivity.
Sara did not move. It was almost as if in Janey’s presence she had become drugged again. The nurse continued.
‘… it’s for motor neurone sufferers. You put the pressure pad on a section of the body where there is still control. Pressure on the pad runs the cursor through the alphabet, the patient confirms with clicks.’
Baz had already begun approaching the machine. Sara looked over at him, seeing a compassion in him she had not seen before. He was stepping into the breach, trying to help Sara as she stood rooted.
Baz motioned for her to come closer. As she approached, Baz picked up a plastic chair that was pushed up against the wall and arranged it for her by the side of the bed.
From this vantage, she could see Janey in closer detail. Her eyes were open, staring ahead through the visor of eyelashes created by her barely open eyelids. The eyes looked weak and unfocused, almost creamy, with the milky consistency of cataracts.
‘Janey,’ said the nurse, loud enough to make Sara jump.
Janey’s eyes were immobile for a long moment and then slid sideways. Not one part of the rest of her body moved.
‘The hearing is OK, but motor functions in the body are basically gone. What little movement potential there is might power the machine, but progress will be slow.’
Lionel walked down the main hospital corridor, looking for the bank of lifts. The building was a labyrinth of gleaming white passages that extended in front of him in each direction.
He stopped an orderly as he walked by.
‘Lifts?’
The orderly pointed down the corridor to their left.
‘They’re at the front of the building. They might be in use now, because of that motorway pile-up. You might be better off using the stairs. They’re on the left here.’
Lionel watched as the orderly walked quickly away. Nothing was easy. Three flights with his leg wasn’t going to be a picnic. But there was little option. He was too close now.
He pushed open the fire escape door and stared at the concrete staircase heading up.
It didn’t take long to secure the pads to Janey’s right cheekbone. When the nurse was finished, he stepped back to let Sara retake her seat.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ he said.
The machine was switched on and displayed the alphabet and a list of digits in three rows that ran the length of the screen. An electronic cursor circled the letter A, flashing on and off, waiting instruction from the pressure pad.
‘Janey, where is my mother?’
‘You might want to speak louder than …’ started Baz, and then stopped as the cursor began to move slowly down the alphabet, wearily moving on to B and then C as if it was dragging a great weight behind it.
Sara looked up at Janey’s face. The only visible indication that she was communicating were two veins that bulged on her forehead. Finally, the cursor landed on a number and stayed there, lighting up and fixing it with a border glow.
3.
Lionel reached the first-floor landing and looked up at the next flight of stairs. His right leg burned at the point of his injury, radiating in waves down to the knee.
He reminded himself that it was only a flesh wound. The fact reminded him that his quarry was not as deadly as he had feared. He needed to finish her, before her memory returned, and she became too powerful a threat.
Sara and Baz watched as the cursor reappeared at the front of the alphabet. This time it did not move for a long time, enough that Sara looked up at Janey and then back over her shoulder at Baz. He, in turn, shook his head in confusion and waved his hand up and down to indicate they should wait. Sweat was now running down Janey’s forehead and hanging like stalactites from her eyebrows.
3.2.7.
The cursor reappeared again at the front of the alphabet and then hung there, not moving.
‘C’mon,’ urged Sara.
Lionel reached the second-floor landing. His leg was now numb, which helped progress. He picked up his pace, leaning on the balustrade for support, and began to take the steps two at a time.
3.2.7. F.O.R.
Baz turned away from watching the machine to smile at Sara.
‘Looks like it’s working.’
Sara did not return his smile. In the last few seconds, images and sounds had begun pouring into her mind, taking her focus out of the room.
A lone motorbike rider careened towards her, the engine growling like a pack of angry dogs. The sounds and images were accompanied by a twisting feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
‘We need to leave.’
‘We’re almost there,’ protested Baz.
‘Someone’s coming,’ said Sara, standing up.
Baz watched as the cursor dragged along the alphabet, heading for an unknown destination. He tore his eyes away from the screen to the laminated floor map that was screwed to the back of the door.
‘There’s internal stairs at the end of the corridor,’ he said, turning back to the machine and staring as the cursor hobbled onwards. It finally rested on a letter.
‘It’s a T,’ said Baz.
Sara shook her head, her eyes fixed on the floor map.
‘The internal stairs won’t get us out. We need an outside fire escape. There’s one next to this room.’
She pulled open the door and motioned him through.
‘Let’s go. We’re out of time. It’s Fortune. 327 Fortune.’
Baz stood reluctantly and, with a final glance at the machine, followed her into the hallway.
They ran down the corridor and pushed through an exterior door marked FIRE ESCAPE at just the moment the door of the internal stairwell swung open.
Sara and Baz clanged down the metal stairs, taking them three at a time.
Each time she landed on a step, Sara looked behind her instinctively at the closed fire-escape door on the third floor, waiting for it to fly open. But it remained closed.
They were on the first-floor landing now, and close enough to the ground that she could see the alleyway below them. It was empty, and Sara turned to Baz and allowed herself a smile. He responded with a whoop of exhilaration, his voice rising higher, and Sara whooped too, feeling her heart rate soar at the prospect of escape.
Suddenly the sound of Baz’s cry rose in pitch and volume to become a strangulated parody of what it was before. She turned around in time to see the entire surface of Baz’s body shudder as if he was having a fit. He collapsed on to the staircase and rolled down the remaining stairs, his body entwined in thin metal wires that appeared from nowhere.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs were three men dressed in black leather jackets and carrying what looked like large fake-looking plastic guns.
One of them stepped forward, his hand held up.
‘Sara, you can’t run. There’s only one way out of this, and that’s with us.’
She ignored them, jumped the remaining stairs and crouched down where Baz was lying at the foot of the stairs, unconscious.
Lionel looked down at Janey Small’s frail figure. Her sheets were damp with sweat, and her breathing was shallow and irregular.
Next to her, a video monitor was linked by a sensor that ran to her cheek. A cursor was moving, communicating to an absent audience, propelled forward by the last remnants of Janey’s energy. It lurched through an alphabet in a crawl until it settled and lit up the borders of one letter, completing a message.
3.2.7.F.O.R.T.U.N.E.
Lionel knew the question to which the first line of the message was the answer. It would lead the girl to where it started.
If he moved quickly, he might even beat her there.
He watched Janey’s face as she kept propelling the cursor forward. Her face was slick with perspiration, and pearls of sweat hung from her eyebrows.
D.O.N.T.T.R.U.S.
Lionel took hold of the pillow on which Janey’s head rested and pulled it out gently, letting her head fall back on to the mattress.
D.O.N.T.T.R.U.S.T.H.E.R.
The girl must have left before Janey had begun this second line of the message. Too bad. She would have to learn the hard way the truth about her past.
‘Goodbye, Janey,’ he said, his face expressionless.
He gripped the pillow at either end and pressed it into her face, his arms locked down, driving the back of Janey’s head deep into the mattress.
‘What did you do to him?’ asked Sara.
‘He’s going to be fine,’ replied the man. He reached behind him and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. ‘Put these on, Sara.’
The air around Sara began beating loudly, and then everything seemed to slow down. She could hear her own breathing, loud and rasping in her ears. It was as if she was standing in a vacuum chamber, set apart from the world around her. Outside, every sound was becoming amplified, from the clink of the handcuff bracelets as they touched each other to the creak of the man’s leather jacket as his arm reached for her in exaggerated slow motion.
Sara reached a hand out towards the handcuffs. The man continued to move towards her, like a deep-sea diver, slowly and as if battling extreme pressure, while her movements were lithe, freed from the apparent density of the atmosphere around her. By the time she clamped the restraints on to his wrists, she could see the surprise only just beginning to register in his face, one muscle at a time.
A sound like a tyre exploding on her right made her pivot. She turned in time to see two darts attached to wires launch from the gun of the man on her side. The darts flew through the air, like two lazy flies cruising in her direction. Sara stepped back and twisted easily to the side, watching as the twin projectiles sailed by in front of her, lighting up the air with static charges as they flew. They hit the third man square in the chest. At first, nothing happened. Then the man’s hands began to shudder, as if he was trying to take flight. The flapping became more agitated as his arms and torso began to convulse.
The air pressure around Sara was building, causing her ears to pound with such force that she had to blink back the pain.
The man who had just fired the Taser dropped the gun in slow motion down to his side and began to reload.
Sara turned to face the man in front of her, who shouted in rage and lunged at her, his hands pinned together by the handcuffs. She ducked low and crashed the heel of her palm into his Adam’s apple before he registered the movement. He gagged reflexively and fell to the ground.
The pressure continued to build around Sara, and it was only then that she realized she had been holding her breath the whole time. She exhaled, and at the same instant the world around her collapsed and then resumed its normal speed.
She found herself lying on the ground, looking up at the remaining man. His finger squeezed the trigger as the gun aimed directly at Sara’s chest. She closed her eyes, wincing at what was to come.
Then she heard a loud metal crash and opened her eyes to see Baz standing over her with a discarded metal pylon in one hand. The man was lying on the ground directly below him, out cold.
Baz looked at her in amazement.
‘How did you do that?’ was all he could say.
‘Do what?’ asked Sara, clutching her head in pain.
‘I’ve never seen anyone move …’ He faltered, too confused to continue. He helped Sara get up and took a step back, looking at her.
‘Who are you?’ he said finally.
The question was so direct that it wrong-footed Sara. She looked back at him, her face slack with incomprehension.
‘I have no idea,’ was all she could manage.
A commotion outside distracted Lionel from his labours. He let go of the pillow and walked to the window.
In the alleyway, three storeys below, he could see Jonas, Bonner and the other agent writhing on the ground. Next to them stood Sara and a mountain of a man.
Some instinct caused Sara to look up and she met Lionel’s eyes. She stared at him for a second, her expression inscrutable, and then began to run with her colossal companion in tow.
Lionel turned and moved quickly across the room. He took one final look at Janey as he passed the bed. Her face was mottled blue and grey, and her mouth was half-open as if in a silent scream.
He leaned over her and unplugged the machine, causing the monitor to go blank.
‘Close off the streets around the hospital. They’re on foot in the alleyway,’ he barked into his collar.
He pulled the gun from his waistband and clutched it in his hand.