Ian Blenkinsop’s demeanour had gone through several transformations since they’d taken him from Mad Jack’s. Initially of course he’d been frightened and bewildered. Then, as it had dawned on him that this was something he’d half-expected to happen, he’d become less bewildered and much more frightened. As they’d ascended into the car park, and Heck and Lauren had still refrained from using violence against him, he’d become less frightened and more affronted, almost bolshy. But now that he’d seen what had been done to his forty-thousand-pound car, he was terrified.
‘Surely the security people would have seen that someone was in the car park?’ he stammered as they hurried him down the emergency exit steps.
Heck had opted to use this stairwell rather than the elevator. It was only a precaution, maybe an unnecessary one – he didn’t know if it was possible to sabotage a modern elevator, but he knew that he didn’t want to find out.
‘Just keep going,’ he said, urging Blenkinsop down.
Lauren had pocketed the Glock, as they no longer needed it to convince the errant banker that he’d be safer in their company than out of it. But she was ready to grab it at a moment’s notice.
‘Wait!’ Heck held a hand up.
They stopped, sweating. Heck could have sworn he’d heard the patter of feet somewhere above, perhaps coming down the stairs after them. But now there was nothing. Almost certainly it had been an echo.
‘Okay, keep going.’
They continued to descend, passing the fourth level, and the third. Again there were no windows in this part of the building, and when they reached the second level, the last two flights of stairs had had their lights broken. They halted, teetering on the brink, peering down into menacing blackness.
‘This way.’ Heck steered Blenkinsop through the fire door into the car park proper.
From here, they made it down to the ground floor by the vehicle ramps. The security man who’d been smoking in the entrance was no longer there. Nor was there any sign of him through the portal to his office.
‘If we can locate Ted Chadwick,’ Blenkinsop muttered, ‘he can probably help us.’
‘Ted Chadwick will be helping himself into an early grave,’ Heck replied. ‘Just follow me.’
They re-entered the alley. There was a figure at its farthest end. It looked female, and was carrying a briefcase; perfectly normal for this part of London, yet it was standing in the middle of the alley, staring after them. They only just managed to avoid running as they proceeded the other way towards Cornhill. It was a relief to join the teeming crowds, which seemed ludicrous given the vulnerability they’d felt there only a few minutes earlier.
‘Who exactly are we looking out for?’ Heck asked Blenkinsop.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘Don’t mess me around, you understand perfectly! What do they look like?’
Blenkinsop shook his head. He wore a tortured but helpless expression. ‘I’ve never seen any of them – I’ve never seen their faces, at least.’
‘How many are there?’
‘I got the impression quite a few.’
Heck started along the pavement, Lauren and Blenkinsop following. They descended the first stairway they came to, which led to Bank tube station.
‘Haven’t you got any more men than this?’ Blenkinsop wondered.
‘Just keep moving,’ Heck said.
‘We making this up as we go along, or what?’ Lauren asked.
Heck rounded on her. ‘Got a better idea? These bastards have been one step ahead of us for days. Well, I’ve had enough of it. We’ll take trains at random … try to throw them off the scent.’
She stood guard while he bought them all a day’s travel pass. After that, he ushered them down to the Waterloo & City Line, where they caught the first connection south. At Waterloo they changed to the Bakerloo and headed north. When they reached Paddington, they took the Hammersmith & City east, changing to the Victoria at King’s Cross. All the time they watched their fellow passengers, which became increasingly difficult. The ever changing crush of humanity pressed into and out of the confined space of the tube trains; all types were on view – every race, sex, age and creed. On the Victoria, Heck felt concern about a tall black guy standing close to them. He was handsome, dressed in a smart suit and wearing a distinctive pearl earring. He had a briefcase at his feet and was absorbed in a copy of the Financial Times.
‘See that dude?’ Heck mumbled to Lauren.
She nodded.
‘I’m pretty sure I saw him riding the Bakerloo in the carriage behind us.’
‘There could be a totally normal reason for that.’
‘Could be. We’ll know in a sec.’
At Green Park, they jumped out, Heck virtually shoving Blenkinsop down onto the platform. Rushing straight to the Piccadilly Line, they took an immediate train north, changing again to the Bakerloo at Piccadilly Circus, and back onto the Victoria Line at Oxford Circus.
‘Surely … this is unnecessary?’ Blenkinsop gasped. They were again crammed in with hordes of fellow travellers, many of them foreign tourists wearing iPods and backpacks. The air was rank, stifling. ‘No one’s going to try anything down here.’
‘No,’ Heck agreed, ‘but we don’t want them following us ’til they get us somewhere where they can.’
‘Dear God, this is ridiculous … utterly bloody ridiculous.’
‘Just watch the crowd, Blenkinsop. See if there’s anyone you recognise.’
Thankfully, they seemed to have lost the black guy with the earring. When they passed Warren Street a large number of passengers disgorged. There was now some breathing space.
‘Do you want to tell us exactly what you’ve been up to?’ Heck asked.
Blenkinsop broke into a puzzled frown. ‘Surely you’re already aware of that?’
‘If I was, I wouldn’t be asking.’
‘Well if you’re not aware of it, I’m certainly not going to tell you.’
The sweat was cooling on all their brows. Blenkinsop was breathing deeply, but now regarded Heck and Lauren with distaste and something like suspicion.
‘May I remind you,’ Heck said, ‘that I’m a police officer? I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself off the record. But if necessary I’ll take you to the nearest nick and make it official right now.’
‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have done in the first place?’
‘I told you not to give us any shit!’ Lauren warned him.
‘Or what? You’re going to shoot me? In front of a trainload of witnesses? What kind of coppers are you two? You drag me out of a pub, you threaten me with a gun … now you’re running around London not even knowing who’s supposed to be chasing you …’
She grabbed his collar. ‘Listen, fuckhead …’
He violently struggled free. ‘I don’t have to listen to anything …’
She switched her hand to his throat, squeezing his larynx. He gagged, eyes bulging.
Heck snatched at her hand, yanking it loose.
‘I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Mr Blenkinsop,’ he said quietly but intently. ‘But I do know that you are involved with some extremely unpleasant people. Now you listen to me very carefully. This business is not going to end happily. You understand that? You saw what they did to your car. Nice bit of knife-work, wasn’t it? Trust me, that isn’t even a foretaste of what they could do to your flesh.’
‘In that case, why don’t you take me to a police station?’ Blenkinsop asked, rubbing at his throat. ‘Surely we’ll all be safer?’
‘Heck!’ Lauren hissed.
‘What?’
‘Six yards away, combat fatigues.’
‘Yeah?’ Heck didn’t risk looking over his shoulder, but could sense that someone was there now who hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.
‘He’s just come in from the next carriage through the emergency door.’
Heck nodded, understanding her suspicion. Unless you were a high school kid trying to reinforce your cool, moving from carriage to carriage was a big no-no when the Underground trains were in motion. It made even less sense on this particular occasion as both carriages were less than half full.
The train groaned to another halt. They were at Euston.
‘Let’s go,’ Heck said, stepping out, following the signs to the Northern Line. ‘What does this guy look like?’
‘Short, stocky, swarthy.’
‘You said he was in combat fatigues?’
‘Yeah, yellow and brown. You know what that means, don’t you?’
Heck nodded grimly. It meant they were desert fatigues.
‘It could be a coincidence,’ she said.
‘We’re not taking any chances.’
On the Northern Line, they headed south.
‘This is insane,’ Blenkinsop muttered. ‘We’re going round and round in circles.’
‘We’ll do it as long as we need to,’ Heck replied.
‘Can’t we at least go up to the surface? I’ve got to get some air …’
‘Forget it.’
Blenkinsop stuck a shaking hand in his overcoat pocket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Heck slapped them from his grasp.
‘No smoking on the Underground, Mr Blenkinsop. Surely you’re aware of that?’
Blenkinsop swallowed a lump of saliva, which, by the grimace on his face, must have tasted like poison. His lips had dried so much that they’d cracked and were beaded with blood. As they headed back into the West End, more and more people piled onto the train, which made them feel less conspicuous, though soon they’d be south of the river and the crowds would dwindle again.
‘Where to now?’ Blenkinsop wondered loudly. ‘The southern leg of the Northern Line? That’s bandit country by anyone’s standards!’
‘Chill the fuck out,’ Lauren snapped. ‘Panicking won’t get us anywhere.’
‘Yeah, okay. Like you lot are acting in a level-headed manner.’
They passed Tottenham Court Road, Leicester Square and Charing Cross, and, as they’d expected, passengers began to disperse. Soon they were south of Waterloo and feeling alone again.
Blenkinsop suddenly stiffened, sucked in a tight breath. ‘You said there was a chap in desert fatigues on the previous train?’
‘That’s right,’ Lauren replied.
‘I can see through into the next carriage. He’s in there.’
This time Heck did risk a glance around. There was indeed a figure standing just beyond the glass of the emergency door in the next carriage. He had his back turned, but was clearly wearing combat fatigues. Lauren stole a glance too – and almost froze.
‘It’s the same guy. Shit, Heck, we’re still being followed.’
‘We should go topside,’ Blenkinsop stated flatly. ‘Get a cab.’
‘We’re almost in Stockwell,’ Heck argued. ‘There won’t be many cabs around.’
‘You pair of bloody fools! What have you done to me?’
‘If it wasn’t for us, you’d already be dead,’ Lauren retorted. ‘Heck, I’ll take rearguard.’
He glanced at her, querying such wisdom.
She shrugged. ‘It’s the only way to stop the pursuit. Whatever this idiot knows, it’s obviously vital. That means you’ve got to get him away from here. The next station, you two just go for it – I’ll cover your backs.’
Heck was far from comfortable with this, but the idea made sense in a risky kind of way. They were either being utterly paranoid here, or a team genuinely was tailing them. Either way, the only solution was to engineer a confrontation.
They pulled slowly into Stockwell station.
‘Me and Blenkinsop will go straight across to the northbound, and double back,’ Heck said. ‘You’re absolutely sure about this?’
She nodded. ‘Don’t wait for me. Just go, full speed.’
Heck dug Deke’s phone from his pocket and called up its number. ‘Can you remember this?’
She read it two or three times.
‘It’s the only point of contact we’ll have,’ he said.
‘It’s all we’ll need,’ she replied.
‘Call me as soon as you’re clear.’
She nodded.
The doors slid open, and Heck pushed Blenkinsop out. They headed up the nearest tunnel, which led straight to the northbound platform. It was arched and narrow, and most of its cream tiles were in the process of being replaced, which left much exposed brick and loose plaster. The only light came from temporary bulbs strung along the ceiling. They swung in the warm breeze, throwing shadows back and forth. The northbound was twenty yards ahead – as they approached it a train glided in. Heck grabbed Blenkinsop by the back of the collar and propelled him forward so that soon they were running.
Behind them, Lauren waited alone on the southbound. She peered down the length of the train, which was pulling out again. A couple of people had disembarked further along – an elderly Jewish man, who went straight up the exit staircase, and a short, bullish figure wearing desert fatigues. This latter now ambled towards her, hands in his pockets. He was thickset, with a broad, powerful neck. His hair was cut very short, his face tanned, brutish.
She waited for him. There was still a chance he was an ordinary commuter. But he came straight on, staring at her with such intensity that he might have been seeing through her. When he was five yards away, he took his hands from his pockets – she saw the tattoos on the inside of each wrist. They were black scorpions.
Lauren went for the pocket containing the Glock – only for a hand to tap her shoulder.
She spun around, shocked. She’d been so mesmerised by the approach of the first man that she hadn’t thought to check the two or three carriages behind her. The tall black guy with the pearl earring was there. He smiled at her, the teeth bright in his handsome face. He presented his clenched fist – almost as if he was showing it to her, as if it was something he wanted to sell. It was wrapped in a gold-plated knuckleduster. Lauren made a kick for his groin, but he dodged and she only caught him on the thigh. At which point she was hit in the back of the neck, so hard that nausea engulfed her. She’d convulsed into unconsciousness before she’d even hit the floor.
Heck and Blenkinsop travelled up the Northern Line to Leicester Square, before ascending to the surface. They still didn’t know if they were being followed, but Heck was now thinking that, with an organised pursuit like this, only the teeming multitudes of the West End could provide an adequate shield. They gulped fresh air as they finally emerged from London’s guts – at which point Deke’s phone trilled.
Heck snatched it from his pocket and answered. ‘Lauren?’
‘I like your style,’ said a soft, gloating voice. ‘Letting a woman do the fighting.’
‘You bastards,’ Heck breathed.
‘It was a novel plan, but,’ and the voice chuckled, ‘just in case you were wondering … it didn’t work.’
‘I’ll get you, I swear it.’
‘Gonna send another woman to take care of that for you?’
‘I know all about you now.’
‘Not as much as we know about you. Or rather … as much as we’ll shortly know. You see, that’s what we do, Detective Sergeant Heckenburg. We find out about people. We make it our business to know them better than they know themselves. So very soon – courtesy of this gift you’ve left us – we’re going to know all your strengths and all your weaknesses. Especially your weaknesses.’
The voice chuckled again, and hung up.
Heck had this conversation on the corner of Lisle Street.
Stiffly, like an automaton, he now pocketed the phone, turned to Blenkinsop, grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back and frog-marched him to the edge of the pavement. Blenkinsop choked with pain and struggled wildly, but, though he wasn’t a small man, he was helpless in Heck’s street-toughened grasp.
‘You’re going to talk to me,’ Heck said. ‘You’re going to tell me everything. Or you’ve got a date with this double-decker.’
He nodded towards a bus picking up speed as it bore down Charing Cross Road towards them.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ Blenkinsop screamed. ‘Someone help me, please!’
But the West End crowds, as was their way, only scurried around the bizarre scene, interested to watch it but more interested to mind their own business.
The bus crashed over a manhole lid. It was twenty yards away and pushing forty.
‘You think I’m not serious!’ Heck shouted, shoving Blenkinsop over the kerb and across the first carriageway.
The bus was almost upon them, the driver staring in amazement, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop in time.
‘YOU THINK I’M NOT FUCKING SERIOUS!’