Driver waited for the blast. There was a muted bang from beneath the church, like a car backfiring. A nearby pipe spat out a column of hot vapour. But that was all.
With Tom’s grip releasing and his weight lifting from her, she rolled onto her back. Tom loomed over her, staring at the remote, then at the square below the church. Driver turned and peered over the edge of the roof. The minister was alive, with no sign of damage above ground Following a collective shrug, the minister went back to his speech, thanking everyone for coming.
‘What the hell just happened?’ Wells asked over the comms.
‘Nothing the hell just happened,’ Rios replied.
‘Aw, what’s wrong, honey?’ Driver said. ‘Is your little toy broken?’
Tom looked again at the detonator in his hand. He rattled the switch in confusion.
‘Locatelli screwed you over,’ she continued. ‘I guess he didn’t want you blowing up his city.’
Tom threw the remote aside. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He put a finger to his ear. ‘Switch to Protocol Delta.’
Driver struggled to her knees. ‘What’s Protocol Delta?’
Tom smiled without saying a word. He walked towards her, ready to finish the job.
Driver glanced down at her ankle. She lifted her trouser leg and tore open a Velcro strap, pulled a compact pistol and got to her feet. But then she dropped to a knee on weakened legs. Tom burst forward, raised a boot and kicked her in the solar plexus. The force propelled her through the air onto her back. Driver dropped the pistol, but rolled over and struggled back to her feet. Tom had the gun now, the safety off and aimed straight at her.
Gilmore spoke in her earpiece. ‘What’s your status, Pilgrim?’
‘My status is that I’m screwed,’ Driver said. ‘He’s got a gun on me.’
‘Jackdaw, have you got a shot?’ Gilmore asked.
‘Negative,’ Rios replied. ‘The church roof is too high. I’m unsighted.’
‘Forget about me,’ Driver said. ‘The minister’s the priority.’
‘Sorry, Sam, but this is where it has to end.’ Tom wore a look of regret behind the pistol. It was obviously feigned.
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Driver said. ‘Why?’
Tom sighed, as if in pain. ‘I didn’t want any of this. If there had been another way—’
‘Another way to what? Fake your own death? Sell us out to Serik? Pretend you loved me?’
Tom looked offended. ‘I never pretended.’
Driver wanted to scream. He never pretended.
‘That was the hardest thing I ever had to do,’ Tom continued.
‘So I’m supposed to be grateful?’
Tom shook his head in anger. The pistol wavered in his hand. ‘This is why – I knew you wouldn’t understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Can’t you see?’ Tom said, waving the gun around him. ‘The world has a poisoned soul.’ He refocused behind the pistol. ‘They sign us up, ship us out. Send us halfway around the world to die. Then they call us heroes. Treat us like maggots.’ Tom breathed heavily like a man full of rage. ‘Those who make it back, last six months before they blow their fucking brains out. I saw my entire unit die in Iraq. And for what? For oil? A building contract? There’s only one way to save the world from the machine we’ve created.’
‘By destroying it?’ Driver said. ‘Buddying up with Serik and his pals?’
‘Serik was useful for a time,’ Tom replied. ‘He supported our aims in Kazakhstan, Washington and Moscow… But he’s a terrorist.’
Driver shrugged. ‘I don’t see the difference.’
‘Terrorists spread fear,’ Tom said. ‘This is hitting the reset button.’
‘Hitting the reset… Have you heard yourself, Tom?’
‘We burn it all down,’ he continued. ‘And build it up again from the ashes. Only this time, we’ll do it right.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Come on, Sam, aren’t you sick of all this?’ Tom said. ‘Think about it – no more agencies, no more lying politicians or wealthy elite. Just a simple world, where people can live a simple, happy fucking existence.’
‘And what happens when there’s no one left to build this new utopia?’ Driver asked. ‘You think you’re going to survive a nuclear winter?’
‘Some of us will make it,’ Tom replied. ‘The cause is bigger than me, Sam. That’s the whole point.’
Driver shook her head. ‘My mother warned me about you. Can’t believe she was actually right.’
‘Well she ought to know,’ Tom snapped. ‘She still on the pills?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. I’ve been in a Siberian gulag.’
Tom looked over the surrounding rooftops. ‘Well here’s the bright side, we’ve got the best seat in the house.’
‘For what?’ Driver asked. ‘What’s Protocol Delta?’
Tom laughed. ‘You’re about to find—’ The smile dropped from his face, his attention drawn by events on the ground.
Something was happening. Something even Tom didn’t seem prepared for.
As Minister Chiang continued with his speech, Lim stood to the left of his security team. It was far from ideal. She would have liked to make her move before arriving at the steps. But without a window of opportunity, or a weapon, she’d had to wait.
It was high risk, and getting riskier. Lim had kept her earpiece in from the previous operation. It was tuned into the same frequency as before – an oversight on Gilmore’s part. In her ear, she heard everything: the bomb not detonating and a plan B from McNeil called Protocol Delta. Lim could hazard a guess it involved the minister, and she knew every second that ticked by she was riding her luck.
Sometimes a little good fortune was necessary, but in Lim’s experience, it didn’t last long. And from the chatter on the comms, she knew Mo was running facial recognition using a satellite – most likely from the back of the silver van Lim had noticed parked down the street. He would be scanning pedestrians and the gathered crowd first. There were hundreds of faces, and those faces had bought her time, time enough until the cars were empty and the minister was vulnerable. Lim glanced around her. Chiang’s security team were communicating over comms of their own with discreet whispers into their sleeves.
She sized up the man next to her. His jacket was unbuttoned, a weapon holstered on his left hip sporting a short silencer attachment. It was custom-made, the same as the others. His fingers flexed close to the butt and a bead of sweat stood out on his temple. He turned his head towards the female team leader – they exchanged a nod. In a split-second, Lim read the body language of Chiang’s security team. She looked to the three-car convoy parked at the base of the steps, the door to the minister’s car left open.
As Chiang waved at the crowd behind the barrier, time seemed to slow down. She made her move – pulled the man’s weapon from its holster and put a silenced round in his knee. The security team reacted; Lim reacted faster. A firm kick broke the leg of the next man. The third along drew his gun. Lim reversed the shot in his stomach. Her own weapon was slapped from her hand by the female leader. She went to draw, and Lim punched her in the throat, took the next man down with a close-quarters throw. She stole his pistol and grabbed the minister and drew him in close by his tie, enough to deny Rios and the police snipers a clean shot. She dragged a terrified Chiang down a handful of steps and into the waiting car. The crowds were more stunned than afraid for their own lives.
Lim slammed the driver-side door as Chiang scrambled for the passenger door. She applied the locks before he could bail out, but the minister’s security detail weren’t done. The physically able were led by the woman, rushing to the remaining two cars.
Jumping behind the wheel, Lim stepped on the accelerator and smoked the tyres. She saw Wells flying out of a doorway onto the street, his jaw on the floor.
‘Move and you’re dead,’ she said to Chiang, as they blasted away from the piazza.