Blake flashed a pass at the desk sergeant and hammered the elevator button. ‘Come on,’ he said in an agitated tone. He looked like a man stretched to snapping point. Deep lines of worry were etched across his face. Blake snatched a glance at his watch as the doors of the elevator whispered open. He pressed the button for the floor to Milton’s office and clenched his jaws so tightly his teeth hurt. The doors closed slowly and Blake rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. A small bell announced the elevator’s arrival and Blake blasted down the corridor like a missile.
DCI Milton was on his feet as soon as he heard Blake’s heavy footsteps approach. He stepped aside to let Blake into his office.
‘Can I get some coffee in here,’ Milton shouted indiscriminately, his voice sounding like gravel. Blake dragged a seat over to Milton’s desk and sat down. The thought of Carla being held hostage was burning a hole in his head. He was having trouble thinking straight; his brain was jammed up with scenarios. Each was playing out in his mind on a continuous loop. All were ending badly.
The loud buzz of Milton’s phone sounded from the table. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Mayor Lambton received a death threat this morning, possibly from someone linked to the riots. His office is shitting bricks over it.’ After shouting several orders, he withdrew the phone from his ear and placed it back on the table. ‘Bloody idiots,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Almost immediately, Blake was on his feet again. He started pacing around Milton’s office, scratching at the salt and pepper stubble shadowing his jaw. ‘What have you got on Carla?’ he said, meeting Milton’s eyes with a desperate look.
The DCI took in a deep breath and handed Blake a police file. Blake paged through the papers, skim-reading the jumble of printed pages and handwritten notes.
‘Half the force is looking for Carla,’ said Milton. ‘We’re working every avenue.’
‘They could be over the Channel by now,’ said Blake, checking his watch. He sank his head in his hands for a second and then his head lifted.
‘I’m going to get the bastards who took her, I swear it,’ said Blake with a sudden forcefulness.
Milton scanned his friend’s eyes.
There was a curt knock at the door, and then Lynn Osborne was framed in the doorway. ‘Boss, you need to see this.’
The DCI shot Lynn a questioning look. ‘I’m with Vincent, I’ll be with you in—’
‘Sorry Sir, but I think he needs to see this too.’
Lynn led both men down to the video suite at the end of the corridor. It was a small room with three workstations positioned side by side. Sitting at the centre workstation was a young Asian policewoman whirling a pen between her fingers like a miniature baton.
‘Boss, remember what we talked about?’ said Lynn.
The DCI shrugged impatiently. He couldn’t remember and wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.
‘You asked me to put the feelers out for the homeless woman. She was linked with Enoch Hart, the third man at the Andaz Hotel.’
Milton’s face loosened in comprehension.
Lynn sat down next to the policewoman and nodded for her to begin. The policewoman’s fingers scuttled across the keyboard and a small red light on the computer hard drive winked into action. As she worked moving her mouse through a series of images, she tapped her front teeth with her pen. With a few clicks, the display screen was split into quarters, each displaying a different perspective of the same location.
Blake’s attention was immediately piqued by the profile of St Paul’s Cathedral in the background of the top left quadrant. A connection fired in his brain. ‘That’s the Millennium Footbridge,’ he said with conviction.
‘Right,’ said the policewoman.
Blake moved closer to the screen. ‘That camera is pointing from the south end of the bridge looking straight up to St. Paul’s on Ludgate Hill. And this view,’ he said, lightly flicking the bottom left quadrant of the screen, ‘is the view looking back towards Bankside and the Tate Modern gallery,’ he observed pointing at the image.
Milton rubbed his eyes trying to keep up.
‘The other two views are from CCTV cameras stationed halfway across the bridge, one on either side,’ added Lynn.
‘So why are we looking at the Millennium Footbridge?’ asked Blake, shooting a glance back to Lynn.
The policewoman clicked the mouse, and the screen became animated. ‘This is the early hours of this morning. Now pay attention to the top-left of the screen.’ Blake studied the display as the action played forward. Apart from several early-morning strollers, the bridge appeared all but empty.
‘Anytime now,’ added Lynn. ‘There.’
The profile of two figures entered the view: a person wearing a large coat and a dog trotting by their side.
Understanding slowly dawned on Blake’s face. As he watched the figures hurry across the bridge, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Soon the image of Mary and her dog reached halfway across and entered the view of the cameras at the centre of the bridge. With a click of the mouse, the policewoman froze the action. Mary’s face was clearly captured in the camera displayed in the bottom right quadrant of the screen. Blake was transfixed by the image. The strange profile of the homeless woman and her dog had been branded into his mind. She had been a confidant of Enoch Hart, one of the three Guardians of the Logos Stone. But since his shooting, and despite the best efforts of the police to find her, she had fallen off the grid until she had appeared in the tube station, ranting about the approaching Reckoning.
‘Son of a bitch, what’s she up to?’ said Milton behind Blake’s shoulder.
The policewoman clicked the mouse and the image began to play once again. Even though the picture on the screen was grainy, Mary’s demeanour showed a marked change. Blake focused like a hawk, as a startled look seemed to sweep over Mary’s face on the TV monitor. She was looking back up along the bridge in the direction of St Paul’s.
Lynn’s finger tapped the top left quadrant of the display. ‘Get ready, there.’ From the corner, three black shapes moved into view. The shapes were moving fast. ‘Motorbikes,’ said Lynn.
Milton shot her a sideways glance.
‘Boss, keep watching.’
As the footage played on, the shape of the three motorbikes became clear. They were accelerating quickly along the bridge in Mary’s direction. Blake looked on through gritted teeth. Mary started to run towards the south end of the bridge, but quickly her footsteps petered out to a stop.
‘There’s another bike, she’s being hemmed in from both directions,’ said Milton in alarmed fascination.
Soon the bikes had all but closed the distance. Seeing the approaching danger, two bystanders who had just walked onto the bridge thought twice and retreated back. Within seconds the four motorcycles were circling around Mary and the black dog. Blake could imagine the screaming motorbike engines in his mind.
One at a time, the riders stopped their bikes and kicked out their bike stands. They were all wearing leathers and full tinted helmets. A dark look passed over Blake’s face as they pressed in on Mary from all directions.
Blake, Milton, Osborne and the policewoman looked on in silence as a wild brawl erupted between Mary, the dog and their pursuers, their eyes jerking from side to side to keep up with the sickening scene. Blake took a firm grip of the table edge, a sense of disgust rising in his throat.
‘If I catch up with those—’ Blake was cut short by the sight of Mary being floored by a fierce punch. Moments later they were upon her. ‘What are they doing to her?’ asked Blake to no one specifically.
‘Watch,’ Lynn responded crisply.
Blake cocked his head and studied the screen. Finally his eyes discerned an object in one of the assailant’s hands. His eyes widened as he recognised what it was. His frown deepened with a growing realisation. The policewoman stopped the footage.
‘There, can you see it? There’s something in that rider’s hand. It looks like a tube or a cylinder of some type. Any ideas?’
Blake knew exactly what it was but remained silent. It was Aaron’s Rod, the sacred biblical relic that he and Carla had discovered within a secret crypt under the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral.
The policewoman swept her hair away from her face and restarted the playback. The frozen image jumped back to life to show Mary momentarily breaking free and then receiving a devastating blow to the stomach. The impact sent her reeling back onto the side of the bridge.
Blake’s jaws tensed as he watched two of the riders haul Mary onto their shoulders. ‘They’re going to throw her off the—,’ exclaimed Blake. His words were too slow for the playback. He pressed his knuckle into his teeth and watched Mary’s body disappear into the water. There was a moment of shocked silence. Blake and Milton swapped glances.
‘Keep looking,’ said Osborne. ‘There’s more.’
‘More?’ said Blake, wiping away perspiration from his forehead. The policewoman tapped at the keyboard and brought up another image. She pointed to the series of numbers displayed in the top left-hand corner of the screen.
‘This is minutes after the footage we’ve just seen. It’s from a camera opposite Bankside Pier, just down from the Millennium Bridge.’
Instead of the grainy footage from the bridge cameras, this picture was sharp, clear and in colour. It showed Mary, wet and bedraggled, staggering to her feet, the dog by her side.
Blake gave Osborne a long look of relief. He could have hugged her. ‘She’s alive.’ He hit the table. ‘She’s bloody alive. Do we know where she is?’
Lynn shrugged ruefully. ‘We have no idea.’
Blake’s mind was racing. ‘Mary was with Hart before his death. She knows what this is all about. Hell, she could be Carla’s only chance right now,’ said Blake desperately. He was about to say something, but his attention was snatched back to the screen. ‘There, rewind.’
The policewoman complied with Blake’s request and moused back several seconds.
‘Stop.’ Blake was now on his feet, tapping at the screen. ‘What’s that?’ Blake squinted at the frozen image of Mary standing up in the mud, her tangled hair sticking to her ashen face like a banshee. ‘On her coat, is that a badge of some kind? A flower?’
Lynn pursed her lips in concentration. ‘I know what that is.’
The eyes of the other three were upon her. Blake felt his heart quicken.
‘They hand those out at the soup kitchen at Shoreditch Church. It’s their emblem, the sunflower.’
Blake was on his feet in an instant, his keys jangling in his hand.
‘If you get eyes on her, I want to know,’ said Milton as Blake grabbed at the door handle.
He was only half listening. He was praying.