Dark Winter

39

The CCTV camera in front of King’s Cross station was now pointing towards the British Library. Suzy grinned as she got to grips with another wad of nicotine gum. ‘Maybe they’ll take them down again when this place is all nice and shiny.’

‘About as much chance as Ken Livingstone getting a second term.’

The traffic splashed its way up Gray’s Inn as we checked the Boots shopfront again for the source. The target building made definite sense to me as an FOB [forward operations base]. The construction site probably wasn’t working at weekends, so there’d be no one overlooking from that side, even if they could see through the plastic sheeting. The shops this side of Gray’s Inn had office-for-rent signs sticking out from the floors above them, but it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to keep out of sight of anyone working in one of them over the weekend – especially if the ASU members confined themselves to a high room on the Pentonville side of the building.

I checked the bell pushes on the doors sandwiched between the shopfronts our side of the road. I wanted to try to see if any of the flats were residential, including the ones above Costcutter. Hardly any had a name on them, and those that did were scribbled on scraps of paper.

Even with CCTV everywhere, there were other factors that made it a good choice of FOB. In a hotel room there’d always be the risk of someone next door overhearing them prepare. With a rented room or flat, there are booking procedures, agreements, deposits, all that rigmarole to go through and potentially compromise. And they hadn’t had to force their way into someone’s home, take them hostage or kill them so that they could use the location; all they’d had to do was get in there and lie low.

I tried to imagine them inside, maybe in new sleeping-bags, eating more shit in trays. Did they pray before going on a job? Were they shitting themselves, or just totally focused? Were there any more women up there? Was their plan to kill themselves after the attack, or just move round the city for a few more days, contaminating fresh victims until they were incapable of going any further?

A couple of twentysomethings were making the best of their cans of Stella in the shelter of a shop doorway, with a young girl who looked like she was sleeping rough too. She was in ripped jeans, T-shirt and an old green nylon bomber jacket, and couldn’t have been more than a year older than Kelly. Her gaunt face was full of zits and her hair as wet and greasy as the pavement. She leant against an Evening Standard newsbox that headlined more SARS hysteria, as they swayed and she giggled. One of the guys said they should both get a blow-job after the favour they were about to do her. She took a swig from one of their cans. ‘Maybe.’ Her eyes were as big as saucers, the pupils huge and black.

‘You feeling OK?’ Suzy jabbed my arm.

The pain had returned to my stomach. ‘You know, those sandwiches could have been a bit dodgy.’

As we neared the top of the road by the ship’s bow, traffic was backed up at the lights, windscreen wipers thrashing. The shopfronts this side of the building didn’t have nice purple chipboard to disguise them. They mostly just had rusty shutters. I still couldn’t see any light coming from inside and, as far as I’d been able to see, all the doors that led upstairs were well and truly padlocked.

We approached the police station on the corner of Birkenhead. Suzy was still upbeat as we passed its CCTV. ‘You see, it’s not all bad news. At least that one only looks at the station.’

We crossed towards the arcade. The source’s no-show was pissing me off. ‘Let’s do a circuit before we go back round for the locks recce. I want to go past the source’s house anyway to see if he’s in. I just don’t trust that fucker.’

We looked up Birkenhead to check what the CCTV at the T-junction of St Chad’s was up to. It had turned away from the direction of the source’s flat, and now pointed to the right of the junction.

Suddenly Suzy stopped and turned, as if to kiss me. ‘It’s him, coming down on the left.’

I glanced up. The source was making his way towards the station. I turned back with her. ‘We’ll get him at the junction.’

Turning left at the arcade, we stopped and she gobbed out her gum before we cuddled. Seconds later he appeared, raincoat collar up, arms folded. He hesitated when he saw us, then quickly crossed the road. As the flashing lights played across his face I could see he was as pissed off as I was. But that didn’t matter. Suzy got in first as he took his final three or four steps to get under the cover of the arcade. ‘You’re fucking late – we wanted eyes on over there from—’

‘Do not be stupid, I cannot afford to do these things. The whole world is watching.’ His eyes darted about him as if he expected to see a face at every window. ‘I had to leave for a while, there was too much activity in the streets. I was just coming to meet with you.’

Suzy gave him her lovely-to-see-you smile. ‘You see anything?’

‘No, nothing. What do you people expect of me? I discovered King’s Lynn for you, what else do you want?’

It sounded like bullshit to me. ‘This ASU is right on your fucking doorstep and you know nothing about it?’

His bloodshot eyes screwed tight. ‘There are many things that aren’t known. I don’t care what you think, I care little for you or your country, but you two had better understand one thing. If there are any JI in there, they have nothing to fear, they’re happy to become martyrs. They will attack with whatever is in those bottles. I know these people – I’ve been fighting for fifteen years.’

Suzy leant towards him. ‘You don’t like us much, do you, so what are you doing here?’

He pursed his lips and took several deep breaths as his eyes dropped away from us. ‘Because you people tell me I have no choice.’

Neither of us answered. I remembered the Yes Man on his cell in the flat saying he had no choice. They had him by the bollocks somehow. I knew the feeling.

He sighed, looked up, then gave a smile. ‘I will die fighting.’ And with that he walked away.

Suzy and I watched as he disappeared up Birkenhead, then followed. We got to the driveway behind his flat as a crack of light pushed its way through the closed curtains on the top floor.

The zit-faced girl and the two twentysomethings emerged from a dark area further down St Chad’s, staggering, not concerned about the rain – or us – as they squabbled over the contents of a small plastic bag. The girl giggled as they passed, recognizing us, and ran her tongue over her scabby lips.

We crossed into the shadows in case the CCTV decided to turn in our direction. The place where the three had emerged seemed to be an entry-point into a Jaguar garage, and as we passed a soft but urgent voice called out to me, ‘Oi, mate, you want some?’

I peered into the darkness as a lighter clicked and he lit up. He was a white guy, cocky-looking, about the same age as the two drunks who had just left him. He was in ripped jeans and a rain-soaked leather jacket. He’d been so off his head the last time he saw us we weren’t registering at all.

‘Want some what?’ I knew I’d asked the question, but the voice didn’t sound like mine.

The dealer didn’t notice. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and gestured with his hand. ‘Whatever – whites, brown, take your pick.’ He spoke with a lisp. ‘Come in here – get off the road, just in here. It’ll be all right.’

I let go of Suzy and turned to face him. She seemed to know what I was about to do before I did. ‘No, not now, not now . . .’