Red Notice

70

Tom was in tabbing mode, intent on making as much distance down the service tunnel as he could. His body and hair were soaked with sweat; his jeans clung to his legs as if he’d been in a thunderstorm. He soon hit his rhythm, his breathing constant, his feet kept low, at little more than shuffling height. He gripped the children firmly but not painfully as he moved through the darkness with the gentle echo of his and Rose’s footsteps trailing behind him.

Their confined and solitary world suddenly erupted with 7.62 machine-gun fire, each twenty-round burst compressing into one long, loud explosion that rumbled towards them.

Tom dropped flat, Daniel still on his back. Rose followed suit. The children screamed, first in pain and then in fear. Their pursuers’ rapid muzzle flash lit up the tunnel six, maybe seven hundred metres away, with the heart-stopping fury of an approaching tube train.

Tom was pretty sure their two pursuers had finally doubled back and picked up the gun team by the green door. They’d screwed up; they knew that. And the only way to try to rectify the situation was to put rounds down the service tunnel and hope for the best.

There was nowhere for Tom and the kids to go but low as rounds flew overhead, close enough for them to hear the zinging sound before they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling and tumbled onwards at an even higher pitch. The green one-in-five tracer rounds sped towards them in a gentle arc. Some hit the walls ahead and cartwheeled, like demented supersonic fireworks.

All they could do was lie there while the rounds kept coming. Maybe the enemy would come and check the tunnel for bodies later; maybe they wouldn’t. He just wanted to protect these two as long as he could, and then make damn sure none of them was here when their pursuers reached this point.

In the glow of the muzzle flash, he saw the shadow of another ladder on the wall to one side of them. There must be another access hatch on the roof.

Tom shouted above the din, keeping an arm across each child so they stayed exactly where they were: he needed their attention.

‘D’you have a mobile — you know, a phone?’

Rose shook her head and gave a terrified squeak: ‘iPod.’

‘Give it to me, quickly.’

He took it, then removed his hands from their shoulders and fished out his own mobile. Slipping it out of its sock, he brought up voice record on the iPod and yelled, ‘Gavin Marks. This is for Sergeant Gavin Marks. Get this information to him!’

He carried on at the same volume, telling Gavin what he’d seen, heard and felt. Any int he could think of that might help. ‘And the Yankees are lined up against the windows, so you can’t make explosive entry on the glass…’

He then paired the iPod with his mobile and transferred the X-ray photos he’d taken through the windows.

The firing stopped. The silence was almost deafening.

‘Pretty soon — when I say — you two will have to go on without me. I’ll stay right here and make sure the bad guys don’t follow.’ He pointed behind him. ‘It isn’t that far. You must keep running all the way to the end of the tunnel, and when you get there, some men, some policemen, will be waiting to help you. It’s all right,’ he said, seeing terror on Daniel’s face. ‘They’ll take care of you. And, Rose, you must take your iPod to a man called Gavin right away. Nobody else. Ask for Gavin Marks, the soldier. Do you understand?’

The firing kicked off again. A new 200-round belt of linked 7.62 had been loaded. Tom had to start shouting once more. ‘Both of you say it: Gavin Marks, the soldier.’

‘Gavin Marks, the soldier,’ they chorused.

Tom didn’t say he wanted them both to memorize the words in case one of them didn’t make it.

The crazy fireworks display stopped again. Tom waited. In his mind’s eye, he visualized lifting the top cover of the machine-gun, placing the first four rounds of link into the feed tray, slamming down the top and cocking the weapon. He waited a few seconds more. It was now or never.

Tom handed the iPod back to Rose. ‘Go!’ he said. ‘Run as fast as you can. Go — go — go — go!’

As they disappeared into the darkness, Tom felt for the steel ladder and started scrambling up it, one hand held above his head. When it hit the cold metal of the hatch, he felt around the edge of its frame until he found two locking handles.

The gun kicked off once more. He wasn’t going to have the luxury of checking the virgin ground before he entered it. He wrenched open the handles and hauled himself up into a warmer and better-lit world. He closed the hatch as yet another round ricocheted off its underside.