Dark Winter

59

A couple of paces got me into the hallway. I could smell mildew and spicy cooking. The staircase was steep, narrow, and covered with greasy carpet that led up into the darkness. Grey stood behind me and pushed open the interior door. We were in a derelict restaurant kitchen. There was no direct light, just whatever sneaked through the square of glass in each of the two swing doors the far side of the room. It was strange that it still smelt: nobody could have cooked here for years.

He curled his finger in front of my face and whispered, ‘Come, come.’ We moved past a series of old pots and pans and all sorts of other kitchen stuff that still sat on the oven and worktops. The floor tiles were freezing under my bare feet.

He stopped just short of the doors and turned to face me. I could just about see his eyes in the quarter-light, and the finger that went up to his lips. ‘Look.’ He pointed at the window. ‘Look.’

I put my nose against the glass, still keeping a firm grip on the bottles. Most of the furniture in the old restaurant was stacked against the walls, but Kelly was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. She had her back to me, facing the street.

Navy stood over her. One of the unstacked tables had a little lamp on it, illuminating his face and the knife in his hand. I wondered if it was the same blade that had dealt with Carmen and Jimmy.

Even if she’d been facing the other way Kelly wouldn’t have seen me. She was blindfolded, her hands and feet tied, still wearing her Old Navy T-shirt, her hair a knotted mess.

I took a deep breath. I wanted to call out to let her know I was there and she was safe. But I knew I had to stay calm. She was alive, and we were in the same place. That would have to do for now.

Grey started pulling on my shoulder. ‘Come, come.’ He was sounding even more excited. Maybe he wasn’t taking me to dinner after all; maybe we were going to a fucking funfair.

I followed him back to the bottom of the stairs. This time, light was coming from the landing above. The outside door was still open, letting in the rain. He invited me up the narrow steps. ‘This way, this way, please.’

When I was about half-way up, the source appeared on the landing. Without acknowledging me, he switched off the light, then went back into a long, narrow lounge. I paused in the doorway. The red velour curtains were closed, but there was no mistaking the TV, which still had BBC News 24 on mute, and the line of ornaments. I’d had a picture of them in my bumbag for the last couple of days. The rest of the room was new to me. A green three-piece was arranged around the TV, and his raincoat hung over the back of the nearest armchair. Against the wall, to the right, was a small dark-wood table with two chairs.

The fireplace was decorated with grey 1930s tiles, and an equally ancient gas fire was fitted in the grate. It wasn’t on. Arranged along the mantelpiece were more ornaments like the ones on the TV, chunky brass or glass replicas of mosques. Hanging above them was a picture of Mecca during the Haj, along with family photos: a silver-haired couple and a marriage in traditional dress. Two other doors leading from the room were closed.

‘Come in. Your child is OK, yes?’ The source was on the settee, watching the silent TV. A cell phone rested next to him on the arm. He still wore his suit jacket, but he’d taken off his tie and left the top shirt button done up. The fourth sports bag was lying at his feet.

Ken Livingstone was live, his hair soaked, dozens of mikes shoved in his face. The caption told us: ‘Mayor has no information of attack, all efforts directed at restoring power to tube’.

The next caption was a news update. Unnamed Foreign Office official informs BBC of imminent biological attack on tube system. Government withholding information about public safety. Government spokesman says report unfounded, calls for public to stay calm.

The Yes Man must have let Simon out on Sunday, thinking the job was done. Maybe Simon had too, until he heard about the tube closures.

It wouldn’t be long before Sundance and Trainers found him. Sundance would have his arm in a sling, but that wouldn’t hold him back. He’d nearly kicked me to death two years ago; Simon wouldn’t last long. Sad, but I did warn him.

I waited in the doorway, using the opportunity to check below me. The white-painted door from the kitchen was just opening. Shadows fell on the bottom of the stairs. ‘Please . . . please let me go.’

They were carrying her out to the van.

Fuck ’em, I might never see her again.

‘Kelly!’

The box went down on the carpet and I jumped down the stairs.

‘Nick! Nick!’

I virtually fell into them in the hallway. My hands grabbed at her blindfold as she thrashed about, her hands and legs still tied. ‘It’s OK, I’m here. Everything’s OK.’

Her blindfold came down as a pair of massive hands closed round my neck, forcing me to my knees. I glimpsed her petrified face as she was picked up again by Grey and Navy. Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Sorry, Nick, I’m sorry . . . no Disneyland . . .’

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even breathe.

Navy’s hand went over her mouth, and all I could see was her eyes, jumping about with fear. A second or two later, she was gone. The door closed and the hands released me. I lay on the floor, fighting for air.

The source stood over me as I recovered.

I looked up. ‘Why can’t she stay with me here?’

‘She’s not going far. Why are you so stupid? You need to stay calm, for her sake. I have stopped them killing her. Those are their orders. If you wanted to talk to your child, you should have just asked. Come, come with me.’

I followed him upstairs, coughing up stuff and trying to breathe. I had to keep calm. He was right. Sparking up wasn’t going to help her.

He picked up the bottles and went into the lounge but I stalled in the doorway again, listening for the van.

Shit, how long before Suzy gets here?

He waved a hand at the family shots above the fireplace. ‘She is going to the son’s house, the son of our hosts here. I just wanted you to see her, to let you know she is still worth saving. Your actions have proved I was right to keep you two apart. It should ensure there is no more irrational behaviour while we wait.’

His voice was still calm, very much in command, as he headed back to the settee, his eyes glancing at the TV pictures of bored and bedraggled police officers outside Earl’s Court tube. ‘As you can see, things are not as straightforward as I would have hoped.’

The van started, ready to take her away.

I walked into the room. ‘You going to light that fire? It’s freezing.’

‘But of course.’ He knelt and clicked the ignition button as he turned on the gas. ‘I’m going to explain why you still need to know she is alive.’ He was talking to the fire. ‘You see, I have no technical way of checking that you have in fact brought the Y. pestis . The bottles, they are genuine – but their contents? That will take a little while to ascertain, but it is not a problem. Your mayor says the underground system might be closed for a day or two. So –’ he got up, waving both hands in the air, then settled back into the settee and let them drop on to his thighs ‘– so, we have to play a waiting game. I know you are a sensible man. That moment of stupidity –’ he gestured towards the stairs ‘– that was just weakness. I know you won’t do anything like that again, because if you did, they would simply kill her. So we just wait.’

The source lit himself a cigarette and I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me. Grey came in, and I could hear the van. He walked past me as if I wasn’t there.

The source got up and opened the nearest of the closed doors. I saw a 1960s-style gas cooker standing next to a stainless-steel sink and draining-board. Lying on the brown carpet tiles at its base were the silver-haired Indian couple from the fireplace photographs. He wore a grey cardigan over a white shirt, buttoned to the collar, and his lined face and silver moustache gave him a quiet dignity. She looked pathetic in comparison. Dressed in a green sari, she also wore a cardigan, and her husband’s socks to keep out the cold. They looked a devoted couple, and probably had been right up to the moment they were killed. There was no blood. They hadn’t been cut up like Carmen and Jimmy. They had probably been strangled or suffocated to keep the noise down.

The source studied my face as I took in the dead couple. ‘Do not feel sorry for them. They are in Paradise. They are happy now they understand the reason for this family sacrifice.’

Grey stopped at the door and took the bottles. The source held his face in his hands, smoke from his cigarette curling up into his hair. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds as the source mumbled something, then Grey headed for the fridge. He placed the bottles on the carpet, then bent down to empty it. The source closed the door on him and sat down again, drawing on the last of his cigarette.

‘This son you’re talking about, where she’s going – he’s dead as well?’

‘Yes, he, too, has that honour. And perhaps he has you to thank. We needed two houses for this new, unexpected phase of the operation.’ Smoke leaked from his mouth as he waved me towards one of the chairs. ‘Sit. We’re going to be here for quite some time.’

I could hear the clink of bottles. I picked up the dry raincoat and put it on, then went and sat in the armchair closest to the fire.

The source was still in explanation mode. ‘You see, the only way we can check that you have delivered the Y. pestis is for someone to consume it. So, if you’ve exchanged the bottles, please tell me now. Your child doesn’t have to die just because you are lying to us. I’ll give you the opportunity to go and get what I want.’ He paused. ‘Well, are the contents of the bottles genuine?’

I nodded.

‘We will soon see.’ He looked at the closed door as if he could see through it. I heard a cork pop, followed by some hard, aggressive coughing. Grey must have taken a very hard and dutiful snort.

The source looked at me and smiled. ‘That is the sort of commitment to God that will make us victorious. We will all go to Paradise.’

The door opened and Grey appeared with a mask on. The fridge was closed, no bottles to be seen. Just a pack of butter, a carton of milk and some Tupperware containers lying beside the old couple. They nodded at each other once more as he closed the kitchen door and headed downstairs.

That was it, then. We were going to wait until Grey showed signs of contamination. Only then would the source prepare the kit and get out there. Maybe the other two would join him for a while, chugging their lungs up on the tube during rush-hour.

What about Kelly?

She’ll get contaminated by him.

Shit, shit – cut away from that. Think only about what you’re going to do now, this minute, to stop it happening .

‘You’re going to get caught, you know. They’re out there looking for us. Just let her go. I promise you, they’re the real bottles. You know I wouldn’t fuck about with her life. Why let her get contaminated? Let her go – she doesn’t know where we are. Drop her off at a library or something. Keep me – she’s just a kid, for fuck’s sake.’

The outside door slammed and the Transit’s engine revved. The source leant towards me, smoke escaping from his nose and his mouth. ‘You people didn’t think so much about my children. Both of them are about the same age as yours.’ His expression hardened. ‘Maybe they do not matter as much as white people. It’s me who’s fighting the jihad , not my children – but they will pay the price because of you. So why is your child so much more important than mine?’

‘She isn’t. But she’s mine.’

‘You are exactly right, and you still have the opportunity to keep her alive. If the bottles really do contain Y. pestis , your child will most likely be contaminated. But you have the power to keep her alive by waiting patiently until I carry out my duty. Then you will be able to collect her and give her medication.’

He picked up the cell and dialled. ‘And you are helping us because all those thousands of people you don’t know mean nothing to you – only your child means something. Maybe she will live, maybe not, but you will stay here. That is because, unlike me, you are simply weak and want to save your child.’

He finally stubbed out the dog end that had remained stuck between his fingers, and spoke rapidly into the phone. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying, or even what language he was saying it in, but the phrase ‘National Guard’ was easy enough to pick up – and the reason he’d said it. His eyes were glued to the News 24 coverage of events in the US. He seemed to be reacting absolutely calmly to the caption that state amber still held. The National Guard were filmed patrolling bridges and other key locations, and it appeared all police and fire-service leave had been cancelled. They threw in some shots of Americans panic-buying even more frenziedly now that the BBC’s reports of the possible London attack had hit the US networks. Hundreds of people were lined up at checkouts with trolleys laden down with bottled water, canned food, plastic sheeting and duct tape.

The Yes Man had been wrong about there being panic on the streets if the attack was successful. It was here already.

He put the phone back on the arm of the settee but his eyes didn’t leave the TV.

‘Was that the American team?’

He didn’t look at me. ‘As you can see, they may be delayed. But God is with us.’

The cell rang as the picture switched to lines of UK buyers in a twenty-four-hour Tesco, doing exactly the same as the Americans after seeing the late-night news.

He wasn’t fazed: he just checked the number, pressed the connect button, and started to talk again. The conversation went on for several seconds. The TV showed the talking head of a politician, probably appealing for calm.

The phone went down. I needed to know who he’d been talking to. ‘Is she at the son’s house now? Is she OK?’

He nodded. ‘Of course. We are not animals.’