Flash Flood

Chapter Thirty-one

Eva hared up the steps towards Ben, who immediately caught her panic. He followed her through a pair of fire doors, barely thinking, taken over by an instinct to run.

Whoever the soldiers caught first they would assume had stolen the necklace. And technically Eva and Ben were looters because they had taken things from the store, even though it was for survival.

They were running for their lives. They pushed past racks of skimpy gym clothes and trainers. At least they gave them some cover. The looters had disappeared.

In front of them they saw a window. It suddenly shattered and they heard a shot from behind.

If they carried on rushing around like this, they would just run into more trouble. Ben needed to think.

He spotted a rack of black rugby gear and rugger-tackled Eva into it. In their black drysuits they blended in, and they watched the soldiers hurrying past, shouting, pushing racks of clothes aside with the muzzles of their guns. The three of them passed close to where Eva and Ben lay huddled, and headed off towards the cash desk and some changing rooms.

Ben waited until they were out of sight, then pulled Eva up. There was a fire exit opposite him. He fell on the door and pushed the bar open.

They ran down the stairs; Ben’s brain was racing even faster than his feet. They had to be quick, now that they were out in the open again. Down one flight he saw the entrance for the country clothing section, just as the soldiers entered the top of the stairwell.

Ben grabbed Eva and tore off her hood. He threw it further down the steps, so that the soldiers would think they had just carried straight on down. She stopped and looked at him, her hair springing out in tight corkscrew curls, her eyes wide with the sheer panic of the chase. So that’s what it’s like to scalp a Teletubby, thought Ben, and dragged her into the country clothing department.

They ran past racks of tweed and Barbours. Ben saw another fire exit and ran for it. Down another flight of stairs and they shouldered open another door, and found themselves out in the street.

Ben had never been so grateful to be back out in the rain again.

They were in Lower Regent Street, which sloped down into the grey water. Just below them, on the tarmac, lay a small dinghy. Ben sprinted towards it, pushed it into the water and pulled Eva in.

He had a moment of déjà vu: it was like his cousins’ boat in Macclesfield. The starter cord in the same place, the tiller the same. Ben pulled the starter cord and it started first time. He guided it slowly out into the water.

Then he flopped back and relaxed, exhausted. The chase was over. They’d got away.

For once the rain felt refreshing. Running in the drysuit, especially with thermals on, was hot work.

‘Handy boat,’ said Ben. ‘I wonder who it belongs to.’

‘Hey, look,’ said Eva. She pointed back at the shoreline, where Lower Regent Street rose up out of the water.

Two figures in black were standing at the shore, watching Ben and Eva in the boat. The looters.

‘Ah,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s hope we don’t meet them again. They probably won’t be very friendly.’

‘I bet they stole it,’ said Eva. ‘Who knows who it really belongs to?’ She shifted a small rucksack out of the way to sit more comfortably.

The three soldiers came out of the fire exit and surrounded the looters, guns held up to their shoulders, ready to fire. Those few moments watching Ben in their stolen boat had cost the looters dearly.

For a horrible moment Ben thought they were going to be shot there and then. But then, reluctantly, they put their hands up.

Eva shook out her hair and settled back. ‘Serves them right,’ she commented. Her restful pose didn’t last long. Suddenly she wrinkled her nose and sat up. ‘It smells filthy out here.’

Now that she mentioned it, Ben had to agree. It reminded him of a camping trip he’d taken with his cousins last August. The tent with the chemical toilet had got so smelly they decided they’d rather go in the bushes.

‘Where are we going?’ said Eva.

For a moment Ben’s mind was a blank. He knew he’d been going somewhere, but the excitement had driven it out of his mind. Then he saw a road sign. Buckingham Palace to the right, Charing Cross to the left. Of course.

‘Charing Cross,’ he said. ‘Someone should be waiting for me there. I hope …’

Francisco heard movement outside the station. Something stirring the water very slowly, like a boat.

He looked through the arches and saw a figure in a dark jacket moving outside. He seemed to be sitting astride a big motorbike and moving it very slowly through the water, seesawing from side to side as though he was pushing it with his feet.

He squinted at the hat the man was wearing. White and red checks. A City policeman.

Quite an enterprising policeman. He was using the heavy motorbike as an anchor to enable him to make his way across the current.

Francisco thought quickly. Had José remained in captivity? Had he had to confess about their rendezvous location?

Why was a policeman coming in here now?

Francisco checked the clip of the Beretta and clicked the safety catch off with his thumb. He stayed where he was, sitting in the locker. It was good cover. Besides, if he moved, the policeman would hear the splash.

He glanced at the white puff in the water: the body of the tramp lay face down, nosing against a news stand. If the policeman saw that, his suspicions might be aroused. Francisco was ready to drop him.

The policeman reached the arch and dropped the motorcycle. It crashed against the wall and subsided into the water.

Interesting, thought Francisco. He didn’t think policemen were generally that careless with property.

The figure stood at the archway and looked around, then stared over at the left luggage lockers.

Francisco stiffened.

The policeman waded forwards and took his hat off.

Francisco put his gun down and called out in Spanish. ‘José, you idiot. I nearly shot you.’

José grinned. ‘Better late than never.’ He splashed over to Francisco and they embraced.

Francisco examined José’s costume. ‘Good outfit. It fooled me.’ Only now did he notice that José didn’t have the right trousers to go with the police jacket, but they had been almost covered by the water.

José shrugged. ‘It’s been useful.’ He opened their locker and looked in.

Francisco patted his pockets. ‘I’ve got the maps and some basics.’ He handed José a Swiss Army knife.

José put it in his pocket. ‘Have you got your cuffs off?’

Francisco showed him his wrists, still bloodied under the cuffs. ‘Made a bit of a mess. Wish we’d packed some antibiotics. What did you do with yours?’

José held up his wrists. His cuffs were still there too. ‘Boltcutters.’ He rummaged in the locker. ‘Did you take all the money? You could at least give me some.’

‘I didn’t know if you were going to show.’

José put his hand out. ‘Half each. In case we get separated. That’s what we agreed.’

Francisco reached into his pocket and took out the folded wad of notes. He split it and gave half to José, along with one of the fake passports. José tucked the money into the pocket of his dark jeans.

‘Have you got our route sorted?’

Francisco nodded. ‘Now we just need a boat.’

Ben piloted the dinghy into Trafalgar Square. Ahead was Nelson’s Column, just on the edge of the waterline. Passing in front of it in a small boat was a group of people in scarlet coats and gold buttons. They wore strange hats, rather like the three-cornered hat Nelson was wearing. It looked like a uniform of some kind, but it wasn’t one that Ben had seen before. Their boat, which they were rowing in a slow but dogged fashion, looked as though it had come out of a museum. It was heavily varnished like a piece of antique furniture. But it was a day for strange sights.

‘You’re kidding,’ Eva was saying. ‘Your mother isn’t really Bel Kelland? She came to give a speech at my college debating society in my final year. My boyfriend had to show her around — he was terrified of her.’

‘Yeah, my dad doesn’t like her much either.’

Eva pointed over to a building like a dirty grey wedding cake. A series of arches ran along the bottom. ‘Charing Cross is just up there. I can’t wait to meet her.’ She actually looked quite excited at the prospect.

Ben felt a bit sick. If Bel wasn’t there, what would he do then? He hadn’t given it any thought. He’d spent all that time just trying to get here. Now that Charing Cross was actually in sight, he had to face up to the possibility.

He took the boat up to one of the arches in front of the entrance. It was too narrow to fit through. He craned his neck round, but couldn’t see inside the station. He turned back to Eva. ‘You stay here. If I wedge the boat in, it shouldn’t go anywhere. I just need to see if she’s there.’

Eva looked at the deserted concourse, eager for a glimpse of the famous Dr Kelland. ‘I don’t see anyone, apart from those two guys over by the left luggage.’

One of the two figures started to wade in their direction and they saw that he was a policeman, the band around his hat red and white instead of the usual black and white.

‘I didn’t think the police had hats like that,’ said Ben.

‘The City of London police do,’ said Eva.

Ben waved to him. The policeman spotted him and began to wade purposefully towards them. The guy with him still had his back to them; he was carrying a rucksack and wore a jacket with a big logo on the back.

The policeman looked very wet, as though he’d had a hell of a day too. There were smears of mud on his black raincoat. The other guy looked dry. Ben assumed the policeman must be one of the evacuation party.

‘Hi,’ said Ben. ‘I know this sounds silly, but I’d arranged to meet my mum here …’

‘Can you pilot this boat?’ said the policeman. He had a strange accent; strongly Spanish.

That was unusual, Ben thought. Then he looked more closely at the other man. Why did he look familiar?

‘Yes,’ he replied.

The policeman grabbed the ropes on the side of the dinghy and climbed in. The other man turned, handed his rucksack to the policeman and began to wade over. Now Ben could see his face.

Suddenly everything seemed to slow down. The guy’s face. The bloodied marks on his wrists. He knew him!

Eva made a strangled noise, like she’d had a shock.

Then Ben saw the gun in the policeman’s hand, pressed against Eva’s temple.