Stalkers

They re-entered the alley. There was a figure at its farthest end. It looked female, and was carrying a briefcase; perfectly normal for this part of London, yet it was standing in the middle of the alley, staring after them. They only just managed to avoid running as they proceeded the other way towards Cornhill. It was a relief to join the teeming crowds, which seemed ludicrous given the vulnerability they’d felt there only a few minutes earlier.

‘Who exactly are we looking out for?’ Heck asked Blenkinsop.

‘I don’t understand …’

‘Don’t mess me around, you understand perfectly! What do they look like?’

Blenkinsop shook his head. He wore a tortured but helpless expression. ‘I’ve never seen any of them — I’ve never seen their faces, at least.’

‘How many are there?’

‘I got the impression quite a few.’

Heck started along the pavement, Lauren and Blenkinsop following. They descended the first stairway they came to, which led to Bank tube station.

‘Haven’t you got any more men than this?’ Blenkinsop wondered.

‘Just keep moving,’ Heck said.

‘We making this up as we go along, or what?’ Lauren asked.

Heck rounded on her. ‘Got a better idea? These bastards have been one step ahead of us for days. Well, I’ve had enough of it. We’ll take trains at random … try to throw them off the scent.’

She stood guard while he bought them all a day’s travel pass. After that, he ushered them down to the Waterloo amp; City Line, where they caught the first connection south. At Waterloo they changed to the Bakerloo and headed north. When they reached Paddington, they took the Hammersmith amp; City east, changing to the Victoria at King’s Cross. All the time they watched their fellow passengers, which became increasingly difficult. The ever changing crush of humanity pressed into and out of the confined space of the tube trains; all types were on view — every race, sex, age and creed. On the Victoria, Heck felt concern about a tall black guy standing close to them. He was handsome, dressed in a smart suit and wearing a distinctive pearl earring. He had a briefcase at his feet and was absorbed in a copy of the Financial Times.

‘See that dude?’ Heck mumbled to Lauren.

She nodded.

‘I’m pretty sure I saw him riding the Bakerloo in the carriage behind us.’

‘There could be a totally normal reason for that.’

‘Could be. We’ll know in a sec.’

At Green Park, they jumped out, Heck virtually shoving Blenkinsop down onto the platform. Rushing straight to the Piccadilly Line, they took an immediate train north, changing again to the Bakerloo at Piccadilly Circus, and back onto the Victoria Line at Oxford Circus.

‘Surely … this is unnecessary?’ Blenkinsop gasped. They were again crammed in with hordes of fellow travellers, many of them foreign tourists wearing iPods and backpacks. The air was rank, stifling. ‘No one’s going to try anything down here.’

‘No,’ Heck agreed, ‘but we don’t want them following us ’til they get us somewhere where they can.’

‘Dear God, this is ridiculous … utterly bloody ridiculous.’

‘Just watch the crowd, Blenkinsop. See if there’s anyone you recognise.’

Thankfully, they seemed to have lost the black guy with the earring. When they passed Warren Street a large number of passengers disgorged. There was now some breathing space.

‘Do you want to tell us exactly what you’ve been up to?’ Heck asked.

Blenkinsop broke into a puzzled frown. ‘Surely you’re already aware of that?’

‘If I was, I wouldn’t be asking.’

‘Well if you’re not aware of it, I’m certainly not going to tell you.’

The sweat was cooling on all their brows. Blenkinsop was breathing deeply, but now regarded Heck and Lauren with distaste and something like suspicion.

‘May I remind you,’ Heck said, ‘that I’m a police officer? I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself off the record. But if necessary I’ll take you to the nearest nick and make it official right now.’

‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have done in the first place?’

‘I told you not to give us any shit!’ Lauren warned him.

‘Or what? You’re going to shoot me? In front of a trainload of witnesses? What kind of coppers are you two? You drag me out of a pub, you threaten me with a gun … now you’re running around London not even knowing who’s supposed to be chasing you …’

She grabbed his collar. ‘Listen, fuckhead …’

He violently struggled free. ‘I don’t have to listen to anything …’

She switched her hand to his throat, squeezing his larynx. He gagged, eyes bulging.

Heck snatched at her hand, yanking it loose.

‘I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Mr Blenkinsop,’ he said quietly but intently. ‘But I do know that you are involved with some extremely unpleasant people. Now you listen to me very carefully. This business is not going to end happily. You understand that? You saw what they did to your car. Nice bit of knife-work, wasn’t it? Trust me, that isn’t even a foretaste of what they could do to your flesh.’

‘In that case, why don’t you take me to a police station?’ Blenkinsop asked, rubbing at his throat. ‘Surely we’ll all be safer?’

‘Heck!’ Lauren hissed.

‘What?’

‘Six yards away, combat fatigues.’

‘Yeah?’ Heck didn’t risk looking over his shoulder, but could sense that someone was there now who hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

‘He’s just come in from the next carriage through the emergency door.’

Heck nodded, understanding her suspicion. Unless you were a high school kid trying to reinforce your cool, moving from carriage to carriage was a big no-no when the Underground trains were in motion. It made even less sense on this particular occasion as both carriages were less than half full.

The train groaned to another halt. They were at Euston.

‘Let’s go,’ Heck said, stepping out, following the signs to the Northern Line. ‘What does this guy look like?’

‘Short, stocky, swarthy.’

‘You said he was in combat fatigues?’

‘Yeah, yellow and brown. You know what that means, don’t you?’

Heck nodded grimly. It meant they were desert fatigues.

‘It could be a coincidence,’ she said.

‘We’re not taking any chances.’

On the Northern Line, they headed south.

‘This is insane,’ Blenkinsop muttered. ‘We’re going round and round in circles.’

‘We’ll do it as long as we need to,’ Heck replied.

‘Can’t we at least go up to the surface? I’ve got to get some air …’

‘Forget it.’

Blenkinsop stuck a shaking hand in his overcoat pocket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Heck slapped them from his grasp.

‘No smoking on the Underground, Mr Blenkinsop. Surely you’re aware of that?’

Blenkinsop swallowed a lump of saliva, which, by the grimace on his face, must have tasted like poison. His lips had dried so much that they’d cracked and were beaded with blood. As they headed back into the West End, more and more people piled onto the train, which made them feel less conspicuous, though soon they’d be south of the river and the crowds would dwindle again.

‘Where to now?’ Blenkinsop wondered loudly. ‘The southern leg of the Northern Line? That’s bandit country by anyone’s standards!’