was empty.
2
‘These are the Last Days! This is the End-Time!’ the wild-haired man roared as he pushed through the crowds traipsing through the hall of Heathrow Airport Terminal Three. He thrust badly scrawled leaflets into the hands of reluctant passers-by. Shavi requested one.
‘Why do you encourage the nuts?’ Laura sighed.
‘The next great prophet will not be the person you imagine,’ Shavi replied. ‘They never have been. Visionaries will rise up from the great mass of the people in unforeseen places. I like to investigate all possibilities.’ He gave his oddly peaceful smile. ‘Who would wish to say they walked past the wisest person in the land without a second glance?’
‘Yes, it’s true. You are completely barking.’
Church’s attention remained on the armed, black-flak-jacketed members of the Police Elite Firearms Unit who were patrolling the airport in response to what the media was describing as ‘a major terrorist attack’ in London’s West End the previous night.
Ruth slipped an arm through his. ‘There are seats on a flight to Oslo,’ she said. ‘Do you still want to do this? We’re so exposed here. No Blue Fire to keep us safe.’
‘It’s the quickest route. If we can just stay off the radar long enough-’
Her dark eyes were fixed firmly on his, and he realised she wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. ‘What do the words “Always Forever” mean?’ she asked.
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘They’re echoing around in my head. I think I’m starting to remember …’ Then, for no clear reason, she hugged him tightly. ‘I’m so glad we found each other again,’ she whispered.
As he held her, Church became aware of odd looks and sly glances, rising out of nowhere like the first wind of winter blowing through the crowd. A young boy was pointing at him, laughing with amazement. His mother’s expression was a dark reflection of her child’s, her eyes darting like an animal’s as she attempted to haul the boy away.
Laura grabbed his arm. ‘The balloon’s gone up.’ She nodded towards the large TV screens suspended over the terminal that had been showing BBC News 24 coverage of the deployment of more troops in the Middle East. It now featured grainy CCTV footage of four people breaking into Oxford Circus Tube Station. Around it were blown-up close-ups of himself, Ruth, Laura and Shavi, below which ran the legends ‘FIRST TERRORIST PICTURES’ and ‘SECURITY FORCES SEARCH FOR SUSPECTS’.
‘I don’t believe it. They’re trying to blame
‘Come on.’ Church urged the three of them into the crowd.
‘To the check-in desk?’ Laura asked.
Church felt responsible for the glimmer of fear in her eyes; he should have been smarter, faster. ‘It’s too late for that now. Get outside, find somewhere to lie low for a while.’
As they pushed past the cases and rucksacks, ripples of anxiety ran throughout the milling crowd. Overhead their faces looked down, frozen in the guilt of their horrific actions.
Soon space was opening up so they could run, but that made the situation even worse for it isolated and identified them, and brought even more pointing hands and shouts of alarm. When they were two hundred feet from the doors, ten members of the Elite Firearms Unit surged in, guns at the ready.
‘Split up,’ Church said. They scattered in different directions. The volume of travellers would have made it easy to fade into the background under normal circumstances, but the blue splashes of the armed police were moving in from all sides, their numbers swelling by the second. As Church hurried to the stairs to the upper floor he lost sight of Shavi and Ruth, but he saw Laura surrounded by four officers. She dodged, and when her way was blocked mouthed something clearly unpleasant. A gun butt came down hard on the back of her skull. Church wanted to rush to her aid, but knew there was nothing he could do.
On the upper floor, he slowed to a walk and tried to merge into the crowds, but he could see the CCTV cameras moving to follow his path. The police closed in on him not far from the open-plan bar. The crowds mysteriously evaporated and he was surrounded with seven guns trained on him.
‘Kneel,’ the police commander barked, ‘or we shoot.’
Beyond the circle of police, the faces of the airport users watched him, filled with equal measures of hatred and fear.
3
The holding cell in the Heathrow Security Annexe was painted magnolia, even the reinforced steel blast door. There was one bench and no windows. The strip light glared, and there was a faint electronic hum that set the nerves on edge.
‘Any other good plans, Church-dude?’ Laura nursed the back of her head where blood caked her blonde hair.
‘Stop whining. I don’t hear you suggesting anything constructive,’ Ruth snapped. A puffy bruise was growing just beneath her left eye.
‘Ah, shut up. Let’s face it — we never had a chance. A handful of people against the world? Like we were actually going to achieve anything.’
‘Why don’t you join Shavi? Do us all a favour.’ Ruth nodded to Shavi who sat cross-legged in one corner, deep in meditation.
‘Stop fighting,’ Church ordered. ‘If Mallory, Sophie and Caitlin did their job, we still have a chance of getting away.’
‘You’re expecting a last-minute rescue?’ Laura said sullenly. ‘I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I wouldn’t trust those three to find their own arses in a dark room.’
Ruth sat next to Church. ‘This might be the last we see of each other,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re going to split us up, ship us off to Belmarsh, the full terrorist route. It’s not fair. We only just found each other again.’
Church took her hand. He was still searching for some meaningful words when the heavy lock rang out and the door swung open. Two armed and helmeted policemen flanked a senior officer. He still wore his flak jacket, but he had left his helmet behind. He was in his forties with silvery hair, and though his gaze was cold and steady, occasionally a tremor disturbed his features, an involuntary facial tic that Church had seen before. There was a faint disconnectedness about him, too, the result of his mind trying to process twin thought-tracks — his own and that of the spider that was doubtless embedded somewhere in his body.
‘Get up,’ he said. ‘You’re going on a short ride. We need to get you fitted for cuffs and leg-irons.’ Though there was no obvious sign in the officer’s words, Church was certain that none of them would be reaching their destination.
The men levelled their weapons for emphasis. Church and Ruth stood up. Laura gently stirred Shavi. When he stretched, he turned his good eye to Church and blinked slowly, a knowing sign that puzzled Church.
Ruth and Laura looked to Church. He nodded to them to proceed.
‘That’s right, be clever,’ the officer said.
Behind the police, a figure loomed. ‘All right, stand down. I don’t know — give boys guns and there’s always trouble.’ Hunter flashed his credentials to the senior officer, who was clearly taken aback.
‘Commander Hunter? This is a police operation-’
‘Of course it is. That’s why it’s about to go pear-shaped.’ He nodded to the two armed men. ‘All right, clear off.’
The two men looked uncertainly at the senior officer. He was confused, but quickly tried to regain his authority.
