down. A second later he plunged into the icy water. The shock served to realign some of his senses, but only barely. He had no idea what was up or down. His arms and legs flailed automatically but he had nothing to aim for. It was so black he could have been blind, and his head throbbed as if nails were being driven into it.
Team three leader stepped to the rail to look below and check on Yellow Three’s progress in the water. He watched for as long as he could spare, seconds was all he had, but the man did not resurface. He was satisfied.
He rejoined his team with his partner by the open door where a ladder inside led directly to the deck below and they hurried down.
The team moved swiftly forward through a dark storeroom to a door. The leader squeezed his partner’s shoulder once, twice and on the third they hurried through the door followed by the others and spread out in a corridor, pausing long enough to compare it with the area they had studied endlessly on the blueprints. A flight of stairs led up to the main deck that team two was clearing. They ignored it and moved down the corridor, checking a door on the left first, an empty room, then pausing outside another on the right. The team leader opened the door quickly and moved in splitting left, his partner right. They paused, guns up on aim at a man on the floor with a hood over his head and tied around a pole. The other two team members carried on down the corridor to clear the engine room while the leader quickly scanned the room as he moved to the prisoner. His partner found another man in a yellow jacket lying under a tarp.
Two dull thuds came from the engine room bulkhead, silent bullets that had passed through the target inside to strike the wall. ‘Engine room clear,’ came a voice over the radio.
The team leader removed the prisoner’s hood and pulled his head back to get a look at the face. He then removed his own hood and gasmask. It was Lieutenant Stewart. He scrutinised the dead man in front of him. ‘This isn’t Hank Munro,’ he said.
The team on the bridge paused long enough to be certain nothing else was alive within their target area. Both side doors were open and the bridge decks were being covered. ‘Bridge clear,’ said the team leader into his throat-mic.
‘Main deck and “B” deck clear,’ came a voice over the air. ‘Engine room and lower deck clear,’ came another voice.
The team leader then noticed the bridge phone swinging by its cord over the edge of the table. He picked it up, pulled his hood back to expose his ear, and placed the phone against it. It was silent, and then after a moment, the line went dead.
Father Kinsella wasn’t sure what he had heard. One moment he was talking to the captain of the
Father Kinsella disconnected and wondered if he should try calling again, and then had a horrible feeling something had happened. Considering what he had just seen outside MI5 headquarters it was a distinct possibility. If something had gone wrong he wouldn’t be able to find out just yet. He had done all he could anyway. His best bet was to get back home. In fact leaving England as soon as he could was probably a wise decision, all things considered.
He looked around for a taxi without luck and decided to walk to Waterloo station where he would get one for sure.Things had not gone as he’d hoped or indeed expected. Not at all.
Stratton pushed himself up on to his knees and took a moment to reorganise his senses. If there was one thing he hated it was losing control of his mind and motor functions. He was dazed but otherwise seemed to be okay; a quick scan of his limbs and torso confirmed that all the main bits were still attached.The blast had thrown him back a few feet but nothing other than the expanding gases appeared to have struck him. His gun was on the ground a few feet away and he stretched for it and took it in his hand. He focused through the swiftly clearing smoke and saw Aggy on her knees on the steps looking shaken. As he got to his feet so did she. She checked herself quickly for any damage then looked around and saw him standing and looking at her.
Stratton looked for the others in his team. Wilks was sitting shaking his head as if his ears were ringing and gave a thumbs-up to Chaz, who was walking over to check on his partner.
Aggy looked over at Lawton lying still on his back at the top of the steps and made her way to him. She knelt by him thinking he was dead until he took a sudden breath and opened his eyes, blinking hard. ‘Aggy?’ he asked, full of panic and fear, his voice dry and raspy.
‘I’m here,’ she said.
He moved a hand towards her and she took it.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she nodded, wishing she could say as much for him. Blood was seeping out from beneath him and pooling on the step. Her immediate thought was to get some aid or call for an ambulance but she decided to stay with him in case he didn’t have very long. Someone would be calling the emergency services by now anyway.
Stratton walked up the steps and loomed above them. Lawton focused on him and, surprisingly, appeared to smile.
‘Stratton,’ he croaked with difficulty. ‘Always . . . survive . . . don’t you? And . . . I bet . . . you’re . . . the only one of us . . . who doesn’t want to live for ever.’ He found his comment amusing but could barely manage a laugh before the pain cut it off.
Stratton hoped the man would die from his wounds very soon otherwise he’d have to end it for him, preferably before anyone arrived. He didn’t want to have to do it in front of Aggy. He’d heard the Mick had always been a good-humoured sort and now that he was all busted up and dying he wasn’t whingeing and whining but trying to be entertaining. If a man was likeable in his last moments before death, he was likeable in life. Aggy obviously liked him.That said something for the man.
Lawton looked at the gun in Stratton’s hand and seemed to know what Stratton had in mind. It wasn’t a surprise. ‘I don’t think there’ll be a need for that somehow,’ he said.
Aggy glanced at the gun then up at Stratton. Of course. How stupid of her. There was every reason for Lawton to die and not one for him to live. She looked at Lawton; he was probably right. At that moment she truly hated the business she was in.
Stratton wanted to tell them it didn’t matter anyway. According to Sumners the explosion wasn’t enough to kill the virus; they were all covered in it, inhaling it, and therefore also dead. He chose not to say anything if for no other reason than to save Lawton the anguish of knowing he had failed Aggy in his final hour. It was obvious that Lawton’s motivation for doing what he had was to save her.
Chaz and Wilks walked up the steps to join them. They didn’t look as if they’d sustained any damage, not physically, but Wilks’s eyes betrayed a deep concern.
‘We fucked then, are we?’ he asked Stratton. ‘Chaz said according to your bloke the explosion wouldn’t be enough to burn up the bio.’
So much for sparing Lawton. ‘I guess not,’ Stratton said.
‘’Ow long we got?’ Wilks asked.
‘Don’t matter,’ Chaz said. ‘We’re gonna have to stay right here until they come and take us away in big plastic bags and then keep us isolated until the end. Isn’t that right?’
‘Something like that,’ Stratton said.
Wilks lowered his eyes. The thought of never seeing his wife and kids again was like a knife in his heart.
‘Focking bang seemed big enough. Another pound and I reckon old matey there would’ve made the river,’ Chaz said, jutting a chin towards the road where Brennan lay, still smoking from his short flight. ‘If only you’d used two,’ he added.
Stratton found the comment curious. ‘What exactly did Sumners say?’ he asked.
‘He said it wouldn’t work, that the boffins said one Super “X” charge wouldn’t work, but two would be enough. If you’d put two in, it would’ve killed the virus.’
