“Good luck.” May started to reverse the Mini out of the forecourt. Bryant was about to enter the main foyer of the hospital when his partner reappeared.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bryant, startled. “On second thoughts, we’ll do this together,” May said. “I don’t want anything happening to you.” He alighted from the car with his head tilted, straining to listen. “Can you hear something funny?”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you.” Bryant was about to head inside when he heard the noise himself. Someone was banging on the glass above them. As they looked up there was a loud crack, like the shot from a gun.
Spears of glass showered down as the body fell, its scream mingling with shouts of horror from the room behind the burst window, six floors up.
The figure in white hospital garb hit the ground headfirst as the detectives jumped aside. The sound of flesh and bone impacting on concrete was like no other on earth. The victim lay before them, the body arched into a position that could only be possible if its spine had been fractured.
Almost at once, the police began to arrive at ground level. One junior constable turned white and vomited. Sergeant Longbright came running across the foyer.
“He bluffed his way into the room, Sir,” she told Bryant, trying to catch her breath. “He was wearing a doctor’s coat and walked right past the night nurse. We arrived just after, and that constable there,” she pointed to the one being sick, “walked into the room to find him strangling the life out of the patient with a length of wire. We were just in time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bryant, looking over at the corpse.
“Peggy Harmsworth started to come out of the coma a couple of hours ago. She’s going to be all right. That’s the man who tried to kill her.”
“My God,” said Bryant. “If the first thing she saw when she woke up was someone throttling her, it’s surprising she didn’t go right back into a coma. What happened then?”
“He ran at the window before anyone could stop him, went through head first. Why would he do that?”
“Just obeying orders, Janice,” said Bryant, patting her on the shoulder. “Let’s get to Christian Whitstable and his daughter.” He made for the hospital entrance, dragging May in his wake. “There are more like him on the way. We have no idea how many.”
In the corridors of the fifth floor, dim emergency lights dragged at their shadows. The hall ahead was deserted and silent. Longbright slowed to a walk. “I don’t understand,” she began, alarmed. “I left a detail of men to guard Peggy’s room. They were here just a few minutes ago.”
“Which is Christian Whitstable’s ward?”
“He and his daughter are in a separate room, the last door on the left.”
Bryant, May, and Longbright approached as swiftly and quietly as they could manage. Bryant was the first to arrive. The door was wide open. In the half light he saw Christian Whitstable, up and out of bed, warning him back. As he walked further into the room, he saw the reason why.
“He has my daughter,” said Christian, never moving his eyes from the white-coated figure in a paper face mask, standing against the far wall of the room. Two other officers stood impotently nearby. Flora Whitstable was held close against the masked figure’s leg, a rubbergloved hand fastened across her mouth, a scalpel shining at her pale throat.
“All right, nobody move an inch,” said Bryant quietly, holding up his hands. “He has nothing to lose. He must fulfill his obligation or die.”
The killer had no interest in his victim. Like his accomplice, he was performing a task against his will; paying off a debt of honour that demanded the ultimate payment of a taken life.
How many of these assassins had struggled with their consciences? It explained why Daisy Whitstable had been spared. What a terrible dilemma her killer must have faced. Unable to comprehend why such a young life had been targeted for termination, he must have known that sparing the girl would place his own life in danger.
Did the man standing before Bryant have any idea of the complex forces that had brought him to this spot tonight? Was he prepared to complete his task with a clear conscience, like Bella Whitstable’s murderer? Or was he suffering the uncomprehending agony of being here?
“I know you don’t want to harm the girl,” said Bryant gently. “We know all about the duty you’ve been instructed to perform. If you let her go, I promise to help you.”
The killer took a step towards them. The hand tightened, the blade touched Flora’s neck. Bryant could hear the assassin moaning softly behind his face mask.
“Listen to me,” Bryant said, standing motionless. “You were supposed to finish the job after the tiger failed to do so. Neither of these two must be allowed to live. Am I right? Just nod once if I’m right. I won’t come any closer.” He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Please, just nod your head. Show us that you understand.”
Reluctantly, the assassin gave a slight nod.
“Put down the knife,” said Bryant. “Your orders are no longer valid. There’s been a mistake. You don’t have to do this now. I know the burden you’re under, and I want to relieve you of it. I believe you are a man of honour. Terrible things are happening around us. You don’t have to do this any more; I beg you, let us help.”
As they watched, the eyes above the mask glossed and spilled, and the man began to tremble, the pressure of the moment racking his body, tearing at his soul. Flora darted forward as the knife clattered to the floor. Longbright stepped in with the other officers and took control.
“Give the black bastard what’s coming to him,” said Christian Whitstable, wrecking the moment.
Before anyone could move, the tormented assassin fell to the floor with a terrible guttural wail, overcome with shame.
¦
“We have to get to the safe house before we lose any more.” Bryant hitched his raincoat about him. They had returned to the hospital forecourt, which had been sectioned off with makeshift barriers. The lights were still out in the streets, and the rain was falling in soaking waves. This was no time to think of himself. Without knowing how many assassins were on their way to the Hampstead house, everyone was in danger.
May looked back at the hospital as he climbed into the Mini.
“Let’s bring back the daylight,” he said.
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
49
Under Siege
As the headlights of the rusty yellow Mini caught the lettering on the Mulberry Avenue street sign, they found that the route to the Whitstable house had been cordoned off with miles of yellow plastic tape. Police cars blocked the road ahead.
“I asked them to be discreet about this,” grunted Bryant. “Pull over here. We won’t get any closer.” As they walked towards the house, Raymond Land came running forward.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” he demanded. The rain was falling in a thick soaking drizzle. Land looked as if he’d recently fallen in a pond. “You
Thank God for the courageous and wonderful Longbright, thought Bryant. “Then we’ll pull someone out of here,” he suggested. Behind him, May sneezed. “I’d stay away from us, Raymond, our colds are getting worse.”
“We spent part of this evening standing in filthy, freezing water,” May explained.
“I’m not interested in the state of your health,” said Land sarcastically. “Could someone give me an update on the situation?”
“We’re reaching the end of a long, bizarre journey – ”
“Then what the hell are we all doing here? Your sergeant gave me some cock-eyed story – ”
“There are still a few loose ends to clear up.”
“Like what, might I ask?”
