and hands soaking inside the rubber gloves. I kept wanting to use them to wipe away the sweat that stung my eyelids.
As my head came level with the first-floor landing, I could see the source of the light – a grime-covered, six- foot-tall window facing on to the street.
Rain pelted against the glass, camouflaging the traffic noise and, I hoped, the sound of our progress. The rooms above Costcutter directly opposite were at the same level, their droopy window nets showing no sign of life.
I was half-way through my next step when I heard a sound, a scraping sound, from above.
I froze, mouth open, holding my breath.
A truck roared past below us.
Had it just been a wooden beam settling down for the night, or a rat? Maybe.
I lowered my foot to get stable, and started to breathe again, swallowing a mouthful of saliva. I stayed static, waiting to hear if it happened again.
Six, maybe seven minutes passed. My muscles were close to cramping. The odd vehicle moved below me and a couple of dossers growled at each other in a doorway. Then the rain got heavier again, and started to pound against the glass.
I looked down at Suzy, still on the first landing, weapon up towards me. It didn’t matter if she’d heard it or not. She would know something was wrong because I was static. She’d just react to what I did.
I gave it another thirty seconds, then moved again, weapon up, butt in the shoulder, thumb checking single shot. I kept close to the left-hand wall until I reached the landing and moved into the left-hand corner to keep away from the window. Dull globules of light and shadow streamed across the bare floorboards as the rainwater ran down the glass. Opposite me, past the window and stairs that turned back on themselves once more, there was a closed door. A cheap, light-coloured interior type with a handle to the left.
Suzy began to move up as I dragged some more oxygen through my respirator. She stopped just short of the landing, her back against the right-hand wall as she waited for my cue.
I moved sideways, hugging the wall, weapon up. The light from the window died about a third of the way up the next staircase. I stopped with the window frame against my left shoulder and could see street level as far as the still-closed police station. As a truck rumbled past below, Suzy bent low and moved across my arc to take position by the door. Fuck the window, it just had to be crossed. I joined her, ready to make entry, my thumb checking single shot, my left hand adjusting itself on the barrel, the pad of my trigger finger taking first pressure.
I nodded, and Suzy’s hand closed round the handle and gave it a twist. There was the tiniest of squeaks as the door inched open. My eyes saw light, first from the window one side of the ship’s bow, then the other. I moved over the threshold, going immediately left, sweeping the room, keeping low, clearing the doorway for Suzy to come through just one pace behind.
Three paces in, I went static, leaning into the weapon. I could see the whole bow of the ship. The floor wasn’t subdivided as it had been below; it was just one big open space. There was an old steel desk near the windows, and a couple of upturned plastic chairs. On its side in the middle of the room was a knackered old satellite dish, a solid plastic meshy thing about five feet in diameter. The rest of the place was in similarly shit state. The windows were really getting hammered by the rain here, and it sounded like we were inside a snare drum. The sign for King’s Cross station shone at us opaquely from across the street.
I took a couple of deep, noisy breaths and was turning back towards the door when I heard a dull knock above us.
Suzy was rooted to the spot, her head cocked upwards.
I tried not to breathe. Saliva streamed down my chin.
It had come from above us, no doubt about it.
They were up there. The fuckers were up there, directly above us, somewhere on the second floor.
44
I stood rigid, my head still cocked towards the ceiling.
I closed my eyes to concentrate harder, but the noise didn’t come again. All I got was the drumming of the rain, and the odd splash of traffic.
Two or three minutes passed. I was sure the sound had come from my right, over towards the Pentonville side of the ceiling.
Still nothing. Finally I headed for Suzy, lifting my feet carefully to avoid making the same mistake as someone upstairs. Squeezing her shoulder, I gestured towards the right side of the ceiling, then shrugged questioningly. She moved her hand more towards the centre, wiggling it to show she wasn’t certain.
But wherever it had come from, we both knew it was definitely human.
We were wasting time: there might be locks up there, obstructions to find a way past or early-warning alarms to defeat. No need to tell her that, she was already moving towards the still open door. I just turned round slowly, butt in the shoulder, thumb checking single shot, and followed on.
I veered to the right of the frame and bent down until I could see about half-way up the stairs. I adjusted my cheek on the steel rod of the butt and flicked my eyes across to the sight. The circle and dot were reassuringly in place. As I moved on to the landing and up the left side of the stairs, Suzy came through behind to cover me.
I stopped every few stairs and paused to listen before taking a few more. The light from below was just about good enough to allow me to make out the second-floor landing. This time it extended left and right.
As my head came level with the top step, I dropped my left hand, weapon up towards the ceiling, safety catch back on to avoid an ND [negligent discharge]. What I wanted now was a good firm position from which to look left and right along the landing. It ran about five or six metres in either direction until blocked at each end by a solid fire door with a big aluminium handle. The creasing rubber of my overboots squeaked gently as I lowered myself on to the stairs and beckoned to Suzy. I didn’t know what was on the other side of these doors, but I’d already made a pretty good guess, and I wanted her alongside me before we continued.
Soon she was lying beside me on my right, pointing her thumb left to indicate the way she thought we should be going. I motioned agreement and headed left on to the landing, keeping my weapon up. I didn’t want it banging into her or, even worse, the metallic clash of two weapons. Suzy took up position behind me, covering the other entrance and the stairs until called for.
The door was fitted flush against the wall, hinged on the left, with a pressure arm, and would open towards us from the right. I moved closer, the SD back in my shoulder, eyes on rapid blink to try to clear them of sweat before I got my head against the door. To avoid banging the wood with my canister, I used my right ear, just below the handle, at the point where it met the frame. For several seconds, it was like listening to a big shell and hearing nothing but the sea; then, somewhere on the other side, I heard a door creak, and footsteps, coming towards me.
I took two swift paces back and hunched over the weapon, eyes straining, no more blinking. What if two came through together? What if there was only one, but covered by someone behind? It all boiled down to the same thing: if anybody came through the door, I had to go for it. No time to check on Suzy: she’d know the score from my reaction and would be backing me.
The footsteps got closer. I took up first pressure.
The footsteps stopped. I took a breath and stared at the door, ready to drop whoever appeared through my head-up display.
Still nothing.
Then, from just the other side of the door, came a familiar sound. The bastard was pissing into a bucket.
It seemed to go on for ever. Sweat flowed down inside my right glove and dripped off my left eyelid, stinging and blurring my vision.
I took another breath and heard a murmur. It didn’t come from whoever was having the piss; it came from further back. The stream slowed and, after a few short squirts, finally stopped.
