breakage. That would certainly have explained why these two were in shit state.
I pointed to the corridor between us. ‘Down there.’
He coughed up a gobbet of phlegm the size of a golfball and bent down to do as I’d told him. As he turned back he spat it into the hallway, then moved back inside and coughed up some more. The door closed. Everything went quiet. The happy-clappies were obviously taking a break.
I couldn’t see any phlegm, vomit or shit on the bottles or box from where I stood. Not that it mattered: I still had to pick the fucking thing up.
My boots squeaked the three paces. I picked up the wine carrier with my gloved hand and started back down the stairs, my right arm held out so the cardboard didn’t touch my clothes. It wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference, but somehow it made me feel better.
I got to the front door and placed the box carefully on the floor. I took off my mask and goggles, making sure my gloves didn’t touch my face. The door opened with a gentle pull and the mask blocking the bolt fell into the street. I leant down, picked up the box and walked out, breathing deeply to try to rid my nose and lungs of the stench as I headed for the cemetery.
Suzy wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the graveyard. Clutching the goggles and masks in my left hand, I pulled off the glove so it enveloped everything, and dumped it in a bin. I found myself a free bench and began to feel a little worried about contamination – well, a lot worried. I knew I’d been reasonably protected, and had kept well away from them, but what about the bottles? What if one was leaking? I told myself there wasn’t time to think: there was still too much to do.
I pulled off my right glove, powered up the cell and called Suzy, but just got the messaging service. I cut off and tried again, with the same result. What was going on here?
I tried once more, and this time she answered. I could hear traffic, and the sound of her walking. ‘Where are you?’
‘On the main.’
‘I couldn’t get you.’
‘Must have been in a dead spot. I’ve just been having a look round the front.’
‘I’m back in the graveyard. I’ve got ’em. Bring some carrier-bags.’
‘I’ll be there in a couple.’
As I cut off the power and put away the phone in my bomber, people streamed past the windows on the first floor of the block. It was back-to-work time for the happy-clappies.
I had to assume the bottles were airtight. They wouldn’t have wanted the job getting fucked up more than it was already. They wanted the London attack to go ahead. That was why they’d sealed themselves in. They didn’t want to raise the alarm.
Suzy came in from the wrought-iron gates as I swallowed another couple of capsules. I gave her a casual- contact wave, and got a happy smile back as she sat down next to me. We greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek, and she put her arm in mine. She handed over two white supermarket carriers, still stuck together at the handles.
‘It’s in shit state up there.’ I described what I’d seen. ‘Let’s get a cab and fuck off. Who knows? Maybe we can get an earlier flight.’
I started to pack the box into one of the carriers, but Suzy wasn’t ready to go just yet. ‘What about those two up there? Maybe there’s even more. They could decide to—’
‘No way are they going to compromise themselves and fuck up London.’ I wrapped the second bag around the first. ‘Let the fuckers weep themselves to death. Fuck ’em, they’re not going anywhere.’
She wasn’t having any of it. ‘But the rest of the bottle could still be up there. You’ve seen what that stuff can do. Come on, Nick, we’ve got to do something.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Listen, you get any bright ideas, just tell me. Until then, the best I can do is get this shit back to the UK. Kelly, remember?’ I picked up the DW and we walked out towards the main. ‘Sorry, but that’s how it is.’
We avoided the front of the apartment block, in case any of the ASU were looking out. I didn’t want them to see us together – we didn’t know if they had contact with the source.
It wasn’t long before we were in the back of a cab, heading for the airport.
There was no problem changing to an earlier flight. The last plane out was the busiest, so they were only too happy to have two passengers giving up their seats. We went straight into Departures, where Suzy bought some scent and two huge Toblerone bars, so that we ended up with two Berlin duty-free carrier-bags, one inside the other, for the wine box. It looked completely at home among the sea of red plastic bags that were waiting for our flight.
We took off for Stansted with the DW packed tightly into the luggage lockers, inside our coats. The flight attendant wouldn’t let us keep them by our feet. I made a mental note to get to the locker before the suit the other side of me when we landed.
55
We turned our watches back an hour as we headed up the ramp to Immigration, and joined the line of suits and sunburnt holidaymakers making their way through UK passport control.
I clutched the carrier of DW in my left hand. Suzy stood immediately the other side of it to give a bit of protection, and we both had our passports out ready, open on the last page.
I’d cleared my head of any thought of danger. You have to, like an actor getting into character, otherwise it will show. I’d been on a nice day trip to Berlin, and now here I was, going through Immigration with my partner, a few bottles of duty-free in my hand and her with a bellyful of chocolate.
Suzy stood shoulder to shoulder with me for the next few minutes as we shuffled forward. When we were about five or six people away from the desk, I looked up and caught the eye of the woman behind it. She was looking directly at me. She quickly shifted her gaze, but the damage was done. She wouldn’t have known what was going on: she would just have been told to make sure we got through without any drama.
I shifted my passport into my left hand, still holding the bag, and pulled out a bottle with my right. Suzy watched me without saying anything. I looked back at the woman as she checked the slowly moving line. When it was nearly our turn, a whole bunch of us got waved through; she didn’t look at either of us as we passed the desk.
We carried on walking, joining the others heading for the luggage carousels. ‘What’s the matter, Nick? What’s happening?’
I kept looking around. There had to be a lift team somewhere. ‘Fucking bitch! You know very well what’s happening.’
‘
I moved away from her, gripping the bottle by the neck as if I was about to throw it. She had an expression of complete incredulity on her face as she started looking around the hall, trying to see what I was searching for. ‘What’s happening, Nick? I need to know, tell me.’
I nodded towards the carousels. I could see them, Sundance and Trainers, still in sweatshirts and jeans, but now under three-quarter-length coats. They also had small shoulder-bags, carried across one shoulder and down the other side so they could run or fight and still hang on to their respirators.
She followed my gaze. ‘This isn’t me, Nick. Believe.’
I walked straight past the carousels, like most of the suits from our plane who had only briefcases and laptops.
Sundance and Trainers were about thirty metres to my right as I headed for Customs. We had eye to eye: all three of us knew what was going on. They weren’t going to risk calling my bluff with all these people around. They’d bide their time: they had no choice.
‘There’s another two up there.’ Suzy’s voice came from just behind me.
I picked them out, hovering around the Customs channels, making a meal of putting bags over their shoulders as they kept their eyes constantly on target.
