back to me, facing the street.
Navy stood over her. One of the unstacked tables had a little lamp on it, illuminating his face and the knife in his hand. I wondered if it was the same blade that had dealt with Carmen and Jimmy.
Even if she’d been facing the other way Kelly wouldn’t have seen me. She was blindfolded, her hands and feet tied, still wearing her Old Navy T-shirt, her hair a knotted mess.
I took a deep breath. I wanted to call out to let her know I was there and she was safe. But I knew I had to stay calm. She was alive, and we were in the same place. That would have to do for now.
Grey started pulling on my shoulder. ‘Come, come.’ He was sounding even more excited. Maybe he wasn’t taking me to dinner after all; maybe we were going to a fucking funfair.
I followed him back to the bottom of the stairs. This time, light was coming from the landing above. The outside door was still open, letting in the rain. He invited me up the narrow steps. ‘This way, this way, please.’
When I was about half-way up, the source appeared on the landing. Without acknowledging me, he switched off the light, then went back into a long, narrow lounge. I paused in the doorway. The red velour curtains were closed, but there was no mistaking the TV, which still had BBC News 24 on mute, and the line of ornaments. I’d had a picture of them in my bumbag for the last couple of days. The rest of the room was new to me. A green three- piece was arranged around the TV, and his raincoat hung over the back of the nearest armchair. Against the wall, to the right, was a small dark-wood table with two chairs.
The fireplace was decorated with grey 1930s tiles, and an equally ancient gas fire was fitted in the grate. It wasn’t on. Arranged along the mantelpiece were more ornaments like the ones on the TV, chunky brass or glass replicas of mosques. Hanging above them was a picture of Mecca during the Haj, along with family photos: a silver-haired couple and a marriage in traditional dress. Two other doors leading from the room were closed.
‘Come in. Your child is OK, yes?’ The source was on the settee, watching the silent TV. A cell phone rested next to him on the arm. He still wore his suit jacket, but he’d taken off his tie and left the top shirt button done up. The fourth sports bag was lying at his feet.
Ken Livingstone was live, his hair soaked, dozens of mikes shoved in his face. The caption told us: ‘Mayor has no information of attack, all efforts directed at restoring power to tube’.
The next caption was a news update. Unnamed Foreign Office official informs BBC of imminent biological attack on tube system. Government withholding information about public safety. Government spokesman says report unfounded, calls for public to stay calm.
The Yes Man must have let Simon out on Sunday, thinking the job was done. Maybe Simon had too, until he heard about the tube closures.
It wouldn’t be long before Sundance and Trainers found him. Sundance would have his arm in a sling, but that wouldn’t hold him back. He’d nearly kicked me to death two years ago; Simon wouldn’t last long. Sad, but I did warn him.
I waited in the doorway, using the opportunity to check below me. The white-painted door from the kitchen was just opening. Shadows fell on the bottom of the stairs. ‘Please . . . please let me go.’
They were carrying her out to the van.
Fuck ’em, I might never see her again.
‘Kelly!’
The box went down on the carpet and I jumped down the stairs.
‘Nick! Nick!’
I virtually fell into them in the hallway. My hands grabbed at her blindfold as she thrashed about, her hands and legs still tied. ‘It’s OK, I’m here. Everything’s OK.’
Her blindfold came down as a pair of massive hands closed round my neck, forcing me to my knees. I glimpsed her petrified face as she was picked up again by Grey and Navy. Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Sorry, Nick, I’m sorry . . . no Disneyland . . .’
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even breathe.
Navy’s hand went over her mouth, and all I could see was her eyes, jumping about with fear. A second or two later, she was gone. The door closed and the hands released me. I lay on the floor, fighting for air.
The source stood over me as I recovered.
I looked up. ‘Why can’t she stay with me here?’
‘She’s not going far. Why are you so stupid? You need to stay calm, for her sake. I have stopped them killing her. Those are their orders. If you wanted to talk to your child, you should have just asked. Come, come with me.’
I followed him upstairs, coughing up stuff and trying to breathe. I had to keep calm. He was right. Sparking up wasn’t going to help her.
He picked up the bottles and went into the lounge but I stalled in the doorway again, listening for the van.
He waved a hand at the family shots above the fireplace. ‘She is going to the son’s house, the son of our hosts here. I just wanted you to see her, to let you know she is still worth saving. Your actions have proved I was right to keep you two apart. It should ensure there is no more irrational behaviour while we wait.’
His voice was still calm, very much in command, as he headed back to the settee, his eyes glancing at the TV pictures of bored and bedraggled police officers outside Earl’s Court tube. ‘As you can see, things are not as straightforward as I would have hoped.’
The van started, ready to take her away.
I walked into the room. ‘You going to light that fire? It’s freezing.’
‘But of course.’ He knelt and clicked the ignition button as he turned on the gas. ‘I’m going to explain why you still need to know she is alive.’ He was talking to the fire. ‘You see, I have no technical way of checking that you have in fact brought the
The source lit himself a cigarette and I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me. Grey came in, and I could hear the van. He walked past me as if I wasn’t there.
The source got up and opened the nearest of the closed doors. I saw a 1960s-style gas cooker standing next to a stainless-steel sink and draining-board. Lying on the brown carpet tiles at its base were the silver-haired Indian couple from the fireplace photographs. He wore a grey cardigan over a white shirt, buttoned to the collar, and his lined face and silver moustache gave him a quiet dignity. She looked pathetic in comparison. Dressed in a green sari, she also wore a cardigan, and her husband’s socks to keep out the cold. They looked a devoted couple, and probably had been right up to the moment they were killed. There was no blood. They hadn’t been cut up like Carmen and Jimmy. They had probably been strangled or suffocated to keep the noise down.
The source studied my face as I took in the dead couple. ‘Do not feel sorry for them. They are in Paradise. They are happy now they understand the reason for this family sacrifice.’
Grey stopped at the door and took the bottles. The source held his face in his hands, smoke from his cigarette curling up into his hair. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds as the source mumbled something, then Grey headed for the fridge. He placed the bottles on the carpet, then bent down to empty it. The source closed the door on him and sat down again, drawing on the last of his cigarette.
‘This son you’re talking about, where she’s going – he’s dead as well?’
‘Yes, he, too, has that honour. And perhaps he has you to thank. We needed two houses for this new, unexpected phase of the operation.’ Smoke leaked from his mouth as he waved me towards one of the chairs. ‘Sit. We’re going to be here for quite some time.’
I could hear the clink of bottles. I picked up the dry raincoat and put it on, then went and sat in the armchair closest to the fire.
The source was still in explanation mode. ‘You see, the only way we can check that you have delivered the
