I leant down and gave her a couple of slaps to bring her round. 'Come on!' I wanted her to be fully aware.
I felt in her jeans pocket for the knife or whatever it was she'd been going to unscrew the TPU lid with.
I found a stubby flat-head screwdriver.
'Come on, wake up.'
She was sort of there. I sat on the bunk with her at my feet.
Next door, the engines idled. I was getting warm again. My ears and hands stung as they came back to life.
I stared down at her. Her mass of hair glistened with blood and was matted against her head.
I didn't blame her for being pissed off with me. If I'd been close to my dad I'd have felt the same. And I understood, too, why she'd want to know the traitor who gave up the ship to the British in the first place. I didn't even have a problem with the car device, now that I knew that it was just a ploy. In fact, I admired her for not giving up. I'd admired her dad for the same reason. They might have been the enemy, but they were solid.
The only reason I was still sitting here and she was on the floor was that she'd brought the other four into it, and they had nothing to do with the world that she and I moved in. They were real people, and none of them would be safe unless I put an end to this.
She'd also killed Lynn. He died doing his job, even though it wasn't his job any more. He was one of the old school. We needed more like him. I would make a point of contacting his kids and telling them what had happened. They needed to know how the man they despised had met his end.
126
She began to come round.
I eased myself off the bed. The pain in my right thigh had begun to register in my brain. It seemed that these deep, clean cuts really were every bit as painful as any other kind. Blood oozed from the dressings. It was going to be hospital time very soon. I'd have to go in and complain about these drugged-up muggers who not only took all my cash, but also seemed to take pleasure in slicing me up.
I couldn't kneel because of the pain. I had to stoop, one hand on the edge of the steel frame of the bunk as I leant down.
I pulled open an eyelid. The pupil reacted. She could hear me all right.
'It was Richard Isham.'
She took a big, involuntary breath and sobbed.
'Yeah, you know, the one who's always been up for the cause, the local hero, ready to fight to the death. But you know what, he was on the make, just like everybody else.' I leant a bit closer so she didn't miss a word. 'He saw what was coming and made sure he was one of the survivors. What would your dad think of that? But he can't think anything, can he? Because while Richard is sitting behind a big fat desk with an expense account to match, your old man is dead.'
She kicked out her legs.
'It's a fucker, isn't it? But you know what? I agree with you. A traitor is a traitor, in anyone's book, including mine. I have more respect for you than I do for him.'
She was still sobbing but it wasn't from pain or fear of dying. She was a player; she had more bollocks than that. She was grieving.
She should have spent five minutes with me over a brew some time. I could have put her straight: never trust those fuckers, and don't waste your faith in them. They're always in it for their own ends, no matter what side of the fence they're on.
'But the problem is, you're the enemy.' I pushed myself up using the side of the bunk. 'Regardless of what I think of you, we both know what that means.'
I limped into the corridor and locked the door behind me.
127
The TPU box was made of wood and the lid was screwed down tight. Four screws, of course. And there were a good two metres of loose det cord before the detonator was attached, in case it was contaminated. She'd learnt her lessons well.
The screws came out easily.
I turned the Parkway to the full hour, and the plastic disc fell to the floor.
The timer ticked gently as the spring started to unwind.
PART TWELVE
