Hunter read the text out loud: ‘Amal Hussain is here with twins and grandmother. Coventry Cathedral steps from car park. Sending photos.’
Hunter turned to Espie but she’d started the manoeuvre already. ‘Hold on!’ she shouted.
A brief, stabbed brake, then a screeched U-turn across both carriageways. Famie leant into Charlie. Charlie pushed back against her door. Tyres spinning, the tail end of the BMW swung into the cycle lane, then straightened as Espie floored it. Hunter was yelling into her radio, Famie rang Sophie. Who didn’t pick up. It rang without answerphone and Famie hung up. Texted.
Get out of there now.
Hunter’s BMW topped one hundred but it still didn’t seem fast enough. Famie sat forward, willing the miles away. If Amal Hussain was in the cathedral, Hari and the others must be there already. Or on their way. And the twins and the grandmother must be hostages.
Famie spoke to the car, her head between Espie and Hunter. ‘Hussain might not know that Sophie is pregnant with Seth’s child. But if he does, Sophie is in serious danger. It’s clear that for Hussain, this is personal. Whatever else is going on, his “honour” or some bollocks like that has been offended. He’ll target her, I’m sure of it.’
‘Send me those photos,’ said Hunter.
Famie Bluetoothed them.
‘Got it.’
Two photos. The first showed the crowd under the cathedral’s high porch. The twins were tiny figures, almost lost in the hubbub and the architecture. She enlarged the image but the quality wasn’t good enough to see much detail. Two brown-skinned girls in pink was all she got. In the second, the camera had swung right, to the pillars at the top of the cathedral steps. Hussain and the grandmother were framed between the sandstone columns. She enlarged again, filling her screen with Hussain’s face.
‘That’s him. And it’s enough,’ she said. ‘Even if it’s only him, we need the ARVs. And the Level Ones. If Amal Hussain is in the cathedral, we need everyone we can get.’ She forwarded the photos, got back on the radio.
‘Am I still under arrest?’ said Famie.
‘Technically,’ said Hunter.
‘What does that mean?’
They flew past the station, braking hard at the ring road roundabout, then dipping and accelerating straight on towards the old city.
‘I have effectively told my boss to shove it,’ said Hunter. ‘Back at the hotel. DC Milne said to take you in. I said we needed to get to the protest at the university first. Then I’d take you in.’
‘He never liked me, did he?’ said Famie.
‘He did not, and does not,’ said Hunter. ‘An unreliable, hysterical fantasist is the gist of it.’
‘What a bastard.’
They took two more red lights then a roundabout without dropping below sixty. The seatbelt locking mechanisms were working hard.
‘If Hussain has come from the car park by the steps,’ shouted Espie, ‘we need to be on the other side.’ She waved with her left hand. ‘The Slug and Lettuce side. The Cuckoo Lane side. He might have men there too of course. We need to evacuate the whole bloody area.’
‘No time,’ said Hunter. ‘And really no time for the Level Ones to get here either. A ten-minute deployment time is too long. This is happening now. We need to be in there now.’
They tore through narrow, deserted streets, ignoring the one-way system. They hit the cobbles and Espie killed the siren. She parked across the lane, blocking it completely. Their lights flashed around the bricks and windows of coffee shops and high-end cafés. Curious faces peered out. A couple at an outdoor table stood up, menus in hand, as if to complain about the noise. Espie was out of the car already, popped the boot. Hunter spun in her seat.
‘Is there any point in asking you to stay here?’ she said, her head flicking between Famie and Charlie.
‘None at all,’ said Famie. ‘Even if I am under arrest. Technically.’
Espie threw a heavy jacket at Hunter and they ran from the car. Famie and Charlie fell in behind them.
‘Lockdown around the cathedral,’ said Hunter into her radio. She held the microphone tight to her mouth. ‘Nothing out or in.’
Famie felt Charlie tug at her sleeve. She looked drawn, haggard. Charlie shook her head. Famie understood, indicated a pizza restaurant they’d just passed. Lights on, door open.
‘Wait in there.’
She squeezed her daughter’s arm, let go. Charlie pulled up, waved them on. Famie glanced back once. She lip-read her daughter perfectly: ‘Just get the fuckers,’ she said.
The three women ran till they reached the graveyard of the old cathedral, vaulted the low wall and crashed against the spire’s ornate wooden doors. Famie had seen glimpses of the old spire from a mile out, reckoned it to be a hundred metres high at least. She wasn’t sure being at its foot made her safer or a target. Back flat to the door, she was under a bevelled sandstone arch. Five rows of slabbing led to the grassy graveyard, a few ancient tombs preserved under the trees.
Espie caught her breath. ‘The ruins of the old cathedral are the other side of this.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘The steps the photos were taken from are on the left, about fifty metres along from here. They lead to the new cathedral. Via that covered area with the columns. Where the girls were.’
Hunter took over, speaking fast. ‘Procedure here is clear. We wait for the armed response teams to arrive. I’m told they’re three minutes away. We don’t have three minutes.’ To Espie she said, ‘So show me.’
Espie ran right, looping through an old Gothic arch, into the ruins – an open shell of old walls, chapels and empty windows. The three women ran tight up against the bricks, heads low, sidestepping statues and wandering tourists. Through the spaces where the old stained-glass windows had been, Famie could see that they were approaching the new cathedral. They were running parallel with
