Sofi rushed at him. ‘What in God’s name are you doing? He’s dead, Helix.’
‘He’s not dead,’ he said retracting the blade. ‘Remember the park? Remember McGill?’ He glanced at Wheeler. ‘Remember?’
Wheeler’s eyes darted at Finch. ‘It’s one of those…’
‘A shrink-wrap, as we like to call them,’ he said, turning the gun back on Wheeler.
‘Finch already knows too much for his pay grade, I hope you’ve got him locked up somewhere safe, Home Secretary. He has a horrible habit of opening his mouth when he should keep it closed.’
Sofi spoke into his implant. ‘She’s cut comms to the ops room.’
‘Thought she might.’
Ormandy leaned closer to the camera. ‘What have you done, Justin?’
‘It’s OK, Julia,’ Wheeler said, his hands held up. ‘He doesn’t know enough. But he is serious.’
‘So, Home Secretary. We’re coming to London and we won’t be expecting a welcoming committee. Right now, you should have someone searching the Justice database to locate the IDs on the charges in Wheeler’s neck and turn them off. You’re wasting your time. Even if you can get past the new administrator’s password, when you get in, you’ll find they’re not there.’
Ormandy threw her head back. ‘Your brother. I knew it.’
‘I told you Ethan has been taken hostage, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely blind.’ Helix said, his fist smashing onto the desktop. He raised a finger. ‘But I will know if you haven’t issued the order to stand everyone down. I will also know if we’re being followed. You need to make another appearance on TV and tell the great and the good in the capital about your mistake. If you’re quick you should be able to catch the lunchtime news. I know you’re thinking through your options. I suggest you don’t waste your time. As your friend here said,’ he placed his hand on Wheeler’s shoulder, ‘I am serious. In case you didn’t get the message with Finch, let me show you.’
Sofi didn’t need any prompting.
Wheeler snapped upright in the chair. He gagged, his eyes wide. ‘What’s—’ he spluttered, his hands to his throat. ‘No,’ he howled as the muscles in his neck tightened and twisted like thick ropes. His fingers probed at the pronounced bulge at each side of his throat. He braced himself against the edge of the desk as the pressure built. Unable to breathe, unable to speak, saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth, sweat beading his brow.
‘OK. That’s enough.’
Wheeler slumped onto the desk like a man back from the brink of drowning, gasping grateful lungfuls of air.
Helix zipped his jacket and folded his arms. ‘You have fifteen minutes.’
27
‘Thank you, Director General,’ Ormandy said. ‘My assistant will come back to you with the detail. I’d be happy to give another interview, but unfortunately my agenda is full. I’m sure you understand.’ She ended the call. ‘Shit!’ Steadying herself against the edge of her desk, she pushed away, bending at the waist, pressing her forehead to the cool glass desktop. The situation was getting out of control. ‘Damn you, Justin,’ she snapped. He was meant to have disappeared into obscurity. She took a deep breath and raised herself up. If he hadn’t run straight back to his mud-hut-dwelling ex-wife, his path would never have crossed with Helix’s. What the hell had he told that Neanderthal?
She weighed a bottle of 50-year-old Cragganmore single malt whisky in her hand. The cork yielded with a faint pop. Whatever Wheeler had said, Helix thought he had the advantage. She poured a measure of the amber liquid, added a dash of water. The whisky’s wooded aroma rose to meet her as she sipped. If Helix wanted to press the self-destruct button, she needed to make sure she wasn’t caught in the fall out. Rolling the creamy-textured spirit around her mouth, she unbuttoned her jacket and slumped back into her chair. The whisky did nothing to temper the words of news ticker at the bottom of the BBC broadcast. ‘Home Secretary announces Gabrielle Stepper letter is a hoax.’ She took a greedy gulp. The spirit caught in her throat, moistening her eyes. ‘Investigation to be dropped. Stay tuned for more on this breaking story.’ She slammed the tumbler onto the toughened-glass desktop.
‘What is it, Gemma?’ she barked, more harshly than she’d intended. Glancing toward the half-open door, she swallowed her rage. ‘You off out for lunch?’
The PA stepped inside, the collar of her khaki raincoat turned up, the belt tight around her waist. ‘Your order from La Perla has just been delivered,’ she said, her long fingers on the belt of the coat.
‘OK, great. I’ll look later.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment.’
‘Oh,’ Gemma said. ‘I thought you’d like to see it.’ The belt slipped undone. Sliding her hand inside the coat she swept it open, her hand on her hip, the full set of black lingerie contrasting against her pale toned body. ‘What do you think?’
A warm glow bloomed over Ormandy’s stomach and thighs as her eyes ran over her assistant’s slender form. She cleared her throat. ‘You could have just brought in the box.’ She sipped her whisky. It was tempting but she had other things on her mind.
‘I ordered the same set,’ Gemma added, slipping the coat from her shoulders.
Ormandy pressed her hands together in front of her face, glanced at the door to the bedroom. ‘I guess we both have good taste.’ She slipped her thumbnail between her teeth. No. ‘Could you get Lieutenant Dempsey on the phone for me please, Gemma?’
‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’ She snatched the coat up from the floor, pulled it on and made for the door.
Ormandy crossed her legs and
