Stitch-Up (35 page)

Next up, I heard the smack of a police baton against flesh.

The passenger door opened with a snap.

I shut my eyes.

“Good evening, gentleman,” Yukiko said.

“Stay in the cab, madam,” one of the policemen advised.

“What's going on? Why you hitting my cabman?” she asked, in a hesitant English-as-a-second-language manner. “Please don't hurt him. He's been so gentleman to me. Promised me a free ride and everything. Very kind man. In Tokyo this wouldn't go.”

One of the policemen laughed. “Hey, Joel, we've hooked ourselves a vampire.”

“Pull up your veil,” Joel said in a clipped tone.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Pull up the veil, fright-fest, and get out of the cab.”

Minutes later, the tread of boots in the cab above us.

Our tomb shook again.

I lay there motionless.

The darkness was super-charged.

Every cell in my body was vibrating with fear.

I held my breath as the policeman stamped the floor. He kicked the base of the passenger seat before climbing out and walking round to the rear. “Keys,” he ordered.

The keys jangled when Ren handed them over. The click of the key turning back and forth in the lock made my heart stop-start… stop-start.

“Get over here,” the soldier bellowed.

Another sickening thud, followed by a choking sound as Ren tried to catch his breath.

I pictured him bent double, puking his guts up as blood streamed from his nose. Yukiko was begging the policeman to stop. Her pleas turned to a whimper when the policeman
hit Ren again. I took a shallow breath, appalled to realise that I was using Ren's groans as a cover. The air was sour.

Our smuggle-hole rocked as Ren staggered to the rear, using his cab for support. I winced. He was obviously in a bad way.

“I'm warning you, Elvis. Tonight we've got powers to act exactly as we please, so if you don't open this boot by the count of five, you're going down for a very long time.
Capice
?”

Latif took my hand.

I prayed to every god I knew.

Please don't let him arrest Ren. Please don't let us be discovered. Please don't…

“It's stiff, man. Give me a break!” Ren said. “Done.”

The boot groaned open.

Latif squeezed my hand.

“Golf clubs, that's it,” the policeman barked, slamming the boot shut.

I closed my eyes. We were swimming underwater. Deep, deep, deep underwater. But we were running out of air, and time. Silvery bubbles rose to the surface.

The policeman asked for Ren's cab registration and licence number. Then I heard him punch Ren's details into a machine, which he described as a tracking device. The other policeman must have moved to the rear of the cab, because a tearing sound filled my ears as he removed the cardboard that covered the number plate.

“So, sir.” The policeman's voice was sarcastic and insincere. “The police won't stop you again, now your details are on
the grid, but,” he paused, and I imagined him returning his gun to his holster, “that's only if you go straight home after dropping this lady off. Be warned we can monitor your every move…”

I felt Latif tense up in the darkness.

Then there was a strange beeping sound, followed by a chilling explanation: “We've lasered a circle onto the door – for your own safety, of course.” His voice was heavy with irony. “On your way, sir.”

We heard the ignition spark and the cab's engine begin to turn over. Then Ren revved the engine and pulled away. “For my own safety – my arse. Now they've got my name and licence number in their system.
On the grid!
That's not good. It's a freakin' disaster. You heard the fascist. They can track our every move if they want.”

“But why would they?” Yukiko's voice was calm. “Relax, Ren. We've been given the all-clear. They've checked thousands of cabs tonight.” Yukiko banged her foot on the floor. “Okay in there?”

“Yeah right. Deluxe. There's zero air,” Latif shouted back.

“Hang on a minute,” Yukiko replied. “I'm getting you out.”

There were scraping noises. Then the lid swung open. We sat up, blinking and gasping for air.

“Those stormtroopers were hardcore.” Yukiko handed Ren a lace handkerchief. “I thought they were going to kill you, babe. Are you okay?” She kissed him on the cheek.

“Nah. Those fascists gave me a real kicking.”

Latif eased himself out of our bunker, slid onto the empty bucket seat, and poking his head through the partition, said: “Thanks for taking the rap, Ren. That was ugly.”

When Ren turned round, his nose was bloody and swollen. “Can't say it was a pleasure, but you would've done the same for me, Lats.” He pressed the hankie to his nose. The white lace blotted scarlet. “Those guys were hyped as hell.”

“Is it broken?” I asked.

“Nah, mashed-up. But you guys owe me big time.”

“Big time,” I repeated in a whisper, my nerves completely shredded.

“Truth, fam,” Latif reached through the partition and squeezed Ren's shoulder.

Ren slotted back into the grid of cabs. “'Sakes, we're crawling. Come on, step up the speed. The last thing I need is another rumble with those stormtroopers.”

Travelling so slowly made me feel uneasy.

Minutes later, Ren was shouting, “No way. Game over.”

“What's up, fam?” Latif's voice was tight.

My stomach clenched up. I could hardly breathe.

“The wire says Jeannie's in a scuffle with the feds.” He was leaning towards the radio so he wouldn't miss a word. “She's at Speaker's Corner stirring things up. She's politicking! We're in serious trouble, bruv.”

We exchanged looks, not wanting to be the first to say how serious.

“She's a friend of Mum's so she'll be on file.” Latif's composure slipped momentarily. “MI5 will have her details.”

“Truth! If they cross-reference the grid for friends and family. Boom! Up will come my details. We're laser-tagged, too. We're as good as caught. Damn! Damn! Damn!” He blasted his horn in sync with each damn, morse-coding his anger into the night.

“Keep cool, Ren,” Yukiko said. “Latif's your friend. If the database was any good they would've taken you in. Stop being paranoid. Think straight. You were cleared. They know you haven't got any passengers on board, apart from a Japanese ‘fright-fest'. So what's the big deal?”

“Ren's right. They'll chase down anyone connected to my family.” Latif punched his fist into the palm of his hand.

“Even if they make the connection, they've checked the cab.” Yukiko was speaking slowly and calmly to cut through the rising panic. “We're in the clear.”

A gloomy silence enveloped us.

“How far is the embassy?” I asked.

“At this speed, twenty minutes,” Ren replied, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Should we change the plan, bruv?” He turned around. “Whaddya think? Head for a junk space?”

Latif had taken back his tablet from Yukiko. He was hunched over it tapping away. He looked up. “I'm still thinking Crunch Town's a plan. I know ways in. Trust me!” Seeing Ren's sceptical look, he added, “I don't fancy being holed up in the embassy for years until things get sorted. It'd be like prison. I can't live like that. I'd rather be on the run.”

“You sure?” Ren asked uneasily.

“Yeah. Crunch Town is the only plan. I'm a CCTV specialist so I can work a route that's more or less unfilmed. Not the quickest but it's unwatched.” His eyes were glued to the tablet once more. “And it should be easier now the cabbies have knocked out cameras.”

I remembered our topsy-turvy route through the Pimlico grid, and in a panic found myself wondering if we'd actually make it into Crunch Town.

“Okay, guys, I've got an idea. Budge up, Dash,” he said, sitting next to me and beckoning Yukiko over. “If there are blind spots, perhaps…” His fingers flew across the keyboards so fast I couldn't make out the postcode. “Yeah. Now I'm getting somewhere.” A large pair of security gates filled the screen. They looked familiar. Grim, grey buildings rose up behind them. He scrolled through the many CCTV cameras listed, clicking on a few at random. A garden. A gatehouse. A hallway. Latif's face lit up. “We've smashed it!” An eerie, empty hallway. There were photos on the wall, ascending the stairway. I narrowed my eyes. Churchill, Thatcher, Blair. “That's Downing Street, isn't it?” I whispered, hardly able to believe my eyes.

“Genius.” Yukiko whooped, punching his arm. “Ren. YOU. WON'T. BELIEVE. IT. Lats has breached Downing Street security.”

“Now that's what I call a counter-punch, bruv.”

“I'm match tough, fam. Shadow-boxing – courtesy of surveillance
sans frontières
.” He winked. “They networked the CCTV cameras in a rush. I was thinking there had to be
glitches, and this, my friends, is the boss of all glitches.” Latif was texting
Tracker
as he spoke. “They only went and forgot to take high-security buildings off the police network.”

Yukiko and I were laughing, totally gassed.

The message read:
Latif Hajjaj's ready to surrender. Go to CCTV camera 233798677 to hear conditions for Dasha's release. Two minutes or deal is off.
He pressed send. My stomach flipped.

Latif called up the tab showing the studio.

Seconds later, my parents' faces lit up. I guessed they must have heard about the text through their earpieces. “We have just received breaking news. Their eyes glinted like glass beads. “Latif Hajjaj has contacted us. The game is up. He's turning himself in and setting Dasha free. We're going live to the scene to hear his demands.” The cosmetic surgery gave their smiles a special kind of craziness.

I tensed up. And then, as if by magic, the hallway of Number 10 came into view. A security guard stood at the bottom of the stairs, oblivious to his new-found fame. A second later, the PM and his team rushed into the hallway, shouting at the guard and pointing up at the CCTV camera. The prime minister's children shot in after them, waving and mugging for the cameras. The PM shouted for them to get back. A security guard picked them up, one under each arm, and whisked them out; the little girl blew a kiss to the camera over his shoulder as they disappeared from view. A minute later, the camera was shut off.

It made the strangest silent movie.

Back in the studio, my parents looked agitated. Sweat beaded Dad's forehead. My mother held up five fingers, and the producer went to camera five, which showed shots of the VJs working their magic.

Latif texted:
Eyes on you PM. Little bro's spookin' you!
Immediately
Tracker
went to an advert break.

“That's blown our cover sky high. 'Sakes, Latif if we're caught, we'll probably go down for life,” Ren said.

“At least we hit back.” He made trigger fingers. “It's a matter of honour.”

“Yeah. But they'll GPS us real speedy,” Yukiko's calm had cracked. “You've seen the films. You know, men with maggot-white faces in bunkers watching billions of screens.”

“From now on things are gonna get political.” He tipped up the brim of his hat with elegant fingers, his aquamarines were on full-beam. He was thriving on the high-octane buzz.

The cab was pressure-cooker tense.

We were crawling, hardly moving at all, hemmed in by cabs to the left and right.

Latif opened the window and shouted at a cabbie queueing in the bus lane. “Mate, It's Latif, Harriet Hajjaj's son. Can you help me out?” He held up the tablet. “Take this for me? It's hot, bruv. Say a brother with a ten-gallon hat left it in your cab if the feds stop you.”

After the tablet was in the cabbie's possession, Ren made a circling gesture with his hand and pulled up so the guy could swing a U-turn. I watched his cab head in the opposite direction, my heart dip-dip-dashing.

“Does the wire go out to all the cabbies, Ren?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“I want to get our story out there, you know, just in case we're caught.” I mumbled the last words, terrified that by expressing this thought out loud, I might actually make it happen. “It's our only chance. You know, to clear Latif's name.”

“To a few thousand cabbies? How's that going to change things?” Yukiko asked.

“Cabbies aren't known for keeping their mouths shut or their opinions to themselves, are they? Plus their passengers will hear it. You know, people who've flagged a ride to show support for the Hajjajs. There may even be journalists in the cabs, who are covering the cabbie's revolt. We can give them a new angle on an old story.
The truth
.”

“What, slam the truth?” Latif rolled his eyes. “Nobody cares.”

“I do. The people hailing cabs do. Even the cabbies do,” Yukiko said.

“For one night only,” Ren said with a grin.

“We need to reframe the story. Then it's up to the public to decide which version they want to believe.” I looked straight at Latif. “It's the only way to save your skin.”

“That or pray for a miracle,” Yukiko chipped in.

“It's risky,” Ren said. “But truth needs to be out there, bruv.”

“They'll be on us in no time.” Latif frowned, his thick eyebrows forming an arrow. “How about we pull a three-card trick? When Dash is done with her politicking. That'll
keep the feds off our backs for a bit.”

Ren fixed his eyes on Latif in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah. That could work,” he said cautiously. And then more upbeat. “Yeah. That could work. I like your style, bruv.”

“If it flops – it flops, but it's worth a shot.”

“Safe, fam. I'm on it,” Ren said, leaning down towards the radio. As Ren spoke to someone in the cabbie's radio studio, Latif handed me his pay-as-you-go mobile. “You'll have to phone in. It's a bit Talk Radio – but low-fi always makes things sound more authentic.” That crooked smile again. “Trust me! Remember my rep depends on you, bubblehead.”