Reconstruction (30 page)

‘That is what I think too,’ Jaime said.

Jesus, the boy must have been frightened. His boyfriend vanishes without trace, and the first hand he reaches out for help, he’s got the heavy squad after him. ‘Did you see what he did?’

‘He stand by the road until he is out of sight. The bus goes round the roundabout. He just watches.’

‘Did the bus stop again? Before leaving London?’

‘The bus is full now, so it does not stop, no. Not until it gets near Oxford.’

It must have been full dark by then. Ben remembered looking down on the Oxford road from the helicopter: a buzzing mass of angry cars, but that was rush hour. The bus would have made good time. But Bad Sam and Neil Ashton would have made better: once they were on the motorway, they could easily have caught up . . .

He said to Louise Kennedy: ‘What are the buses like, between here and London?’

She blinked. ‘Like?’

‘How frequent?’

‘Very. There are two services. Every ten minutes or so.’

‘All through the night?’

‘As good as. Probably not quite so often. But at eleven, twelve o’clock, there’d be plenty of them, I’d have thought.’ ‘Do they all run through Marble Arch?’

‘I don’t think so. But they all use the M40, obviously.’

They must have tagged the wrong bus, Ben decided. Or they’d have picked Jaime up the moment he stepped off.

‘So what did you do?’ he said to Jaime.

‘I know they have a car. I think they will follow, try to catch me at the other end.’

‘So you got off before then.’

He said, ‘They know the bus is coming to Oxford. Maybe they get there first. Maybe they wait there for me. So I get off first place I can. They call it parker-ride?’

‘Park and ride.’

‘I do not know what that means.’

And Ben didn’t feel like explaining. ‘It’s not important. This was before you reached Oxford, yes?’

‘Yes. In a big car park. Other people get off too, but they get into cars.’

‘So you’re on your own.’

‘Soon, there is nobody there. It is cold and tired. Very dark and very late. And I am frightened.’

For a moment, he wasn’t a man with a gun any more, but a cold tired frightened boy in a car park.

attishhoo attishhoo

‘I wait in the shelter, but a car comes. I think it is them, but I cannot run or move – I am too frightened. I think I just wait and let them take me. There is nothing I can do any more.’

we all fall down

The music stopped, as if we’d all done just that.

After a moment he went on, ‘But it isn’t them. It is just people. They look at map, and drive away again.’

Ben said, ‘And then what?’

‘I look for somewhere to hide. The bus shelter is not good place. So I walk back along road, but I worry that they drive past and see me. I think they probably have gone into Oxford, and will drive back, looking for me. So I climb into field, and find place to lie down.’ Without thinking, he let the gun wander from them; wrapped his arms around himself, miming the actions of the cold boy he’d been last night. ‘I lie under bush. Every time a car passes, I think they have found me.’

He must have been freezing, Ben thought.

‘And I think about what Miro tells me. About place in Oxford.’

‘Which place?’

‘This place. I remember name, Grandpont. It means big bridge.’

‘In Spanish?’

‘In French. I speak good French. Better than English.’

I am not stupid foreign person
, Ben remembered. ‘And why did he mention Grandpont?’

A faraway look came into Jaime’s eyes. ‘He is quite drunk when he say this. Normally he does not drink very much.’

But when he felt like it, he knew how to tie one on, thought Ben.

‘He tell me the world is a strange place. That some people get rich, and others die, and others fall in love. That big business grows fat while children suffer, and a lady ends up working in a nursery in Grandpont in Oxford, and all because of a war that shouldn’t have happened.’ He paused. ‘He say lots more things. But I remember the Grandpont lady, because it is strange thing to say.’

Ben said –

But before he said it, the voice of the Daleks broke in again.

* * *

We need to know every thing’s all right in there.

‘Ask him –’

Can you hear me, Jaime?

Yes, thought Fredericks. Ask him if he can hear you.

He’d have given his left lung for another cigarette, but committing social crimes on prime time wasn’t going to help.

They knew each other well, Malcolm Fredericks and Peter Faulks, and Fredericks was glad he had Peter onside, but face facts: things had fucked up. They’d lost the inside track once Whistler had dumped the mobile; now they were back to the megaphone, keeping fingers crossed that Jaime would decide it was worth his while to answer.

You need to give us some signal that everything’s okay.
Otherwise we’re going to have to take a closer look, Jaime.

And why had Whistler dumped the mobile anyway? Spook business: give him an honest axe murderer any day. Faulks said, not through the handset, ‘This isn’t happening.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘We’ve got a negotiator in there. So-called. That should be opening channels up, not closing them down.’ He wiped something from his lip, never taking his eyes from the annexe. ‘Chapman disappeared, I suppose.’

‘You spoke to him last.’

‘He took Whistler’s BlackBerry with him. It was in my pocket.’

Fredericks said, ‘We’re supposed to be on the same side. Who’ll be crucified in the dailies if we have to bring bodies out, do you suppose?’

‘He came on like he was having an episode. Heart attack or something. Didn’t realize what that was about until five minutes ago.’

‘They’re covering their backs.’

‘This isn’t a random invasion, Malc. That kid with the gun, I don’t even think he’s a terrorist.’

‘It was his choice to pick the gun up.’

‘Wasn’t his choice they came after him with it.’ Peter Faulks raised the handset again.

We need an answer, Jaime. What’s happening in there?

A gust of wind hit his words and threw them at the annexe. Fredericks imagined them smashing against the woodwork; shattering into disjointed syllables and fractured letters, to lie like dropped Scrabble tiles outside the door.

But maybe they scraped their way inside, unbroken.

‘They’re getting restless.’

The megaphoned words had the kiddy-cassette to con-tend with, but had snaked in anyway, providing a robotic counterpoint to the jangly rhythms skipping about. You’d have to go some distance to find a less appropriate sound-track, Ben thought.

‘Jaime?’ he added.

Jaime said nothing.

‘And they know your name.’

‘They hear it before,’ Jaime said. ‘On the bugged phone.’

That was true. That was more likely than that Bad Sam Chapman had shared info with them: still, it was impossible to know who knew what out there. ‘We need to reach some decisions, Jaime.’

You need to give us some signal that everything’s okay.
Otherwise we’re going to have to take a closer look.

‘They don’t like not hearing us. Sooner or later they’re going to do something about that.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘I guessed. People who know what they’re doing don’t do things like this.’ That was too fast for Jaime. ‘Things have got confused,’ Ben went on. ‘Everyone’s over-excited.’

There are an awful lot of guns outside.

Jaime said, ‘I do not think Miro was thief.’

‘Okay.’

‘I think other people take this money. The men who chase me last night.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because they try to kill me,’ Jaime said, ‘of course.’

‘Well, that’s a problem too, Jaime. Because Ashton might be out of the picture, but Chapman’s still in it. And the thing about Bad Sam is, he doesn’t like loose ends.’

Louise Kennedy said, ‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s probably best you don’t –’

‘What does that mean?’

He said, ‘Chapman’s kind of a policeman, only not as answerable, if you get my drift. And if he’s as deep in this as he appears to be, then loose ends are a danger to him.’

‘But if he took the money, why’s he still around?’

‘Well, disappearing immediately the money did might have been a giveaway, don’t you think?’

‘Like Miro did . . . ’ ‘Bad Sam, if he did it at all, couldn’t have done it by himself.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.’

He had the sense of time running out. Of Bad Sam Chapman circling ever closer; prepared to go the usual lengths to find out what they’d been discussing. He had to get out of here soon. They all did.

‘You’re telling us because we’re involved,’ Louise said. ‘Go on.’

He said, ‘Okay, fine. You’re involved. But that stops here.’ He looked at Jaime. ‘You should let them go now, Jaime.’

Jaime blinked. ‘Let them go?’

‘Yes. You’ve got what you wanted. I’m here now. Let them go.’

‘And you will make it all right?’

‘I can help you with that. They can’t.’

Louise said, ‘Wait a minute –’

‘Shut up.’

‘If I let them go, the police arrest me.’

‘And if you don’t, they’ll kill you. Do it, Jaime. The two of us, we’ll work out what happens next.’

‘I let them go, I’ll be –’

We need an answer, Jaime. What’s happening in there?

‘I will be alone,’ Jaime said.

‘No you won’t,’ Ben told him. ‘I’ll be here.’

They were talking about letting her go. That much broke through Judy’s wall, the wall she’d been building since she’d crawled from the earlier ruck-up: Judy lying like a duvet on top of gun-boy, exactly this far from death: the space between your thumbnail and your thumb. Armed policemen had come and gone, and she’d had her eyes jammed shut throughout, but she knew without being told that they’d just itched to open fire on lovely boy, and spray his terrorist arse all over the walls. And she’d have been gone too. Didn’t matter who shot her: she’d have been as dead either way. And she knew something else: that the secret service man who’d come poncing in like he was God’s gift hadn’t given a tinker’s cuss for Judy Ainsworth – he’d sent the policemen packing because he didn’t want gun-boy hurt. That was what things had come to. Judy Ainsworth, innocent victim, was worth less than the animal who’d trapped them here in the first place. Every day you got up, you struggled, you did your best. And in the end, life sucked you down the plughole and spat you into a drain.

What happens next?

What happened next didn’t matter, so long as it didn’t involve Judy. Everyone left in the annexe could die in a blaze of hot metal and collapsing scenery. Just so long as she was watching from the sidelines.

And then something else struck her – if she could walk away from all this, she wouldn’t reach home empty-handed. She wasn’t a fool, for all these people thought her an idiot; she knew that none of this was unregarded. The eyes of the world must have been focused on the nursery for hours. There’d be TV crews slavering for footage; newspapers foraging; chequebooks opening. Her story would be sought out and fought over – it would be bought and paid for.

And it would be her story.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Judy Ainsworth opened her eyes.

‘Let the children go, Jaime.’

‘If I open the door . . .’

‘If you open the door, nothing. The boys can go, their father can take them. I’ll shut the door again. That’s it.’

‘I have fewer hostages.’

‘You’re not going to hurt them. So what’s the point of keeping them here?’

‘Those men tried to kill me. This morning, Bad Sam, this Ashton. If I give myself up, they kill me again.’

‘Ashton’s not killing anyone soon, Jaime. And I can help you with Bad Sam. But not in here, not as long as you’re armed. Not as long as you’re keeping hostages.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘That’s the reason I’m here, Jaime. You asked for me, remember? Because Miro said you could trust me.’

Jaime looked down at the bundle on the floor that was Judy. The woman had opened her eyes, Ben noticed, and he hoped to God she wasn’t about to try another run for it. ‘Once they walk out, everyone will relax a little. Things will get easier.’

‘And what happens to me?’

‘I’ll make sure you’re safe. When we leave, it’ll be with people you can trust.’

‘Where is Chapman now?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’m in here, remember?’

Judy said, ‘Let me go.’

It was the first time she’d used her voice in a while, and it scratched her throat coming out.

Louise’s eyes flashed. ‘Are you not finished yet?’

‘I shouldn’t even be here. I –’

‘There are children here. Do you really think you’re more important –’

‘Yes.’

Eliot said, ‘You stupid –’

‘– children, for God’s –’

‘– bitch, if he doesn’t –’

‘Shut up.’

‘– I will!’

‘Shut up,’ Ben repeated. ‘All of you.’

And thought: If I was him right now, I’d put a bullet through the ceiling.

Against her wall, safe in her cage, Trixie was going through the motions again;
squeak squeak squeak squeak
. You had to wonder what kind of mileage the average hamster achieved in its average life.

He said, ‘Judy. We’re all getting out of here, alive. You have to wait your turn, that’s all.’

‘And what if things go wrong?’

‘They’re not going to go wrong.’

Louise said, ‘Jesus Christ!’; such contempt in her delivery, he could only hope it was aimed at Judy, not him.

‘He’s not going to kill those children,’ Judy said. ‘If he kills anyone it’ll be me. Can’t you see that?’

‘He’s not going to kill anyone,’ Louise said.

‘That’s easy for you to say you stupid –’

‘Shut up, Judy. You nearly got us killed already, so just fucking shut up. Now.’

oranges and lemons

say the bells of St Clement’s

Ben, looking at Louise, saw her teeth: they looked wicked. Sharp, and flecked with white. And then she clamped her mouth shut, as if heeding her own instructions, and her glance flicked to the boys at Eliot’s side.