Stone Deep, page 14
part #9 of Stone Cold Series
"About three minutes would be my guess," Lola replied. She pulled at her handcuffs once more. But the effort was futile.
The rear door of the carriage banged hard against the train as it swung open. A river of tracks rushed past and disappeared into the darkness.
But there was a movement. A leg lowered into view. A black boot found a handrail. Then another.
Harvey Stone swung into the carriage and dropped to his knees. Then slowly, as if he was savouring the safety of the carriage, he raised his head and stared up at Lola.
14
Into the Night
"Reg, are you with me?" said Harvey as he stood up. He ran his forearm across his forehead, smearing Luca's blood across his face.
"Loud and clear, Harvey," replied Reg over the earpiece.
"Are you tracking me?" asked Harvey, as he strode through the carriage. He eyed Lola's cuffs and stepped into the driver's cab.
"I don't have a visual, but GPS tells me you're travelling at seventy miles an hour towards Upminster."
"Dumas is behind us somewhere. Get a visual on him. He's in a single carriage with two cases of gold somewhere near Dagenham. My guess is that he's got some kind of escape planned by road."
"What about you?" asked Reg.
Harvey's eyes flicked from Fingers' frightened face to his bound hands and then followed the three thin wires that trailed from the driver's console down and into a small bag.
"Can you stop the train?"
"You're on a train?"
"Can you stop it, Reg? It's rigged to blow."
"How long do you have?"
"Look at the GPS."
"I'm looking now."
"Upminster is the end of the line."
"At seventy miles an hour you've got about two minutes, Harvey. It would take longer than that to hack the main system, let alone isolate a train."
"Can you do it, Reg?"
"No, Harvey. I'm sorry," said Reg.
It was the first time Harvey had ever heard Reg say that he couldn't do something. The news came like a breath of cold air.
"Find Dumas and stop him," said Harvey.
"What about you?" asked Reg.
Harvey searched for the words, seeking a plan, but nothing sprang to mind.
"I'll figure something out," said Harvey.
Reg seemed to hang on Harvey's words.
"Is that Reg?" asked Fingers.
Harvey nodded.
"Have him hack the Transport for London system. There's a chance he can access the switches to take us onto the British Rail line. It means we'll shoot through Upminster instead of slamming into the barriers. That should give us another thirty minutes as long as we don't hit something coming the other way."
"Reg, did you hear that?" asked Harvey.
"Already on it," said Reg. "Is that Fingers?"
"Yeah, he's tied to the accelerator. If he moves, it'll blow."
"Put him on the line," said Reg.
Harvey pulled the earpiece from his ear and placed it into Fingers', whose face was screwed up with thought, but he immediately began talking to Reg.
Harvey slipped from the cab and set to work on Lola's cuffs.
"We may have bought more time," he said, as he released her.
"How did you do that?" she asked, rubbing her wrist and flexing her arm.
"Someone taught me once," replied Harvey.
"A criminal?" asked Lola.
"No. A policewoman. Help me get the doors open in case we have to jump."
"Jump?" cried Lola. "I'm not-"
"Fair enough, but if Reg and Fingers can't work their magic, you'll be blown to kingdom come and I'll have a few broken bones. Your choice."
A few moments later, Lola was standing by Harvey's side as he worked his fingers between the sliding doors. A tiny slither of a gap grew to a finger space, enough for Lola's hands to reach in. She pulled on one door while Harvey pulled on the other until they were far enough apart for each of them to jump down onto the embankment below.
Finding the knife he'd taken from Marco, Harvey handed it to Lola.
"Cut Fingers free," he said.
"But what about the-"
"Just don't let him ease off the accelerator. Keep the pressure on."
Lola took the knife and moved away from Harvey, who standing and looking out at the night, the rooftops of sleeping houses and the rushing trees. The air felt good and clean, cool and refreshing, but the cleanse failed to quieten the beast that grew restless inside his body.
"They did it," cried Lola from the driver's cab. She leaned through the single door. "Harvey, they did it. They changed the switches."
He glanced back at her, nodded and then returned his attention to more pressing matters.
The final station before Upminster flashed past in a blur of lights, then vanished, leaving only fluid memories of Melody in its wake. They played out like a reel of mismatched films, spliced with sadistic hands to form a looping nightmare of hellish design.
Like a lava bubble bursting, Harvey's eyes pulsed once. The throb of blood surged through him, seeking adrenaline, seeking...
Redemption.
A cool, familiar sweat formed on Harvey's nape. He found himself rolling his neck once more from side to side, delighting in the satisfying click with guilty pleasure.
"You die with me tonight," said Harvey to no-one but the beast.
"I'm sorry for what I said," said Fingers, as Lola pulled the tape from his hands and cut the excess off.
"Keep the pressure on," replied Lola. Then she let out a long breath. "It's okay. I knew. I always knew."
"You knew?" said Fingers. "And you let me-"
"You're my friend. You're a good friend. I don't want to lose that. I figured maybe one day, but-"
"But?" said Fingers, his voiced twinged with hope.
"But that day never came," said Lola.
"And it nearly never did," said Fingers. "What about now?"
Lola's eyes widened at the comment, but then she frowned and hushed her voice.
"You do realise we're standing beside a bomb, and I just had to cut your hands free? We nearly just died, Fingers, and you're asking me-"
"I'm asking if you feel any different now," said Fingers. "We bought ourselves more time, but we're still standing beside the bomb. So how about it?"
"You've put me on the spot a little, Fingers. Can I mull it over?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he said with a smile. "Can't we just wedge this accelerator open and jump? I feel so trapped."
"And send a seventy mile an hour bomb hurtling through the countryside?" said Lola. "Why don't you ask Reg if he knows anything about disarming a bag full of explosives?"
"Hey, Reg," said Fingers. "Are you there?"
There was a silence before Reg replied. Lola saw Fingers' face crease as he strived to hear Reg speak over the earpiece.
"Sorry you had to hear that," he said.
A blush of red filtered across Lola's face.
"Do you know how?" asked Fingers. His voice rose with excitement. Lola straightened. A glimmer of hope had shown its face.
Another silence.
"He needs photos," said Fingers. "Expose the wiring and use my phone, and don't miss anything out. He needs the full circuit."
Lola set to work pulling the bag away from the white bricks of explosives, being careful not to disrupt any of the cabling. She snapped five photos, found Reg's contact on Fingers' phone and sent them across.
"I didn't know you had his number on here," said Lola.
"He's one of the most talented technologists I've ever seen, Lola. It would be like you meeting Catwoman."
"Catwoman?" replied Lola. "Is that who you liken me to?"
Fingers seemed to ponder his answer with pursed lips and an amusing thoughtful upward gaze.
"Once or twice," he said, "but it was mainly about the outfit." He smiled a confident smile. But it flattened as his eyes fell back on his own hands, which held the accelerator lever away from the pair of wires.
"Hold on, he's back," said Fingers. Then he quietened as Reg relayed some instructions for Fingers to convey to Lola. "The circuit is using the train as the earth. There's a copper strap somewhere beneath the console that grounds the connections. We need to short the black wire against the copper strap, then cut the red wire. The explosives won't be disarmed but it'll mean we can ease off the throttle and wait for the bomb squad."
"Wait for the bomb squad?" said Lola. "You do realise I just helped rob a vault in the City of London, stole a bunch of gold, and aided and abetted a known criminal? Not to mention the murders that happened in between all that."
"Reg says we need to hurry because there's a train fifteen miles away and we're in its way," said Fingers.
Lola stared at the explosives, a small mass of wires sitting atop a few white bricks connected by a few random electrical components.
"We need some cable to create the short," said Fingers.
Lola turned the knife upside down and used the handle to smash through a few of the instruments on the driver's console. Once the glass was broken, she forced the dials through to reveal several bunches of cables below. One of them was as thick as a man's arm.
"Can I cut any of these?" she asked.
"How would I know?" said Fingers, peering into the hole.
Lola isolated a single, green cable. She pulled enough slack to give her a one-metre length, then closed her eyes, put the blade of the knife on the plastic coating, and sucked in a deep breath.
Then cut.
There was no explosion. No flash of light as the detonator sparked into life.
She pulled the cable out and twisted one end around the copper strap that grounded the console as Fingers relayed her actions to Reg for confirmation. She was standing poised with the other end of the cable in her hand and hovered above a small connector block on top of the brick of explosives, from which, the black cable ran to the accelerator.
"It needs to be a good solid connection, Lola. Twist it on as tight as you can," said Fingers.
She touched the wire in her hand to the black wire.
Nothing happened.
A few twists later and the circuit was complete.
"Now we can remove the black cable from the accelerator," said Fingers, repeating everything he heard Reg say as if he himself were the bomb disposal expert.
With barely a hint of hesitation, Lola ripped the black cable from the dashboard. Fingers pulled the accelerator back towards him.
The train began to slow.
Fingers pushed himself from the chair, and with unsolicited elation, Lola wrapped her arms around him. They hugged for longer than they cared. Fingers was the first to pull away, a little at first, but then he brought his hands up to Lola's face and held her, watching her as if it were for the first time.
Their kiss felt warm, natural and needed. Tension fell from Lola's muscles as water falls from rocks, as the two embraced and searched each other's bodies with elated hands, and the train rolled to a stop in the Essex countryside.
But the pleasure was short lived. A light grew brighter in the driver's cab. A rumbling grew deeper and heavier.
Then the blast of an oncoming train sounding its horn fixed them to the spot in fright. Lola clung to Fingers, who held her tight and in the few seconds left, he stared in the face of the oncoming train, his whitening face a picture of resolute.
But when Lola opened her eyes again, the rumbling of the train, which had thundered past on the other tracks, began to fade away. Only the sound of a helicopter overhead remained. Its spotlight searched the ground around the train.
Fingers began to laugh, quietly at first, but then as Lola joined in, the laughter increased. They kissed once more in pleasure, thankfulness and gratitude.
Lola stepped from the driver's cab into the carriage.
"Harvey?" she called out.
"What's wrong?" asked Fingers, joining Lola at her side.
"He's gone."
15
Legacy
For many years, Lola had shunned the wealth and power her father had accumulated, choosing to remain on the path her father had set her on when she had been a child. A thief of the highest order. But when the police officer had unlocked her cell door and ordered her outside, her father's wealth and power had come to fruition.
Shame embraced her as Samuel drove them through the magnificent iron gates of her father's estate. At the very worst, she thought, he would convey his outrage at her lack of trust in him, at her ability to break the family in two so easily, and then hug her as a father should. At the very best, he wouldn't acknowledge her insolence at all and start with a hug, choosing to save the discussion on trust for another day. Either way, she knew he would hug her, and she knew everything would be okay.
The grounds of her father's estate always carried within it a sense of peace and calm. The trees rocked with the gentle wind, but the movement was slight as if losing a leaf to the ground would disrupt the balance and order of the pristine landscaping.
The house itself bore a very different ambiance. The hallway felt, and to Lola always had, as if it wallowed joyously in shadow. Dark wooden panels formed foreboding vertical lines that met with the intricate, looping designs of the mouldings, which ran across the walls. They formed frames of dark space filled with the heavy oil paintings that perhaps had once shone and glowed in the morning sun. But now they had succumbed to the bleak, hostile and unwelcoming entrance of the great house.
A few rooms in her father's house pleased her enough to raise her spirits. The greenhouse and pool room with their glazed roofs trapped the sun as a troll might trap a passer-by, by reaching out from its cave and pulling inside its captive, leaving them with a view of the bright outside but surrounded by darkness.
The room Lola had called her own since as long as she could remember was south facing with a large balcony and floor-to-ceiling windows across two aspects. Thick curtains hung either side of the stone mullions but they were rarely closed. Her permanent reprise from the sombre house was adorned with bright, colourful pieces of art she had collected using her specialist skillset across close to two decades. Most of them were unknown paintings by unknown artists. But a favourite of hers that hung in front of her bed was a Dali, obscure, uncatalogued and full of intrigue without the need for shadows. The room was full of life, with fresh flowers each day, and walls as white as white could be. It was a stark contrast to the unsmiling perverse Caravaggios that stalked her journey to and from her room.
There was a gentle knock at her door.
"Come in, Samuel," she called out. She was standing at her balcony doors dressed in only a soft towel, looking out over the gardens to the world beyond.
"Ma'am," said Samuel, his usual precursor to a much more ornate and well-crafted sentence. He sucked in a lungful of air, but before he could speak, Lola interjected.
"My father wants to see me," she said. "You have prepared dinner, and he is seated."
Samuel gave a look of dejection at his own predictability.
"I'll be down in five minutes," she replied to his silence. "When I'm dressed."
She let her towel drop to the floor and padded to the six huge wardrobe doors.
"Is it a formal occasion?" she asked, as Samuel began to pull the door closed to leave.
He stopped, averting his eyes to the gardens.
"No, ma'am. Your father is in his robe. But we do have guests."
"Guests?"
"Three to be precise, ma'am."
"I see," said Lola, pulling her baggy pants from their hanger. "And father hasn't dressed for the occasion?"
"No. In fact, he's been in his robe since you were taken."
"Samuel?"
He turned to look at Lola, holding her eyes in his own in a conscious effort to prevent them from wandering where they shouldn't.
"Is he well?"
"I'm afraid he took a turn for the worse, ma'am. The whole episode has taken its toll on him. Mr Tenant has been a great help of course. But..."
"But?" said Lola. She pulled a fresh t-shirt from the shelf. "Oh, come on, Samuel, you've seen me naked a thousand times already."
"I'm afraid it never gets any easier, ma'am."
"And my father?"
"He needs his daughter. I'll confirm that you'll be down shortly."
Samuel left the room, but before the door closed fully, it reopened and he stepped back inside as Lola pulled her T-shirt down and flicked her hair out.
"Ma'am?" he said.
"Samuel?"
He seemed at ease now that she was dressed.
"I just wanted to say welcome home, ma'am." He bit his lower lip as if he thought he may have overstepped his mark. "I'm glad you're safe."
They shared a silent moment of appreciation for each other. Then Lola watched as Samuel closed the door fully, leaving her to finish dressing.
Her bare feet slapped on the parquet flooring a few moments later. The voyeuristic eyes of an eighteenth-century hooker sprawled across a chaise lounge followed her to the staircase, where Angels Appearing to Shepherds and other Benjamin West pieces continued the accompaniment.
The conservatory was perhaps Lola's favourite room in the house. The light and airy feel with clean white surfaces appealed to her, along with the same view of the gardens that her balcony enjoyed.
Voices travelled along the long corridor like whispers of the paintings in the night. A deep grumble ceased all others. Her father's voice.
A light and self-conscious laugh, which was Fingers', was followed by a monotone more confident infection, Reg Tenant.
A silence fell, or so Lola thought. She stepped through the double doors to find all three men sitting around the large formal dining table that her father had relocated when he lost his leg. Each of the men was quiet, their attention captivated by the quiet words of a woman who was sitting beside Reg Tenant.
"Lola, come, dear. Join us," said her father. "We've been waiting for you."
Lola approached the table, hugged her father, and felt his gratitude through his strong arms. He wouldn't mention his emotions in front of guests. He didn't need to. Lola felt it.
