The Dark Horizon, page 30
Claire switched on the sirens and blue lights and accelerated towards the main road. ‘The law says I can only use the disco gear in an emergency.’
‘And I suspect even the best of barristers would struggle to argue that transporting your boyfriend is such.’
‘Yep.’
Dan thought for a few seconds. ‘I should have said earlier,’ he chirped. ‘I must have forgotten in all the excitement. I’ve got an idea who might have the detonator.’
‘Well, gosh-oh-mighty,’ Claire replied. ‘I’d better get you to the scene at once.’
The traffic at the roundabout froze as they sped through and slewed a hard left. Poor June, slight at the best of times, was being further reduced courtesy of the mass of El.
The time was twenty five past one. They dashed along the dual carriageway, heading for the city centre.
‘How’re things down at Resurgam?’ Dan asked.
‘Chaos. I’ll get us as close as I can, but after that it’ll be quicker to walk.’
The car dodged in and out of a line of traffic, the motion swinging their bodies from side to side.
‘It’d be nice to be alive to cash in on the Cashman,’ El muttered.
‘As I owe you one I’ll overlook that,’ Claire replied.
‘What do you owe him?’ Dan queried. ‘Look, what is going on?’
‘I’ll tell you later - maybe.’
They reached a roadblock, a couple of cop cars nose to nose, barring the way. Claire mounted the pavement and carried on. They were heading along North Hill, home to the university and Plymouth’s student masses, almost at the city centre but still a mile from Resurgam.
The area was oddly quiet, the shops and streets mostly empty. It was as if the population of the city had all been drawn to Finale Friday.
Dan’s mobile rang. It was Nigel.
‘I’m on the way. Won’t be long.’
‘Good. Lizzie’s been on the line. I told her you were in the loo.’
‘Nice improvisation.’
Another roadblock was ahead, barriers this time, and manned by a pair of Community Support Officers. Dan swore to himself, but at the sight of Claire the men jumped into action and hurried to clear the way.
Now the crowd was starting to thicken, spilling onto the road, milling and meandering. Claire picked her way through as best she could. But they slowed, slowed and slowed again until progress was painful. The clock on the dashboard read 1.35.
Claire pulled the car into the side of the road. ‘Time to run,’ she said.
They adopted the shape of an armour piercing shell. Claire led the way, using a mixture of charm, diplomacy, authority and simple force.
‘Urgent police business,’ she shouted, in a remarkably loud voice, warrant card aloft. Just behind her, forming the shoulders of the round, came Dan and El and behind them June and Maggie.
Initially, progress was straightforward. There were hundreds of people, but not yet wedged together as a block. Resurgam was along one more street and around the corner. The time was 1.40.
‘When is Dance going to announce the thing’s opening early?’ Dan asked.
‘Five to two.’
‘And when she’s speaking you’ll move in and…’
‘Shh!’ Claire warned. ‘You’re not broadcasting now.’
The street was narrow, cobbled, and the wedge of people was growing tighter. They were having to push hard, squeeze and sidle to make any progress. The mood was changing too. Where before smiles and nods had greeted their passage, now there was irritation.
‘Who’d you think you are?’ one sizeable man said, making no effort to remove his bulk from their path.
‘CID,’ was Claire’s icy reply, and the obstacle shifted.
Most of the gift shops had closed, the owners hanging from upper floor windows to watch the opening. Cafes and take-aways remained open and were doing a magnificent trade.
The sun was blazing, the sky as clear as it had been all day. The temperature must have been no more than freezing, but the density of the mass and the number of bodies made it feel as warm as the summertime.
They eased around a corner. Resurgam was just ahead, dominating the sky, the police helicopter hovering protectively alongside. Now every hint of space was occupied. Claire was having to shout louder, push harder to make any progress.
It was noisy too, the roar of the aircraft competing with the hubbub of chatter. People were talking excitedly about what they planned to do when they finally made it inside the skyscraper.
The line of police vans was ahead, no more than a hundred metres away. But the gap might as well have been a solid wall, so many people barred their path. Claire took out her radio and barked a couple of orders. From the vans, four large cops began pushing towards them, forcing a route through the crowd.
‘Our escort,’ she said.
It was just after quarter to two when they reached the vans. Adam was inside, watching the bank of monitors, his eyes flicking from image to image. Each of the possible suspects was being watched, the cameras following every movement.
‘The firearms teams are in position,’ he said. ‘Just after Dance starts speaking we go in.’
‘I’ve got to be off,’ Dan replied quickly. ‘The day job calls.’
Claire followed him back to the street. ‘Where are you going to set up?’
‘By the gates, where Nigel is.’
She gave him a quick kiss. ‘Be careful. We’ve still got no idea what’s going to happen.’
‘You too. See you later.’
Dan fought his way through the crowd, using whatever was required; smiles, charm, the sharp edge of his shoulder. El, June and Maggie followed. It was like a pop concert of teenage years and the ridiculous attempts to get as close to the band as possible.
The helicopter banked away, heading inland. Just behind the gates, around the stage, the black-clad security men were deploying.
‘Dance must be about to do her thing,’ El panted.
‘Keep going. We’re almost there.’
June and Maggie peeled away to join the protesters. ‘See you after all this is done,’ Dan called.
Nigel was just ahead, waving his hand. Dan saw a speckle of light in the wall of people and heaved through.
The media had been corralled into a pen beneath one of the stomach-ache statues. There was a line of cameramen and photographers, Nigel right in the middle. All the lenses were trained on the stage.
‘The word is Resurgam’s going to open early,’ he whispered. ‘Dance is about to make a speech. I’ve got us a good pitch.’
What Nigel meant was that, as ever, he’d secured the best position. There was a clear view to the stage. But looking behind, all they could see was the first few lines of people in the crowd.
‘This is no good.’
‘What?’ the cameraman queried. ‘But we’ve got the perfect spot.’
The banks of speakers beside the stage began to hum. With echoing loudness, a voice announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the woman who made this happen. The President of the Regional Development Council, Ellen Dance.’
Dan stared into the crowd. It was probably his imagination but he thought he could see cops converging on the suspects; earpieces buzzing with orders, guns hidden in jackets but always at the ready.
‘What the hell’s the matter?’ Nigel demanded.
‘We’re looking the wrong way.’
Dance was walking up the steps, taking them studiously, regally. Her attire was nothing less than perfect. There was no nuance of even a stray hair or ruffled hemline, nothing that could detract from this time.
Just behind the stage, Denyer could have been in a trance. She stood perfectly still, clipboard pressed to her chest, watching Dance, willing her onwards.
‘Get the camera!’ Dan ordered.
‘What? But…’
‘Trust me. Just do it!’
Nigel looked baffled, but did as he was asked. Dan grabbed at the statue and hauled himself up. He took the camera and pulled Nigel up too.
The pained shapes of whatever the statue was supposed to resemble were reasonably flat, making for a usable platform. There wasn’t much space for the two of them, but it was just enough.
Dance was gazing out over the crowd, eyes devouring their presence, as if the mass of people fed her existence. Hundreds of thousands here for her and her alone; her vision and now her reality. Instinctively, Nigel focused the camera upon her.
‘Not that way.’
‘What?’
‘Turn round. Film the crowd. Now!’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Just do it.’
With careful, measured movements, Nigel inched around and aimed the camera towards the masses. There were so many people, endless ranks and rows of faces, arrayed together, all gazing towards Resurgam and Ellen Dance.
‘What the hell are we doing?’ Nigel whispered. ‘We’re missing it.’
‘Just keep filming.’
‘Filming what?’
‘Anything you see. And you will.’
CHAPTER 30
Picking out the targets felt an impossible task. There were countless people in the ocean of humanity. And plenty were wearing hats to shield against the cold, or shades to see through the blaze of the sun.
On the stage Dance was growing, building with oratorical momentum. With a black leather glove clenched in a fist of determination she held the microphone tight and stood supreme before the masses. The fervour was growing, the fire spreading.
They said it couldn’t be done. But – together – we did it.
A low cheer rose from the crowd.
They scoffed and sneered – but we showed them.
More shouts and cries of yes.
We did it for our city – and our future!
And now genuine enthusiasm. People smiling, believing, carried along by the emotions of the mass. Applauding the hardest, evangelising along, was Denyer. She was no longer detached, part of the machine which built this skyscraper, but as captured by the moment as anyone.
Amidst the growing noise, Dan was trying to be methodical. To work his way through the people in rows. To start at the front, scan from side to side.
It took but seconds to know it was a fool’s task. The numbers were overwhelming, the crowd too packed together.
‘What’re we doing?’ Nigel asked.
‘If we’re lucky, filming a hell of an exclusive.’
‘For our sake, I hope you’re right.’
In a few minutes, we’re going to open Resurgam for you to see… for you to be a part of. They said we couldn’t make our deadline – but we’ve beaten it! We’re going to open early!
Now there was real feeling from the crowd. They had become united in conviction and certainty. People were waving, some whistling, roaring out their approval. And Dance, at the head of it all, was beaming, delighting in her victory.
A couple of cops were standing on the roofs of the police vans, binoculars pressed to their eyes. Dan tried to follow where they were looking, but it didn’t help.
‘Shit,’ he said.
El clambered onto a lower level of the helpful artwork and was doing his best to assist. But about the only obvious sight was the line of foreign paparazzi, the Italian amongst them, standing on a bench. And here too, the ethos of the group had changed. There were shrugs, scowls, none of the laughter of earlier.
For El, jubilant and elated, it was reasonably restrained that his only response was a resort to that childhood favourite, ‘Na na na na naa!’
‘Nothing’s happening,’ Nigel whispered. ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’
It’s almost time to finally introduce you to the wonder of Resurgam.
Dance was winding up, her voice reaching election pitch. At any moment Adam would give the order and the operation begin.
Just below, close to the gates, a couple of figures were moving in the crowd. As they inched forward the sun shone from a plastic earpiece.
‘That’s it!’
‘What?’ Nigel asked. ‘They’ll be working in twos. Look for pairs of people slipping through the crowd.’
‘But why…’
‘Just do it!’
Dan peered through the relentless flood of dazzling light. The crowd was still, but there was movement within the mass, tiny currents, subtle and slow. Couplings of people making a quiet, watchful way, nudging and edging a passage.
The camera’s motor whirred as Nigel zoomed in the shot. ‘At the back,’ he directed. ‘By the police vans.’
The man was hiding; wearing large, dark shades and secreted into a gap between a van and a lamppost, but it was Steve Rogers, Kathy by his side. She was holding him very close.
‘He’s crying,’ Nigel whispered. ‘Hell, he looks traumatised, poor man. Why on earth did he want to come and see this thing open?’
Just below the statue the two men had stopped and were staring up at Dance, clapping with the applause.
It’s almost two o’clock… nearly time to open the gates and welcome you to the wonder of Resurgam
It was close to convincing, but the second of the men would occasionally glance to his side. And there were Alannah and Jack, both looking to the stage. Jack’s face was unreadable, but his daughter’s was contorted with emotion. She was biting continually at her lip, chewing hard, clutching at the photo of Tommy. That overwhelming hatred, the one which would pound Resurgam back into the bedrock, had only grown in ferocity.
More movement in the crowd. Several people were converging on the pen where the protesters stood.
Let’s count down to the moment. Let’s roar it out to the world. Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…
The group split as they worked forwards. Some headed for one end of the barriers and Simian and the professionals, others to where June and Maggie stood with Seb, Esme and Mac.
Twelve, eleven, ten…
The crowd was joining in with the countdown, the noise building with each number. The security guards had deployed along the gates, ready to pull them open. The assault of noise from all directions was giddying.
Dan tried to shift his gaze between each of the suspects. There was no indication who might have the detonator. All wore thick coats, had plenty of space to conceal it.
Eight, seven, six…
Simian had spotted the men heading towards his group. He picked up a placard, held it out, ready for the fight.
‘There,’ Dan said to Nigel.
The police officers were moving faster now, closing the last few yards to their targets. Adam must have given the order to make the arrests, timed it for the cover of the most noise.
A cop reached Simian, but was pushed away. Others were grabbing at the big man, some reaching into their jackets, levelling guns, barking commands clear above the hubbub.
‘Armed police! Put your hands where I can see them!’
As one the professionals stopped, ended their resistance in an instant and raised their hands. The game had become too real to gamble any longer.
People in the crowd had seen the weapons. There were gasps, a couple of screams, finding echoes as the alarm spread. Faces changed in an instant, fear replacing the enjoyment.
From the stage, over the speakers, the countdown continued, had almost reached its climax. But the applause was dying. People were trying to move back, push and heave, escape from where the protesters had been surrounded. Mac, Esme and Seb were all being arrested, June and Maggie too.
Only Seb offered any resistance. He was shouting, screaming at the cops, voice hoarse with rage. ‘You fuckers, haven’t you done enough? You want to kill me too, like you did Alice?’
The anger was enough to fight an army. Seb was thin but strong, a wiry power suffusing his young frame.
‘I’ll fight you all,’ he was yelling. ‘Come on! What the fuck have I got to lose?’
Guns surrounded him, but the futility of mere bullets held no fear for a young man who had already suffered such wounds. Only the urgent calming of Esme, June and Maggie saved him. It dowsed enough of the inferno to allow him to be led away, although still mouthing abuse.
By the vans Steve Rogers was being arrested, Kathy beside him. He was remonstrating, kept pointing to his face and that eye patch, as if any reminder was needed of the sacrifice the young man had made.
Claire emerged from the crowd, was standing by the gates, talking rapidly into a radio, counting off the targets. Ellen Dance stared down, frozen-mouthed at the despoiling of her sacred moment. Denyer was the same.
Around the stage, all throughout the mass of people, a fearful silence had spread. But the operation was working. Only Alannah and Jack remained to be arrested. The pair were closest to the gates, hardest to reach.
Two officers were fighting a way towards them. But it was furious work, like battling a rip tide, as scores of people strained and shoved, tried to get out the way.
With fast and frightened eyes Alannah saw the men converging on her. They were reaching into their jackets, about to draw their guns.
But she was too quick. She threw down the photo of Tommy, the glass shattering as it hit the ground. And from a pocket she pulled a small grey cylinder, held it aloft and screamed, ‘No nearer or I do it!’
CHAPTER 31
There was so much to that single, resonating second.
For the rest of the crowd, seeing the guns, hearing the words, there was realisation and panic. People began battling to get away, pushing, shouting and screaming. They flailed and fought, blindly and desperately.
For the marksmen, for Adam in the control van, for Claire, there was perhaps a blink of an opportunity. Just a chance to take the shot, but rare is the human mind that can make such a fateful decision so fast and particularly not when presented with such an unlikely terrorist.
They hesitated for just long enough. And Alannah exploited it.
‘It’s a pressure switch,’ she yelled. ‘And it’s armed. If I take my finger off the bomb explodes.’
