“Kate, I need your help,” he says. “Come with me, please.”
Over his shoulder I can see one of his goons standing expectantly in the hallway, machine gun at the ready.
“Help with what?” I ask, not moving.
He pulls a handgun from his waistband. “You’ll see,” he says. He steps forward, grabs my wrist and pulls me after him.
“Hey!” I protest, but he spins and snarls at me with such menace that I’m momentarily silenced. Even when he slapped me he seemed in control, but in this brief instant I catch a glimpse of a different Cooper — furious, savage and ruthless, almost feral.
‘Ah-ha,’ I think. ‘There you are!’
He drags me down a small winding back staircase to the ground floor, through a series of carpeted corridors — green carpet, meaning we’re in the Commons — then into the corridor that joins Commons to Lords, through the central lobby and up to the closed doors of the Lords itself.
There are six or seven of his soldiers gathered at various vantage points, all with their guns trained on the doors. The air smells of cordite. Unconcerned by the fact that his men are staying in cover, Cooper walks right up to the doors, still pulling me behind him. He stands in front of the doors for a moment then kicks them open and strides into the ornate, high-ceiling chamber.
The women are gathered in a line on the back bench to my left. They’re all sitting bolt upright with their hands upon their heads, eyes wide and fearful. In the middle of the room, on the big red cushion they call the woolsack, stands a man in a hoodie with a bow and arrow. The string is taut, the shaft of the arrow aimed straight at Cooper’s heart. My mind races. This is one of Hood’s Rangers. Have they decided to take Cooper down? Is this the beginning of an assault? I feel a momentary rush of hope but then damp it down. There’s no firing from anywhere in the building, no sounds of combat or attack. No, this is one man. Here to deliver a message, maybe?
It occurs to me that it might actually be Hood himself.
Cooper pulls me to his side, wrapping his left arm around my throat and holding his gun to my temple.
“Drop it or she dies,” he yells.
The hooded man stands there, unmoved. He doesn’t say a word.
Cooper lifts the gun an inch and fires a round just over my head, deafening me and making me yelp in surprise. I inwardly curse myself for being such a wuss. This is the point where I should bite his wrist or stamp on his foot, distract him for a moment and run for it. But there’s a small army behind me and only one man ahead.
“I dunno who you think I am, but I have no idea who that woman is. Why should I care if she lives or dies?” The Ranger has a thick Irish accent. Not Hood, then. He’s a bit shit, too, ’cause I’ve never met him before in my life but already I can tell he’s bluffing.
Cooper drops the gun so it’s pointing at the floor. For a moment I think he’s backing down but then, the instant before he fires, I realise what he’s about to do.
“No,” I shout, but my cry is drowned out by the percussive blast that sends a small lump of lead into my right foot.
I scream in agony and go limp, unable to stand. Cooper’s arm is tight around my neck, holding me upright. I begin to choke. As the blood pounds in my ears and my vision blurs I hear a voice shouting:
“All right, all right! We surrender!”
Lee?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I’M SORRY ABOUT that, Kate,” said the man I assumed was Spider as he handed Jane the syringe.
She took it without making eye contact and stuck it into her ankle, depressing the plunger. A few moments later her shoulders relaxed as the morphine did its work.
I knelt on the hard tiled floor of the central lobby with my hands on my head, fingers interlaced. The muzzle of a rifle rested gently on the nape of my neck, ready to end me if Spider gave the order. Ferguson was on his knees next to me in the same predicament. I’d counted seven soldiers in the lobby with us, mostly dressed in black or combats, all heavily armed. I could tell they were proper soldiers, not followers who’d joined after The Cull; something about their bearing and expressions told me they were professionals.
Corridors ran off the circular lobby in four directions, and white statues stood against the walls, regarding us coldly.
Spider was physically unprepossessing. Of slightly less than average height, he had blond hair and blue eyes but lacked Brad Pitt’s good looks. He didn’t have that quality of madness about him that Mac or David had possessed, nor the world weary doggedness of Blythe. He seemed kind of ordinary.
I didn’t doubt he’d have killed Jane, though.
Ordinary, then, but dangerous.
“Do you have a surgeon?” asked Jane through gritted teeth. She sat on a chair against the far wall, white as a sheet.
“I’m afraid not,” he replied, seeming genuinely apologetic. “We make do and mend.”
Kate grimaced. “Fine,” she said. “How about antibiotics?”
“Yes, we have those.”
“Good. I want to get over to St Thomas’, I can patch myself up there, assuming any of the equipment still works.”
“I’ll detail one of my men to take you there now.” The boss nodded to a soldier to his left, who stepped forward and helped Jane to stand.
She hopped away but just before she left the lobby she turned and said: “Oh, and Cooper?”
Spider, who had been staring at me intently with a nasty smile on his face, looked away.
“Yes, Kate?”
“If you hurt either of them. At all. I will kill you.”
He laughed. “Oh, Kate, please. You didn’t manage to exact revenge last time. What makes you think you’ll manage it this time?” He paused for effect, then said: “Don’t worry. They’ll still be here when you get back. Probably.”
She limped around the corner and Spider turned to us again. He knelt in front of me.
“Five years I’ve been running things here,” he said. “Five years. I have a team of highly trained, heavily armed special forces at my disposal and an army of daft religious nutters out there who think I’m the representative of the Messiah. In all that time I’ve had plenty of people try to break out of here, but no-one’s ever been stupid enough to break in before. Why on God’s Earth would you do such a stupid thing?”
“Good question,” I answered.
“It wasn’t rhetorical,” he said, allowing an edge of menace to creep into his voice.
“Should I call you Spider or Cooper?” I asked.
He appeared to consider this seriously. “You can call me Cooper,” he said at length.
“Well, Coop, I guess you could say I have a compulsion.”
“What would that be, then?”
“I feel compelled to hunt down murderous bastards and wipe them out.”
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, considering my admittedly weak bravado.
“And how’s that worked out for you?”
“Well, three years ago me and my friends managed to wipe out a cannibal cult that was terrorising the countryside. Not as well armed as you guys, but they were all naked and bathed in fresh human blood, so they were a little scarier, I think.”
“Good for you.”
“And then, of course, there was the Americans.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Americans army invaded a couple of years back. You may have missed the memo.”
“No, no, believe me, I got that one.”
“They didn’t last long.”
Cooper barked a sudden laugh and clapped his hands.
“Are you trying to tell me,” he said, “that you single-handedly fought off the US Army?”