“I am Iraqi,” said Tariq, proudly.
The man nodded. “You have a touch of Black Country in your accent, though. Learned it from squaddies, at a guess. Yes?”
Tariq nodded.
“You can call me Spider, I’m in charge here,” said the man as he reached out to take the mug of tea his subordinate was proffering. He stirred it thoughtfully. “You gentlemen would be the second pincer of the St Mark’s attack, am I right?”
The three captives sat silently.
“Yes, I am,” said Spider. “I noticed that when I said that, you gulped,” he nodded at Green, “and you glanced ever so briefly at the table,” he pointed at Wilkes. “Dead giveaways.”
He took a sip of tea. “So let me fill you in,” he said. “Your advance team botched it. One of them is floating out to sea, the other two — Lee and one of your colleagues”, he indicated Wilkes, “are in custody as we speak. My men have been torturing the Ranger but he’s stayed silent. So far. Master Keegan is languishing in a committee room, contemplating his fate. I intend to have them shot in,” he glanced out of the window at the pink light bleeding across the rooftops, “ooh, about half an hour.”
The soldier placed mugs of steaming tea in front of the three captive men.
“You three have a chance to avoid being executed,” continued Spider. “If, and only if, you answer all of my questions quickly and completely.”
Tariq folded his arms and shook his head. “No chance,” he said.
“But they’re quite simple,” replied Spider. “For example, number one: were you really responsible for the destruction of Operation Motherland and the American army at Salisbury?”
“Oh, hang on, wait a minute, I know this one,” mugged Tariq, scratching his head, scrunching his eyes up and thinking hard. Eventually he opened his eyes and beamed in triumph. “I know. The answer is: yes we fucking were! How many points do we get? I want lots of points for that one!”
Green stifled a laugh. Wilkes continued to glower.
“And you, funny man, would I be right in thinking you met Lee in Iraq?”
Tariq nodded.
“So, not a fantasist after all,” said Spider thoughtfully, sipping his tea. “Good. Next question. I understand your role in this abortion of a plan. Trojan horse, army of children. Very Lord of the Flies. But what was the role of Lee and his team? I know your attack was planned for dawn, so what were he and the Ranger going to do during the night? What trap were they planning to spring? Or were they just a diversion in case you couldn’t get in the gates?”
Tariq smiled smiling, holding Spider’s gaze, giving nothing away. He shook his head slowly.
“Sorry mate,” he said. “Don’t know that one. Ask me something about movies. I’m good with movie questions.”
“All right,” said Spider, putting down his tea. “Here’s one: you know that moment in the final act of an action movie, when the wisecracking hero gets captured by the bad guy who interrogates him but, realising he’s getting nowhere, tells a lackey to kill the supporting character and then leaves the room, enabling the hero to overpower the lackey, escape, and win the day?”
Tariq’s smile faltered for a moment, and something behind his eyes changed. Then the smile returned, although it was sadder than before, knowing and resigned. He took a deep breath and nodded.
Spider put his tea down, reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a handgun, raised it casually, and shot Tariq right between the eyes.
“My question is this,” said Spider as the gun smoke drifted across the table. “Why does the bad guy never just shoot the hero himself?”
The Iraqi sat there for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise, the smile still fixed on his frozen face. Then he crumpled forward, his shattered skull hitting the table with a solid crack. Blood pooled around his head as it shook and juddered then eventually lay motionless.
Spider moved his arm slightly to the left so the gun was pointing at Green.
“I’ll ask again,” he said. “What was their role in your attack?”
Green sat transfixed, staring at his dead friend, tears pooling in his eyes.
Spider reached up and ostentatiously chambered a round.
“Diversion,” whispered Green after a moment. “They had a bag of grenades. They were going to set off some explosions at the south end of the complex when the kids came through the gates. Draw your forces away.”
Keeping the gun trained on Green, Spider turned his gaze to the soldier by the door.
“We didn’t find a bag of grenades, did we Bill?” he asked.
“No,” replied the lackey. “But the one who went out the window, he had a big kit bag with him. That was probably it.”
Spider lowered the gun and nodded satisfied. “Good,” he said. “Now if only your smartarse friend there had told me that earlier he could have enjoyed, oh, another half an hour of breathing.”
Spider stood up and walked to the door. “Put these two in the Moses Room with the boy, then assemble a firing squad on Speaker’s Green.”
“And the body, Sir?”
Spider glanced at Tariq’s corpse absent-mindedly as he walked past. “Oh, toss it in the river.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I SAT BENEATH the huge fresco of Moses bringing the tablets down from Mount Sinai, and made an accounting of all the ways in which I had fucked things up. It was a pretty impressive list. Dad was missing, Jack was dead, Ferguson and I were prisoners, and Matron had been shot. With our part of the attack prevented and Cooper expecting trouble, there was a very good chance Tariq and Caroline’s forces would be wiped out the second they arrived.
It looked like Tariq was right. I would shortly be getting everyone killed.
“Feeling sorry for yourself, Nine Lives?” Mac whispered in my ear. “Don’t be pathetic. Take your lumps. This is the third time you’ve gone strolling into enemy territory. The third time you’ve baited the bad guy in their lair. How did you think it would end? Did you really think you were invincible? Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t shoot you dead in the Member’s Lobby. He looked the type.”
I paced the room, ignoring my internal heckler, looking for a way out. But the place was buttoned up tight. There were guards outside and nothing in here I could use.
Eventually I sat down in the chairman’s seat at the head of the huge square of tables, put my feet up on the polished desk surface, and tried to sleep.
I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“HOW THE FUCK do you sleep at a time like this?”
The voice startled me awake and I jerked in alarm, unbalancing my seat and toppling myself in a heap on the floor. That such a quality piece of slapstick didn’t elicit any laughter was my first clue that things were even worse than I realised. When I’d gathered my wits and looked up to see Green and Wilkes standing over me, I felt a knot of fear solidify in my stomach.
“Surprise,” said Wilkes dourly, pulling out a chair and sitting down wearily.
I scrambled to my feet, the implications racing through my head. All my questions died in the face of their presence as one by one the obvious answers presented themselves. In the end there was only one thing left to ask.
“Where’s Tariq?”
When Green also took a seat, not meeting my eyes, that answer also became apparent.
“How?” I ask eventually.
“Spider,” said Green.
“Short guy? Blond?”
Green nodded.
“His name’s Cooper,” I said. “Spider’s his stage name. Cooper sounds a lot more ordinary, doesn’t it? Less menacing, more suburban. Call him Cooper, robs him of some of his power, I reckon.”