The Assassin Drone, Part 13
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Three things happened at once; one of the men tugged Olivia away from Owen, Kostya re-directed the pistol to point straight at Lucas, and his mobile rang.
"Hands up!" Kostya barked, keeping Lucas in his sights as he fumbled for his phone. "Now stand up! Olivia, you sit there!"
Lucas had expected to be killed instantly; being taken prisoner was more frightening and yet, at the same time, somewhat more hope-inspiring. They still had a chance to stop the assassination and maybe even get out alive. Submissively, he raised his hands and stood up while Olivia spent precious seconds gaping at Kostya before moving towards the chair. Finally answering the phone, Kostya snapped, "Yeah!"
He listened for a very short moment, then said, "Right."
Clicking off the conversation, Kostya laid the phone on the table, then grabbed Olivia by the arm and propelled her into the chair. "I said, sit there. The car is coming. I want you to shoot everybody in it, or I'll kill Owen very, very slowly."
"What car?" Olivia asked, sounding sick, but Lucas broke in. "Olivia, the thrusters are on the blink."
"What have you done!" Kostya raged, his eyes flicking to someone standing behind Lucas.
"Nothing!" Lucas protested, even as the man behind him hit him in the middle of the spine with the butt of his gun and made him stumble forwards one step. Still trying desperately to maintain his cover, he exclaimed, "I swear I didn't do anything!"
Kostya pushed him back and snapped, "Watch him – keep him alive!" then came around behind Olivia. "Does it work?"
"I don't know," Olivia wailed, clearly anguished. Her hands flew over the keyboard, firing the thrusters back up again, and she leaned back a little. "Yes. It works." And then she gave a little sob. "I don't want to kill anybody!"
Lucas should have known he wouldn't manage to achieve anything – Olivia was too inexperienced and too frightened to risk anything by going along with his scenario. Refusing to give in to the sense of devastation that was threatening to engulf him, Lucas sought frantically for another plan, but nothing presented itself.
"You'd rather see your son die? Get the drone back into position! The car is coming – we have to find it!" Kostya urged, and gave her a specific licence plate to look for. Olivia used one hand to focus the drone's camera.
"Can I see?" Owen asked, wriggling out of his captor's grip and pushing his way forwards, ignoring Olivia's cry of "No!" There was a little scuffle as the man tried to pull Owen back, and Owen wrenched free with such force that he fell into Kostya and knocked him off balance.
"Take the kid away," Kostya shouted in Russian, clearly annoyed. "Don't kill him, tie him to that tree so he can't bother us again – and him, too! He's valuable!"
The man propelled Lucas towards the tree in question, and he went without resisting until he heard Olivia ask, "Is that the car? There!" Then Lucas knew there was no point anymore in playing for time. It was obvious that MI-5 wouldn't be coming, and therefore, it was solely up to him to stop the assassination. Though the paths were equipped with lampposts, the rest of the cemetery was dark, and only the man who had brought Owen had a torch. Away from the light of the laptop, Lucas took his chance. Shouting, "Owen, run!" he kicked backwards with one leg, connecting solidly with flesh. The man stumbled backwards with a surprised "Ooof!" and Lucas pivoted instantly to hit the other man in the face, at the same time reaching for the gun.
"Run to the police!" Lucas gasped, grappling with the man for control of the pistol. A blow to the face knocked him back, and he struck out with his left hand, at the same time catching the man between the legs with his knee. The gun came free, and Lucas fired at the dark shape directly in front of him. Scarcely waiting for the man to drop, Lucas turned and aimed at the laptop, squeezing the trigger.
The laptop exploded in a unexpectedly blinding flash of light, an impossibly loud bang, and a streak of hot pain that bored into Lucas' collarbone. He staggered backwards, his ears ringing, tears flowing from his eyes, and his nose suddenly so full of thick mucous that he couldn't breathe through it. Trying to suck in air by mouth wasn't much better; the smoke was so acrid that it made him cough. Somebody gripped his wrist and shoved his arm above his head so that he was pointing his gun to the sky, then slammed his other fist into Lucas' stomach.
Lucas doubled over, coughing and gasping, but everything that he inhaled only choked him further. Blind, deaf, and now getting scarcely any oxygen, he was unable to resist as the man plucked the gun from his fingers. He could not even cry out in pain when the man twisted his arm behind his back, then reached for his other arm and secured them both together with a plastic tie. Giving him a shove, the man tried to make him walk, but Lucas stumbled and fell to his knees, not altogether accidentally. A moment later, there were two men, one pulling him up on each side and dragging him along.
Eventually, they stopped and settled Lucas flat on his face on the ground. Panic had already caught him, and for several moments, he was back in prison, trying to resist being waterboarded, or having his head held under water. At some point, his old mental-preservation instincts kicked in and he must started counting his breaths, because the panic receded at the same time he realized he was saying twenty six Kapitolina, twenty seven Kapitolina to himself. Although he had to cough then, he went right back to counting afterwards. Twenty eight Kapitolina, twenty nine Kapitolina. It wasn't until he'd got to forty four Kapitolina that he finally drew a shuddering breath, held it, and told himself firmly to exhale without saying the next number or his wife's full name. The air was clean now, his mind was clean now, he could both breathe and think again.
It wasn't the laptop exploding that had caused this, he realized, someone had used tear gas and a flashbang at the same time. Along with his breathing, the other effects were wearing off already as well; he could see enough to guess that that he was on the path under one of the lampposts, and the deep, continuous boom in his ears was slowly fading to a mere roar. The only thing that wasn't getting better was the throbbing in his left shoulder. He wanted to sit up so that he could have a look at it, but just raising his head sent a burst of agony through his chest and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, Lucas placed his cheek in the dirt again and tried to convince himself that pain was good because it meant that he was still alive.
He wondered who else was still alive. Owen? Had he run away, or had he doubled back towards his mother, straight into the circle of terrorists with their guns? Olivia? Had she already fired the drone before he'd shot the laptop, and thereby outlived her usefulness? Feeling more than hearing someone approach, Lucas looked up. A man in full SAS kit knelt down next to him and asked, "Can you hear me?"
Although it was obvious that the man was shouting, Lucas heard his voice as though he were on the other side of a door.
"Yeah!" he replied, knowing that he was shouting, too.
"I'm Sergeant Musgrave, I'm with the SAS! The operation is over! You're safe! Do you understand?"
"Yes," Lucas said, but his reply was inaudible to his own ears so he said it again more loudly. "Yes! What about Olivia and Owen? Are they all right?"
"They're safe!" Sergeant Musgrave shouted, then took out a knife. "We've established that you're not a threat! I'm going to let you go!" As he cut through the restraints, he shouted, "Are you all right?"
Lucas groaned as his arms slid down to his sides. "I think I've been shot!"
"Where?"
"Left shoulder!"
Sergeant Musgrave helped turn him over onto his back so that he could check, and Lucas saw a dark stain spreading down the front of his T-shirt.
"You'll live!" Musgrave informed him, a conclusion Lucas had already come to. "I'll get the medic!"
Lucas turned his head so that he wasn't staring directly up into the lamp, and saw several SAS soldiers moving around, clearing up the remains of the operation. There was a dark, huddled shape close to his feet, and Lucas was surprised to make out Olivia and Owen sitting on the other side of the path. Both had blankets around their shoulders, but Olivia had enveloped Owen in hers as well, hugging him close. The sight made Lucas suddenly yearn for warmth as well, not just a blanket, but a human embrace. Lina, he cried out silently, but instead of Lina appearing, Olivia turned her head and looked briefly in Lucas' direction, only to glance away again as soon as their eyes met. Owen looked as well, but instead of breaking eye contact, he scrambled to his feet and came over to kneel down next to Lucas. Olivia followed more slowly, hunching down as well.
"Hallo, Uncle Scott!" Owen called out.
It was hardly the time or the place to reveal to Owen that he wasn't really his uncle, so Lucas merely called back, "Hallo, Owen! Are you all right?"
"My ears hurt and that funny gas made me sick!" the boy told him. "You're bleeding!"
"I know!"
"Does it hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, Owen said, "Here, you can have Speedy!"
Ignoring Olivia's protest, he placed his stuffed turtle directly on Lucas' chest, helping the animal to nuzzle Lucas a little before letting it sit quietly. "Do you feel better now?"
"Yes, much better!" Lucas looked over at Olivia, who obviously couldn't decide whether to be proud or mortified, and grinned to show her it was all right. "Thanks!"
She relaxed visibly, and when she wiped at one of the dark smudges on her forehead and smeared it even more, Lucas realized she'd been bleeding, too. He wondered what had happened to her face, then remembered shooting the laptop, and broke out into a cold sweat. She'd been sitting right behind it – he could have killed her instead of merely peppering her with computer shrapnel. He was glad when Sergeant Musgrave came back and spread a blanket over him, even if the man only pulled it up as high as the stuffed turtle. The medic came a few minutes later and ruffled Owen's hair with a fatherly smile before kneeling down, finding the bullet hole in Lucas' T-shirt, and ripping it open for a better look.
"You'll live!" he announced, then picked up the turtle and laid it in Lucas' hand. "Here, hold on tight! I'm gonna give you a shot for the pain and then bandage it up!"
Laughing as though at a joke, he filled a syringe, then injected it in Lucas' arm.
"You were very brave," Owen said solemnly, patting Lucas' good shoulder. "I always cry when I get a shot."
I want a son, Lucas suddenly found himself thinking, and realized with surprise that, although he had absolutely no idea where the wish had come from, it didn't shock him. Except for wanting to escape the torture sessions, he couldn't remember ever having desired anything so ferociously. I want a son!
But then Owen stood up suddenly. "I'm going to see how Mickey is!"
It seemed he would run right over Olivia, but she caught him just in time. "No, Owen, don't! He's … asleep … and we have to go home now!"
Raising her voice even louder, she demanded, "Can somebody please take us home, right now?"
She looked pleadingly at the medic, but he was busy with bandages, and it was Sergeant Musgrave who swiftly stepped forward and escorted them away across the grass. Looking down the path, Lucas saw what she hadn't wanted Owen to discover; the body of the terrorist that he'd shot, lying close to the next lamppost.
Eventually, an ambulance arrived and whisked Lucas off to hospital where, after what seemed an interminably long wait, Lucas was examined by a female doctor who checked the wound and immediately ordered him into x-ray. "But don't worry," she told Lucas. "You'll live."
"Thanks," Lucas murmured. His ears were still humming, but he could hear her well enough. "I was wondering."
The woman smiled and gave the stuffed turtle a little squeeze. "I have kids, too." For a moment, she looked as wistful as Olivia had looked every time she'd spoken of Owen. Then she swept out, holding the door open for somebody else coming in.
"Hi." It was Tim, carrying a plastic bag. "They told me I'd find you here. How're you doing?"
"I'll live," Lucas reported. He wanted to ask about the operation, but because he couldn't discuss the details in front of the nurse, he didn't. There wasn't time, anyway.
"You'll have to step back," the nurse told Tim. "We need to get him to x-ray."
Tim raised his eyes from silent scrutiny of the turtle and stepped out of the way. Unlocking the wheels of the examination trolley, the nurse began to push it towards the door. As it rolled by, Tim plucked at Lucas' T-shirt. "I picked up your clothes from the park. Thought I'd find you here starkers, so what's this?"
The nurse, who was young enough not to have seen it all, must have given him a curious look, because Tim glanced over at her and grinned. "Don't worry, it's not what you're thinking."
The last thing that Lucas heard before he exited the room completely was, "I'll be in the waiting room, then."
The x-rays showed that the bullet had nicked the underside of Lucas' collarbone, and when the doctor extracted the bullet, she accidentally hit the bone again. Gritting his teeth and gripping the turtle against the agony, Lucas became vaguely aware that she was offering the misshapen piece of metal to him as a souvenir, and shook his head. But then the worst was over, and there was hardly any pain when the doctor stitched up the wound. While she was bandaging it, she sent the nurse to fetch a sling for Lucas. It looked exactly like the one Olivia had been wearing, and he smiled inwardly a little at the reversal of their roles.
After dabbing some antibiotic salve on his ear and giving him a list of medical instructions, the doctor went on to the next patient, and the nurse went out to fetch Tim. The younger man came in, unpacked the clothes, then stepped back and watched as the nurse helped Lucas dress.
"So," he finally said when the nurse had finished and left the room. "Home or grid?"
"Grid," Lucas said, walking towards the door, and added, "The keys to my flat are in my locker there."
"Don't forget your turtle," Tim said with a little smile, waiting until Lucas had turned and then tossing it at him. Lucas' reflexes were not a hundred percent, however, and he didn't quite manage to catch it.
"Sorry," Tim said. Coming forward to pick it up, he asked, "Where'd you get this, anyway?"
"Owen gave it to me," Lucas said. A slightly weaker version of his earlier desire for a son washed over him as he took the toy back.
"Sweet kid," Tim remarked. "I wouldn't have given away my teddy bear just like that. 'Course, I didn't carry it around when I was nine years old, either. I kept it hidden under my bed until it was lights out and nobody could see me hugging it."
Lucas waited until they were in the car before asking, "Did you find out who the target was? Did we stop the assassination in time?"
"Oh, yeah, we got there in time," Tim said. "The target was Lado Gurgenidze, Prime Minister of Georgia."
"Gurgenidze?" Lucas asked. "I didn't know he was in London."
"It was an open secret," Tim said. "Half holiday, half looking up old friends from his banking days – you know he lived in London for a few years? No, maybe you didn't know. It must have been around the time you were arrested. Anyway, he worked in corporate finance and investment banking before he went back to Georgia after the Rose Revolution. Apparently he spent the week quietly trying to convince his old contacts to invest more heavily in Georgia."
"And the Russians wanted him dead?"
"Certain elements inside Russia," Tim clarified. "Elements that want more Russian investment in Georgia. Elements that apparently have connections with the Mafia to help them get what they want."
"Money," Lucas said with a sigh.
"The root of all evil," Tim said. "Mind you, I wouldn't complain if I had roots like that."
"The love of money is the root of all evil," Lucas corrected him wearily.
"Didn't I just say that?" Tim didn't wait for an answer, but went on. "There must have been a pretty big leak in Georgian security for the Russians to have found out his movements. They arrived on Monday morning – and the first attempt was that evening, remember? To-night was their last chance to get him, too, they're flying back home in a couple of hours."
"They?"
"He brought his family along, and to-night, he had his wife and two of his three kids in the car with him."
Lucas thought of Owen, another child in danger, and swore quietly. Tim nodded in agreement. "Yeah."
When they arrived at the Grid, Harry was speaking to Connie, but looked up to say, "Well, Lucas, glad to see you've escaped almost certain death yet again."
"How did you find us?" Lucas asked. "They left the trackers and and the two-way in my earring back in Ravenscourt Park."
"It never ceases to amaze me," Harry remarked, "how often a tiny little mistake is responsible for an operation going wrong. Thankfully, this mistake was on their side."
"When we registered a call on Olivia's mobile after losing contact with both of you, we knew it had to be one of them," Connie explained. "We triangulated the location and sent in the SAS. The CCTV helped a little, too, especially once we realized that the camera near Brompton Cemetery had been deliberately tampered with, late this afternoon."
"From what I heard, the SAS got there just in time," Tim said. "Imagine being killed in a cemetery."
Harry gave him a look of forced tolerance. "I'm sure there are worse places, Tim."
Tiny little mistakes. Lucas thought of his infected ear and how he'd managed to divert attention from it, and Olivia's involuntary betrayal of her non-broken arm and the way it had almost got them all killed. That particular memory jogged another one in his mind, and he said, "Harry, there could still be an informer inside Tarla. Something that one of the Russians said—"
But Harry was already nodding, looking sad. "Yes," he said, cutting Lucas off. "Adam and Ben brought in Peter Blaze just half an hour ago."
"Mr Blaze?" Lucas was genuinely surprised, then silently told himself off for assuming, even for one moment, that it had to be George. Especially in the universe of espionage, things were never what they seemed.
"That's where the money trail led, once we looked deeper than Jeremy Owusu." Connie clarified. "He never saw a penny of it; the payments were all faked."
"Adam stopped Peter Blaze from committing suicide," Harry added. "It seems he thought he was only supplying a bit of information here and there, and covering his tracks so well that he'd never be discovered and have to face the consequences of what he was doing. His arrest came as a bit of a surprise."
Lucas remembered Olivia's words of praise about Tarla's CEO, and the note he'd found while snooping in Olivia's bedroom earlier that morning. Please return to Tarla Industries and tell Mr Blaze I'm sorry. It enraged him to think of Olivia feeling she had to apologize to him in case of her death, when it seemed Mr Blaze was responsible for everything she'd gone through lately.
"Lucas?" Harry asked, and Lucas realized it was the second time Harry had spoken to him. He met the shorter man's eyes, and Harry said, "Get some coffee if you want, and I'll see you in my office when you're ready."
Lucas exchanged his Scott Fenton identity for his real one. He did it slowly in a ritual he'd developed long ago, setting aside each piece of his alter ego one by one and silently telling it good-bye. So long, Scott, see you around. When that was complete, he then picked up each separate part of his own life and greeted it. Hallo, Lucas, welcome back. At last the ritual was complete and he was truly himself again. Making a mental note to return Olivia's keys the next day, along with the turtle, Lucas decided to forego the coffee and take a long, cool drink of water from the cooler instead. He hadn't realized he'd been so parched. Filling the cup again, he carried it into Harry's office.
"Tell me what happened once we lost contact with you," Harry invited, and Lucas told him. Harry listened, occasionally asking a question for clarification, but mostly just absorbing the facts that Lucas laid out for him. When Lucas had finished, Harry nodded.
"Right, then, I don't want to see you again until Tuesday," he said.
"Tuesday!" Lucas exclaimed, and Harry gave him a look that promised trouble if he even thought about coming in earlier. With a little sigh, he gave in. "If you insist."
He was about to stand up and go when Harry asked, quite unexpectedly, "Any problems? Any … flashbacks?"
"No!" Lucas exclaimed, fear jolting through him. If he admitted he'd had a "moment," Harry might well confine him to a desk job, safe but boring, for the rest of his career. It wouldn't matter if he'd managed to get himself back to normal again, if he'd stopped his obsessive-compulsive counting on his own and calmed himself down, Harry and the others would still be over-protective to the point of smothering him. It would be like wearing a sign around his neck that proclaimed him to be broken – irreparable, even – for the rest of his life. Taking a deep breath, Lucas said more calmly, "No, Harry. No flashbacks. Nothing to worry about."
"No flashbacks, or nothing to worry about?" Harry asked more pointedly, but Lucas didn't hesitate and repeated quite firmly, "No flashbacks."
"All right," Harry said, and even gave Lucas a diplomatic smile. It chilled him to the bone.
Part 14
Three things happened at once; one of the men tugged Olivia away from Owen, Kostya re-directed the pistol to point straight at Lucas, and his mobile rang.
"Hands up!" Kostya barked, keeping Lucas in his sights as he fumbled for his phone. "Now stand up! Olivia, you sit there!"
Lucas had expected to be killed instantly; being taken prisoner was more frightening and yet, at the same time, somewhat more hope-inspiring. They still had a chance to stop the assassination and maybe even get out alive. Submissively, he raised his hands and stood up while Olivia spent precious seconds gaping at Kostya before moving towards the chair. Finally answering the phone, Kostya snapped, "Yeah!"
He listened for a very short moment, then said, "Right."
Clicking off the conversation, Kostya laid the phone on the table, then grabbed Olivia by the arm and propelled her into the chair. "I said, sit there. The car is coming. I want you to shoot everybody in it, or I'll kill Owen very, very slowly."
"What car?" Olivia asked, sounding sick, but Lucas broke in. "Olivia, the thrusters are on the blink."
"What have you done!" Kostya raged, his eyes flicking to someone standing behind Lucas.
"Nothing!" Lucas protested, even as the man behind him hit him in the middle of the spine with the butt of his gun and made him stumble forwards one step. Still trying desperately to maintain his cover, he exclaimed, "I swear I didn't do anything!"
Kostya pushed him back and snapped, "Watch him – keep him alive!" then came around behind Olivia. "Does it work?"
"I don't know," Olivia wailed, clearly anguished. Her hands flew over the keyboard, firing the thrusters back up again, and she leaned back a little. "Yes. It works." And then she gave a little sob. "I don't want to kill anybody!"
Lucas should have known he wouldn't manage to achieve anything – Olivia was too inexperienced and too frightened to risk anything by going along with his scenario. Refusing to give in to the sense of devastation that was threatening to engulf him, Lucas sought frantically for another plan, but nothing presented itself.
"You'd rather see your son die? Get the drone back into position! The car is coming – we have to find it!" Kostya urged, and gave her a specific licence plate to look for. Olivia used one hand to focus the drone's camera.
"Can I see?" Owen asked, wriggling out of his captor's grip and pushing his way forwards, ignoring Olivia's cry of "No!" There was a little scuffle as the man tried to pull Owen back, and Owen wrenched free with such force that he fell into Kostya and knocked him off balance.
"Take the kid away," Kostya shouted in Russian, clearly annoyed. "Don't kill him, tie him to that tree so he can't bother us again – and him, too! He's valuable!"
The man propelled Lucas towards the tree in question, and he went without resisting until he heard Olivia ask, "Is that the car? There!" Then Lucas knew there was no point anymore in playing for time. It was obvious that MI-5 wouldn't be coming, and therefore, it was solely up to him to stop the assassination. Though the paths were equipped with lampposts, the rest of the cemetery was dark, and only the man who had brought Owen had a torch. Away from the light of the laptop, Lucas took his chance. Shouting, "Owen, run!" he kicked backwards with one leg, connecting solidly with flesh. The man stumbled backwards with a surprised "Ooof!" and Lucas pivoted instantly to hit the other man in the face, at the same time reaching for the gun.
"Run to the police!" Lucas gasped, grappling with the man for control of the pistol. A blow to the face knocked him back, and he struck out with his left hand, at the same time catching the man between the legs with his knee. The gun came free, and Lucas fired at the dark shape directly in front of him. Scarcely waiting for the man to drop, Lucas turned and aimed at the laptop, squeezing the trigger.
The laptop exploded in a unexpectedly blinding flash of light, an impossibly loud bang, and a streak of hot pain that bored into Lucas' collarbone. He staggered backwards, his ears ringing, tears flowing from his eyes, and his nose suddenly so full of thick mucous that he couldn't breathe through it. Trying to suck in air by mouth wasn't much better; the smoke was so acrid that it made him cough. Somebody gripped his wrist and shoved his arm above his head so that he was pointing his gun to the sky, then slammed his other fist into Lucas' stomach.
Lucas doubled over, coughing and gasping, but everything that he inhaled only choked him further. Blind, deaf, and now getting scarcely any oxygen, he was unable to resist as the man plucked the gun from his fingers. He could not even cry out in pain when the man twisted his arm behind his back, then reached for his other arm and secured them both together with a plastic tie. Giving him a shove, the man tried to make him walk, but Lucas stumbled and fell to his knees, not altogether accidentally. A moment later, there were two men, one pulling him up on each side and dragging him along.
Eventually, they stopped and settled Lucas flat on his face on the ground. Panic had already caught him, and for several moments, he was back in prison, trying to resist being waterboarded, or having his head held under water. At some point, his old mental-preservation instincts kicked in and he must started counting his breaths, because the panic receded at the same time he realized he was saying twenty six Kapitolina, twenty seven Kapitolina to himself. Although he had to cough then, he went right back to counting afterwards. Twenty eight Kapitolina, twenty nine Kapitolina. It wasn't until he'd got to forty four Kapitolina that he finally drew a shuddering breath, held it, and told himself firmly to exhale without saying the next number or his wife's full name. The air was clean now, his mind was clean now, he could both breathe and think again.
It wasn't the laptop exploding that had caused this, he realized, someone had used tear gas and a flashbang at the same time. Along with his breathing, the other effects were wearing off already as well; he could see enough to guess that that he was on the path under one of the lampposts, and the deep, continuous boom in his ears was slowly fading to a mere roar. The only thing that wasn't getting better was the throbbing in his left shoulder. He wanted to sit up so that he could have a look at it, but just raising his head sent a burst of agony through his chest and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, Lucas placed his cheek in the dirt again and tried to convince himself that pain was good because it meant that he was still alive.
He wondered who else was still alive. Owen? Had he run away, or had he doubled back towards his mother, straight into the circle of terrorists with their guns? Olivia? Had she already fired the drone before he'd shot the laptop, and thereby outlived her usefulness? Feeling more than hearing someone approach, Lucas looked up. A man in full SAS kit knelt down next to him and asked, "Can you hear me?"
Although it was obvious that the man was shouting, Lucas heard his voice as though he were on the other side of a door.
"Yeah!" he replied, knowing that he was shouting, too.
"I'm Sergeant Musgrave, I'm with the SAS! The operation is over! You're safe! Do you understand?"
"Yes," Lucas said, but his reply was inaudible to his own ears so he said it again more loudly. "Yes! What about Olivia and Owen? Are they all right?"
"They're safe!" Sergeant Musgrave shouted, then took out a knife. "We've established that you're not a threat! I'm going to let you go!" As he cut through the restraints, he shouted, "Are you all right?"
Lucas groaned as his arms slid down to his sides. "I think I've been shot!"
"Where?"
"Left shoulder!"
Sergeant Musgrave helped turn him over onto his back so that he could check, and Lucas saw a dark stain spreading down the front of his T-shirt.
"You'll live!" Musgrave informed him, a conclusion Lucas had already come to. "I'll get the medic!"
Lucas turned his head so that he wasn't staring directly up into the lamp, and saw several SAS soldiers moving around, clearing up the remains of the operation. There was a dark, huddled shape close to his feet, and Lucas was surprised to make out Olivia and Owen sitting on the other side of the path. Both had blankets around their shoulders, but Olivia had enveloped Owen in hers as well, hugging him close. The sight made Lucas suddenly yearn for warmth as well, not just a blanket, but a human embrace. Lina, he cried out silently, but instead of Lina appearing, Olivia turned her head and looked briefly in Lucas' direction, only to glance away again as soon as their eyes met. Owen looked as well, but instead of breaking eye contact, he scrambled to his feet and came over to kneel down next to Lucas. Olivia followed more slowly, hunching down as well.
"Hallo, Uncle Scott!" Owen called out.
It was hardly the time or the place to reveal to Owen that he wasn't really his uncle, so Lucas merely called back, "Hallo, Owen! Are you all right?"
"My ears hurt and that funny gas made me sick!" the boy told him. "You're bleeding!"
"I know!"
"Does it hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, Owen said, "Here, you can have Speedy!"
Ignoring Olivia's protest, he placed his stuffed turtle directly on Lucas' chest, helping the animal to nuzzle Lucas a little before letting it sit quietly. "Do you feel better now?"
"Yes, much better!" Lucas looked over at Olivia, who obviously couldn't decide whether to be proud or mortified, and grinned to show her it was all right. "Thanks!"
She relaxed visibly, and when she wiped at one of the dark smudges on her forehead and smeared it even more, Lucas realized she'd been bleeding, too. He wondered what had happened to her face, then remembered shooting the laptop, and broke out into a cold sweat. She'd been sitting right behind it – he could have killed her instead of merely peppering her with computer shrapnel. He was glad when Sergeant Musgrave came back and spread a blanket over him, even if the man only pulled it up as high as the stuffed turtle. The medic came a few minutes later and ruffled Owen's hair with a fatherly smile before kneeling down, finding the bullet hole in Lucas' T-shirt, and ripping it open for a better look.
"You'll live!" he announced, then picked up the turtle and laid it in Lucas' hand. "Here, hold on tight! I'm gonna give you a shot for the pain and then bandage it up!"
Laughing as though at a joke, he filled a syringe, then injected it in Lucas' arm.
"You were very brave," Owen said solemnly, patting Lucas' good shoulder. "I always cry when I get a shot."
I want a son, Lucas suddenly found himself thinking, and realized with surprise that, although he had absolutely no idea where the wish had come from, it didn't shock him. Except for wanting to escape the torture sessions, he couldn't remember ever having desired anything so ferociously. I want a son!
But then Owen stood up suddenly. "I'm going to see how Mickey is!"
It seemed he would run right over Olivia, but she caught him just in time. "No, Owen, don't! He's … asleep … and we have to go home now!"
Raising her voice even louder, she demanded, "Can somebody please take us home, right now?"
She looked pleadingly at the medic, but he was busy with bandages, and it was Sergeant Musgrave who swiftly stepped forward and escorted them away across the grass. Looking down the path, Lucas saw what she hadn't wanted Owen to discover; the body of the terrorist that he'd shot, lying close to the next lamppost.
Eventually, an ambulance arrived and whisked Lucas off to hospital where, after what seemed an interminably long wait, Lucas was examined by a female doctor who checked the wound and immediately ordered him into x-ray. "But don't worry," she told Lucas. "You'll live."
"Thanks," Lucas murmured. His ears were still humming, but he could hear her well enough. "I was wondering."
The woman smiled and gave the stuffed turtle a little squeeze. "I have kids, too." For a moment, she looked as wistful as Olivia had looked every time she'd spoken of Owen. Then she swept out, holding the door open for somebody else coming in.
"Hi." It was Tim, carrying a plastic bag. "They told me I'd find you here. How're you doing?"
"I'll live," Lucas reported. He wanted to ask about the operation, but because he couldn't discuss the details in front of the nurse, he didn't. There wasn't time, anyway.
"You'll have to step back," the nurse told Tim. "We need to get him to x-ray."
Tim raised his eyes from silent scrutiny of the turtle and stepped out of the way. Unlocking the wheels of the examination trolley, the nurse began to push it towards the door. As it rolled by, Tim plucked at Lucas' T-shirt. "I picked up your clothes from the park. Thought I'd find you here starkers, so what's this?"
The nurse, who was young enough not to have seen it all, must have given him a curious look, because Tim glanced over at her and grinned. "Don't worry, it's not what you're thinking."
The last thing that Lucas heard before he exited the room completely was, "I'll be in the waiting room, then."
The x-rays showed that the bullet had nicked the underside of Lucas' collarbone, and when the doctor extracted the bullet, she accidentally hit the bone again. Gritting his teeth and gripping the turtle against the agony, Lucas became vaguely aware that she was offering the misshapen piece of metal to him as a souvenir, and shook his head. But then the worst was over, and there was hardly any pain when the doctor stitched up the wound. While she was bandaging it, she sent the nurse to fetch a sling for Lucas. It looked exactly like the one Olivia had been wearing, and he smiled inwardly a little at the reversal of their roles.
After dabbing some antibiotic salve on his ear and giving him a list of medical instructions, the doctor went on to the next patient, and the nurse went out to fetch Tim. The younger man came in, unpacked the clothes, then stepped back and watched as the nurse helped Lucas dress.
"So," he finally said when the nurse had finished and left the room. "Home or grid?"
"Grid," Lucas said, walking towards the door, and added, "The keys to my flat are in my locker there."
"Don't forget your turtle," Tim said with a little smile, waiting until Lucas had turned and then tossing it at him. Lucas' reflexes were not a hundred percent, however, and he didn't quite manage to catch it.
"Sorry," Tim said. Coming forward to pick it up, he asked, "Where'd you get this, anyway?"
"Owen gave it to me," Lucas said. A slightly weaker version of his earlier desire for a son washed over him as he took the toy back.
"Sweet kid," Tim remarked. "I wouldn't have given away my teddy bear just like that. 'Course, I didn't carry it around when I was nine years old, either. I kept it hidden under my bed until it was lights out and nobody could see me hugging it."
Lucas waited until they were in the car before asking, "Did you find out who the target was? Did we stop the assassination in time?"
"Oh, yeah, we got there in time," Tim said. "The target was Lado Gurgenidze, Prime Minister of Georgia."
"Gurgenidze?" Lucas asked. "I didn't know he was in London."
"It was an open secret," Tim said. "Half holiday, half looking up old friends from his banking days – you know he lived in London for a few years? No, maybe you didn't know. It must have been around the time you were arrested. Anyway, he worked in corporate finance and investment banking before he went back to Georgia after the Rose Revolution. Apparently he spent the week quietly trying to convince his old contacts to invest more heavily in Georgia."
"And the Russians wanted him dead?"
"Certain elements inside Russia," Tim clarified. "Elements that want more Russian investment in Georgia. Elements that apparently have connections with the Mafia to help them get what they want."
"Money," Lucas said with a sigh.
"The root of all evil," Tim said. "Mind you, I wouldn't complain if I had roots like that."
"The love of money is the root of all evil," Lucas corrected him wearily.
"Didn't I just say that?" Tim didn't wait for an answer, but went on. "There must have been a pretty big leak in Georgian security for the Russians to have found out his movements. They arrived on Monday morning – and the first attempt was that evening, remember? To-night was their last chance to get him, too, they're flying back home in a couple of hours."
"They?"
"He brought his family along, and to-night, he had his wife and two of his three kids in the car with him."
Lucas thought of Owen, another child in danger, and swore quietly. Tim nodded in agreement. "Yeah."
When they arrived at the Grid, Harry was speaking to Connie, but looked up to say, "Well, Lucas, glad to see you've escaped almost certain death yet again."
"How did you find us?" Lucas asked. "They left the trackers and and the two-way in my earring back in Ravenscourt Park."
"It never ceases to amaze me," Harry remarked, "how often a tiny little mistake is responsible for an operation going wrong. Thankfully, this mistake was on their side."
"When we registered a call on Olivia's mobile after losing contact with both of you, we knew it had to be one of them," Connie explained. "We triangulated the location and sent in the SAS. The CCTV helped a little, too, especially once we realized that the camera near Brompton Cemetery had been deliberately tampered with, late this afternoon."
"From what I heard, the SAS got there just in time," Tim said. "Imagine being killed in a cemetery."
Harry gave him a look of forced tolerance. "I'm sure there are worse places, Tim."
Tiny little mistakes. Lucas thought of his infected ear and how he'd managed to divert attention from it, and Olivia's involuntary betrayal of her non-broken arm and the way it had almost got them all killed. That particular memory jogged another one in his mind, and he said, "Harry, there could still be an informer inside Tarla. Something that one of the Russians said—"
But Harry was already nodding, looking sad. "Yes," he said, cutting Lucas off. "Adam and Ben brought in Peter Blaze just half an hour ago."
"Mr Blaze?" Lucas was genuinely surprised, then silently told himself off for assuming, even for one moment, that it had to be George. Especially in the universe of espionage, things were never what they seemed.
"That's where the money trail led, once we looked deeper than Jeremy Owusu." Connie clarified. "He never saw a penny of it; the payments were all faked."
"Adam stopped Peter Blaze from committing suicide," Harry added. "It seems he thought he was only supplying a bit of information here and there, and covering his tracks so well that he'd never be discovered and have to face the consequences of what he was doing. His arrest came as a bit of a surprise."
Lucas remembered Olivia's words of praise about Tarla's CEO, and the note he'd found while snooping in Olivia's bedroom earlier that morning. Please return to Tarla Industries and tell Mr Blaze I'm sorry. It enraged him to think of Olivia feeling she had to apologize to him in case of her death, when it seemed Mr Blaze was responsible for everything she'd gone through lately.
"Lucas?" Harry asked, and Lucas realized it was the second time Harry had spoken to him. He met the shorter man's eyes, and Harry said, "Get some coffee if you want, and I'll see you in my office when you're ready."
Lucas exchanged his Scott Fenton identity for his real one. He did it slowly in a ritual he'd developed long ago, setting aside each piece of his alter ego one by one and silently telling it good-bye. So long, Scott, see you around. When that was complete, he then picked up each separate part of his own life and greeted it. Hallo, Lucas, welcome back. At last the ritual was complete and he was truly himself again. Making a mental note to return Olivia's keys the next day, along with the turtle, Lucas decided to forego the coffee and take a long, cool drink of water from the cooler instead. He hadn't realized he'd been so parched. Filling the cup again, he carried it into Harry's office.
"Tell me what happened once we lost contact with you," Harry invited, and Lucas told him. Harry listened, occasionally asking a question for clarification, but mostly just absorbing the facts that Lucas laid out for him. When Lucas had finished, Harry nodded.
"Right, then, I don't want to see you again until Tuesday," he said.
"Tuesday!" Lucas exclaimed, and Harry gave him a look that promised trouble if he even thought about coming in earlier. With a little sigh, he gave in. "If you insist."
He was about to stand up and go when Harry asked, quite unexpectedly, "Any problems? Any … flashbacks?"
"No!" Lucas exclaimed, fear jolting through him. If he admitted he'd had a "moment," Harry might well confine him to a desk job, safe but boring, for the rest of his career. It wouldn't matter if he'd managed to get himself back to normal again, if he'd stopped his obsessive-compulsive counting on his own and calmed himself down, Harry and the others would still be over-protective to the point of smothering him. It would be like wearing a sign around his neck that proclaimed him to be broken – irreparable, even – for the rest of his life. Taking a deep breath, Lucas said more calmly, "No, Harry. No flashbacks. Nothing to worry about."
"No flashbacks, or nothing to worry about?" Harry asked more pointedly, but Lucas didn't hesitate and repeated quite firmly, "No flashbacks."
"All right," Harry said, and even gave Lucas a diplomatic smile. It chilled him to the bone.
Part 14