‘Yeah, well,’ said Famie, ‘too fucking late for that, I’m afraid. If you know where we are, everyone else knows where we are too.’
‘Hold on,’ said Hunter, ‘got something for you.’
Charlie frowned at her mother, made a winding-up sign. She was getting nervous again. Famie ran a three-sixty-degree check. A concourse of wasters and no-hopers maybe, she thought, but it’s still probably safer than the flat. She held up one finger to Charlie. ‘One minute,’ she mouthed. Charlie nodded.
Hunter was back. ‘I got a report back from the officers who went to Boxer Street,’ she said.
Famie stood taller, adrenalin seeping into her tired body. ‘And?’ she said.
A beat.
‘Ms Madden, I’ll tell you this confidentially to show you how seriously we take your story and your security.’
‘Understood,’ said Famie, impatient. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says they conducted an operation. That there’s a woman living at number twenty-six, on her own apparently. Said she knew Hari Roy, that he’d done one of her martial arts classes once.’ Hunter was clearly subbing the story as she went – Famie recognized the audible sifting of words and phrases. ‘It says his car is parked in the street but this woman said that didn’t surprise her as there are so many student houses in the area.’
She had stopped.
‘Is that it?’ Famie felt herself deflating.
‘They’re still watching the house,’ said Hunter.
‘Did they go inside?’
‘That’s all I have, Ms Madden.’
‘Hardly conclusive,’ said Famie.
‘Hardly surprising,’ said Hunter.
‘But that’s it?’
‘Like I said …’
‘You got any better leads? Christ Almighty …’
Hunter realized that Famie was about to hang up. ‘You might not believe me, Ms Madden, but I have been taking you seriously. And after what has happened tonight I’m sure others will too.’
Charlie was tugging Famie now. ‘Too long,’ she mouthed. ‘Come on.’ They stepped on to the escalator. Hunter was still asking where they were going when she put the phone down. Famie and Charlie walked the short distance back to the car.
‘You’re still definitely over the limit,’ said Famie.
‘It’s a risk we’ll have to take,’ Charlie said, popping two extra strong mints. ‘I’ll be careful. Where are we going?’
She started the car.
‘Coventry,’ said Famie.
Charlie switched the engine off again.
‘When I said anywhere was safer than your flat,’ she protested, ‘I obviously wasn’t including Coventry.’ She stared at her mother.
Famie stared ahead. Through the windscreen and down the quiet side street. She knew she was right. She let the silence run.
Eventually Charlie sighed, turned the ignition again. ‘OK, you win,’ she said. ‘And God help us.’
49
3.30 a.m.
WHAT FEW POSSESSIONS Hari had taken into Boxer Street were in his rucksack. He was ready to run. He paced the upstairs room. Lights off, curtains drawn. Every few seconds he scanned the road through a carefully arranged gap in the curtains. And every few seconds he saw the same uniformed police in the same car.
As soon as the police moved, so would they. Hari fought back against a rising sense of panic. He had no escape plan, no idea how to keep his sisters safe and no idea how to contact the IPS woman again. He imagined walking from the house and letting himself into the coppers’ car. Imagined telling them about Binici and Collins, the dead Zak hidden somewhere in the house, and about his imperilled family. He then imagined how long it would take the leader to order the execution of his sisters. No time at all was the answer.
He peered through the curtains again.
The house was silent. Occasionally Hari caught a whisper or the lightest of treads from Binici or Collins downstairs. The Geiger counter was back on too, its sporadic clicking sound telling Hari everything he needed to know about the leader’s fevered state of mind. His obsession with radioactivity continued. If, Binici would reason, their enemies had used radiation poisoning once, they would certainly try it again. And he would be ready. Hari found the clicks an unexpected comfort. Each one was a reminder of Hari’s only success – his fooling of Binici and Collins.
Click.
Fooled you.
Click.
Still fooling you.
Click.
I just have to fool you again.
And the clicks were getting louder. Binici and maybe Collins were on their way up. Hari hovered by the curtains. Two policemen, one patrol car, no movement. He stepped aside as Binici appeared at his shoulder. He smelt the leader’s rosewater soap and wondered how he had managed to attend to his personal hygiene.
‘No change,’ muttered Hari. ‘We have to assume they’re not going anywhere soon.’
‘Well we can’t wait,’ whispered Binici. Collins was at his shoulder. ‘Either we leave or they do,’ he said. ‘All the cells are watching. The London Citizens will be on their way soon. They were told eight, they’ll be here at eight. It’s too late to change and we can’t talk to them anyway.’
Click.
‘In which case,’ said Collins, ‘I’ll have to think of something.’
‘That would be appreciated,’ said Binici.
It was Hari’s watch till four a.m., then Binici’s. At five they were all back at the window, the sun about to emerge above the houses opposite. Motionless threads of orange-tinged clouds stretched high above them. Another airless, stifling day in prospect. Hari swept his eyes along the road again, right to left. His wrecked car, the incident tape. The nose-to-tail parking on both sides. The coppers. And at the far end of Boxer Street, a busy T-junction. Traffic swept past their road all day and night. This was where they expected the London cell to appear.
‘Same fash, no change,’ Binici said.
Collins had brought up coffee and fruit.
‘How many citizens, again?’ she asked.
‘I’m told five.’
‘I’ve cleared some space,’ said Hari, ‘but we’re out of beds.’
‘They won’t be here for long,’ said Binici, ‘and there won’t be any time for sleep.’
Two early joggers ran past the house. Hari watched the policeman in the driver’s seat follow their progress. He was white, bearded and awake, his partner mostly obscured by the car’s roof. Six cars drove past, three pulled away from their parking spaces. The police noted everything, photographed everything.
Hari picked up his coffee, left it black and strong. He said as little as possible, figuring that if he waited long enough, Collins would tell them what she was thinking. He knew better than to push it. Binici drifted away. When they could hear him in the kitchen downstairs, she sat on the floor, crossed her legs. She tugged at Hari’s jeans. He glanced down.
‘I’ve thought of something, just making him wait, that’s all,’ she said. She gesticulated downstairs. ‘He’s a genius, you know. His plan will be spectacular, and it’ll work. It’s just that he’s also a total cunt. Maybe it goes with the territory.’