Zero kill, p.30
Zero Kill, page 30
‘I don’t want you to go…’ His eyes were full of tears. ‘But please find her.’
She kissed him on the forehead. ‘I promise, now run to the police. You’ll be safe with them. I’ll watch you all the way.’
He started to go.
‘Harley, wait.’ She gave him the graphite case. ‘Give this to them, tell them to be very careful with it.’
Harley ran around the edge of the lawn, where twisted girders of hot steel weren’t likely to slice his leg off. The case banged against his knees, and Elsa shouted anxiously, ‘Lift it high!’
As soon as one of the figures in chem-bio suits reached her son, Elsa climbed into the helicopter.
‘Where we going?’ Saint asked.
She picked up the radio mic on the helicopter’s dashboard to call the SIS guy, Plowright.
‘India still has the tracker,’ she said. ‘We can find out.’
50
‘There!’ Elsa pointed, as the helicopter flew over St James’s Park.
In Trafalgar Square, a crowd had gathered. A stage was erected on one side of the space and the area was packed with hundreds of people.
‘We can’t land there,’ Saint said over the headset mic. ‘I ain’t that drunk!’
‘Get as close to the edge of the park as you can.’
She hoped Plowright had organized emergency clearance for them to land so near Downing Street. Other helicopters had escorted them across the city, keeping a distance. Saint did a spot turn behind the Old Admiralty Building, bringing the bird down hard among a collapsing nest of deckchairs.
‘Keep your head down,’ he shouted as Elsa tore off her headset and flung open the passenger door, the blades spinning at a furious 500 rpm above her head.
He watched her run from the park, killed the ignition, and slumped back in his seat.
Feeling pain flood into his wounded shoulder, he muttered to nobody in particular, ‘I might black out now.’
Elsa ran up The Mall towards Trafalgar Square. Groups of people – families and friends, tourists and day trippers – were walking to the event, some kind of gig in aid of an environmental group. The thud of amplified bass got louder as she ran towards it. With public safety a priority at mass events in heightened times, nobody took any notice of the emergency vehicles parked at a discreet distance along Whitehall or the armed officers walking at the edge of the square.
Someone on stage started telling jokes to a roar of happy recognition from the crowd. The comedian’s voice carried across the square, with Nelson’s Column towering in the middle, its famous lion statues, and the roads that surrounded it to the east and south cleared of traffic and filled with people arriving to join the fun.
Elsa ran towards the top of Whitehall, where Nigel Plowright stood discussing the situation with half a dozen secret service types.
‘We shut it down, we have no choice,’ said someone, chopping the air for emphasis.
‘We’d have to get authorization from a Gold leader,’ said a suit from SO15, the Met’s Counter-Terrorism Command. ‘They’ll have to be brought up to date quickly and make the decision.’
Tempers were flaring. ‘Fuck the Gold leader, we have to do it now.’
‘As soon as we start moving people away, she’ll release the virus,’ Plowright interjected, as he simultaneously tried to hold a phone conversation. Seeing Elsa approach, he said into his mobile, ‘Got to go, Justine, keep the line clear at your end.’
He gestured at the plain-clothes police officer who moved to intercept her. ‘She’s with me.’
Elsa nodded at the concert. ‘What is this?’
‘Some kind of benefit gig for a charity, would you believe?’
She could well believe it. Carragher knew what he was doing. Hundreds of people had already gathered in the square; there were thousands more in the surrounding streets. If the pathogen was released, it would spread quickly among the crowd, many of whom were tourists. They’d catch buses and Tubes across the city, drive to different parts of the country; fly home on packed planes across the world. The incubation period of the virus was hours, so thousands of contagious people would already be far away by the time the symptoms began to manifest. They would spread the deadly virus everywhere they went.
‘Where are they?’ Elsa scanned the crowd anxiously, trying to find Camille and her daughter.
‘Over by the fountain,’ Plowright pointed. ‘At eleven o’clock.’
She saw Camille holding India tightly by one hand. At a cursory glance, you’d think they were just joining the fun.
Elsa walked across the road towards the square. Camille saw her, and their eyes met. She opened the fingers of her free hand to reveal the vial in her palm. The smile on Camille’s face was ghastly as she told India that her mother was close. India instinctively tried to go to her, but Camille wrenched her back. Elsa felt a jolt of fright – and rage.
Tears sprang in her eyes, she couldn’t breathe, her chest felt like it was going to explode with fury, but there was nothing she could do except dig her nails deep into her own palms. If she tried to rush her, Camille would dash the vial to the pavement before she got close, and India would be infected. Her daughter would die an agonizing death, along with thousands of others.
Trying not to transmit her own terror to her daughter, Elsa smiled with a confidence she didn’t feel. Don’t be scared, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.
Plowright joined Elsa at the edge of the crowd, which laughed and cheered at the comedian.
‘We have to get these people out of here,’ Elsa said.
‘If we charge in with guns and bullhorns, the crowd will panic and run in every direction. Even if Camille doesn’t smash the vial, there’s every chance it’ll be knocked out of her hand in the surge, and then it’ll all be over. Not only that, it’s a free charity concert for an environmental cause so there’s a lot of politicized people here – we’ll have a riot on our hands, too. We’re talking to the organizers about getting the concert stopped, we’ll blame a gas leak, but goodness knows when that will happen.’
If Camille dropped the vial, it would be impossible to force so many people into quarantine, and there was no way to seal off all the surrounding streets. In any case, the virus would be airborne and could spread in any direction.
‘Camille realized very quickly that she’s surrounded, and it’s made her very jumpy. I managed to get close enough to speak to her, and she made it clear that if we go anywhere near her, or even attempt to evacuate the area, she’ll smash the vial. And if we bring her down by sniper…’ Plowright’s gaze lifted to the tall buildings in his sightline. ‘It’ll break anyway. She’s holding all the aces. What I don’t understand is why she hasn’t done it already.’
‘She’ll release the virus soon,’ Elsa said.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because she’s been waiting for me to arrive. She wants to see me suffer, and to know that India will be the first to be infected.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she hates me. The only question is how much time we’ve got.’
Elsa saw uniforms moving on each side of the square. More marked and unmarked emergency vehicles pulled up along Whitehall to the south. Helicopters flew high above, their powerful cameras trained on Camille and the crowd. The increased presence made a segment of the crowd, antagonistic to the police and the establishment, restless.
There would be marksmen on roofs, more moving into positions in surrounding buildings, trying to find the clearest possible shot of Camille. In the tangle of side streets, inside unmarked vans and lorries, infectious disease specialists were climbing into full PPE.
Less than half a mile away, the prime minister and other high-ranking government officials had already been quietly evacuated from nearby Downing Street, and from Parliament.
Elsa didn’t care about any of that. The pain at seeing her daughter so scared and bewildered gnawed at her. But she had to control her rage and fear. The fear was always there, whether she chose to acknowledge it or not; it was the bass note emotion on which all her survival skills and instincts had been built. Elsa had learned to control the thrumming fear inside of her, to harness its energy. If she let it overwhelm her, she was finished.
But this time she felt the fear surge. India was in terrible danger, and Elsa was powerless.
‘Let me talk to her.’
‘You just said she hates you.’ Plowright glanced at a pair of men in deep discussion at the top of Whitehall. ‘The professional negotiators have arrived.’
‘The only reason she hasn’t released the virus already is because she wants to speak to me.’
‘I don’t recommend it.’ Plowright shook his head. ‘We have people who—’
The glare she gave him was so contemptuous that he flinched. ‘I don’t care what you think.’
Plowright contemplated Elsa. By all accounts, she was a blunt instrument, bloody-minded, antagonistic and insensitive, the last person you’d want blundering into a delicate situation such as this, with the world balanced precariously on the edge of an apocalyptic precipice. That wasn’t even taking into account the bad blood between her and the embittered party with the deadly infectious agent in a fragile glass vial. But maybe Elsa would be able to distract Camille for a few more minutes, until he could come up with a better plan.
‘How long would it take to get here from Vauxhall Cross?’ she asked.
‘We’d have to get a helicopter there. Maybe…’ Plowright thought about it. ‘Fifteen or twenty minutes.’
She told him her idea and he looked at her with incredulity. He didn’t think it was possible to add any more fuel to the wildfire of insanity currently raging out of control, but Elsa had proved him wrong.
‘Absolutely not,’ he told her. ‘We’ll wait for a clear shot. If we time it right—’
‘Camille’s too clever to allow you to take her down and you know it,’ she said. ‘She’ll stay hidden in the crowd, and she’ll spot any secret service agents who attempt to get near her. The moment she feels threatened, she’ll release the virus.’
Plowright exhaled slowly. Up on the stage, the comedian was introducing the next musical act; the jarring chords of an electric guitar jangled across the excited crowd.
‘Okay,’ he told Elsa. ‘Keep her talking for as long as you can.’
‘Are you going to kill me, too, is that still the plan?’ she asked. ‘After all, the data is still inside of me.’
‘Let’s just cross that bridge if we get to it.’
Then he strode back across the road, calling Justine Vydelingum on his phone, to tell her to get a helicopter to Vauxhall Cross straight away.
Elsa tried to locate Camille at the side of the fountain, but her heart leaped when she couldn’t see her. She pushed into the crowd, just as the music on stage cut out in the middle of a chord.
‘Bear with us, guys,’ said the lead singer on stage, using a megaphone someone handed him. ‘We’re having a few technical difficulties.’
Elsa frantically pushed through the restless crowd, trying to find Camille and India.
Her heart lurched when she saw the rag doll on the floor, where it had fallen out of India’s pocket, getting trampled beneath the feet of the crowd. If Camille and India had somehow slipped away from the concert, she’d never find them without the tracker.
‘Watch where’re you going!’ complained one guy as she elbowed past. Turning in circles, looking over the heads of the people surrounding her on every side, she told herself to stay calm – but she couldn’t see her daughter, she couldn’t find India.
Then she glimpsed familiar blonde hair, a bladed fringe. Elsa forced her way towards it. Camille was threading her way through thick clumps of people, ensuring that marksmen positioned on every side of the square couldn’t get a clear shot.
When Elsa got to her, she was standing near one of the lions on the north side. India once again tried to get to her mother, but Camille kept a tight hold on her. Elsa stopped far enough away for people to walk between them, oblivious to the danger they were in.
‘We thought you’d never get here,’ Camille said, smiling. ‘We’ve come a long way and we’re tired.’
‘Are you okay?’ Elsa asked India. ‘Has she hurt you?’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Camille looked offended. ‘I wouldn’t hurt a little girl, not like that. People who don’t have kids – not all of us are monsters. Me and Steve talked about having a family. Once upon a time, I really wanted children, but he told me that it was out of the question. He’d say, do you really want to bring up children in the world we’re about to unleash, Camille? He was adamant about it!’
Camille stroked India’s forehead and hair with the clammy hand that held the vial, the glass moving back and forth in front of her face.
‘But it was okay for him, Elsa, because he already had kids. Lovable Harley and beautiful India.’ Camille pulled India close and spoke into her ear. ‘You are such a pretty girl, my darling. He never spoke about them, not to me, but I knew he thought about them all the time. I suspected he was watching them, and watching you, Elsa, and that if push came to shove, he’d rather be with them than me. Because with Carragher it’s always been about his precious legacy.’ Her face twisted in misery. ‘I knew deep down he never loved me.’
‘He was using you, Camille,’ said Elsa gently. ‘Just like he used me. But if this is all about getting revenge, you don’t have to worry about Steve any more. He’s dead.’
‘Good for you.’ Camille wiped away tears with the back of the hand that held the vial. ‘I knew you’d kill him, because you’ve always been his weak spot.’
When Elsa stepped forward, Camille held the vial over her head. ‘Step back!’
‘Come on, Camille.’ Elsa held out her hands. ‘You’ve had your revenge – he’s dead, it’s over.’
‘But I haven’t had my revenge against you,’ spat Camille. ‘Whatever he felt for me, I always loved him, Elsa, and I still do. So I’m going to finish what he started. It’s just ironic that his precious little India is going to die along with the both of us.’
‘You’re going to kill thousands of people to get revenge on me? Kind of OTT, Cam.’
India watched the vial that Camille kept moving about in front of her. Elsa’s daughter was a fighter, she was born with the same crazy will of all the Zeros, and Elsa knew that if she got the chance, she’d escape.
But Camille would hurl the vial. India wouldn’t make it. None of them would.
‘Tell you what, put that thing down and kill me,’ Elsa said. ‘Just… please, let India go.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Camille made a face. ‘The moment I put the vial down, they’ll shoot me.’
‘Don’t do this, Camille.’ Out of ideas, Elsa felt her chest clench with despair. ‘You’ll kill tens of thousands.’
‘Millions.’
‘Tell me what you want.’
Camille spoke with a quiet loathing. ‘I want you to know, in the time it takes for you to die, that your daughter is also suffering. That she is dying an agonizing death.’ She snarled at Elsa. ‘That’s what I want.’
The crowd in front of the stage was heckling. A number of activists, irritated by the presence of armed police and the helicopters and drones criss-crossing the sky, had started to throw bottles and cans. At the edges of the square, concert-goers confronted police. The commotion rippled across the crowd towards them.
Someone shoved past Camille, jogging her arm, and Elsa’s heart leaped into her mouth. It was obvious Camille felt vulnerable in the disintegrating crowd. They were close to the steps on the north side of the square, leading up to the National Gallery, and she pulled India behind her.
‘We’re going now, Elsa. We won’t meet again.’
‘Camille,’ said Elsa. ‘Don’t—’
She pointed at the gallery. ‘If anybody attempts to follow me inside, if I see any secret service people, I’ll drop the vial.’
There was this urgent look Elsa sometimes gave Harley and India when she was in a hurry, when they had to leave for school or get something done, but instead they were pissing around: be ready, it said. She gave that same look to India as she was dragged away. Elsa hoped India had seen it, hoped she understood.
Be ready.
By going into the National Galley, Camille was giving them a hideous choice. They could wait till she re-emerged and try to start negotiations – Elsa knew Camille’s mind was already made up, she fully intended to release the virus – or they could seal off all the exits, trapping her inside and mitigating the worst effects of the virus.
But they would also be sacrificing the lives of everyone in the gallery. Several hundred men, women and children, India among them.
‘I’ll be watching,’ Camille told Elsa. ‘The moment I see anybody come inside, or if the doors close, I will release hell on earth.’
She walked up the steps leading to the National Gallery.
51
Upset at again being separated from her mother, the girl resisted when Camille forced her up the steps. This must be what it’s like to be a parent, she thought. To get anything done, you had to impose your will on theirs. God knows how anyone put up with it, year in, year out. Camille was tired already of the wretched kid and swung India around to face her.
‘You – will – stop!’ she roared. The girl’s eyes filled with tears, but her lips were pressed tightly together in defiance.
Camille dragged India towards the entrance. Armed men at the edge of the square followed as she climbed the steps, careful to stay close to other people.
It took concentration and focus to make sure she wasn’t about to get jumped, and with the atmosphere in the square disintegrating, she needed somewhere she could control the situation for just another few minutes… then she would do it, and change history forever.
SIS wouldn’t be able to take command of the camera feeds in the National Gallery for a few minutes. Once inside, she’d be able to make sure nobody came in. If she saw any suspicious activity outside the doors, or if any of the entrances and exits were sealed – as soon as they tried to shut down the gallery – she would smash the vial.
