The Hit

  Adam and Lizzie, tied firmly to their chairs, were only able to watch in amazement. Adam had no idea what was going on — all he knew was that neither Vince nor Christian was watching him. It was late, it was terribly late, but rescue was still possible. He had to get Lizzie out of the grip of this psychotic monster and back to the hotel in time for the antidote turning up. This was his chance — but what could he do, tied hand and foot to a chair?

  Adam began to rock himself backward and forward. He had no idea what this was going to achieve, but he did it anyway, and eventually he rocked so hard that the chair tipped forward. He just managed to catch himself before he went right over and ended up balanced improbably on tiptoes, still sitting in the chair, bent over almost double. He had just a little play on his legs and, with great difficulty, was able to hobble across the floor like an insect toward the door. He got himself out of the room as far as the top of the stairs before he paused to look behind him. Vince was busy trying to bash Christian to pieces against the top of the chest of drawers. Lizzie, sitting still in her chair, was gazing at him with big eyes over the top of her gag.

  Adam shrugged. What had he got to lose? Twisting as he fell, he flung himself down the marble stairway and smashed, bounced, and bumped all the way down.

  Behind him, Lizzie stared in shock. What on earth was he doing, trying to kill himself all over again? And what did it matter, anyway? She was going to die. She listened as he crashed down like a stack of sticks; then there was nothing.

  Vince ran past her, howling. Christian had finally got that nasty little knife out and was waving it in the air, screaming in triumph. Vince swung around, ready to back him into the chest of drawers again, which had a hard edge just at thigh level, when Christian suddenly brought the knife down with a loud thud.

  The effect was instant.

  The big man stopped in his tracks and stood swaying on his feet, expressions of surprise and horror equally lit on his face. Christian jumped down, like a boy dismounting a horse, just as Vince began to topple. He came down like a tree right at Lizzie’s feet, his arms limp at his sides, striking the carpet chin first. He opened his mouth to let out a final bellow of rage and despair, but nothing came. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. Then he closed them and let out the tiniest, weakest, most helpless little sigh of defeat.

  Christian bent down to examine the knife in the back of his neck, and then down to the big man’s face. He put his hand close to Vince’s mouth.

  “Breathing,” he whispered in ecstasy. “Still breathing.”

  Then he went crazy.

  “C4 — C fucking 4! I done it, you bastard. See you ring Daddy now. C4! C4! C4!” And screaming with triumph, he did a dance of victory around the prostrate body, while Lizzie, in her chair, wept and struggled and did her best not to scream. She was certain she was going to get it next.

  It took Christian about five minutes to realize that Adam had gone. For some reason, it flung him into a complete panic.

  “Where’s he gone? Jesus. Where he is?” he wailed. He ran around the room, looking out the window, under the bed, in the en suite. “Where is he?” he begged Lizzie.

  Lizzie shook her head, unable to speak through her gag. Christian stared at her for a moment, then ran out of the room and down the stairs. Below, the front door banged.

  Lizzie couldn’t stop crying. What next? She looked over at Vince, lying flat on his front, with the knife handle sticking out from the back of his neck. His eyes swiveled around to met hers and they locked eyes briefly, each as helpless as the other. Neither of them could move a muscle.

  Then — a miracle. The door opened and Adam came hobbling in. Flinging himself down the stairs had bruised him badly, but it had smashed up the chair enough for him to tread his way out of it and make off. He was still gagged, his hands were cuffed behind his back, and his feet hobbled by the short length of rope that had tied them to the chair — but he was free. He had managed to get back upstairs, hide, and wait till Christian had gone out, and now here he was, hobbling to the rescue.

  He ran up to Lizzie and stood in front of her, making weird noises through the gag. Lizzie did the same thing — the pair of them, gurning and grunting at each other. Adam gave up. He lay on his back, lifted his legs up, and kicked her violently in the stomach. Lizzie doubled over with a groan. Had Adam gone crazy, too? He jumped up, turned around, flicked her gag up, and started trying to shove his fingers down her throat.

  “Adam,” she groaned, “what are you doing?”

  “Ergaggnng — dech,” he said. And despite everything, she knew what he meant. He was trying to make her throw up to get rid of the drug.

  Yes! She nodded agreement and stuck her head out, while Adam groped down her throat with his fingers. She retched and gagged — but couldn’t be sick.

  She’d had enough. “Adam,” she said. “Adam.”

  “Hmm. Ngg, ngg …” he groaned.

  She shook her head. “You came back for me.”

  “Nggg. Ganng. A angoo.”

  “Yeah, I know you love me. But, Adam, you have to go, right now.”

  “Nnng? Gno … I …”

  “Yes, you do,” she told him. “Christian will come back, anytime now. Get out while you can. I’m stuck.”

  “Ngg,” said Adam. He shook his head. He was rescuing her! He wasn’t going to give up. He looked desperately around for some way of getting her out of the handcuffs and rope. No key, no hands, no pliers, nothing. His gag was wrapped around his head, going tightly inside his mouth, so that although his tongue was forced down, his teeth were free. In his desperation, he bent down and started chewing at the rope around Lizzie’s hands.

  Lizzie sat there and watched the back of his head. Her face hurt, her body hurt. She’d been force-fed Death and she was going to die — and here was Adam trying to chew her free.

  She started to laugh.

  Adam looked sideways up at her. He wasn’t finding this as funny as she was. He went back to his chewing. Lizzie shook her head. “Adam,” she said again.

  He looked up and honked piteously.

  “You have to go.”

  “Mnnh! Urrg, mmm,” he said, nodding again desperately around the room.

  “Just — get real for once, will you? Christian will be back in a minute. If he catches you here he’ll kill us both. You’re no use to me dead. Go! Rescue me later.”

  Downstairs a door slammed.

  “Go!” she hissed. Suddenly she was furious as well as scared. Just once, Adam — behave.

  “Arie. I uf goo,” said Adam, and he turned and bounded across the room like a gigantic rabbit toward the window. He peered out. It was a long way down, and the window was locked.

  Feet on the stairs. There was no other choice.

  He took a few steps back and made a run at the window at the very moment that the door burst open behind him. He crashed through the glass and went down in a sparkling display of shards, like a gagged angel glittering in the late-afternoon sunshine. Down, down, down …

  He hit the ground feetfirst in a rosebush and tipped over in a tangle of thorns. He rolled away deeper into the shrubs as a volley of gunshots came from the window above. It should have been an easy shot — but Adam had an advantage. The sun was shining brightly on that side of the building, and Christian was blinded by the light. Adam crawled to his feet — hobbled, hands behind his back — and made a mad dash for the car.

  * * *

  Up at the window, Christian cursed. He turned to look at Lizzie, gun in the air. Havering, he waved it in her face.

  “What are you doing, you idiot?” she yelled. “He’s getting away!” It was her only chance. In his mind, she was either on his side or against him.

  It worked. He cursed and ran to the door and down the stairs. “The fuck! The fuck!” he screamed. The front door banged again and she heard him running across the gravel in pursuit of Adam. Lizzie held her breath to listen, her heart thudding like a machine in her chest. Please God let Adam get away!
Please God get me out of this. Please please please. Tied hand and foot to the chair, she was unable to do a thing. She remembered what Adam had done, tipping the chair and walking away. She tried it herself — and fell sideways to the ground, her face just a foot or so from Vince’s. He lay there unmoving, eyes shut. She assumed he must be dead.

  The sounds of gunfire receded. The room, which had been so full of shouting and conflict a moment before, became very quiet. There was only her own ragged, half-sobbing breath. Another shot in the distance. A bird began to sing in the trees outside.

  Miraculously, she was still alive, but on Death. That didn’t sound all that optimistic, but you know what? It did mean one thing: She had nothing to lose.

  If I’m going down, I’m going to take you with me, you bastard, she thought.

  She started to sob again and forced herself to stop. She had to be strong. She had to act the girlfriend and stay alive long enough to get her chance to kill Christian.

  Opposite her, quite suddenly, Vince opened his eyes. She screamed slightly — it was yet another shock — then caught her breath.

  “Vince. You … OK?” she asked.

  His eyes rolled sarcastically. He tried to speak but his voice was so weak, she could hardly hear it. With difficulty, she jerked her chair closer.

  “What?”

  “Kill me,” he was saying in a tiny little voice. He had hardly any breath — just about enough, she guessed, to keep himself alive.

  “Kill you? How?” she demanded. For a moment longer they stayed staring at each other.

  “What do I do, Vince? What do I do?” she begged. “Tell me what to do. Maybe I can get him back for you.”

  Vince snorted derisively. Fat chance.

  Lizzie bared her teeth. There had to be something!

  “… phone …” said Vince.

  “What?”

  “My phone.” He was looking sideways. His phone lay in the middle of the floor where he’d dropped it when Christian attacked him. It was an iPhone, same as hers. Yes! Jerking the chair with her body, Lizzie made it across the floor, turned herself around, and took it in her hands.

  Communication. Somehow, someone, somewhere. Adam — if he was still alive. Her parents. She jerked her way again across the floor to the bed, tucked the phone under it, and got back into her place just as the door banged below. Christian came slowly up the stairs and into the room, the gun hanging in his hand. He stood by her head and looked down.

  He was a complete mess. His teeth were bloody and crooked in his mouth. His nose had moved sideways, his eyes almost disappeared in the bruises on his face. Vince had done a real job on him. Only his psychosis was keeping him on his feet. He looked so, so crazy.

  “Your boyfriend is dead,” he said.

  Lizzie had no idea if he was telling the truth or not. All things being equal, he probably was. But she had to say something quick, or she was going to be next.

  “Good,” she said. “That bastard has had it coming for ages.”

  She was amazed at her own survival instincts. Christian didn’t reply. He just turned to look at Vince and cocked his head to one side.

  “It took you bloody long enough,” she said, driving on, trying to touch a chord in his madness. “What kind of way is this to treat your girlfriend, leaving me here with this freak?”

  Christian looked at her. He licked his lips.

  “Girlfriend,” said Lizzie.

  “Girlfriend,” he said.

  “Yes, girlfriend. What else am I doing in your bedroom? I can’t even do my makeup or file my nails like this. How about undoing me so I can make myself pretty for you?” She began to cry with fear. All she could do was hope that it looked like the sort of thing a girlfriend would do.

  “Girlfriend,” said Christian again. Suddenly he jerked his arm in the air. “Yeah!” he said. “Right on!”

  “Great,” said Lizzie. “How about a cup of tea, then? And maybe a sandwich. I’m famished.”

  On the floor, Vince smiled to himself. Clever girl, he thought. Christian nodded. He cocked the gun, checked the ammo, lifted it, and shot Vince through the back of the head.

  “We don’t have time,” he said. “We need to get moving. Things to do, you know.” And he bent down to untie her ropes.

  JESS WAS LYING IN HIS BOX IN THE CONTAINER TERMINAL, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Anna, after her taste of what was happening on the streets, had refused to go back and had tried to get him to stay with her, but he’d insisted on seeing the job with Death through to the end.

  “Such a soldier,” she’d said. It was true but she had no idea how it broke him up inside to be like that.

  Predictably, Ballantine had responded to him coming back by beating the shit out of him and then locking him up. At least before he’d been allowed to wander about with a guard. Now, he only got out each day for work. The rest of the time he was locked up in his box. Worse, they’d taken away his TV, his radio, and his phone. Outside, the government could have fallen, Parliament could have closed, the world might be upside down wriggling its toes in the stars, and Jess wouldn’t know a thing about it.

  He had only one link to the outside world — his Zealot phone, the same make and model as his personal one. He held it tightly in his hand now, ready to stuff it quickly out of sight if anyone came in on him. He was dying to make a call, to Command, to Anna, maybe, and find out what on earth was going on outside, but he didn’t dare. Ballantine’s men had found and taken his only charger, and the battery was almost dead. He was expecting a call — had been for two days now. Surely, surely, Command was going to issue him with new orders? As things stood, he was still supposed to make his way out to the big rally tomorrow, and die for the cause. Public immolation. Self-burning. But they weren’t going to waste his life in protest now. Surely — and he prayed for the chance — they’d want him to fight.

  Most days he could hear the sounds coming over from the city. Albert Square was less than a couple of miles away and with the wind in the right direction, you could hear the voices of tens of thousands of people in unison, singing and chanting. It was the voice of the people — but how many? One hundred thousand, two hundred thousand? A million? He had no way of knowing.

  Jess rolled over onto his front. It was driving him mad! Everything he’d worked for was coming real — and he was stuck in a box. Tomorrow was Friday, a week to the day after Jimmy Earle’s death. There was to be a mass demo, a general strike. Maybe more. Who knew how things had changed since he’d been locked up in here? Most important of all, they would be making the big announcement he had been working toward all this time. He had to be there … but no way was Ballantine going to let him out. With Anna gone, he was the only one who knew how to make Death. They still needed him.

  Jess lifted the phone in the air and weighed it in his hand, a little lump of hope. And at that moment — finally, after two days of waiting — it rang.

  “Jess? You there?”

  “Anna!”

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah. You? I can’t talk long, the phone’s nearly out and they’ve taken the charger. What’s going on out there?”

  “Oh, man, Jess, you should have stayed with me. It’s fabulous! I don’t think the world’s ever going to be the same again.”

  Jess groaned. He was missing it all!

  “Can you get away?” she asked.

  “No! They’ve locked me up. Taken my radio and TV. Tell me — what’s happening? Tell me quick,” he begged, torn between wanting to know and wanting to save his phone for the orders he hoped were coming.

  “Everything! The general strike is on. The police, the army, they’re all coming over. People are marching on Westminster and no one is lifting a finger to stop them. Just a few army brigades holding out …”

  It was true, then. “It’s happening?” he asked. “It really is happening?”

  “It really is. And tomorrow — the big announcement. It’s planned for one o’clock. You have to get
out, Jess!”

  “I’m trying.” In his excitement and frustration, Jess got to his feet and paced round the metal box that was his prison. He had to be there! But how?

  “Look, I have to go. If they ring with new orders, I need the phone …”

  “I have your orders,” said Anna.

  Jess stopped in his tracks. “What are they?”

  “Get your arse out of there!” she said, and she laughed. “Just — get out here.”

  “Really? They want me out?”

  “Of course they want you out! What do you think?”

  “But I volunteered for the death squad.”

  “They’ve taken you off it.”

  Jess felt his heart leap inside him. Life. Hope! It nearly knocked him down. He hadn’t dreamed he wanted to live so much.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? Don’t you know what you’ve done? Without you, none of this would have happened. They’re not going to let you go if they can help it. They want you alive.”

  Jess listened breathlessly. He’d thought he was going to die. He was ready to die. He’d believed he wanted to die — and now he’d been given life.

  Suddenly he had a thought … “What about Adam? Did you find him?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s holed up in a hotel room.” Anna snorted in amusement. “That should keep him out of trouble. He thinks I’m coming round tomorrow with the antidote.” She laughed out loud.

  Jess felt his heart, which had been frozen for so long, begin to move. Life. His family, waiting for him. He could go back to them. It was unbelievable.

  “And you?” he asked. “You’re off the squad as well?”

  “Not me,” she said.

  Jess stalled. “Why not?”

  He could feel her shrug. “I must be a bit more dispensable.”

  “What do they want you to do?”

  “I’m a bomb, Jess.” She laughed. “A blonde bombshell, that’s me.”

  Suicide bomber. A lot better than burning. But … a long, long way worse than life.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What’s your target?”