Down: Trilogy Box Set (102 page)

“Don’t believe you.”

“Try it then.”

Talley had mastered twist tops and soon had a swig in his mouth that he expelled all over the room.

“Told you so,” Hathaway said. “There’s no food left either. It’s time for us to move along.”

“To find the molls?”

“Yeah, to find the molls.”

Christine’s eyes began to well up as soon as she crossed from Eye to Hoxne on the Eye Road. There were a couple of new bungalows and houses nestled in the trees, but the entrance to the village was unchanged from her memories. The cottages, the hedgerows, the old pipe works, all of them stood where they had permanently resided in her mind’s eye.

“Well?” Molly asked.

“It’s the same.”

She drove the Mini over the little bridge that traversed the River Dove. The Hoxne Swan came into sight. Her first pub. She’d played under the tables in the public bar as a small girl and had her first real drinks there at fourteen with impunity—sickly sweet vodkas and lime. She’d been married in the church on Green Street, had her reception under a tent in the Swan garden and she and Colin had spent their wedding night in The Angel Hotel in Bury St. Edmunds.

Her hands began to shake on the wheel when she saw the red phone box outside the post office and general store.

“What?” Molly asked.

“It’s just up there.”

There were a few people talking outside the store. She drove slowly past and at her mother’s trellised cottage, her mouth was almost too dry to get the words out. “That one.”

“It’s pretty,” Molly said.

She didn’t want to park a stolen car out in the open on Low Street so she drove around and left it on the little-traveled Church Hill. They spritzed themselves with cologne and walked down the small public way connecting the two streets.

“You knock,” she told Molly. “The shock could kill her. I’ll wait outside. Be gentle, all right?”

“I know what to do, luv.”

Molly knocked then knocked again. After a long wait a frail and stooped white-haired woman answered, leaning hard on a cane.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said. “Are you from the council?”

“No, luv, I’m not.”

“I see. The girl who helps out on weekends called in sick this morning so I thought the council had sent someone else.”

“Oh dear, didn’t you have any lunch then?” Molly asked.

“I was just going to have some corn flakes and perhaps cut some fruit into it.”

“Well then, I’m Molly. I’m not with the council but I’d be happy to sort out something a bit more substantial for you. Would you like me to do that?”

“That would be very nice,” the old woman said. “Molly, did you say? But you’re not from the council.”

“No but I know how to fix a nice lunch.”

Christine hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of her mother but she heard her voice. It was shakier but still very much hers. When Molly disappeared inside Christine walked up and down the street, remembering who used to live in each cottage.

“Hey.”

She turned around. Molly was at the door motioning her to come.

“What did you tell her?”

“That there was someone I wanted her to meet. She’s a bit confused, just so you know, but she’s very dear.”

Christine stepped inside as one might enter a holy site, walking slowly and reverentially, taking everything familiar. Entering the kitchen her mother’s back was to her. Molly had heated a tin of ravioli.

“This is the woman I wanted you to see,” Molly said.

Her mother turned and blinked in confusion. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Christine whispered.

“And what’s your name, dear?”

She came around the table. “Don’t you recognize me?”

The old woman studied her face and seemed to be troubled in an unfocused way. “I’m sorry, I …”

“It’s me, mum. Don’t be scared. It’s your Christine.”

Hathaway began driving at sundown. Their bellies were empty. All of them were accustomed to hunger but their time on Earth had already made them soft. Food was easy to come by here and Youngblood and Chambers in particular were whining for grub.

“We’re not stopping,” Hathaway said. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll eat when we get there.”

“What kind of grub?” Youngblood asked.

“Hot grub,” Hathaway said. Then he smiled. “And maybe some cannie food if we’re lucky.”

He had one of Gavin West’s maps. Asking Talley to navigate was like asking a donkey for help so he kept the map on his lap and peeked at it from time to time. He felt safer once he had turned off the A140. Fewer headlights, fewer passing cars. Dark B roads.

Molly had helped Christine put her mother to bed. The traumas of the day hadn’t killed her, as Christine had worried, but they had exhausted her.

At first her mother had simply ignored her. She had returned to her plate of ravioli and had slowly finished it before saying, “My Christine is dead.”

They had steered her into the tiny sitting room and deposited her in her TV chair.

“Can’t you see, mum?” Christine had said. “Can’t you see it’s me?”

Forced to study her face, the old woman became agitated and had said, “Am I dead?”

“No mum, you’re not dead.”

“Then how am I with my daughter?”

“I came back to see you.”

“That doesn’t happen.”

“It happened this time.”

“She died, you died, such a long time ago.” The old lady screwed up her face in confusion. “You did some bad things.”

“I know I did. I am so sorry for what I did. I never got to say goodbye to you.”

“You look like Christine.”

“That’s because I am Christine. Will you forgive me, mum?”

“Of course I forgive you. I’m your mother. Are you sure I’m not dead?”

“You’re alive mum. It’s me who’s dead.”

“Is she dead too?”

“Yes, Molly’s dead too.”

“She made me ravioli. My girl couldn’t come today.”

Christine closed her mother’s door and joined Molly downstairs in the sitting room. The only alcohol in the house was sherry that she poured into two glasses.

“I don’t think she’s all there,” Molly said.

Christine drank hers in one go. “Sometimes I was thinking I was getting through to her, that she was, you know, believing me, then the next minute she’s off on a cloud.”

“They get that way sometimes.”

“This was a mistake. We should leave in the morning,” Christine said.

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere, anywhere. I don’t even care if we get nicked. I’m tired of running.”

The back door crashed open showering the kitchen with wood and glass.

Before they could even get out of their seats, Hathaway was standing over them, the other rovers behind him.

“This is too bloody perfect,” he said. “Too bloody perfect.”

Ben’s mobile rang. It was one of the only nights since the crisis began that he’d simply walked away from the job for a few hours and taken his wife to a restaurant. One night out wasn’t going to repair his marriage but it was a positive step. The MAAC restart was in nine days. Hopefully, that would be the end of it. Nine days until normalcy. Nine days until he could once again give himself over to the comparatively welcome realm of domestic terrorism.

His wife looked livid when he glanced at his phone.

“Really, Ben, you promised.”

He didn’t recognize the number. “I’m sorry. I’ll just check to see if it’s urgent.”

“Not at the table,” she said. “People are looking.”

He rose while answering and headed for the entrance.

“Ben Wellington.”

“Yes, Mr. Wellington, this is Constable Kent from the Suffolk Constabulary.”

“Yes, constable.”

“I’ve done what you asked. I’ve kept an eye on Mrs. Hardwick’s cottage. I hope it’s all right to call at this hour.”

“Quite all right. How can I help you?”

“I was passing by in my private vehicle when I saw some men getting out of a car at her address.”

“How long ago was this?”

“No more than a minute.”

“Did they go inside?”

“I couldn’t say. I passed by and drove on to place the call.”

“How many men?”

“Four. Would you like me to intervene?”

Ben said no so loudly the maître de looked up angrily. “Do not intervene. Please keep the property under surveillance from a very safe distance. Do not call in your colleagues. I will be there within one hour. If there are any further developments call me immediately.”

He rushed back to the table, threw down a handful of bills and met his wife’s furious gaze with a sorrowful shake of his head.

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to take a cab home. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

The waiter arrived with the entrees.

“Please don’t bother,” she said.

Youngblood came bounding down the stairs. “There’s an old woman in a bed, that’s all.”

“You leave her alone,” Christine said, shaking with rage.

“Not much meat on her,” Youngblood said, heading to the kitchen. “But some.”

“Want to know how we found you?” Hathaway asked.

“Not particularly,” Christine said.

“Your Gavin told us. Right before we crashed him.”

The women looked at each other, too scared to ask about the fate of Christine’s son, Gareth.

“Just him?” Christine managed to ask.

“Who else did you expect?” Hathaway asked. “Did we miss one of your dearies?”

“There’s no one else,” Christine said.

“Yes there is. Your sister. We waited for her for a week but she never came home. Lucky lady.”

“You’ve got a hard-on for me don’t you, you piece of shit?” Christine said.

Hathaway rubbed his crotch. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Let’s start the raping,” Chambers said.

“There’s time for that,” Talley said, asserting control. “We want grub and strong drink.”

“If there’s no cooked grub,” Youngblood said, “I say we cannie the old woman.”

“Let us go to the kitchen,” Molly said. “We’ll cook.”

Talley grunted his approval. Molly’s knees almost buckled when she stood. Christine saw the fear in her eyes and reached out to steady her.

“Watch them,” Talley told Chambers. “What about the drink?”

“There’s only this bit of sherry,” Christine said.

Talley chugged the bottle dry and started to open cupboards looking for more.

“There was a pub just down the road,” Hathaway said. He looked at the mantelpiece clock. It was eleven. He mumbled that he had no idea when pubs closed anymore but that they’d do better waiting until the place cleared out.

“We’ll go after we have grub,” Talley said. “Then we’ll get drunk, then we’ll do our raping.”

“That’s why you’re the bossman, Talley,” Hathaway said. “Always there with a plan.”

Talley, failing to appreciate the sarcasm, seemed pleased at the compliment.

The Security Service helicopter picked up Ben from Thames House in Millbank and flew to Dartford. Rix and Murphy were waiting with their minders near the MAAC tennis court.

The Gazelle made a touch and go landing and Rix and Murphy belted in.

“What’s going on?” Rix asked. “They wouldn’t tell us shit.”

“We may have them,” Ben said.

“Where?” Murphy asked.

“Hoxne. The local constable saw four men at the cottage. I told him to stand down.”

“If it’s them you saved the chap’s life,” Rix said. “Just four men?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“In case they pulled in hostages,” Rix answered quickly.

“I see. I know the house has nothing to do with Hathaway,” Ben said.

“Do you now?” Rix said.

“The elderly woman who lives there is a Mrs. Hardcastle. She’s Christine’s mother.”

“How long have you known?”

“I found out when we returned from Hoxne. It wasn’t hard to find out.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t see the point. Better for you to think you had one on me.”

“You’re a fucker, you know that?” Rix said.

“So I’ve been told. As recently as tonight.”

Rix pointed at the two MI5 officers with Ben. “Just you lot?”

“And you.”

“You deputizing us?” Murphy laughed.

“Something like that.”

“Are you armed?” Rix asked.

“I’m not. They are. We’ll put down in the same field as before.”

“Thirty minutes to touchdown,” the pilot announced.

Murphy whispered into Rix’s ear. “Do you think our gals are there?”

“I hope not, Murph, I bloody hope not.”

“You watch them,” Talley told Youngblood. “We’ll be back with drink. And don’t start the raping till we’ve returned.”

Youngblood stuffed more sliced bread in his mouth and pointed a kitchen knife at Molly and Christine. “Don’t you try nothing with me or I’ll crash you good.”

Hathaway, Talley, and Chambers walked down Low Street toward the Swan. The village was dark and quiet. They passed a car parked nose-out in a small driveway and failed to notice a man ducking down in the driver’s seat.

Constable Kent waited until they were gone and quietly got out. He let them get some distance on him then followed until they disappeared around the back of the pub.

He called Ben’s mobile but got voice mail. After leaving a brief message he resumed his pursuit.

The landlord of the Swan was the last one in the pub, doing his final cleanup. He’d locked the front door but not the rear and when he saw Hathaway come in he said, “We’re closed, mate.”

Hathaway kept coming, followed by the two others.

“Did you not hear me? We’re closed.”

“Yeah, but we’re thirsty,” Hathaway said.

The landlord, a young, fit fellow didn’t seem much intimidated. He had an old cricket bat behind the bar and showed it. “You’d best be out of here or I’ll call the police.”

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Hathaway said with a toothy grin.

“Look, gents, this is a nice quiet village pub. I don’t court trouble but I don’t shy from it either.” The rovers sidled up to the bar, close enough for the publican to smell them. “What’s with you anyway?” he asked.