Each Day I Wake: A gripping psychological thriller: US Edition (24 page)

Ashley was safe.

Mason would kill no more.

I was struggling to hold on to the meaning of this.

I’d just killed a man.

There had been no choice. It was kill or be killed. And he would not kill again. I needed to believe this was justification enough.

And I knew there was no time to dwell on this. Nothing had altered the plain, terrifying fact that Montague and Quinn were holding Janet.

I thought of returning to Mason’s house and asking the police for help. But that was too great a risk. I was sure of that. Whatever they decided to do, even if I could convince them about what had taken place, would be too slow. Montague and Quinn would know by now of Morgan’s death in the club in Soho. They would be covering their tracks and that spelled greater danger for Janet. I had to act.

I realized that I had just one option.

I called Quinn on the phone he’d given me. When he picked up, I decided to keep it simple. “The girl is safe. Time to talk.”

He sounded calm. Too calm. “Very well, Mr. Markland. Come on in. Give us the diary and you’ll have your wife back.”

The drive back into London was a worrying one. Would my failsafe be good enough to stop them double crossing me? I suspected it wouldn’t.

I was back in the world of hostage exchanges. What makes each side trust the other? I knew the way it was supposed to play out. The two hostages approach their moment of escape at the same time. If one side reneges on the deal, the other side calls their hostage back. Both sides have to play ball.

I needed to make sure that this applied to the release of Janet. But I didn’t have a hostage to give back in return. I had the diary.

I tried to put myself in Montague’s shoes. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the exchange. If he gave Janet back, he knew I had the failsafe copies of the diary that could still be used against him. He would have to insist that all copies were handed over at the same time. Then I would have no failsafe. There would be nothing to stop him from double-crossing me. I needed something more.

Mason’s gun was beside me on the front seat. They didn’t know I had it. I’d have surprise on my side. I hid the gun under my shirt, secured it inside my trousers waistband and tried to make it look as unnoticeable as I could.

I would need to play the naive. Make them think that I was out of my depth. Then take my chance.

Quinn had directed me back to the disused factory on the Commercial Road. As I drew near, a black BMW pulled away from the roadside and began to follow. I looked in the driver’s mirror and recognized Quinn seated in the front passenger seat next to his burly, black-suited driver.

They followed me into the factory yard and stopped behind me. Another black BMW was parked nearby. Quinn gestured with a gun that I should go into the building and take the staircase to the first floor. He followed a few steps behind.

If they decided to search me, they would find the gun. I was banking on the fact that they would underestimate me. I held my breath. There was no search.

Montague was waiting. “So, Tom, it’s time to trade.”

Quinn remained behind me.

I approached and stood before Montague. “That’s why I’m here. Where’s Janet?”

He nodded. “She’s nearby.”

“And Marshall Brogan.”

“Brogan?”

“I know you have him.”

“Brogan isn’t part of the deal.”

“Then there’s no deal.”

He gave an insincere smile. “OK. You can have Brogan. Now, give me the diary.” He held out his hand.

I offered him nothing. “It’s not that simple.”

Quinn came up from behind and placed a gun to my head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Montague told Quinn to put the gun away. He smiled. “You must think I’m stupid, Markland. We know it’s online. Let’s start with the login and password. We know you have that. So, give it up.”

“Not until I see them. Bring them here. Janet and Brogan.”

“That can be done. But how do I know what you’re giving me is real?”

“You have your phone? You can check the login on there.”

Montague took out his phone and called up the web browser. “OK, Tom, give me the login.”

I shook my head. “I need to see Janet and Brogan. And you need to guarantee all three of us a way out of here.”

He signaled to Quinn. “Bring them in, Mike.”

Janet and Brogan must have been held somewhere nearby as Quinn returned with them at once. He pushed them into the room. Both were blindfolded and had their hands tied behind their backs.

I could see that Janet was in distress. Her whole body was shaking. She was disorientated.

I called to her. “Janet. It’s me. You’re going to be OK.”

She recognized my voice and tried to call back but was silenced as Quinn placed his large hand across her mouth.

Brogan was much more the worse for wear.

I turned towards Montague. “What have you been doing to him?”

He smiled again. “We’ve been talking, that’s all. And you know what Brogan tells me?” He paused. “There are copies, print outs, of the diary. Brogan had one. You took it away.”

“You can have them, as part of the deal.”

“So, how many are there?”

“Just two.”

“And how do I know there aren’t more?”

“You don’t. But I can tell you there aren’t any others. There are just two and they’re with someone I trust who knows what to do if anything happens to me.”

“Your failsafes.”

I nodded.

“So, tell me why I should believe you that there aren’t more copies?”

“Tell me why I should believe you that you’re going to let us go?”

We were in a position that chess players call stalemate. There was no move that was allowable. But while chess players can agree a draw, I had no such option.

Perhaps it was always going to come down to this.

I jumped up, pulled the gun from my waistband and grabbed Montague around the neck. I pressed the gun to his temple. He was strong and began fighting to free himself at first but when he felt the cold steel of the gun barrel against his flesh, he froze. He began pleading. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

Across the room, Quinn had pulled his weapon and was taking aim.

I pushed Montague forward to cover me from Quinn and shouted. “I
will
kill him.”

Quinn didn’t lower his weapon. Instead he took aim at Janet. “So, you don’t care about what happens to your wife?”

Montague was the one who replied. “Put the gun down, Mike. No one needs to die. We can work this thing out.”

Quinn lowered his gun. “You’d let him take them?”

“We’ll find another way to stop him.”

I told Quinn to free the ties on Janet and Brogan and to remove their blindfolds and, with reluctance, he did so.

I pushed Montague towards the door and shouted for Janet and Brogan to follow, all the time keeping the gun pressed to Montague’s temple.

Quinn moved aside to let us pass. “You’ll be hearing from us, Markland. Don’t think this is the end of this. Your troubles are just beginning, and you know it.”

We made it down the staircase into the factory courtyard and began to edge towards the Ford I’d arrived in.

Quinn’s driver stepped out of his vehicle, gun in hand, but was told to stand down by Quinn who’d followed us into the courtyard.

I told Janet and Brogan to get into the car and made Montague kneel. I pressed the gun against the back of Montague’s head. “If you make any kind of move, I’ll shoot.”

Montague began bargaining for his life. “You don’t need to do this, Tom.”

“Don’t call me Tom. You’re no friend of mine.”

“OK. OK. What you need to know is I would have gone through with the bargain. You only had to give me the copies and the login.”

“So, now I have my wife and Brogan and I still have the diary.”

“You don’t think Quinn is going to let you get away with that?”

“We’ll see.”

I climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine, leaving Montague kneeling on the cobblestoned yard.

As the Ford pulled out into the traffic on the Commercial Road, I could see Quinn getting into the BMW and starting to follow.

We pressed on along the Commercial Road, passing the Troxy and the Half Moon Theatre in a blur of speed with Quinn close behind.

We were heading for Canary Wharf with Quinn following all the way.

It would have been a good time for a police car to pull us over for speeding but that didn’t happen even though we ran red lights at intersections and caused oncoming vehicles to swerve out of the way as I sped the Ford on and the BMW followed. I would have welcomed police attention. But these days on the streets of London everyone is on their own. Policing is an after the event affair.

As I looked back in the rear view mirror I could see Quinn, sitting in the front seat, using his phone. I shouted to Brogan. “Quinn will be gathering support, using his sat nav to let his men know our exact location. It won’t be long before they’ll have us surrounded.” I paused. “Brogan, you know Canary Wharf, where do we go next?”

We’d reached the point where Commercial Road intersected Westferry Road. Brogan shouted. “Take a right.”

I swung the car hard right, along Westferry Road. Looking behind, I could see that Quinn was still following. “What’s down here?”

Brogan shouted back. “West India Quay. North Dock”

My blood ran cold. West India Quay North Dock. The place where I almost died. The place where all this had started.

Was it coincidence or ironic fate?

I didn’t have time to reflect on it.

The BMW was now close enough behind for Quinn, gun raised, to lean out of the passenger window, attempting to fire.

A large roundabout loomed ahead. I swung the Ford left off the roundabout along West India Avenue. Ahead was Cabot Square. To negotiate the Square at this speed involved another sharp left followed by a sharp right.

There was shattering sound as the first shot impacted the Ford’s rear window, filling the back seats with broken glass. The second shot took the rear passenger-side tire.

The wheel became unstable in my hands. The car took on a life of its own, lurching left and right with increasing amplitude.

I tried to brake but this just threw the car further out of control.

The Ford didn’t make the hard right turn to remain on Cabot Square. It left the road at Wren Landing narrowly missing pedestrians walking the pavement the Square and crashed through the small clump of shrubs that decorated the Landing. It ploughed on across the short paved apron that led up to the North Dock.

I pumped the brakes but this failed to slow our progress. One of Quinn’s bullets must have holed the braking system.

There was a sickening cacophony of broken glass and twisted metal as the Ford impacted on the concrete sidewall of the bank building to our right.

We were not wearing safety belts. There had been no time to deploy them. Our bodies crashed forward, my head hitting the driver’s wheel. I could feel the thud behind me as Janet crashed into the back of my seat. Brogan held his arms before him as he was thrust forward in the front passenger seat.

The Ford hurtled on towards the metal barriers that were meant to prevent access to the North Dock at this point. But the barriers were no match for our hurtling momentum. The Ford crashed through the barriers and hit the water in the Dock at full speed.

There was a further thunderous jolt as we hit the water. My brain rattled. I was losing consciousness as water rushed in and the Ford began to sink.

I was taken back to the moment I’d been pulled out of this same stretch of water with no knowledge of who I was or where I’d been. Images of all that had taken place in that time flashed through my mind. I was certain these were going to be my last thoughts.

I struggled with the driver’s door. The impact of the crash had bent the metal out of shape. It would not open.

I began drifting out of consciousness, water filling my lungs.

I was half aware that someone was pulling at my body, lifting it from the seat.

It was Brogan.

He’d smashed the glass in the driver’s door and had pulled me from the Ford, swimming strongly upwards to break the surface of the Dock.

He held my head up out of the water as I took in huge gulps of air, every breath a spike of pain.

Brogan swam towards the walkway around the dock, pulling me along with him all the way. When we reached the edge I was pulled out by one of the clump of passers-by that had come forward to seek to help. One of the passers-by started to apply CPR.

I tried to shout
Janet!
But my voice failed.

I was certain I had lost her.

I blamed myself for allowing her to come to London when I knew there was so much danger here. Janet had been the one who had brought me back from the brink of nothingness, filled my life again with the hope and the wonder of being, with her, the person that I was. Now she was gone.