Red Notice (35 page)

The embraces and valedictions were over; the last handshakes were done. Laszlo and Sambor left their weapons and headed back towards the front of the train, Laszlo with the day-sack on his back and a new jacket under his arm, for the man guarding Tom and Delphine.

When they reached the bomb-damaged door to Coach Two, Sambor jumped from the train and Laszlo continued forward.

103

TOM WATCHED LASZLO
wipe the dust off the Perspex lenses of two oxygen masks.

‘Prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance.’ Laszlo grinned. ‘You British, you taught me that.’

‘The same people who now want you dead?’

‘The very same people.’ Laszlo smiled ironically. ‘You also may not find them as . . . reliable as you might hope.’ He reached into his jacket and tossed Tom’s mobile towards the front of the carriage. Tom followed its flight, then his eyes jerked back to the door as Sambor lugged a third set of breathing apparatus into the compartment.

He felt Delphine’s grip tighten on his arm.

Sambor opened up the valve and listened to a two-second hiss of pressurized oxygen.

Laszlo squatted beside Tom and Delphine while his brother retested all three sets. ‘Tom, you will not be joining us on the next part of our mission. But we will be looking after your girl – and your unborn son – as long as you don’t do something to make me change my mind.

‘Most people, they disgust me. Their self-pity is so unattractive. But you two, you have something that needs to be preserved. There have been moments in the last few hours
when I found myself wondering whether your ancestors might have come from South Ossetia . . . ’

Laszlo shouldered a small day-sack and one of the oxygen sets. Sambor followed his example. ‘But that is precisely why I have to control you both. Delphine, you will come with us. And you, Tom, are staying on the train.

‘Once our work is done – and without interruption – we will release Delphine. The question you need to ask yourselves is quite simple: live or die? The choice is yours.’ He opened the cabin door and stepped out.

Sambor grabbed Delphine’s arm. She leaned across and kissed Tom before she was wrenched to her feet. As her lips brushed his cheek she whispered, ‘I love you . . .’

Sambor left him in no doubt that following Delphine out into the tunnel was not an option. He raised his hand and a gunman appeared, wearing a long brown corduroy coat and an expression which told Tom that pulling the trigger would give him nothing but pleasure.

The two Black Bears embraced. Sambor picked up the two oversized skateboards leaning against the wall and thrust Delphine in the wake of his brother.

Mr Corduroy yanked Tom back through to Coach One.

104

TOM EASED BACK
a little from the carriage window, where he’d been planted alongside the other hostages, and slowly turned his head.

A thin man in a Eurostar uniform stood five bodies along to his left, with the strap of Laszlo’s precious grab bag firmly across his shoulder. He was too busy trying not to shit himself to be a totally convincing double, but a quick look at him through the sniper optics and you still might pull the trigger.

Tom had given up trying to second-guess Laszlo, but had started to build up a picture of how the South Ossetian was hoping the next hour or so might pan out. He was intrigued by their performance with the oxygen sets, and that none of the Yankees had been zip-tied; they were hands-free, just like the X-rays.

He risked swivelling his head further.

One of the guards spotted the movement, yelled, and forced Tom’s face back against the glass.

The background hum of the electric power suddenly changed in tone, and there was a loud hiss. It sounded to Tom as if the brakes had been released. The train lurched, and began to move back up the track towards Folkestone. The hostage
immediately next to him gave a small whimper of anxiety.

Tom leaned his face against the window, trying to see outside, but the reflection from the internal lights made it impossible. He pressed his cheek against the cool of the glass to try to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his thigh. Then, swaying back with the movement of the train, he shot another glance along the aisle. He managed to get eyes on Mr Corduroy, the nearer of the two gunmen guarding him.

‘Where’s Laszlo?’

No response.

Tom moistened his swollen lips and tried again. ‘Laszlo is my very good friend. I worry about him—’

The man swung his sub-machine-gun towards Tom’s head, then made the mistake of leaning over to confer with his companion.

Tom shot out his left hand and grabbed the barrel of the weapon, pushing it upwards as he launched himself into both men. Still gripping the weapon with his left hand, he extended the right, propelling them backwards. As they lost their footing and toppled over the armrest of the seat on the other side of the aisle, the weapon fired a burst. There was no sound, just the judder of its recoil and a cascade of glass fragments as the ceramic rounds pulverized the window behind him.

Tom had already jinked to his right. Now he swivelled back towards the empty frame and launched himself through it. A rush of air hit him as he met the slipstream from the accelerating train. Tucking his head into his chest, he tried to roll for the landing. The next thing he knew, he hit the wall, ripping his clothes and grating the skin from his knees and elbows. He bounced off and plummeted onto the equally unforgiving concrete track bed.

He lay there for several seconds, dazed and winded.

Another burst of suppressed fire followed him out of the window, but the Eurostar had already moved too far up the track for Mr Corduroy to get a clear shot. A couple of rounds rattled harmlessly above Tom’s head as the sound of the train faded into the distance. Apart from a line of low-level red LEDs
at twenty-metre intervals, the tunnel was now almost completely dark.

Tom stumbled to his feet and swayed for a moment before hobbling on as quickly as he could. If Laszlo, Sambor and Delphine needed breathing apparatus, then so did he.

105

DELPHINE FELT LIKE
Laszlo’s mule. She was pushed and hustled along the tunnel, fifteen kilos of oxygen tank loaded on her back.

She dragged her feet, partly through pain, partly because she was still hoping against hope that Tom would find a way of escaping from the train and catching up with them.

Not for the first time, Laszlo read her mind. ‘He is not coming back for you, Delphine. So keep moving.’

They passed the body of the old man she had so briefly befriended. She hardly had time to look down at him. It was almost a mercy that Laszlo kept pushing her on.

The stench hanging in the air – of charred equipment and something else, something sickly sweet that she couldn’t quite identify – caught in the back of her throat. Then they tumbled into a segment of the service tunnel that seemed to be filled with burned-out vehicles.

Sambor hauled himself swiftly up a steel ladder set into the wall. Light streamed through a hatch above his head. She watched him push through the two skateboards and disappear. Laszlo hustled Delphine after him. She tried stalling again, but only managed to antagonize her captor.

‘Move!’

Laszlo drew a knife from his belt and jabbed it into her calf, drawing blood. She cried out and tried to jerk her foot away from him, but only succeeded in dislodging her shoe. As it tumbled to the ground, he simply dug the tip a little further into her flesh. ‘If you continue with this foolishness,’ he breathed, ‘I will be forced to remove this from your leg, and insert it into your stomach instead. Your child’s life is entirely in your hands.’

She clambered up the ladder.

Once inside the conduit, she kept her head low to avoid the power lines buzzing overhead. Sambor was standing maybe twenty metres ahead of them, next to a large steel pipe. Something seemed to be strapped onto it, and twenty or thirty slabs of some revolting green substance were piled on the floor beneath it. The reek of linseed made her gag. She guessed it was some kind of bomb.

106

TOM SHOOK HIS
head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. Waves of pain pulsed through his body and fresh blood oozed through the makeshift bandage. But he had to keep moving.

He limped past the shattered remnants of the two South Ossetians from the gun team. Their bodies had been mangled by hundreds of tons of train as it rolled towards Folkestone. Body parts were strewn along the track. Tom checked the torsos for mobile phones in the dull red glow. He found none. He wiped his freshly bloodied hands on his jeans and carried on down the tunnel.

Another body lay sprawled to one side of the track, a shock of white hair, matted with blood, plastered across a terrible wound in the head. Tom patted him down in the dull red glow. He found what he was looking for in his jacket pocket, and felt like the worst kind of thief as he dragged it out. He steadied himself against the wall, switched on the mobile and dialled.

It rang just twice.

‘Yeah?'

'Gav? It’s me.’

‘Fucking hell, mate, thank fuck for that. I’ve been flapping here big-time. You all right?’

Behind the almost jocular tone, Tom knew Gavin was fighting to hide his emotions. There was work to do.

‘What you got for me?’

Tom, too, had to cut away and get on with business. ‘Gav, listen in. The train’s heading your way. Antonov is not on board – repeat, not on board. He has a decoy, a Yankee, in a Eurostar uniform. He had the grab bag over his shoulder the last time I saw him. The X-rays are hiding their weapons. They’re going to try and blend in. Antonov is still in the tunnel, and still has the initiator. The device must still be active. Gav, do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Mate, got it. We know about the train. We’ve got an option on it at the exit. It’s all we’ve got left. If I fuck it up we have another major drama on our hands. You stay right where you are – I’ll come in and get you straight after the option.’

‘I can’t.’ Tom slid his back down the wall until he was sitting on the concrete. ‘Gav, the fucker’s got Delphine . . .’

‘Oh, shit. Be careful. Find her, but be careful.’

‘I don’t have a choice.’ Tom hesitated for a moment. ‘She’s pregnant . . .’

‘You dirty bugger. You’ve only been on that train a few hours.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Mate, seriously . . .’ Gavin went silent for a moment. ‘Something fucking strange is going on this end. Did Ashton call you? I don’t know what the fuck he’s up to.’

‘No. Antonov took my mobile. Last time I saw it, he dumped it in the driver’s cab. I didn’t have time to get it back.’

‘All right. We’d better sort that shit out later. Please be careful. And one more thing . . .’

‘What’s that?’

‘Can I be godfather?’

Tom somehow managed to raise a laugh. ‘You couldn’t even spell “godfather”. But, hey, why not? As long as we don’t have to call the poor little bastard Gavin.’

He cut the call, got himself back on his feet and staggered through the green security gate. He stumbled across a pile of
rubble and through the hole that Laszlo and his mates had blown in the steel fire screen. The air was still heavy with the stench of burning and death.

Light streamed down from the hatch above as he headed for what was left of the appliances. He saw at once that his mission was hopeless. The fire-fighters were little more than charred carcasses. None of their oxygen sets had survived.

He turned back to the steel ladder leading up to the pipeline conduit. And at the bottom he found one of Delphine’s shoes.

107

SAMBOR MOVED TEN
paces further down the conduit to a red access door into the airlock chamber welded onto the gas pipe. He reached for the locking handle, but Laszlo held him back. He turned to Delphine. ‘Do you smoke? Do you have matches, a lighter, anything electrical on you that we didn’t take? The pipe is full of heavily concentrated gas. It can ignite instantly.’

Delphine checked her pockets, slowly and methodically, for the lighter and matches she knew she did not have. Finally, she shook her head.

Laszlo pulled his full-face oxygen mask over his head and handed Delphine hers. His voice was instantly muffled. ‘Make sure your hair is pushed back, so you don’t break the seal with your skin. When you breathe it will give you oxygen on demand.’

Laszlo switched on her set as Sambor pulled open the access door.

‘But remember, do not breathe too heavily – or you may run out before it is time.’

Through her mask, Delphine saw Laszlo reach out to help his brother with his breathing apparatus. She turned and ran back towards the hatch.

She didn’t manage to get far. The oxygen set was heavy, and
she had only one shoe. She heard the scuffle of boots on the floor and muffled shouts behind her. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her backwards, off her feet. The weight of her oxygen tank brought her crashing down. The clash of metal on metal as it cannoned against the side of the pipeline echoed along the conduit.

The air was punched from her lungs. As she struggled for breath, Laszlo dragged her backwards. The escape attempt had been futile. She had known it would be. But it had slowed them down.

108

TOM WAS HALFWAY
through the hatch before Sambor realized what was happening.

Laszlo’s hand grabbed for his carving knife but Sambor was quicker. He whipped out his own double-sided fighting blade. ‘Brother, I will take care of this. I, too, have a debt to repay. Go. I will meet you at the other end. If I don’t, promise me to fulfil your pledge. For both of us.’

Laszlo nodded. ‘Be quick, brother. I will take her, just in case.’

Sambor ripped off his mask, dumped the oxygen tank and ran towards Tom, who was now through the hatch. Sambor knew he wasn’t invulnerable: he could just as easily lose this fight as win, but even losing would buy Laszlo time and distance.

As soon as Laszlo was on French soil the device would be detonated. Sambor wanted to be with him when that happened. If that wasn’t possible, he had to die some time, and this would be the best way. His debt to his brother had been a heavy weight to carry; now was his chance to repay him. He would make sure Laszlo was free to carry out the pledge of revenge.