Half Moon Chambers (23 page)

I was a newcomer. Surprise would suit me
fine
, and I'd hardly have to act at all. Rowan
--
who
'd fallen among thieves and dragged me down
after
him, delivered me into their hands
--
was
trying
some stunt to save me. At gunpoint, too: the
gorilla
had stepped back as if to watch the show,
but
I still had a clear view up the Walther's black
snout
. Surprise would come easy. Terror, too. It
might
not be crack in that syringe but I didn't fancy
having
anything from out of Val Foster's dirty car
shot
into my veins. I shrank back as far as my
bonds
would let me. "Please, Rowan! Don't!"

I'd pitched it for Val and the guards. His reply
was
louder too. "It's okay. I'm good at this
--
I
won
't hurt you. Then nothing'll hurt any more
,
Vince, I promise. Nothing will hurt, and you'll be
able
to talk to Val, tell her everything she needs to
know
. Everything's better if you trust Val. Just
relax
, now. Just..."

The needle sank into my arm. I was properly
scared
for the occasion: a great blue snake of a
vein
had risen beneath the tie-off band, driven by
my
soaring blood pressure. I jerked my head back,
moaning
. Whatever hit I'd been expecting didn't
come
. There was just a cold sting, then a vague
spreading
coolness. Foster had come to glower
down
at me. I averted my eyes against her
interrogative
stare. How long was this stuff
supposed
to take to work? Long enough, I prayed,
for
me to think up a fresh batch of misinformation
to
spill...

An engine revved loudly. The sound came
from
street level, somewhere up over our heads.

Foster took no notice of it, too busy waiting for my
floodgates
to open. Then a clattering began
--
faint
at
first, quickly escalating to a roar like the end of
creation
. Foster snapped to attention. She grabbed
me
by the collar. "That had better not be something
to
do with you, Carr."

Of course I was too spaced out to tell her. I
just
lolled, and she shook me once like a rat then
let
me go. She jabbed a finger at three of her
guards
. "You! With me. You, stay here and watch
them
."

She'd left behind the heavy with the Walther.

There was no help for that. I waited till the running
footsteps
had faded, then I glanced up at Rowan. "I
guess
that was the signal?"

"Yeah. Best I could do."

It was good enough for me. One gorilla I
could
handle, even packing heat. I yanked at the
tape
round my ankles and wrists and it instantly
tore
. That gave me three seconds max while the
guard
didn't know what the fuck was going on,
and
I made best use of them
--
lunged out of the chair
and
hurled myself at him. I caught him amidships,
gravity
and momentum on my side. He went down
hard
, and I used him as a crash mat, getting a grip
on
his meaty wrist and knocking the gun out of his
hand
. Rowan pounced on it as it skittered away.

"Sorry," he said, bringing it back at arm's length.

"Don't know how to use it."

"I bloody do." I straddled my victim. This felt
great
. At some point I'd fold up like matchwood
but
just now I was one mass of spiking adrenaline.

I took the Walther in both hands, levelled it at the
guard
's brow. "Right! Best way out of here,
you
--
not
the one they took!"

He coughed, winded by my impact. "Up... Up
through
the ramps. There's stairs onto the street."

"Ta. Well, I guess you know how this feels."

I flipped the gun, knocked him neatly round the
skull
with its butt. I felt no compunction. He'd have
a
smaller headache than mine when he woke up. I
staggered
upright and seized Rowan's arm. "Come
on
! We've got to run."

"No. You go."

"What?" He was trying to pull back from me,
his
eyes a hollow blank. "Now, Rowan!"

"I can't go with you."

"They'll kill you on sight when they get back."

"I know."

No more time for argument. I'd have marched
him
at gunpoint if that would have worked, but I'd
started
to know him better. "If you don't run, I'll
drag
you. Or carry you, and that's gonna hurt me.
Don't make me do it."

"Oh, fuck, Vince."

But I'd won. When I started running, his wrist
still
clamped tight in my hand, he didn't fight. Our
feet
were quiet on the concrete ramps, and just as
well
--
before we'd even reached the stairs, I
heard
Val and her lads tearing back into the basement,
and
the volley of swearing that followed. Rowan
was
trying to look back. Well, the damn place had
been
Sodom and Gomorrah to him
--
the scene
where
he'd ended his long hard fight to get clean. I
pushed
him in front of me, bundled him roughly up
the
steps. The flight was steep, but still I felt
superhuman
, the hole Jack had left in me suddenly
filled
, overflowing with lights.

The river air hit me, filling my lungs. I gasped
it
hungrily
--
Newcastle dawn, cold, unforgiving,
tide
-borne salt and coral sky. Seizing Rowan by
the
shoulders, I forced him to look at me. "You
went
back to Foster on purpose."

"Yes. I knew you were going out on your
own
, you pigheaded bastard. I couldn't bloody stop
you
. All I could do was try to get here first."

"You came here for me."

A door banged behind us in the stairwell. I
knew
where we were now. The seagulls mewed
and
wheeled. A chaos of alleys led down to the
quayside
and above us, stupendous in the half
-
light
, the arc of the Tyne Bridge leapt skyward,
one
great green metal span. The Victorian lanterns
restored
for the millennium were still burning, pale
against
the oncoming day. A rat like Val Foster
would
plunge down the alleys. Could I induce her
to
make one mistake? "Come on."

"Not that way. There's nowhere to hide."

"I know."

We ran for the bridge. Rowan had stopped
arguing
--
I didn't have to hold him to keep him at
my
side, but he was like a lamb to slaughter,
movements
ragged, breath catching exhaustedly in
his
throat. We hauled up the last steep bank and out
onto
the footway, nothing but the water beneath us,
the
sky above. As a refuge, it was useless. But it
did
have one asset, a relic the tide of regeneration
hadn
't yet swept away
--
a public payphone in a
steel
-and-glass kiosk. I was willing to bet Foster's
gang
hadn't left Rowan with his mobile, and mine
was
long gone. "Don't suppose you've got any
change
."

"What?" He stopped dead beside me,
fumbled
in his pockets. "No. Not a thing."

So I exercised my rights as an ordinary
citizen
, dragged open the heavy kiosk door and
punched
in 999 for my free call. Which emergency
service
did I require? Police, please, and sharpish.

I leaned my brow on the glass while the line rang.

Christ, did we always take so long? I'd have to
make
them hustle things up when I got home.

Finally I got an operator, a local one who
understood
when I said
Mansion Street
,
Bill
Hodges
, then rattled off my location, my rank and
my
ID.

Bill picked up. Once more I had occasion to
thank
God for him. He said his name, and then
there
was just an attentive silence. "Bill. I'm on
the
Tyne Bridge. I've got Rowan Clyde with me,
and
Val Foster and her thugs are after us. I need
backup
."

"You'll have it. You're not armed, are you?"

"The hell I'm not."

"Good lad. Try not to shoot any citizens, but
hold
out. Okay?"

I couldn't answer
--
I was twisting around in
the
kiosk, wiping steam off its dirty glass. His
urgent
repeats of my name faded out in static, and I
let
the receiver drop. I'd let go of Rowan, hadn't I?

For a fatal half-minute, forgotten him.

I fell out of the box. The pavement was
empty
, the long stretch out across the water
deserted
. My instinct was to double back into the
quayside
alleys. Val Foster's gravity, her bloody
tractor
beams, were still clamped tight to him, and
he
didn't think he was worth anything better. He
would
fall.

But when I swung round, I saw him in a flash
between
one truck and the next. He'd darted to the
far
side of the road and got no further. He had his
back
to me, his hands clamped to the iron parapet.

It was only waist high. It seemed to invite a
climb
, a pre-death stroll along its path. It was
broad
, and there was that huge sweeping arc to
watch
above your head. I'd seen a girl do that
once
--
just dance her way out, off her face and giggling,
staring
at the gleaming reflections of the water in
the
great metal crest until she dropped. It was a
favourite
spot. The Samaritans knew this, and had
posted
reminders of their presence and services at
strategic
points all along the rail.

I didn't shout. I was all copper now
--
had to
be
. I dodged between the next two lorries,
threaded
the traffic on the other side, and came to
an
unbreathing halt a few yards back from him.

"Rowan."

He didn't turn or look at me. I didn't think he
was
looking at anything, though his gaze was
blindly
fixed on one of the posters. I risked a step,
holding
out one hand. "We can call those guys if
you
like. But... I'd be quicker."