Shrike (Book 2): Rampant (16 page)

Maybe it's that I can't get the image of Anthony's battered torso out of my mind, but I ring Trevor when I get home Wednesday evening.

"I haven't got anything on Granger," he says before I have a chance to ask him anything. "All units are reporting that it's quiet at the list members' homes, so it looks like we've gotten a bit ahead of her."

I tell him what Macy said, that Granger's got a timeline. 

He doesn't seem convinced. "If she was in so much of a hurry, I'm sure she could find alternate means of accomplishing her goals."

That's one way of saying he's thought of my sniper rifle idea already. I shrug it off. "That's not why I called, anyway," I say. "You all picked up a pimp called Johnny near the airport last night, right?"

There's a beat while Trevor changes tracks in his mind. "Aye, why'd you have them alert me?"

"Because I don't want there to be any cock-ups. One of his workers has a son called Anthony. The pimp beats the shite out of him, and that is not going to keep happening."

"We don't have much to hold him on."

"You can put me on record. I saw the boy's stomach. It looked like he walked through a tornado, Trevor. And I dropped in on them right after the pimp knocked the lad out cold."

"Even assault won't put him away for long."

"I'm sure there's more on that bloke than simply assault," I say, irritation rising. "There's more to your job than just stopping Granger, just like there's more to mine. I don't want any kids afraid to go home. Did you know the lad's mum's in gaol? How's that fair?"

I can almost hear Trevor massaging the line between his eyebrows. "It's not fair, Gwen. The law isn't always fair because of that little thing called evidence."

I want to scream. Instead, I hang up on him.

It's childish. It's immature. It's flat out rude.

But nothing I'm doing seems to do much good at all. 

My mobile rings again almost immediately. It's Tasha, Taog's Gu Bràth hacker friend. I answer, trying to calm myself about child abuse and murder and other things that don't give any fucks that I have superpowers.

"Hello?"

"Gwen?" Her voice sounds rough like Taog's. "Can you come to my flat?"

Immediately, I stand up straighter, glad I'm already wearing most of my uniform. Costume. Whatever you want to call it, it's on, except the mask, which I snatch from the kitchen worktop and hold in my hand. "Are you okay?"

"Do I sound okay?"

"You sound like Taog," I tell her. "What I meant was, are you in any immediate physical danger?"

She barks a laugh. "No. But I'd like to speak with you."

"You are speaking to me."

"Without the possibility of eavesdroppers."

Since when is everyone I know so goddamn paranoid? The worst bit is that she's right. "I'll be right there."

Looks like I'll have to change anyway. I throw on a pair of my old jeans over the Shrike trousers, which makes me uncomfortable but will have to do. I tuck the tutu into the jeans. It feels like a diaper. 

Kansas-Boy always looked so dashing when he ripped off his reporter button downs to reveal that garish S on his chest. I'm just going to look like a ponce if I have to do something similar. I throw a wooly jumper over the shirt and fold the mask into the back pocket of my jeans. Shrike, incognito.

I embarrass myself.

Twenty minutes later, Tasha pulls the door open on my first knock and ushers me into her flat, beckoning me past a nicely-decorated salon and a spacious kitchen into a cramped wee room that must be her office. Her Louboutins make very little sound on the rug, and she sits primly on a stool in front of the desk that takes up most of the room. She dabs at her nose with a dainty handkerchief. Tasha herself is not a large person, and she looks even smaller with her scrap of handkerchief surrounded by all this technology. When I wedge myself into the room, she reaches for a pair of Gucci glasses and slides them onto her nose, carefully folding the hanky and placing it on the table. I don't know much about computers, but I think the large box under the desk — which is really more of a table — is a dedicated server. The table itself is full of machines and monitors, including one that has a grid of cameras around her flat.

And I thought I was paranoid. 

The walls of the room are covered in cork. When I look up, so is the ceiling. 

"It's built into the floor, too," she says.

"Why cork?"

"It muffles sound."

"Oh. Why'd you want to see me?" I watch her bustle to the door and shut it. The door is covered in cork as well. I have to admire her dedication.

She points to one of the cameras on the street. The quality of the images is lower than the others, and I'm willing to bet she's hacked into one of the CCTV cameras.

"I got a message from a friend of mine. Regina Galbraith."

I start at the name. It's one of the names on Macy's list. "What sort of message?"

"She thinks someone's after her."

"Someone's after a lot of people," I say. 

Tasha frowns. "I know Granger wants Gu Bràth wiped out, and I know she's not the only member of Britannia still out there."

I think of John Abbey and wonder whether or not I should voice my suspicion. Then I look around at the cork walls and ceiling and realise that if anyone's not going to write me off as a paranoid madwoman, it's probably Tasha. We've never been friends, but after I found Glyn Burns, her open hostility faded into something like respect, or at the very least, tolerance.

So I tell her about Magda's party and the rohypnol in the champagne. I tell her that I'm the only person who remembers seeing John Abbey, and that no one has seen him since.

"I don't know anything about him," she admits. "I've been trying to pin names on Britannia's leaders for ten years and haven't gotten any farther than the ones you found. Whoever they are, they're well-hidden enough that he very well could be one of them."

I sit down on a plastic toolbox. My tutu tucked into my trousers makes me feel like I'm wearing a nappy, but Tasha's words fill me with such relief that I couldn't care less. "So you believe me."

Her immaculately made up face is sober. "When it comes to Britannia, I'm open to believing just about anything. And I reckon you have more experience with them directly than just about anyone else alive, so who am I to doubt you?"

Again I feel that pang of guilt that I couldn't — and can't — tell Ross I believe him. Her confidence, or at the very least, willingness to accept my story, is worth more to me than all the bobbies and detectives Trevor has assigned to Britannia's targets.

"Thank you," I tell her quietly. She's one of the relatively few people who know my identity — or identities, plural. I am glad, in this moment, that I chose to tell her. 

"I will say one thing, though," Tasha says.

"What's that?"

"If John Abbey really is the head of Britannia, if he's the one who's been pulling strings all this time, then I think we're all in very real danger."

"That was never a question."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. It's not Granger we have to worry about. If he's that well-hidden and has avoided notice for all this time, they could very literally have people anywhere. At Trident with codes to arm the missiles. In the Scottish Parliament. At Westminster. This is not a short game they're playing. They're not playing checkers here; they're playing Risk."

My mouth lost its moisture at the word
Trident
. The thought of a Britannia member with access to nuclear submarines or nuclear anything makes me wish I were at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. 

"I don't even know where to start trying to stop them," I say finally. 

"I'll start with Abbey. See if I can dig anything up."

"Keep your head down." 

"I always do."

sixteen

As I'm leaving Tasha's my mobile explodes into sound. It's only then that I realise she must scramble signals in her office. I've a text from Taog telling me he ordered pizza and that Magda's over at his flat. Three missed calls from Trevor, each two minutes apart, and finally a text from Trevor that just says,
Disturbance at Raymond Winters. Call for address.

It's from five minutes ago. I hail a taxi and dial Trevor at the same time.

"I know you're upset with me, but you really should answer your mobile."

"I didn't have signal. Address?"

He rattles it off and then hangs up before I can ask him anything. At least I think he hangs up. Just before the click I hear shouting in the background. The taxi drops me off seven minutes later two streets from a sea of flashing white and blue lights. Raymond Winters must already be dead.

Bugger. I'm already too late. 

I duck behind someone's hedge to strip off my street clothes, thankful that I didn't just change and go to Tasha's without my disguise. My mask is warm and a little misshapen from being sat on, but I don't care. I strap it on, leave my clothes balled up in my macintosh, and scurry up the house's drainpipe. 

From the roof, all I see are police cars and a fire truck. No ambulances. There's a woman pointing at something I can't make out in the strobe-like lights. My mobile buzzes. It's Trevor again.

"Are you here?" 

"I'm here. What in bloody hell is happening?"

"We don't know. The neighbours reported gunshots, but no one saw anyone with a firearm."

"Has anyone gone inside to check on Winters?" I creep along the rooftop, trying to keep my head below the ridgepole so the bobbies below don't see me. At this point, they'd probably shoot first and ask questions when there's no later for me. I don't feature testing out my faster-than-a-speeding-bullet chances today.

"The first responders told everyone to stay indoors on lockdown, so no."

"Probably smart," I say.

"I think that's the first compliment you've given me this month."

"Don't let it go to your head. If Winters is still alive and unbloodied, I'll give you a kiss on the cheek."

He ignores that. "There's a back entrance to Winters' building. Use that. He ought to be on the upper floor. I already radioed the constables watching it not to shoot you when you go for it."

"Thanks awfully."

There's a chance that this is just one big cock up of a coincidence, but something tells me Granger's trying a new tactic. I jump down into the back garden, hoping Trevor's right and the constables I see crouching in the bushes really aren't going to shoot me.

Two of them flank the door, and another sits in the corner of the garden. She gestures me toward the door. 

I see them all flinch when I rip out the doorknob. The house Winters lives in appears to be two flats stacked on top of one another. A staircase goes up to my right, and I take it in two jumps. There's a door at the top of the stairs, and if Granger's in there, I don't want to alert her to my presence by destroying it. 

Instead, I usurp Trevor's voice and call out in his rich tenor. "Police! Open the door!"

I hear a male voice on the other side of the door and almost clap with relief, even though his words are surly. "What do you want?"

"A neighbour reported gunshots. We're making sure everyone is okay." Trevor's voice coming from my mouth sounds strange even though I expect it.

The door cracks open, and my hand shoots out to keep Winters from closing it again. 

"You," he says. "Where's the bloke?"

I just look at him. "You okay?"

"As good as can be expected." Winters looks past my shoulders. It's then I see the large suitcase next to him. 

"Going somewhere?"

"Moldova."

I'm not sure he's serious, but then he doesn't exactly look like he's joking. "I'll get the suitcase. You follow me downstairs. We'll get you out of the neighbourhood at the very least."

"It's heavy."

I push past him and lift it with one hand. "Want to see me throw it across the room?"

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. 

When I start down the stairs with his luggage, he follows. I ring Trevor. "I've got him. We're coming out."

Winters's steps falter. "What do you mean you've got me?"

"I mean those gunshots were probably meant for you. You're lucky someone can't aim."

There's something about that I don't like. If Granger were trying the sniper route, she'd muffle the sound. And if she were, she wouldn't miss. Even so, this place is surrounded by police, and Raymond Winters is right behind me.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and open the door. "Stay to the side," I tell him.

There's something wrong in the garden. 

The three constables I saw crouching there before are sprawled out in the grass, unmoving. 

I hear Granger a split second before I see her and leap to the side. Her taser slams into the door jamb. I grab her wrist and fling her backward into the garden. The taser falls to the grass. "Raymond, run out the front door and tell the police they've got downed officers back here! Go!"