The Tower (47 page)

‘I apologize for the suddenness of my appearance.’ Shepherd lowered his hands and slipped his badge back in his jacket, his mind flipping through various options of what to say next. The road sat at the bottom of steep walls of drilled rock so the only way to go any further was past the roadblock. But he had no authority here and the soldiers didn’t seem to want to let anyone through. ‘Can we talk somewhere in private?’ he said, gambling on this at least getting him the right side of the barriers.

Arkadian considered for a moment then said something in Turkish and the soldier in front of Shepherd stepped aside to allow him to pass. He stepped through the barrier and heard the clamour of voices double in volume behind him as the other drivers saw what had happened.

‘These people,’ Arkadian said, nodding back at the queue, ‘more of them arrive each day. They were all born here. They don’t care that the city is still under quarantine, they just want to go home. Especially now that this countdown has appeared on the news.’

‘It’s the same all over,’ Shepherd said. ‘Everyone getting ready for the end of the world.’

‘Not quite everyone,’ Arkadian said, reaching a car and unlocking it. ‘For some people the world has already ended.’

He didn’t elaborate and Shepherd didn’t pursue it: but as they drove away from the roadblock and down an empty road he could feel the sadness coming off the Inspector like something tangible. He selfishly hoped it had nothing to do with the news he was about to hear.

The cab pulled up outside the battered building on the outskirts of Gaziantep and Eli stared out at the noisy, busy street. He was in some kind of merchant district with warehouse shops spilling onto the streets and men milling about and haggling energetically and loudly over everything. He showed the driver the piece of paper he had written the address on, convinced they couldn’t possibly be in the right place.

‘Is here,’ the driver said, pointing at a faded blue door set into the wall. ‘Is church.’

Eli paid the man and got out, feeling edgy. They’d had to split up at the airport, Carrie following the FBI agent, him heading off to fetch supplies from a local contact Archangel had set them up with. He never liked being away from her, particularly somewhere like this where there were so many triggers for bad memories: the dry heat; the loud conversations in an alien language and eastern-sounding music blaring from somewhere; the shabby buildings lining dusty streets; the missile minarets of a mosque sticking up above the rooftops. He didn’t like it – not at all – the whole place screamed ‘hostile’.

He moved over to the door, scoping the street as he went, automatically looking for sniper positions and ambush points. There were too many to count and the men who had been bartering for goods started to turn their attention to him. Behind him the cab began to move away and he felt a strong urge to run after it, get back in and get the hell out of here. But then Carrie would be disappointed with him and he couldn’t bear to see that sad look in her eyes or know that it was his weakness that had put it there.

He walked over to the door, sweat starting to prickle his scalp, and looked for a name or a sign, anything that might prove he was in the right place. A stack of different doorbells lined the sides of the frame with the names of businesses or individuals he didn’t recognize pinned to each one. The address and instructions Archangel had given him said he was coming to a church, but there was no sign of one here. Panic started to bubble low down in his chest as he realized that, with the taxi now gone, he could be stranded here. He should have made the driver stay until he’d checked it out. Stupid! Carrie would be furious if he came back with nothing. Then he saw it, etched on the plastic case of one of the doorbell buttons, so small anyone would miss it unless they were looking specifically for it – a small cross.

He pressed the button and waited, feeling the eyes of the street upon him. He listened out for sounds of movement beyond the thick door but all he heard was the music of the street sounding strange and unsettling to his ear. He was convinced the volume of the conversations had dropped and that they were now talking about him. He pressed the button again, wondering if the cable that ran out of it and burrowed into the wooden frame like a fat worm was even connected to anything. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Alone. Sweat beading in his cropped hairline started to run down the sides of his face. He was on the point of turning round and walking away when a loud crack sounded inside the door making him jump. A gap opened and a round, moonlike face appeared in it. The man was dressed in the traditional long white tunic with a
keffiyeh
wrapped around his neck. He barely looked at Eli, his restless, bloodshot eyes sizing up the street before opening the door wide enough to let him pass.

Inside the building was dark and old and smelt of leather and dust. A staircase ran up the centre with doors leading off each landing to the various businesses that had been advertised all the bell buttons by the main door.

Eli followed in silence, keeping close to the wheezing, waddling figure of his contact until they reached the very top of the stairs and a plain door that was carefully unlocked with a set of keys kept on a leather thong around the fat man’s neck.

Eli had bowed his head and prayed in some weird churches in his time but this one was in a league all of its own. The room was tiny, about the size of a small garage, with a bedroll in one corner and a solitary window crudely taped up with old newspapers to form the sign of the cross. On the floor beneath it votive candles burned on a broad plank of wood set atop a wooden crate, their flames wavering in the disturbed air.

The man closed the door and locked it before leaning towards him and whispering with sour, tobacco breath, ‘We must be careful, for we are under siege here. The enemy is outside the door. We should pray before we get down to God’s business.’

He dropped to his knees facing the window, crossing himself before opening his arms wide and holding them up to the ragged, paper-edged cross.

‘Lord our Father, bless us and protect us in all that we do in your holy name. And give us the strength to go into battle against the forces of Satan that inhabit your holy lands and help us to defeat those who would seek to destroy you.’ He leaned forward as if prostrating himself before the Lord, took hold of the edges of the wooden board and removed it, candles and all, to reveal a neat line of weapons laid out on a blanket beneath.

Eli reached inside the crate and picked up a Ruger. It looked tiny in his hand but it wasn’t for him. He checked the action and removed the clip. It only held six rounds but that wasn’t necessarily a problem. Carrie was the best shot he had ever seen. For himself he took a Zigana K, a Turkish semi-automatic he had fired before, and a folding hunter’s knife.

‘Ammunition?’ he asked.

The man turned round in the small space and flipped the bedroll over to show a hatch cut into the floorboards. He lifted the panel out to reveal boxes of ammunition as well as something else Eli had not expected.

‘I didn’t ask for a suicide vest,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the bundle of explosives and wires like it was a coiled snake.

The fat man glanced at him. ‘You are not the only soldier of God who needs a sword,’ he said, handing him boxes of shells for the guns he had chosen. ‘And yours will not be the only battle fought here in the days to come.’

Arkadian turned off the road just short of a second roadblock. Beyond it the city of Ruin spread out like a ghost town. There were no people visible, no cars moving down the streets. The only movement was a military truck, crawling along the long wide boulevard that arrowed its way to the centre of the city where the Citadel rose like a spire.

‘This is sort of a no-man’s-land,’ Arkadian explained, ‘far enough away from populated areas for the air to be deemed safe by the health authority. We use it as a command centre for policing the quarantine. You’re safe here but I still have to ask you to put on one of these.’ He leaned into the back of the car and fished a fresh surgical mask from an open carton. Arkadian waited for him to put it on before he opened the door and stepped out.

Shepherd was struck by the sound coming from the other side of the large building they were walking towards – the shrieks and laughter of children playing, their voices tinkling and swooping like birds in the air. ‘This is one of the kindergartens,’ Arkadian explained. ‘All the children have been evacuated from the city now.’ He pushed through the entrance and went inside.

The lobby was choked with posters for mountain hikes and biking and handwritten postcards on pinboards offering guided tours of the Old Town. Arkadian walked over to a door in the far wall that opened into an office with a few desks and computer terminals. ‘Welcome to the police department,’ he said, moving to a desk in the corner. ‘It doesn’t look much but it’s plugged in to all the relevant databases, all the ones you require, at least.’ He pulled a second chair over and gestured for Shepherd to sit then typed in his log-in name and password. Shepherd noticed he was favouring his left hand.

‘How’s your arm?’ he asked. ‘I read about what happened.’

‘You ever been shot, Agent Shepherd?’

‘No.’

‘It hurts more than you would imagine and it’s still not properly fixed. The mornings are worst and it aches whenever the weather is about to change.’

The screen flickered and Shepherd caught his breath as a photograph of Melisa appeared.

‘Melisa Ana Erroll,’ Arkadian said, catching Shepherd’s reaction. ‘What is your interest in her, exactly?’

‘I’d like to talk to her – in relation to an on-going investigation.’

Arkadian turned in his seat and stared straight at him. ‘Shall we be honest with each other?’ Shepherd shook his head like he wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘I’ll start shall I?’ Arkadian offered. ‘When I got your message I called a few people and ended up speaking to your partner.’

‘Franklin?’

‘You have another partner?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I’m not sure Franklin would call himself my partner.’

‘Well, whoever he is he told me everything, or at least enough so that I know why you’re looking for this woman.’ Arkadian removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘This is never easy and there is never any way to say it except straight. Melisa Erroll fell victim to the blight four months ago when the spread was still in its early stages. She was taken into the Citadel for treatment and apparently died three days later.’

Shepherd couldn’t breathe. Part of him didn’t believe it. He felt the ache inside, stronger now than ever, the red threads still pulsing and twisting.

He looked at the screen in case the photograph wasn’t her. But it was.

He was suddenly aware of everything: his breathing, the way his clothes touched his skin, how his whole body felt awkward in this seat, in this room. He was aware that Arkadian was still talking, and studying him with his knowing eyes, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. He tried to concentrate until some of his words swam into focus. ‘Do you need a minute?’ He shook his head.

‘According to the records her father contracted it first and she looked after him until he was taken into the mountain. Then she fell ill herself.’

Shepherd took a breath and felt his voice vibrating in his head. ‘Is she – is her body buried somewhere?’

Arkadian shook his head. ‘All victims of the blight are cremated inside the Citadel.’

Shepherd put his hand to his chest where he still felt the ache. ‘She can’t be dead,’ he said. ‘I can feel her.’

Arkadian looked at him for a moment, his eyes curious. Then he rose from his chair. ‘Come with me,’ he said, ‘there’s someone you should meet.’

Shepherd drifted after him like a ghost, down a long corridor with open doors to dormitory-style bedrooms on either side.

‘Wait here,’ Arkadian said, pointing through one of them to a room filled with triple-decker bunks. Shepherd went in and sat awkwardly on the edge of a bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, unable to sit upright in bunks that were built for kids. The sound of children playing rose in volume as Arkadian went outside then faded to silence again as the door shut behind him. The beds were still ruffled from sleep, a different stuffed toy standing guard by each pillow. The one he was sitting on had a rabbit on it. Next to the bed three small suitcases were lined up against the wall, each containing the whole world of an evacuated child.

The door opened again to let the swooping shrieks of happy children flood back into the building. Shepherd looked up to discover a young girl standing in the doorway, her small hands clasped in front of her, her head tilted forward so her dark, wavy hair fell over her face, giving her something to hide behind. Two dark eyes peered out from behind it.

Her mother’s eyes.

Shepherd stared at her, not noticing Arkadian standing behind her until she pressed herself back against his leg. ‘Hevva, this is Mr Shepherd.’

‘Joseph,’ he said, smiling at her to try and put her at ease. ‘Do you speak English?’

She nodded, a move so tiny he wouldn’t have seen it at all but for the movement of her hair. ‘Are you real?’ she asked.

Shepherd’s smile broadened at the strange question. ‘As real as you.’ He frowned in mock seriousness. ‘Unless you’re not real, are you real?’

Another tiny nod, this time with the flicker of a smile.

‘I knew your mother,’ Shepherd said.

‘I know,’ the girl said, her voice sounding older than her years. She took a step forward, those familiar eyes watching him all the way. She still seemed a little wary of him and he didn’t want her to be. She was a living reminder of the woman he had loved and he just wanted to look at her.

She stopped in front of him, held out her clenched hands and opened them. Inside was a locket, held on a chain around her neck. She slipped it over her head, waves of hair tumbling over her face as the chain pulled free of it. He took it and looked at her, not sure what she meant by giving it to him. Then she reached out and – with tiny, nimble fingers – she opened it.