Red Notice (32 page)

Old men gripped their wives protectively as Delphine was pulled past them. Some just cowered and looked away. Parents comforted their children.

She saw Laszlo enter the carriage.

He paused every couple of steps and pointed at selected passengers. ‘You are now free to go.’

Nobody moved. They just looked puzzled. Some didn’t understand him; those who did couldn’t bring themselves to believe him.

Laszlo walked slowly along the carriage, pointing as he
did so. ‘You . . . you . . . you four . . . you two . . . and you.’

Delphine was fearful. There seemed no particular logic in the choices he was making. She couldn’t help thinking that it was yet another of his tricks.

‘You . . . and you . . .’

He stopped and turned back to a group of four at a table he had freed, and pointed at a thin man with short grey hair, dressed in a black Puffa jacket and jeans. ‘You will stay.’

The woman next to him burst into tears. He tried to comfort her, while almost hyperventilating about his own potential fate.

The air was thick with suspicion. After all they had been through that day, Delphine shared their disbelief. By the time Laszlo got to the end of the carriage, he’d selected a total of twenty males to remain in the tunnel. Some looked resigned; some couldn’t conceal their envy of those whose nightmare might – just might – have been about to end.

He turned, smiling benevolently, like an Old Testament prophet preparing to lead the chosen ones from the desert. ‘Go. Walk back along the tunnel. You will find yourself in England, in sunlight and open air, and all this will start to seem like a bad dream.’

One of a four-man group finally raised a hand, braver, Delphine thought, or perhaps more foolhardy than the rest. ‘How do we know you aren’t just fucking us about? You know, we get off the train, and then you kill us.’

Laszlo spread his open palms in a theatrical shrug. ‘I just may do that.’ Then his face changed. The smile became chilling. ‘But if you’re still in this carriage in one minute, I’ll kill you anyway. So what have you got to lose?’

There was a moment’s hesitation and then a mad scramble of the chosen ones towards the exit. The sound of Laszlo’s laughter pursued them as they clambered down onto the track.

Delphine could no longer see them, but she heard no shots. She heard murmurs. She imagined them looking around them, perhaps expecting guns to go off, then finally turning and starting to run breathlessly along the tunnel. The murmurs receded.

Laszlo looked at Delphine and laughed. ‘Some of them must be your fellow countrymen. They’re heading the wrong way, towards France.’

He moved into the next carriage. Delphine was dragged along with him. He barked at the hostages that they were all to be released. The same happened in Coach One too. She almost dared to hope that it would be her turn next.

She was pushed into the driver’s compartment and dumped on the floor. She watched, bemused, as Sambor detached what looked like oversized skateboards from the sort of oxygen sets she’d seen fire-fighters wear.

Laszlo appeared pleased. He reached down and cut through the duct tape with his knife, and pulled her to her feet.

‘It’s perfectly safe now.’ He peeled the last of the tape from her skin and thrust her against the wall. ‘The fireworks are over. For the moment at least.’

Delphine looked down at the limited edition Omega gleaming on his wrist, dreading what it implied.

97

THE TIGHTNESS OF
Delphine’s bonds had cut off some of the circulation to her legs, and she gasped as her capillaries started to refill with oxygenated blood. The driver remained curled up on the floor, having tried his best to get his body as far under the control panel as he could, as if he was pulling a duvet over his head and hoping this was all just a nightmare he’d wake up from.

Her eyes were still glued to the Omega on Laszlo’s wrist.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was Tom’s. He was responsible for my own being damaged, so it seemed only fair . . .’

He slipped the watch off his wrist and showed her the engraving on the back of its case. ‘BU . . . And a lovely winged dagger.’ He smiled. ‘Vanity is a terrible burden, isn’t it, Delphine? Really, I thought your Mr Buckingham would have been beyond this sort of thing.’

He turned back to the radio mic and switched on the speaker. ‘Mr Woolf, it is time for you and me to converse once more.’

A voice crackled back over the speaker. ‘What do you want, Antonov?’

Woolf clearly thought the time for diplomacy was over, that
the situation was far too advanced now for anything but an exchange of cold, hard facts.

But Laszlo didn’t see it entirely that way. He still wanted to play a little. Why not, when he so obviously had the upper hand? ‘Well, for a start, I think it would be a nice gesture if those fools at COBRA stopped sending their people in to try and kill me. It’s really not helping.’

Woolf didn’t bite. Laszlo thought he heard the sound of a pencil on paper. So that was how the MI5 man kept himself under control.

‘You left them with no other choice, right from the moment you started killing hostages.’

‘Believe me, I do see your point, Mr Woolf.’ Laszlo was enjoying himself immensely. ‘But if you had not been so impatient, you could have congratulated me on releasing so many hostages. They should be with you quite soon, hundreds of them, though I think some ran towards France. Maybe they’re still hoping to make their appointments. I will give you thirty seconds to make sure a reception is organized for them.’

While Laszlo waited, he produced a taped and modified handheld VHF radio from the desert-tan grab bag that had never left his shoulder.

Woolf took no more than twenty seconds. ‘Thank you for their release. But I know it’s because you don’t need them any more. They must just have been getting in the way. You have a device on the pipeline now. You have traded up. What do you plan to do with it? Is it just leverage? Or are you really going to try and destroy the tunnel?’

‘Mr Woolf, I feel the tone of our conversation has deteriorated somewhat. You were once so . . . congenial. Perhaps we would both benefit from the services of a suitable mediator. I think I have found the perfect woman for the job. Introducing a real person into the mixture will serve to remind you
all
that there is a matter of common humanity to consider. Sometimes these people become little more than statistics as we each move forward with our own game plans.’

Laszlo turned to Delphine. He held the radio mic up close to her mouth. ‘Say hello.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I do hope our conversation isn’t being broadcast to the nation.’ Laszlo wiped her saliva once more from his face. ‘It would be a shocking example to set. I’m afraid this young lady’s vocabulary leaves a lot to be desired. But she has had a very exhausting day.’

Laszlo held the device inches from Delphine’s face. ‘What would you say I was holding in my hand?’

She didn’t answer. Perhaps she didn’t know.

‘Mr Woolf, the item she is refusing to describe to you is the initiator for the pipeline charge. I built it myself. It has no need for re-broadcasters in the tunnel, and of course will defeat your electronic countermeasures. I am extremely proud of it.’

‘Get to the point, Antonov.’

Laszlo nodded to himself, with some satisfaction. ‘Well, simply put, if you attempt to launch another attack, I will detonate the device. If you do not meet my revised demands, I will detonate the device.’ He paused. ‘In fact, to distil the situation completely, Mr Woolf, if you disobey me or deviate from my instructions in any way at all, I will . . . well, I’m sure you can complete the sentence.’

‘And what are these revised demands?’ Woolf was still trying to sound calm, but Laszlo could hear his vocal cords tightening with stress. His voice had risen half an octave. Laszlo liked that.

‘My price has now doubled, to three hundred kilos of gold.’ He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the grab bag and moved closer to Delphine. She moved away an inch. There was nowhere to go.

Laszlo cut the comms to the hangar. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read Mr Woolf the detailed list of my requirements. If you do, I’ll have Tom brought to you. He’s alive.’

Laszlo didn’t get the reaction he was expecting. Instead, she launched an even angrier mouthful of spit onto his face.

Laszlo merely wiped it away again, with the back of his
hand. ‘Now, Delphine, just read what’s written on the paper to Mr Woolf, and you will be reunited with the father of your child.’ He handed her the sheet. ‘Nothing more – but nothing less, either.’

He held Delphine’s stare. ‘Young woman, put aside your hatred and pride. In our world, these wild emotions only get people killed. This is not about
you
. It’s about all those people who are still with us, wanting so desperately to survive.’

Delphine’s eyes broadcast her feelings for a moment or two longer, then she dropped her gaze. Laszlo turned on the comms and she started to read.

‘The Eurostar, along with the remaining hostages, will be driven back to Folkestone. No barricades or other obstructions are to be placed on the tracks. The Chinook will be positioned twenty metres from the track, at the mouth of the tunnel. Air space is to be cleared of all air traffic in a twenty-kilometre radius from that point, in all directions.’

Laszlo glanced at the Omega and retrieved the mic from Delphine. ‘Thank you. Mr Woolf. You now have ninety minutes.’ He switched off the comms system.

The train driver still lay face down on the floor, but he was no longer a picture of defeat. He knew at last why he had been held for so long on his own. Laszlo turned him over with the toe of his boot. ‘Very soon you will be resuming your normal duties. But, as you may have gathered, there has been a slight change of plan. We will be returning to Folkestone. So now you must make your way to the other engine and carry out whatever preparations you need to.

‘One of my men will be with you at all times. If you do exactly as you are told, you will live to tell your grandchildren the story of what happened to you today. If not, there will be one more body lying at the side of the track.’

Laszlo kicked open the compartment door. One of his men responded to the signal and escorted the driver away. The next moment, Tom’s semi-conscious body was dumped at Delphine’s feet. She gave a small cry and dropped on her knees to comfort him. His clothes were covered with dirt and oil; his
face was cross-hatched with cuts and bruises and bullet fragments. One eye was half closed by a livid red swelling, and his lips were swollen and split. The makeshift sweatshirt dressing around his left thigh was stained with blood. It had dried to a dull brown at the edges, but was still a dark, liquid crimson at the centre.

Delphine didn’t know how to help, what to soothe. All she could do was gaze down at him, horrified. ‘Tom . . .
Tom
. . .’

He looked like a drowning man, fighting his way to the surface. He managed, finally, to open one bloodshot eye and give her the ghost of a wink. His lips moved. He seemed to be trying to say something to her, in the faintest of whispers.

She leaned closer, her ear inches away from his mouth. She felt his breath on her cheek.

‘You . . . OK . . .?’

‘She’s fine.’ Laszlo squatted beside them. ‘Though, as you can see, she’s a little tongue-tied at the moment. Still, no permanent harm done and, by the way, I’m sure she’ll make a very good mother to your child when the time comes. I have an instinct for these things.’

‘Why are we still alive?’ Tom mumbled. His words were still barely audible. A thread of saliva fell from the corner of his hideously damaged mouth.

Laszlo tutted. ‘All those blows to the head must be affecting your brain, Tom. I’d have thought the answer was blindingly obvious. It’s because I like you both. I admire you for the way you have conducted yourselves during our time together and maybe, just maybe, I am a little envious. Your commitment to each other is quite inspiring, in its touchingly bourgeois way.’

He stood and headed for the door. ‘And, of course, because you are going to help me escape.’

98

A GUARD HAD
been positioned the other side of the open door. He shouted down the passageway towards the first carriage. Another group of Laszlo’s gunmen shouted back. Some of the hostages started shouting too, and Delphine thought she could hear more of them outside on the track.

She cradled Tom’s head in her lap, gently smoothing his blood-caked hair away from his forehead. It was the only thing she could think to do; it was the only thing that didn’t appear to hurt him.

Tom had his good eye focused on her. A smile gradually took shape around his bruised and battered lips. He peeled them back, painfully slowly, displaying chipped and blood-stained teeth. ‘Delphine . . . we’re going to have a son!’

She felt tears well in her eyes and begin to fall. They splashed down onto Tom’s face. ‘You told me you didn’t want children while you were in the SAS,’ she blurted. ‘You said that it wasn’t the right time . . .’ She wiped some of her tears from his forehead, making a smear in the encrusted dirt. ‘I should have told you, my darling. I
tried
to tell you – but you didn’t make it easy for me, you stupid, stupid man. The mistress . . . Yemen . . . the team . . . your work life always seemed so much more important—’

Tom wrenched himself upright and brushed his fingers against her trembling lips, but she carried on, wanting to explain: ‘I was scared, Tom.
So
scared. I was afraid you wouldn’t want our child. I panicked. I thought . . . I thought I had to leave . . .’

With infinite care, Tom caressed her cheek, then held her against his chest. Delphine tilted her head so she could gaze into his eyes. There were tears there too.

‘It’s not your fault, Delphine. I’m so sorry. You’re right. You’re right. But not about everything. I
want
to be a father. I’m
ready
to be a father. We’re going to have a son!’ He kissed her gently on the temple and whispered in her ear, ‘You kept asking what I wanted from you.’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘I finally worked it out. I want you to be my wife.’