The Rain-Soaked Bride (32 page)

‘I am not your responsibility,’ she told him. ‘You do not own me.’

‘It’s not about owning you!’ he told her. ‘It’s about loving you. Now, for God’s sake, keep back, it’s me she wants.’

Tamar pushed in front of him. ‘Then she’ll have to go through me.’

‘Stupid!’ Toby moved to the side, calling up at the Bride. ‘Quickly, please, do it! Just don’t hurt her!’

The skeleton cracked to and fro, the Bride inclined her head.

‘I am not stupid.’ Tamar grabbed him and pulled him back. ‘I am doing what is right.’

‘You don’t owe me anything!’ Toby said. ‘Please understand that. It’s not about debts. It’s not about being owned.’

‘I know,’ she told him. ‘But I am not going to leave you.’

The rain stopped, frozen in mid-air around them.

‘What are you doing?’ Fratfield shouted. He had kept his distance up until now, happy to watch but not wanting to risk being hurt himself. Now, frustrated, he walked between the rides, pulling his own gun out of its holster. ‘Finish the job, damn you, that’s what you’re for!’

Tamar fired first, hitting Fratfield in the shoulder. He spun on the spot, his gun flying out of his hand.

‘Don’t kill him,’ Toby insisted, grabbing the gun.

He looked up again at the Bride. ‘I don’t know how this works,’ he said, ‘but that woman means the world to me. She’s … well, she’s just amazing. I’m no good at explaining that sort of thing. I’m not very … I can’t find the words. She’ll only shout at me if I try. Doesn’t matter. The point is, I won’t stand by and risk her dying too.’ He put the gun to his head. ‘If I pull the trigger are we all square? Are we done?’

‘No, Toby!’ Tamar tried to wrestle the gun from him but he pushed her back.

‘Do it!’ Fratfield shouted. ‘It’s good enough for me!’

‘It’s not about you,’ Toby replied. ‘It’s about her.’ He pointed to the Bride. ‘Are we done?’ he asked again, pressing the barrel of the gun to his head. The Bride inclined her head again. Saying nothing.

Was that an answer? It must be. Surely if he was dead then the curse was satisfied. He closed his eyes and tightened his finger on the trigger.

Above them, there was a sudden roar of rotor blades as a helicopter carved its way through the air above the street. For a moment Toby was distracted, looking up and recognising the helicopter from Lufford Hall.

The downdraft from the rotor blades sent the frozen rain spiralling around them, Fratfield fighting to keep to his feet as the helicopter hovered just a few feet above them.

In the cabin there were four people: the pilot, Tae-young, Clive King and Shining.

‘It’s unbelievable,’ said King. ‘You can actually see where the rain begins, appearing as if out of thin air.’

‘With all due respect, Mr King,’ said Shining, ‘the rain is the least of my concerns.’ He tapped the pilot on the shoulder who handed him the microphone handset that was connected to a speaker on the underside of the helicopter.

‘Toby,’ said Shining, his voice echoing off the buildings around them, ‘you need to be careful. It’s not just Fratfield. An old friend is involved, too. That enemy agent we discussed before. The higher power. He’s been playing this whole situation to his own advantage. He’s been working with Fratfield. Be aware. He could be anyone at any time. Understand? He could be anyone!’

‘Are you sure we wouldn’t be of more help trying to attack Fratfield?’ asked King. ‘He’s the threat here.’

‘No he isn’t,’ said Tae-young, looking at the Bride who returned her gaze, her wet hair rippling in the wind caused by the rotor blades.

‘Toby will understand,’ said Shining. ‘I trust him. He’ll know what to do.’

Toby’s finger held fast. His eyes stayed closed. Then something popped into his head.

He turned the gun towards the helicopter and fired two shots. One clipping the left-hand landing skid, the other going wide.

‘Take us up!’ Shining demanded. ‘Quickly!’

Toby’s aim followed the helicopter as it sailed skywards but he didn’t take another shot. He sighed and lowered the gun.

‘What are you doing?’ Tamar asked.

He turned to her and, with terrifying speed, slapped her across the face. ‘Do shut up, you whining sow.’

Then he turned and walked towards Fratfield, shaking his head.

‘This is just a mess,’ he said, but the voice did not sound a bit like Toby’s. It was cold and dismissive. It was the voice of the ‘enemy agent’ to which Shining had referred. He didn’t even walk the same, a swagger, an insouciance that belied the young officer’s situation. ‘All you had to do,’ he said to Fratfield, ‘was kill a few people. Now I like a bit of spectacle but this is ridiculous. What’s your problem?’

‘Is that …?’ Fratfield’s eyes narrowed.

‘Who do you think it is? Thanks to your handling of this, my cover’s blown. Do you want me to clear up your mess?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own,’ Fratfield replied. ‘As I told you before, I don’t intend to become indebted to you.’

‘Fine.’ The rain began to fall again, the Bride turning to face the two men, her momentary indecision gone. Toby held the gun out, grip first, to Fratfield and tapped at his own forehead. ‘Then let’s get this done with. One shot and we can get on with more interesting things.’

Fratfield gritted his teeth, not comfortable with this thing ordering him around. ‘Fine,’ he said, snatching the gun. ‘I’d make yourself scarce if I were you, otherwise this might hurt.’

He pointed the gun towards Toby whose face suddenly changed. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice normal again. ‘Hang on. I think there’s something in the barrel that shouldn’t be there.’

‘What?’ Fratfield’s face fell as the penny dropped and he turned the gun around to look at the barrel. Stuck in the end was a rolled-up piece of paper. He plucked it out. The curse.

‘Gotcha!’ said Toby. Then, in the voice he had used while pretending to be controlled by the other presence: ‘Never take anything from anybody. Remember?’

Fratfield turned the gun back towards Toby and pressed the trigger. It jammed.

‘Bad luck,’ Toby said, turning his back on the man and walking back to Tamar.

The Bride leapt from the ghost train, the mechanical skeleton clicking forward one last time, then, with a squeal of shearing metal, the whole thing came loose and tumbled forward.

Fratfield was staring at the Bride, at what was left of her face, revealed as the wind pulled her hair apart. She opened her mouth and a jet of brackish water sprayed out, hitting Fratfield in the eyes. He put up his hands, unaware of the skeleton’s head scything down until it hit him square-on. There was the crash of metal, the popping of light bulbs, the splitting of fibreglass and the crack of bone.

‘You hit me,’ said Tamar, staring at Toby.

‘Yes, sorry, I was trying to be convincing, you see, and I thought …’ She slapped him hard and he shut up.

‘You will not do it again. Stupid man.’

‘No.’

With an angry sigh, she hugged him. ‘I am glad you are not dead.’

The Bride stood up from the ruin of meat and bone that had been Bill Fratfield, looked at the two of them and, beneath her black hair, what was left of her lips turned into a smile. Then she was gone and the rain went with her.

a) Warwick Hospital, Lakin Road, Warwickshire

Fratfield cried out as a bolt of pain lanced through him. He sat up in his hospital bed, his hand moving to the dressed bullet wound in his abdomen.

‘Are you all right?’ asked the nurse who had been adjusting his drip.

‘No,’ Fratfield replied. ‘I …’ he couldn’t explain the pain. He caught the vague smell of candy floss and burned electrics. ‘There was something …’ One of his other selves, he realised. Something had happened to one of the duplicates.

‘I’m all right,’ he said, lying back down, the pain still crackling through his body.

‘Actually,’ said the nurse, her voice taking on a distinctly different tone, ‘you’re not. In fact you’ve made a right mess of things.’

‘Excuse me?’ it took Fratfield a few seconds to realise he was no longer talking to the nurse.

‘In fact, you’re about …’ the nurse inclined her head as if listening to something, ‘three minutes away from being surrounded by security officers. You’re blown. They’re coming for you.’

Fratfield made to get out of the bed but the drugs in his system and the pain from his wound threw his balance and he slid to the floor.

‘Not in a good state, are we?’ the nurse asked, tugging playfully at the plastic tubes that still connected Fratfield to the drip behind his bed. ‘Let’s be honest, you’re going nowhere. You’re trapped. You’re done.’

Fratfield tried to stand up but his head was swimming and he couldn’t get his thoughts straight.

‘Unless of course,’ the nurse said, squatting down next to him, ‘you’d like a bit of help? It’ll come at a price, naturally, but I imagine you’d rather pay it than face what Her Majesty’s Government has in store?’

Fratfield looked at her and knew that he was lost.

A few minutes later, the hospital ward was in chaos as a team of Rowlands’ men entered, pushing their way past complaining staff and into Fratfield’s room.

By then, of course, it was empty.

b) Section 37, Wood Green, London

August Shining put down the phone and settled back into his office chair.

‘Nothing?’ asked Toby.

‘He’s in the wind,’ admitted Shining. ‘Last seen approaching Dover. Anyone else and I’d hold out a chance of them picking him up at passport control, but not him. He’s too good. They found the owner of the car he stole dumped in a layby. One more dead body added to the list.’

‘It could have been more.’

‘Yes,’ Shining admitted, ‘it could have been. I’m afraid I can hardly look on this as our brightest day, though. We caught him as much by luck as judgement.’

Toby got up from his desk, moving slowly, still aching from his experiences of the last few days.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘at least we still have one of them.’

Shining nodded. ‘And that’s sent the powers that be into freefall. King has worked wonders backing up our story, but there are still those who refuse to believe we’ve caught a double agent as well as killing him and letting him escape.’

‘It does get confusing.’

‘Hello, boys.’ April entered in her usual excitable manner. ‘Just wondered if you wanted to pop out for lunch. I’m taking Tae-young and Jae-sung to an all-you-can-eat buffet before they have to fly home.’

‘Too much to do here, I’m afraid,’ said Shining, ‘but give them our best.’

‘Darling boy,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek, ‘I think you both already did that.’

She stood next to Toby. ‘And how is …?’ She pointed upstairs.

‘Fine,’ he said, smiling. ‘Actually, we’re going out tonight.’

‘A date!’ she screamed and then buried her face in his shoulder as if embarrassed by her outburst, something Toby knew she never could be.

‘We’re just going for a drink,’ he said. ‘It’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘you never know what these things lead to.’

From the other side of Little Green, a driver beats his horn twice in quick succession. It echoes like a musical sting from a trumpet, bouncing around the buildings of Richmond. Toby Greene, a man who is doing his very best to appear relaxed, nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound.

‘A little on edge, old thing?’ asks the voice in his ear. ‘Do try not to scream in panic at every bit of traffic noise.’

‘It’s all right for you,’ Toby mutters, keeping his lips still and his voice only just loud enough for the small mic in his bow tie to pick up. ‘The worst thing that can go wrong for you this afternoon is that your sister embarrasses you. Again.’

August Shining leans back against the wrought-iron gate where he’s waiting and smiles. ‘True. Now get a move on or the whole thing’s blown.’

‘What do you think I’m trying to do?’ Toby replies, breaking into a run.

He glances at his watch. The clock is indeed ticking and he has only minutes left in which to pull this off. Failure, as is so often the way in his life these days, will mean the threat of a sound beating, maybe even death.

He breaks across the road, narrowly avoiding the path of a motorbike whose slipstream tugs at his jacket.

‘Careful,’ says Shining. ‘That sounded too close for comfort.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Toby sighs, wondering if having his superior commenting on his every move isn’t a distraction too far. ‘You just be ready your end and let me worry about what I’m doing.’

Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly spots his target. The car is pulling past the train station and heading in his direction.

‘The car’s coming!’ he says.

‘Well, move then! You mustn’t let her see you!’

Toby darts through the door of a nearby pub. ‘A taste of Ireland’, it promises. Looking around, it only seems to offer a taste of sullen misery.

‘There ain’t a fucking dress code,’ says an old man sat by the door, eyeing up Toby’s suit as he works his way through an apple juice and vodka.

‘Obviously not,’ Toby replies, noting the old man’s combination of stained anorak and tracksuit bottoms.

He watches the car pull past the front of the pub, gives it a couple of seconds to make sure the traffic will have moved on a little way and then steps back out onto the street. He can see the car a short way in the distance. He hangs back a little, wanting to make sure he’s not spotted in the rear-view mirror.

‘OK,’ he says into the microphone, ‘I need a quicker route. I need to steer clear of the main road but somehow get ahead of them.’

‘Already on it,’ Shining replies. He’s scrolling through the maps app on his phone. ‘Right . . . You feeling fit?’

‘Just do it.’

‘Then get across the road.’

Toby runs between the traffic, following his superior’s instructions all the way.

‘The street you’re now on runs parallel with the main road,’ Shining tells him, ‘but when you get to the end you’re going to run into them again so you need to be a little more creative. You need to be heading north.’