According to the hospital the kid was doing OK, although whether he’d agree to eventually testify against his own father was unknown. Besides, how much or how little Colin Macbeth was involved in murder was still a mystery. So far twenty-nine men had been arrested, but very few arms had been recovered. The intel he’d originally received from Interpol, and which had kicked the whole operation off, had been principally about weapons. Specifically weapons arriving in containers of bicycles which were manufactured in Belarus.

  The police had intercepted the consignment and discovered that the arms had been very cleverly disguised as bicycle components. They had allowed them to reach their intended destination which had been a bike shop in Norwich. It hadn’t been a huge place, but then the bikes had been taken on to a local manor house owned by one of Lady Valerie’s oldest friends. A team of officers had been despatched to a tiny village just outside Diss the previous afternoon. Manson had no doubt that some very powerful people would try to get Val and her mate, The Honourable Caroline, off – and maybe, given the current climate in the country, they would succeed. But it wasn’t a certainty because this time Val’s creatures had actually killed.

  Manson muttered to himself, ‘Fucking Luddites.’

  He laughed because it was the most ridiculous terror cell he’d ever come across. Then his phone rang and the laughter stopped.

  Colin’s screaming seemed to go on for ever but Lee Arnold, his eyes darting between both the man in the room and the officer called Fitzy, held his nerve. He knew that Fitzy was aware he had eyes on Colin and that he would signal to him should he need to. If the situation deteriorated.

  From his vantage point, which was not that good, Lee could see that Colin was now sitting on the floor, crying, his body folded over the sub-machine gun. Would it be safe to go in on him while he was in such a state? Probably not. Fitzy was, at least in part, relying on him to monitor Colin’s state of mind.

  Lee wondered whether the metallic smell of fresh blood had got through to Colin yet? It was very strong now and he began to notice that glutinous lumps of dead flesh were detaching from the ceiling of the tunnel. Some of the men under detention were retching now and Lee briefly looked over at Father George, who was crossing himself and murmuring a prayer.

  How was this going to end?

  Shazia was crying so much that Krishnan had to take the phone from her. When she’d first heard Mumtaz’s voice, she’d screamed.

  ‘Amma! Oh my God, where are you?’

  Mumtaz had tried to tell her in as logical a fashion as she could, but all she’d succeeded in doing was making the girl cry. They were, in part, tears of relief, but also the mention of the word ‘hospital’ had panicked her.

  ‘Which hospital?’ she’d asked. ‘I’m coming! What happened? Where have you been? Are you injured? Are you sick?’

  Mumtaz had tried to calm her down, but then she’d sobbed so hard she’d had to pass the phone to her boyfriend.

  Krishnan, much more calmly, said, ‘Mumtaz, are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m off my head on sedatives, but I’m fine.’

  ‘Good. Now do you want us to ring anyone? Your parents? Lee?’

  Less emotionally involved, Krishnan was concentrating on practicalities.

  Mumtaz looked up at the nurse who had lent her a phone and smiled. She hadn’t wanted to use it to make multiple calls.

  She said to Krishnan, ‘If you could let my parents know I’m OK that would be great. I don’t know how much they knew. I’ll leave it to you. I’ve tried Lee once myself but he’s not picking up.’

  ‘OK. I’ll try him too,’ Krishnan said. ‘I’m not going to ask you the whys and wherefores.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘Just tell me the name of the hospital you’re in and we’ll be over.’

  ‘Oh don’t come now,’ Mumtaz said. ‘I need to sleep if I can. I’m in St Thomas’.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Thanks so much, Krish, and do give my girl a hug from me,’ she said.

  ‘Of course. See you soon, Mumtaz.’

  He ended the call and Mumtaz gave the phone back to the nurse. ‘Thank you.’

  The nurse smiled and said, ‘Now you try to get some rest, yes? Everything is alright now.’

  Mumtaz slid down between the bed sheets.

  ‘My daughter’s boyfriend is such a nice young man,’ she said. ‘I do hope they stay together. Shazia, my daughter, is not an easy girl.’

  And then almost immediately she fell asleep.

  One of his officers, called DS Loft, led DI Manson through the house and down into the tunnels. Now wearing a Kevlar vest and a helmet, he asked the officer, ‘Who’s in charge?’

  He’d been told that Williams and an officer called Kay were both dead.

  ‘Fitzallan, sir.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Perp’s got a sub-machine gun,’ Loft said. ‘He’s in one of those rooms they have down here.’

  ‘How did it happen?’ Manson asked.

  ‘Far as I can tell, a noise was heard coming from the room. Williams announced his presence, opened the door and the bloke opened fire.’

  ‘Williams was standing directly in front of the door?’ Manson asked. ‘Christ! You’d think he’d know better than that!’

  He was both terrified about what he would find when they got to the scene, and furious with Williams and Kay for dying needlessly. That said, as they walked down into the earth through tunnels of varying heights, widths and states of illumination, Manson did begin to feel some of the dread he knew accompanied working in enclosed spaces. In tunnel systems, however ruthlessly one might clear them of hostile actors, there was always the fear that death could lurk around the next corner, in the next room. Williams and his team had been down for longer than any of the others and so there was also the issue of fatigue to take into account. Fatigue and uncertainty.

  Williams and his team had reportedly detained twelve Luddites. Christ, even the name made Manson blush! That modern, supposedly educated people could engage in something so delusional was beyond him. In addition, there were four other people the team had met somewhere in the tunnels. Who they were and why they’d been down there, Manson hadn’t been told. For the moment he worked on the assumption these were probably terrorists too – if one could call Val Rudolph’s motley crew terrorists …

  Manson had personally led the first team into the tunnels. This was after the pub had been cleared and in pursuit of all those who had run from the pub and underground. Some had even gone to Hobbs’s house next door and entered via that. A few had got snarled up at the entrances, while others had been pursued down tunnels that sometimes led to dead ends. A lot of the men, who were almost all middle-aged, simply ran out of steam and gave themselves up. But if it was true that the man with the gun now was actually Macbeth, then he wouldn’t go easily. Not only was he connected to hardcore fascist families by blood, but he was also the father of the dead baby, the ‘sacrifice’. Also, if Hobbs had got hold of that baby then Macbeth must have taken it, willingly or by force, from its mother. And where was she? Who was she?

  As they descended still further, Manson began to feel hot. There was also a familiar smell in the dank air, of blood. No arms had been discovered until this incident. Manson had a good idea about how much hardware had been smuggled into the tunnels and it was a lot more than just one sub. Retrieving and then disabling said weapons before they got onto the streets was one of the main aims of the operation. But where were they?

  Colin was silent. He was also out of Lee Arnold’s eyeline. Lee didn’t know who he was. During the course of this whole affair, he’d concentrated almost exclusively on Mumtaz. Who these people hanging out in the tunnels were, he didn’t know, like he didn’t know why the police were involved. Colin had killed two police officers and so he was going away for ever. Had Mumtaz’s two little lads really stumbled into some sort of sinister plot when they’d met that boy on Arthur Hobbs’s doorstep?

  Even as he said it in his head, Lee felt as if he were skirting around the edges of one of Wilko’s more fantastical historical daydreams. And yet here he was, in a mythical underground tunnel, listening to the sound of a man holding a sub-machine and whimpering to himself.

  Fitzy caught Lee’s eye and indicated that he was going to speak again. Lee nodded.

  ‘Here, Colin,’ he said, ‘there is one way you can make this better for yourself, you know.’

  Lee couldn’t see how that could be, but …

  Although Colin didn’t respond, Fitzy continued, ‘Show us where the arms are, mate. We know you’ve got them, we’ll find them eventually. But if you co-operate now—’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘Only trying to help …’

  ‘Go and do some proper work, you bastard!’ Colin said. ‘Go down to Dover and pull all those fucking migrants out of their hiding places in our lorries and throw them into the sea! Persecute us don’t ya! Patriots!’

  And there, Lee thought, it was – raw, furious nationalism. Every country had it; try as they might, no one could entirely kill it because it was based on victimhood, which was at least as powerful a political tool as religion.

  ‘All we want to do is save this country and keep it pure,’ Colin continued.

  ‘We can talk about all this when you’re out of there,’ Fitzy said.

  ‘No we can’t because you won’t!’ Colin responded. ‘You won’t listen, you never do! People like you!’

  Fitzy said nothing, partly because two more officers had arrived. One was slim and tall and probably quite young, while the other, the more senior officer, was a middle-aged man in a Kevlar vest and helmet. Both stood beside the far edge of the door, out of sight. The older man motioned to Fitzy who nodded.

  ‘Colin?’ he said.

  There was a pause and then Colin said, ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘My name’s DI Manson,’ he said.

  ‘Never heard of you.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you have,’ Manson said. ‘I know about you though. I’ve been watching you and your lot for quite some time.’

  Colin became quiet again.

  Manson continued, ‘So don’t try and hit me with all the “cause” stuff. Let’s get to the nitty-gritty, shall we?’

  Not a word.

  ‘So look, it’s like this,’ Manson said. ‘You tell me where the woman is, the mother, and the arms, and maybe you can salvage something from this.’

  Lee held his breath. This DI Manson was not pussyfooting around. He began to feel his heart beat faster.

  ‘The mother first,’ Manson continued. ‘Where is she, Colin? What did you do to her? You kill her so you could take the baby?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘We know Arthur killed your child you know, Colin,’ Manson said.

  ‘No you don’t, because it ain’t true!’

  ‘No? So what have you all been doing prancing about down here with masks and knives and mumbo jumbo, then?’ Manson said. ‘Lud demands sacrifice, doesn’t he? Oh I know all about your little made-up religion. Be surprised what some of the alkies down The Jolly Sailor come out with when you buy them a drink. Shouldn’t use alkies is I think, the moral of this story. Unreliable.’

  Yet again, Colin became silent.

  Manson said, ‘You’ve a son, John.’

  ‘No I don’t!’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘He’s dead!’ His voice was full of tears. ‘He wasn’t up to it, he …’

  The sobbing overwhelmed him and Manson signalled to Fitzy, who put his head around the doorpost. Lee knew of old what was about to happen next and he held his breath.

  They could hold him for up to fourteen days without charging him. This was because the police had arrested Arthur under prevention of terrorism legislation. Terrorism! He was a patriot! If they only knew it, they’d thank him for what he’d tried to do. Brexit and all that was just window-dressing; what Britain really needed was a full-on return to a purely British way of life. People didn’t know what a visionary Val was. Like her father, she’d seen the opportunities as soon as she’d walked the tunnels.

  At the time, Arthur hadn’t known much about Lud. Val had taught him and it had made him feel justified. He’d always had views on Englishness and now there was a religion that worshipped that! Had he always known it was a fraud? Maybe, but it didn’t matter. It was the cause that mattered, getting back to English basics! Besides, he was only countering their lies. That was why his dad had killed Mr Salzedo, because he’d lied.

  Why did people almost always put their hands up to their faces when they cried? Was it embarrassment? Was it symbolically not wanting to see what was happening to make you cry? Lee Arnold didn’t know. He didn’t even really see what went on between Fitzy and Colin in that room. All he did know was that the officer kicked the man’s sub-machine gun out into the tunnel and pushed his own weapon against Colin’s head. The officer with Manson picked up the weapon and disabled it while his boss went in. Lee heard him say, ‘Down on the ground! Hands behind your back!’

  Then he formally arrested him. The men they had detained earlier muttered, but they were soon joined by yet more police officers and Lee let out a long, shaky breath. Now all he had to do was find Mumtaz.

  Then, quite unaccountably, he began to cry.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Nobody woke her. She just simply became aware of noise and movement around her. One of the walls of her side room had a window and Mumtaz could see nurses and ancillary staff moving about. Outside the sky was grey but it was well after sunrise. Still attached to a drip, she pressed her buzzer as she knew she would need help visiting the lavatory.

  After the nurse took her to the toilet and helped her back in bed, she asked, ‘The boy I came in with, how is he?’

  The nurse didn’t know but said she’d go and ask. When she came back she was smiling.

  ‘John Macbeth is up on the ward now,’ she said. ‘He’s still pretty groggy, but he’s doing fine.’

  ‘Can I see him?’ Mumtaz asked.

  ‘You both need to see the doctor first,’ the nurse said.

  She could understand the logic of that.

  ‘And your daughter’s here,’ the nurse continued.

  ‘Shazia!’ Mumtaz was halfway out of bed before the nurse hauled her back in again.

  ‘Your daughter is going to have to wait until the doctor has been,’ she said. ‘She knows this and is sitting quietly down in the cafe with a book.’

  ‘Oh …’ Mumtaz suddenly felt deflated again as well as very tired.

  ‘You’re popular,’ the nurse said as she tucked blankets around her.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve got two police officers waiting to see you too.’

  Mumtaz frowned. ‘I told them all I know last night, didn’t I?’

  ‘I dunno,’ the nurse said. ‘But they’re waiting for you.’

  And Lee?

  ‘Anyone else?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ the nurse said.

  Then she left, leaving Mumtaz feeling suddenly scared.

  ‘So you’re a PI,’ Manson said as a statement of fact.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what were you doing …?’

  ‘Underground?’ Lee shook his head. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said. ‘Desperation …’

  ‘Desperation?’

  ‘My business partner went missing.’

  He knew that Mumtaz was safe now. All he wanted to do was see her even though he knew he had to do this first.

  ‘You were with two of our officers, PC Whittington and Sergeant Wilkinson.’

  ‘Yeah. And George Feldman.’

  ‘Father George,’ Manson said. ‘We know him.’

  ‘Do you?’

  Manson smiled. ‘I feel I don’t have to tell you that you ignore nutters at your peril.’

  Lee shook his head. ‘Sometimes.’

  Manson shrugged. ‘So tell me how Mrs Hakim came to be in EC4. Not your manor is it?’

  ‘No …’

  He told him about the two boys and their money-making scheme and about the young man they’d encountered who was bloodied and, they felt, needed help.

  ‘Why didn’t the kids come to us?’ Manson asked.

  It was a fucking good question and one that Lee had asked Mumtaz repeatedly. She’d cited the precarious position a police investigation would represent for the kids, particularly Habib. But then Lee himself hadn’t taken it seriously. He’d let her take the boys’ case because he thought it was ‘nothing’ and because he loved her. It was unprofessional and he knew it. He also knew that he had a duty to tell Manson just that.

  ‘Look, I got you into this …’

  ‘I was as fascinated as you were,’ Jordan said.

  Wilko wanted to bear all the responsibility for what had happened, but Jordan wasn’t having it.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘you weren’t wrong. Look at what we found down there! It was real, Wilko …’

  ‘And it was in hand,’ the older man said. ‘We should have trusted—’

  ‘What?’ George cut in. ‘Trust what, Wilko? You know how things are going in this country right now as well as I do. There’s no stability, the Internet has sent people mad …’

  ‘Has it? Has it really?’

  George shook his head.

  Wilko put a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. ‘I retire in less than a year,’ he said.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have been down there.’

  ‘Well I can’t see how anyone can get into any sort of trouble for helping to unmask criminals,’ George said.

  They’d been put into an interview room somewhere in the bowels of Scotland Yard, but no one had been sent to question them. They’d been given some pathetic plastic cups of tea, but so far that was it.

  Wilko said, ‘Men died, George, our officers—’

  ‘We didn’t kill them!’