Part 29 (1/2)

The girl who stepped forward had been standing in the far left-hand corner, by the slop bucket and piles of grease-stained pizza boxes and plastic sandwich wrappers. Her hair was longer than in the picture, and matted. Her expression was defiant.

I moved towards her, my hand outstretched.

'Come on. Move!' I knew I should be treating her to the full Mother Teresa number, but I didn't have the time. None of us did.

I had to grab her arm and pull her all the way out of the room. I slammed the door shut and threw the bolt.

Under the lights in the hallway, her resolve crumbled. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She was trembling. She tried to hide it, but wasn't having much success.

'Please, please ...'

I took her face in my hands and moved it up towards the light.

It was her all right. The Goth vampire look had faded, but you couldn't mistake the fire in her eyes. Whatever they'd done to her, they hadn't yet broken her spirit.

I let go of her and pressed the picture into her hand. 'Who is that? What is his name?'

The paper shook in her hands. Teardrops. .h.i.t the page. 'Viku.'

I grabbed her by the arm once more. 'I'm taking you home.'

I dragged her to the office opposite and pushed her inside.

'Turn the light on. Stay here. I'll come back soon. Do not leave this room, OK?'

She nodded.

I closed the door. This one also had a key in it. They probably all did if this place was being rented out. I gave it a turn. It would put the frighteners on her again, but I didn't want her to see what I was getting up to next.

Everything I needed was squared away. All the girls, and the two f.u.c.ks next door, were contained, and I had Lilian. Now I could sort out the device.

I hoisted the Bergen onto one shoulder and headed back into the silo. Flynn and b.i.t.c.h t.i.ts thrashed their legs about, their heads jerking in unison as they tried to shout out at me through the gaffer tape. The pleading had stopped. They were just p.i.s.sed off big-time.

Three thick, cast-iron heating pipes ran from beneath the concrete, through evenly s.p.a.ced brackets up the wall, all the way to the floor above us. I gave them an exploratory tug. They didn't give an inch.

My body ached, my feet were getting heavier and I was gagging for water, but nothing could detract from the glow of knowing these two were going to watch my every move and then work out exactly what was going to happen to them. And to make sure that happened unimpeded, I dragged each of them across the floor and ran the gaffer tape around their heads and the pipes, and then did the same with their chests and waists. Their legs stretched out in front of them. They were going nowhere. The show was about to begin, and I wanted them to have ringside seats.

The offices above me spilt enough light for me to see what I needed to see and do what I needed to do. Whatever was on the TV, it was now in Dutch.

I removed the freezer bags: two with the yellow picric acid crystals, and two with the shotgun propellant. The fuel container came out next. I laid them all in a line. I had to do this methodically or I might f.u.c.k up and forget something.

The pair of them had stopped moving about. They had one good eye each and they were fixed on me like laser beams. They were trying to work out what the f.u.c.k was happening. They'd know soon enough.

First I had to a.s.semble the two explosive charges. I unsealed a bag of picric, inserted an open pack of dark grey propellant into the middle of the yellow crystals, and put them to one side. I exposed one end of my home-made fuse with my teeth and shoved it into the second pack of propellant, then gaffer-taped the two securely together before repeating the process. I taped the second picric bag too.

I moved across to where the remnants of the flour had drifted like snow against the wall that joined the silo to the admin building. Dropping onto my hands and knees, I scooped as much as I could of it to one side so the twenty-litre fuel container could sit directly on the concrete. My nose and mouth were soon full of fine white powder, and so were my eyes.

I placed the container in the s.p.a.ce I'd cleared, and taped the second IED on top of it. The fuse snaked off to my right.

The flour began to mix with the sweat running down my cheeks and gathering at the back of my neck. I must have looked like a cross between the world's most enthusiastic c.o.ke head and the Pillsbury Doughboy.

I grabbed the components of the first IED, which was to be the kicker charge. I dug deep into the flour that I'd just helped bank against the wall. I had to make sure of two things: first, that I placed the kicker charge higher than the firebomb; and second, that it went as deep into the flour as I could manage. These bags still weren't sealed. It wasn't their time yet.

I checked the fuse leading from the petrol bomb to make sure it was within easy reach of the kicker charge, and that it didn't touch the fuel at any point. That was why the kicker had to be higher - so the fuse flowed easily into the picric.

I picked up the Bergen and moved away from the two devices. The TV news was still blaring away. They'd have something right on their doorstep to talk about in a couple of hours.

I took out the mosque alarm and the bulb, lifted the batteries out of the back of the clock and reinserted them the right way round.

20

I unwrapped the gaffer tape protecting the bulb and gave it a quick test. Perfect. I closed it down before the filament got hot. I set the alarm for two hours. That would be enough for me to get back and shower all this s.h.i.+t off me before I went anywhere near the airport.

I moved back to the device and gently pushed the bulb into the open propellant bag of the kicker charge. I bit away the free end of the fuse and shoved that alongside. I made sure both were sunk deep into the propellant before sealing them in place. I wrapped some more tape around both the wire and the fuse and made sure it was all nice and tight.

The timer gave a gentle green glow as I started scooping flour on top of the kicker charge. The clock would spark up the bulb. That, in turn, would set off the propellant in the bag, and at the same time ignite the fuse. The fuse would start burning towards the firebomb. The propellant inside the kicker charge would generate a f.u.c.k of a lot of heat. The picric acid would explode. And since it was against the wall, the force of it would push up, down and forwards into the building.

The pressure wave would force out the flour in a fine mist at supersonic speed. There'd be a ma.s.sive amount of pressure, because this place was so enclosed. There were no windows, and the building itself was sealed. The pressure wave would have nowhere to exit. So as it bounced and rattled around the building, it would take the cloud of flour and dust with it. The cloud would fill the building.

All the while, the fuse to the kicker charge would be burning down to the propellant inside the main charge. It would also explode, and detonate that lot of picric, creating another ma.s.sive pressure wave. That was why there had to be an air gap between the fuel and the explosive. You need to give the wave a little time before it hits the fuel. If it's physically touching, it can sometimes just explode and kick out fluid at supersonic speed instead of flame.

What I wanted was flame. It would ignite all the particles of flour, and that would create even more pressure. The wave would burst its way round the entire building in a couple of seconds.

Flynn and b.i.t.c.h t.i.ts looked like they were going to explode all by themselves.

I finished burying the kicker charge and laid the Bergen next to the fuel but kept the remaining gaffer tape in my hand. I'd almost done it. The last bit was the hardest of all, and that was the wait. But it had benefits, I supposed. Flynn and b.i.t.c.h t.i.ts also had to wait.

They'd gone noisy again. I wasn't sure if they were begging, trying to cut a deal, or just giving me their final thoughts on my mother's s.e.xual history.

I knelt down beside them and rolled all the remaining gaffer tape around both sets of legs.

I fished around in Flynn's smart leather coat for the main door keys. Flynn fixed his eyes on mine. He knew what I was thinking and accepted he was going to die. b.i.t.c.h t.i.ts wasn't following his dad's example. He continued to flap. That was good for me.

I turned and went out, leaving the door to the hallway wide open.

21

She was standing in the far corner of the empty office, her back firmly against the wall. If she could have burrowed her way into it, she would have done.

'Come on, hurry!'