Dead Man's Gift 02 - Last Night by Simon Kernick Read Free Book Online Page A

dustcart approached the junction from which the Jaguar had emerged, and Scope yanked the wheel and mounted the pavement, almost knocking over two of the binmen as he got in front of the dustcart and accelerated up the road.
    ‘Where’s he now?’ he demanded.
    ‘He’s about four hundred metres up ahead and …’ Orla paused. ‘Looks like he’s slowing down.’ Another pause. ‘He’s stopped.’
    ‘Where?’
    Her expression was puzzled. ‘Looks like the Central Middlesex Hospital.’
    ‘Are you all right, Tim?’ asked Brenda Foxley, a tough-looking yet kindly MP from the Labour back benches, who served on the committee with him. ‘You haven’t been yourself today.’
    It had just turned 10.30 a.m. and they were walking down the corridor towards the Portcullis Room, where the hearing was to take place, the remainder of the committee and the attendant researchers following in a loose line behind them as they passed through the metal detectors.
    Tim forced a smile. He liked Brenda, having known her close to ten years now. They’d even had a brief fling once, not long after Max had been born, and she’d be sitting next to him today. Which meant that unless Scope came up with something very fast, she’d be dead too within the next half an hour. ‘I’m fine. I’ve just been a bit under the weather lately, that’s all. I think I might be coming down with flu.’
    ‘Don’t give it to me then. I’m off to Malaysia next week on that fact-finding tour, and I don’t want to miss out on the chance of sunshine.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, unable to keep the smile going. ‘I don’t think it’s catching.’
    The men’s toilets were coming up on the left and Horton excused himself, walking up to the third cubicle, his heart hammering in his chest. The door was slightly ajar and he went inside, locking it behind him. One of the other cubicles was occupied by someone who was making a lot of noise clearing his throat, and Horton wondered whether he too was going to be attending the hearing.
    He bent down and reached round the back of the toilet bowl, immediately feeling the mobile. It was affixed to the bowl with duct tape, and he slowly peeled it off before gingerly placing the unit on the toilet seat. It didn’t consist of much. Part of the mobile’s casing had been removed and two wires – one black, one red – ran from its circuit board directly into a thin, mobile-phone-sized block of plastic explosive wrapped in protective film. The whole thing was held together by a single tightened canvas strap.
    Horton stared at it for a long time. It wouldn’t have been difficult for someone who knew what they were doing to get the various components through the metal detectors before assembling it in here, but it was still a terrifying thought that determined individuals could bring such weaponry into the mother of all Parliaments. It looked so innocuous as well, but he knew the damage it would do. The phone vibration would set off the first explosion, which would set off the bigger package of plastic explosives in the vest’s lower pocket, and blow the hearing room to smithereens. He’d be killed instantly. No question.
    He looked at his phone, hoping he’d missed a call from Scope, but he hadn’t. This was the moment of truth. If he put the bomb in the vest, he’d be a dead man walking, with no control over his destiny. But if he didn’t and Scope failed, then Max died, and he’d have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life.
    The man in the other stall farted loudly and Horton shut his eyes tightly. He had no choice. In the end, he had no choice.
    Pulling up his shirt, he slipped the bomb inside the empty pocket.

19
    The underground car park at the Central Middlesex Hospital was almost full, and there was no immediate sign of either Frank Bale’s Jaguar or Frank Bale himself as Scope drove to the hospital entrance and pulled up.
    ‘Park the car and meet me inside,’ he told Orla. ‘He’s