The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

‘Go!’ Gunnymede shouted. ‘Catch that boat!’

The driver opened up the throttle and the inflatable shot forward. Gunnymede hit a key on his phone.

‘Neve! I’ve got a possible! The Polo Harrow! An aggregate carrier!’

‘The police can’t be more than a minute away!’

‘So’s the bloody embankment!’

Gunnymede put his phone away. ‘Get me on that boat!’

The driver was up for it and powered the inflatable closer to the stern. Gunnymede signalled the starboard side and the driver accelerated over the work boat’s bow wave to come alongside.

Bethan was in the control room of Blackfriars station watching the dozen screens showing various locations from the ticket hall to the escalators, tunnels and platforms. Staff members were busy blocking routes down to the platform and ordering people to leave the station. Down escalators had been switched off. Loudspeakers continually broadcast warnings for everyone to exit the station in an orderly manner. People were streaming for the exits.

The senior controller looked at a screen showing dozens of people in a hallway at the bottom of a staircase. ‘What are those people doing?’ he asked no one in particular. There were half a dozen operators in the room. ‘They should be heading up.’

‘Disorientated,’ a controller suggested.

‘Tell them to take the stairs,’ the senior controller said, exasperated.

‘I’ve been trying,’ another controller said.

‘Maybe they’re foreigners,’ another suggested. ‘Can’t speak English.’

One of the screens showed a dozen young school children and a couple of supervisors heading along an access tunnel.

‘Why are those children not hurrying?’ Bethan asked a controller.

‘Not only that, they’re going the wrong way,’ he said. He pushed a series of buttons and pulled a microphone to his mouth. ‘This is an emergency announcement. Will all passengers please make their way up to the station entrance in an orderly manner. I repeat. This is an emergency announcement.’

Several of the children were holding hands and skipping as the others ambled along as if they hadn’t heard the announcement.

‘They can’t hear,’ the controller said.

‘The speakers must be down in that tunnel,’ another offered.

‘They’ll hear the announcement when they reach the platform,’ another said.

Gunnymede grabbed the vessel’s side at the rear, pulled himself up and scrambled onto the narrow deck outside the superstructure. He pulled out his pistol and stepped to the door at the back, gripped the handle, pushed it open and charged in, gun levelled. The small crew room was empty except for a man lying on the floor, soaked in blood, his throat cut open. Gunnymede needed no further evidence and moved to the internal door that led to the stairs up to the bridge. He made his way carefully up them, the end of his gun leading the way and stood outside the only door. He checked the hinges to confirm which way it opened, gripped the doorknob and, taking a breath, yanked it open.

Standing inside, less than two metres away with their backs to him were four men, all looking ahead through the bridge windows. The sound of the engines at full speed directly below filled the room. Saleem was first to look around and see Gunnymede pointing his gun at him.

‘I’m making the turn in ten seconds,’ the pilot said. When Saleem didn’t answer he glanced at him and then at Gunnymede. The other two fighters did the same.

One of them reached for a knife on the bridge dashboard.

‘Make the turn,’ Saleem said.

‘Turn that wheel and I’ll kill you,’ Gunnymede warned.

‘Turn,’ Saleem ordered. ‘Allah will protect you.’

The pilot looked through the window for the red marker on the embankment. It was then or never. He spun the wheel. As the boat lurched over Gunnymede steadied himself in the doorway and shot the pilot through the side of his head. The man slumped lifelessly over the wheel and dropped to the deck.

‘Go!’ Saleem yelled and the other two charged.

Gunnymede shot one in the chest but the other reached out and slapped the gun out of his hand before he could get off a second shot. They all fell back through the door to the floor at the tops of the steps.

Saleem grabbed the wheel and spun it round to complete the turn. The boat lurched heavily to one side.

Gunnymede battled with the remaining fighter, punching and kicking him while defending against the knife. As the boat lurched over, both men rolled into the bulkhead. Gunnymede punched him several times as hard as he could before he realised the man had gone limp. Gunnymede pushed him back to find the knife deep in the man’s chest.

The boat continued to lean hard over. It felt like it might capsize. Gunnymede struggled to his feet, fighting against the force of the turn and sloping floor. He pulled himself into the doorway and saw Saleem straightening the wheel. The Arab was lining the boat up with the red target on the embankment that was barely a length away.

As the boat levelled out, Gunnymede threw himself at Saleem. Saleem grabbed a hold of the wheel and held it firm as Gunnymede reached around his neck from behind and tried to pull him off. Saleem was choking, his face turning red, but he held on with grim determination. Gunnymede was facing the window. He could see the red painted parapet closing in fast. He pulled at Saleem with all his might even though he knew it was too late. He watched the bank get closer as if in slow motion.

The bows struck the parapet with tremendous force. Saleem and Gunnymede were pressed into the wheel which snapped off and they hit the consul. The bows blew through the parapet like it was made of cake and ploughed deep into the pavement, cutting the bench in two. The momentum pushed the bows up and as it reached the road it came to