-1Deja vu, Goren thought wearily. It was Sunday night, and once more, they were turning into the road that led to Tanya and Jack's house. This time around, the mood in the car was subdued. Everyone – himself, Eames, Sienna, Tanya and Jack, who was driving – was simply lolling in their seats, exhausted.
Once he and Sienna had gotten to the hospital the previous day after they'd been pulled from under the collapsed roof, they had found themselves in a long queue of people with minor injuries, waiting to be seen whilst the doctors dealt with the seriously injured people who had been under the collapsed roof on the south stand. Sienna had taken one look at the queue and angrily declared that she wasn't sitting around when her friends might need her. He'd tried to persuade her to get herself checked over first, but she'd promptly told him that he could either help or get out of her way.
They'd compromised by each inspecting the other's wounds. Sienna had a few cuts and bruises, which he dressed using the tiny first aid kit he usually carried somewhere about him (another legacy of his Army days). As she gently removed the bulletproof vest he'd been wearing, he'd winced; the gash on his back had scabbed, but removing the vest caused it to bleed again. Sienna gently dabbed at the wound with an antiseptic wipe, and pronounced it long, but shallow, saying "I guess you probably shouldn't exert yourself too much over the next few days" . They'd simply waited for it to stop bleeding, covered it with a clean dressing, then gone in search of Tanya, Eames and Davenport.
After roaming the emergency department for some time they finally came across the two women in a cubicle, with a female doctor examining Tanya. On catching sight of them, Eames slipped out of the cubicle, pulling the curtain shut behind her. She herself looked tired and dirty, but not too badly hurt.
"How is she?"
Eames looked awkward. "Well, she's got a few scrapes, couple of bruises…"
From within the cubicle Tanya's voice answered: "I'm pregnant, thanks. They might as well know now." As the three of them stood there looking at each other and trying to decide what to do next, Tanya was wheeled out, looking annoyed, probably at not being allowed to walk. Sienna immediately descended on her and the two women hugged for a long time, rocking back and forth with Sienna patting Tanya's back and murmuring congratulations.
"I've got to go and be checked over. Dr Williams here thinks it looks good though." The doctor nodded reassuringly. "See you guys later, keep me posted on Drew – let me know what's happening as soon as you can."
"What exactly happened to him?" Sienna asked, her happiness at the news of Tanya's pregnancy fading instantly.
"He got shot, left arm," Eames replied over her shoulder, as the doctor wheeled Tanya off in the direction of the gynaecology ward. Sienna instantly pulled out her cellphone. "Right, I need to get hold of Michael…" She ran out of the ward, looking frantically for somewhere she could call from. Eames accosted a nearby nurse. "Excuse me? Where are they taking the people who were badly injured in the stadium? One of our friends was in there."
The nurse gave them directions. Goren followed Eames as they collected Sienna, who was still talking to Davenport's partner on the cellphone, and the three of them ran along the corridors, searching frantically for the correct ward, until Goren nearly collided with a frantic-looking young black man, who was shouting into a cellphone, "Have you found him yet? I'm nearly at the staircase…" He stopped talking, as did Sienna, and they both ended the call.
"Michael, thank God. Have you got everything?"
"All here, Drew keeps everything under the bed just in case anything like this ever happens, were you there? What happened? Will he be alright?" the man replied, panting furiously. He had an expression Goren knew intimately from the faces of the partners of officers he'd known who had been injured in the line of duty; fear and horror, mixed with the sick feeling that the thing they'd always dreaded had finally happened.
"He was shot in his left arm, lost a lot of blood," Eames replied as they began searching frantically for Michael's partner. "He was doing his job… he was brave…" Her voice ended abruptly, as Sienna shouted: "Over there!" and they caught sight of a trolley being wheeled off in the distance. The four of them sprinted towards it, and found that it wasn't Davenport, but another man who'd been injured in the stadium.
Luckily, the orderlies rushing the man to surgery found time to shout over their shoulders that a patient with gunshot wounds was in the adjacent room being prepped for surgery. It was Davenport. They found him lying on a gurney, still and with three doctors working on him, assisted by several nurses, trying desperately to stem the bleeding from his arm. Goren suddenly found himself supporting Michael, who sagged against him at the sight of his lover unconscious on the gurney, ashen-faced and still, the floor around the gurney gory with his blood.
Sienna took charge of the situation by simply shouting at the nearest nurse: "This is Michael Jones; he's this man's next of kin. I'm his friend."
The nurse snapped back, looking harassed: "What's his name? Do you have a blood type?"
"He's B-positive, and his name's Andrew Davenport," Michael replied. He looked to Goren to be younger even than Sienna, certainly only in his twenties, but he'd rallied swiftly and seemed calmer now they'd found Davenport. "I'm his next of kin, I can make any decisions."
"Good. We'll get him into surgery as soon as we can. Stay here, please."
Before they could do anything else, two police officers who Goren hadn't noticed before rose out of their seats. "What are your names, please?"
They identified themselves. "Please could you come with me," said the officer, in a tone which suggested it wasn't really a question.
"Of course, but please give us one minute," Sienna replied, and used the cellphone to check if Jack had managed to find Tanya yet. It seemed he had; Goren could make out someone yelling "Oh my GOD!" on the other end of the line. Sienna nodded and turned to the officers. "Okay, we're ready."
The rest of the day, and most of Sunday, was taken up with the fallout from the events of the stadium. Along with everyone else on the security team, they were debriefed by the British police, security services and some representatives from the Russian and American security services, who'd been after Andropov for some time and wanted to know the whole story. Jack and Tanya, too, became involved, as the truth about Davenport's unofficial investigation emerged.
On the way there, Sienna's cellphone rang. After a brief argument with the officers escorting them, which she won with little difficulty, she answered and listened thoughtfully, holding it some distance from her ear so that Goren, too, could hear what was being said, as the final piece of the jigsaw dropped into place.
They spent nearly all of the rest of the day, and the following night, being debriefed by MI5 and the Metropolitan Police, with one brief exception…
"We meet again, I see." Mikhail Andropov seemed outwardly little changed since Goren had last seen him being dragged into a police van, but the detective's sharp eyes caught a nearly-imperceptible aura of defeat and resignation around him. Shackled heavily and under armed guard in the basement interrogation room, he presented little physical threat, but, nevertheless, even Goren, who was not easily intimidated, could not help but be aware of the sense of danger around him. This man had planned the mass murder of innocent people, and what was truly frightening, Goren thought, was that even knowing that, when you looked at him, you still saw another human being. A man who looked like any other.
"Tell me, how many?"
"I'm sorry?" Goren knew well what he was asking, but refused to help him out.
"How many dead?"
"Seven." He bit the word off. He had been allowed in here as an unofficial favour, on the strict understanding that it was off the record and could never be used in an investigation. This was purely for his own personal satisfaction – and Eames' too; his partner had refused to leave Tanya's side after Sienna had had to leave them to go and carry out her role as liaison officer between Interpol and the Metropolitan Police, but he would be sure to tell her the full details afterward.
Partly, he wanted to confirm that Mikhail Andropov had indeed killed Ranjit and Miya Elahi, as it was unlikely now that he would ever stand trial for that in the United States. Goren could live with that, although… well. Britain did not have the death penalty; the worst that would happen to him was life imprisonment. Or possibly, Goren thought, he would simply disappear, or be kept somewhere as a useful bargaining chip for when Davenport's counterparts in MI6 finally confirmed who had recruited and financed Andropov.
Well, if it wasn't for Jack McAllister, we could have been disappearing too. As soon as McAllister had gotten the message that Tanya was alive and safe, he had delayed his arrival at the hospital until he had had chance to speak to his colleagues at the newspaper he worked for, and set them on the trail of the story, ensuring that someone somewhere knew where they were and to start looking if they weren't seen again in the near future. Good insurance policy, Goren had thought with some relief when he'd heard. The five of them knew a lot that many people would undoubtedly prefer to remain hidden.
"Just seven," Andropov replied, thoughtfully.
"That doesn't include the two people you murdered in New York." Three if you count the Elahis' unborn child.
"No, you have a point." Andropov's English was strongly accented, but quite fluent. Goren stared at him with loathing.
"Not as many as you were hoping for, is it?" he challenged the man. Andropov shrugged. "Does that make you feel better, that you killed nine innocent people?"
Andropov looked horribly amused, then suddenly tired. "Detective, I've killed a great many more than nine people in my life. What is it you want from me?"
"To confirm that you killed Ranjit and Miya Elahi."
Andropov shrugged again. "Very well. Yes, I killed them. It was the quickest way, if you're wondering why I did that in person."
Goren got up and paced the room. As he passed behind Andropov's head, he murmured quietly; "I'm sorry about your wife and son," and waited to see the reaction that got.
For the first time, Andropov stiffened and looked uncomfortable. Then he smiled, a joyless, chilling expression. "Not as sorry as I am, Detective, believe me."
"Did you think that killing all those people would… even the scales? Make things right?" When Sienna's contacts in Russia had finally gotten back to her in the car on the way to MI5, they'd found out one thing that would have helped their entire investigation. Andropov was half-Russian, and half-Iraqi; his father had been a Russian soldier with a Soviet delegation to Iraq, a long time ago at the height of the Cold War. Years later, following Andropov's retirement from the Russian army, he'd returned to Iraq to work for the Iraqi government as a hired soldier, and had married whilst he had been living there. As he and his family attempted to leave the country as the first Gulf War was at its height, Andropov's family had been killed in an Allied bombing raid, and he had fled the country, beginning a career as a killer for hire and assassin that would eventually bring him to the notice of Interpol.
Goren knew, now, why Andropov had been chosen for this operation by whoever was paying him, whatever shadowy figures somewhere in the world. He had been chosen because for him, this was not about money and never would be; it was about revenge.
"Honestly, Detective? My family was collateral damage in a war. These things happen. Those people in the stadium… they, too, would have been collateral damage." He sighed. "Do you know, for all I know, it was your countrymen, not the British, who killed my family? Still. From my point of view, they're one and the same."
They locked eyes for a few minutes, and Goren could not help thinking; in his position, would I, too, have felt the urge to exact revenge?
No. Because I live in a country that believes in justice. He had served in the Army and knew as well as Andropov that war was the bloody slaughter of the innocent, and never would be otherwise. But we did not begin this war, and I believe that one day, it will end.
He thought of saying this aloud, but there was no point, he realised suddenly. Andropov was defeated, and captured. He was part of the past and he, Goren, was partly responsible for that. He and a few others who had not given up or allowed evil to succeed.
There was no point in continuing here; he had what he wanted. Goren stood up and left without a further word.
He returned to find Jack McAllister at Tanya's side, having been brought in by the police to complete their debriefing. The hours following passed by in a blur; he vaguely remembered falling asleep in a dark room in MI5's headquarters, then being woken with coffee to be talked at some more. Towards the end of Sunday, the five of them, minus Davenport, who was still in hospital recovering from surgery, had found themselves in Superintendent Barrett's office. Like they themselves, he looked tired and haggard, and hadn't changed his clothes since the day before.
"Well, I should thank you," he remarked, and then fell silent. They stared back at him, not because any of them wanted to be unhelpful, but because they were simply out of words.
Sienna took the lead. "Thank you. Can you tell us if those thanks will take any tangible form? Reward? Promotion? Basket of muffins?"
The atmosphere lightened slightly. Barrett sighed. "It will take the form that once you've finished being debriefed over the next few days, you can go back to your everyday lives and back to your jobs. Mr Simmonds-McAllister, I have to tell you that you are not to make public the details of the events at this stadium."
"I'm sorry? The last time I looked, this country still believed in the freedom of the press," Jack remarked sharply. "It's my right to tell this story as I see fit." He paused. "However, like any ethical journalist, if it is necessary to withhold some details in order to protect the security of others or to enable the capture of any suspects, then yes, I'll do that. We can discuss this further, later today and tomorrow. Right now, I intend to go home and look after my wife. She's pregnant and it's her birthday party tomorrow." The ghost of a happy smile played over his lips.
Barrett looked unhappy, but before he could reply, Eames jumped in. "Are there any other suspects? To be blunt, Mr Barrett, do we need to go armed, and if so, for how long?"
Barrett sighed again, more heavily this time. "Honestly? I don't think so. However, we are still trying to discover exactly who was behind Andropov's plan. At present we're looking into the nationalities of who owns Towells Construction's steel supplier… I have to tell you, when we do find out, we won't be able to tell you. Resign yourselves to not knowing, ladies and gentlemen." He smiled wearily. "Given that the five of you were never officially members of the security detail for this event – we never considered Detectives Goren and Eames to be more than visiting sources of information – it's very unlikely that you need to fear any revenge attacks. I will provide information to your own security services, Detectives, and if they feel that you need further protection, I'm certain you will receive it. But frankly, I wouldn't worry."
"How is DS Hood, and the officer who lent me her horse?" Goren asked, ignoring Eames' look of okay, I want an explanation of that last statement when we get chance.
Barrett made a phone call, and reported: "They're fine – Officer Peterson was mildly concussed, but not badly hurt. DS Hood should make a full recovery from his broken leg, I expect he will soon be DI Hood… oh, and apparently the horse is all right."
"So what happens to Andrew Davenport, do you know?" Sienna asked. Goren was surprised by her concern, but then remembered affectionately that loyalty to her friends – along with a large helping of forgiveness – had always been part of Sienna's character. So determined now, he thought. She had grown so much since they had parted. Wouldn't it be fun to get to know each other again? part of his mind whispered. Even tired as he was, and dirty as they all were – they'd not had chance to get changed or wash – she looked very appealing with her eyes full of determination and her red hair endearingly mussed up. He needed time to consider what they'd discussed underneath the rubble. Perhaps tonight he'd get the chance.
"According to MI5, he'll be on sick leave for the foreseeable future. I have heard from the hospital that the surgery went well, but they won't know the prognosis for recovery for some time. If he is fit to return to active duty, he'll have his old job back. If not, they'll offer him a back office post, possibly a promotion to management level. Whatever happens, they won't cut him loose."
"He should have a pay rise and a promotion, since without him refusing to give up, the fatalities in that stadium would have been a lot higher."
"Alternatively, Ms Tovitz, he should be fired for breaking nearly every rule in the book and getting caught doing it. He'll have his old job back – that's the best anyone can do."
"Can we go home?" Tanya sounded deeply tired.
Barrett had umm-ed and aah-ed, but eventually they'd been allowed to go home, on the proviso that they would be collected by MI5 again the following morning, and were not to leave Tanya's house in case they were needed again during the aftermath of what had happened at the match.
"Thank God, back to normality," Jack commented, as they approached his and Tanya's house.
"Yes indeed." Tanya reached across and patted his shoulder. As they pulled up, Goren suddenly noticed that the house looked brighter than one would expect of a house which was supposedly empty, and there were balloons and streamers attached to the gate…
"It's not my birthday until tomorrow…" Tanya said in a tone of puzzlement, then groaned. "Hang on… today is tomorrow, we lost a day whilst we were answering their questions…"
"Hey, that's why Amp wanted to borrow my keys!" Jack said in a tone of sudden enlightenment, and received a glower from his wife that could have peeled an apple in one go.
"You could have remembered that earlier."
"I had other things on my mind." Both he and Tanya had the expressions of very tired people who have suddenly realised that they are about to spend the next few hours entertaining. Tanya turned to them with a look of pleading.
"Do you mind staying for a bit and helping out? Please?"
