Helix Nexus Chris Lofts (lightweight ebook reader TXT) 📖

‘Perhaps I will. The way you lot are going it won’t be long before the folks outside organise daytrips to come and stare through the glass. To watch you swimming around the aquarium waiting for the all-powerful Gaia to drop a bit more fish food on the surface of the water. Gaia’s pets,’ he concluded, stacking the plates and cutlery.

‘Oh no,’ Wheeler gasped, pointing to the TV. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘Someone you know?’ Helix said, reading the ticker announcing the death of a prominent Member of Parliament. ‘How many does that leave?’

‘MPs?’ Wheeler said, shifting from the table to the sofa. ‘Forty-nine in London.’

‘Down from how many after the pandemic?’

‘What? Oh, 73 I think it was,’ he mumbled, lost in the TV coverage. ‘Why’s that?’

‘The other three cardinal cities have fewer than that combined.’

‘About 46 I think.’

Helix cleared the table and made coffee. The Parliamentary system was broken before the pandemic and even in its born-again form, it fixed everything else except itself. It operated, if operated was the right word, like some incestuous club that was no longer open for new members. Taking advice from the wise oracle, aka Gaia, votes to redraw constituency boundaries, like most things, went through unopposed, negating the requirement for an inconvenient by-election. Helix didn’t need Wheeler to tell him, he knew his life in the city was drawing to a close, but not just yet.

Back in the sitting room, he passed Wheeler a cup. ‘What? It’s coffee, not cyanide. I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself by staggering around,’ he said. Pulling a small daysack from the case, he rolled up his leather jacket and stuffed it inside along with his jeans. He pulled on a fresh pair of smart-fabric trousers and hung the matching jacket over the back of the chair, issuing a set of commands via the screen in the sleeve and running the diagnostics. Satisfied everything was working, he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Sofi was sitting on the side of the bed, the second case open beside her, the Glock lying on the duvet. Shards of light cut through the gaps in the curtains, casting triangular shadows across the magnolia walls. Helix picked up the Glock and checked the magazine. ‘Any chatter?’ he said, tossing it back on the bed.

‘Nothing specific to us. All routine stuff.’

‘Where’s Ormandy?’ He lifted a panel from inside the case.

‘10 Downing Street. Dinner with the PM and her favoured candidate to replace Yawlander.’

‘Already? She’s not wasting any time.’ He took four demolition charges from their moulded recesses and checked the batteries and laser locators. ‘Obviously realised there was more to the job than she thought. Who is it, anyone we know?’ To the charges he added two halo-cuffs.

‘Brigadier Ortega, from Bristol.’

‘That sycophant.’ Helix snorted. ‘Still, makes sense. Ormandy prefers people who agree with her.’ He shoved the charges into a small cloth bag. ‘She’s not next in seniority. She obviously doesn’t care about pissing the others off.’ He sighed. ‘Happy days.’ Picking over the remaining items in the case, he flipped the partition, his fingers resting on the matt black Heckler and Koch MP5. From a similar era to his P226s, it was old but reliable. He packed it into the rucksack with four spare clips of ammunition, a three point sling and four multi-mode grenades. ‘OK. All set. Remember who you are. None of the Ninja shit I know Ethan will have taught you. I’ll see you later.’

‘Have you worked it out yet?’ she said.

‘The location of Wheeler’s stash?’ He nodded. ‘Yep. At least roughly. We’ll see.’

31

16 Hours

Helix pulled the hood of his jacket forward and leaned into the rain. As expected, the streets were quieter, people taking shelter in the restaurants and bars or hiding beneath umbrellas as they hurried home or towards the station. The air was heavy with the scent of wet plastic, wet concrete, wet dog and whatever wet stuff the street-cleaning rovers sprayed. The opening and closing of restaurant doors competed, ushering out the fleeting aromas of food and the hum of hospitality. Pausing at the edge of Bayswater Road, waiting for the crossing lights to change, Helix breathed in a distant memory carried on the breeze from Hyde Park. The earthy memory of the woods. The woods and the village in Tintern, the woods of his childhood where he built camps and fought mock battles with Ethan and Jon with swords fashioned from sticks.

‘I imagine Gabrielle is quite relieved not to be with us,’ Wheeler said, dragging him back to the present. ‘I’m still surprised that you chose not to bring her with us,’ he added looking at his shoes.

‘She’ll be safer where she is.’

‘Yes, but safety in numbers and all that.’

‘Look, Wheeler, just leave safety and security to those who know what they’re doing. You clearly haven’t got a clue. You’re more interested in your shoes than those two guys following us.’

‘Where. Which ones?’ he said, his eyes darting between the faces of the bedraggled pedestrians.

‘My point exactly.’ Helix sighed, raising his eyebrows inside his hood. ‘There’s nobody there. Come on.’

Wheeler held on to his hat, dancing around a puddle as the lights changed. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To collect the loot.’

‘But I haven’t told you where it is,’ he said, trotting to keep up as Helix stepped off the North Carriage Drive and onto one of the paths that criss-crossed the park.

Helix slowed. ‘If I was going in completely the wrong direction you would have told me.’

Wheeler nodded. ‘You’re still cold, but heading for warm.’

‘Good. I know if it was down to you, you would have jumped in a cab or on the loop, immediately announcing to all those watching where you are and where you’re going.’

‘A taxi would have been preferable. Besides you told Ormandy to stand—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Helix said, coming to a stand. ‘Will