Helix Nexus, Chris Lofts [best android ereader .txt] 📗

his eyes. With one hand behind her back, he pulled her arm at the elbow, locking them together, his face close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. ‘You’re right, it would be too easy, too convenient. You were also right about us.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I am just like you. You were trying to tie up the loose ends, that’s what we do. You’ve murdered the man I looked up to. Killed a good friend. Threatened my family and the woman I love.’

‘So, finish the job,’ she said. ‘I’d have already been dead if you hadn’t stopped me.’

‘You don’t deserve to die a martyr. Yes, I want you dead. But the when and how is something you’re not going to control.’ He braced his foot against the edge of the window ‘That was something I promised myself in return for what you started here.’ He relaxed his grip. She hung at his mercy. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the skyline, the first hints of morning on the horizon and the fading stars overhead. The hungry wind tugged at him. She grew heavy in his grip. He drew a breath and fed her to the darkness.

38

The sand-coloured walls of the Palace of Westminster glowed in the late autumn sun. The hands of the clock set into the Elizabeth Tower, also known as Big Ben after the famous bell it housed, indicated 10:59. Parliament Street and Whitehall were filled with sombre congregants, poppies pinned to hats or lapels. Vehicular traffic crept to a dignified halt in anticipation of the approaching hour. Hushed conversation ebbed away at the striking of the Westminster quarter bells. The first of eleven strikes rolled through the gorges between Government buildings that enclosed the congregation for the annual Remembrance Day service, centred around the Cenotaph.

Her Majesty Queen Charlotte, accompanied by her brother Prince Louis of Cambridge, took centre stage, overlooking the Lutyens war memorial from a blue-draped balcony of the Foreign and Commonwealth office. Politicians and other dignitaries lined the road in orderly rows alongside the Portland stone monument. Further up Whitehall, Helix and Ethan waited amongst the ranks of wreath bearers, fewer in number with the passing of the years. The 11th of November was the original armistice day to mark the cessation of hostilities at the end of the First World War in 1918. In subsequent years and after subsequent wars the day served to remember all those who fell in service to their country. On this day, there were two more: General Yawlander and Sergeant Blackburn would be amongst their ranks. For Helix, bearing a wreath in remembrance of the General, and Ethan, bearing another in memory of their older brother Jon, the day was poignant.

Helix closed his eyes beneath the peak of his cap, his breath slow and deep as the first notes of the Last Post drifted down the street, marking the end of the two minutes silence. Turning his eyes to the right, he glanced at Ethan standing proudly on full-length prosthetics in his pressed dress uniform with the insignia of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineering regiment. Battling exhaustion, they had escaped the MoHD and made it back to Down Street with enough time to patch up injuries, shower and dress. The death of Julia Ormandy and an explosion near Waterloo station had dominated the news. A thorough investigation was promised. They would report after the service. Helix rested his hand on the hilt of Yawlander’s sword. It had been a last minute decision. He wanted it to be there, even if the General couldn’t be.

The politicians and dignitaries laid their wreaths, the Lord Bishop of London offered a prayer, a hymn followed. A ripple of anticipation ran through the ranks as the band struck up. Hats, caps and jackets were straightened. The brothers came to attention with the rest of their small group and on the command, began their march towards the memorial.

Approaching the monument, Helix limited his thoughts to Jon, Yawlander and Blackburn. But what shape would his own future take? In the distance, the edge of the Victoria Tower, at the south-west end of the Palace of Westminster, came into view. He was glad all of the politicians had scampered back into the warm Foreign and Commonwealth office after laying their wreaths. He didn’t want them looking on as he and Ethan laid theirs.

They came to a halt, turned left and laid their tributes. Taking one step back they snapped to attention and saluted. The threat of tears formed in the warm glow behind his eyes and nose. Enough had already been shed. He wasn’t going to add to them. With their respects paid, they turned and marched away to the dispersal area.

Veterans milled around in small clusters, not wanting to be the first to leave. Helix pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘You OK, Bruv?’ he asked.

Ethan nodded. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said, repositioning his cap.

Helix ran his gloved fingers over his smooth chin. ‘We need to get our heads together. Gather all the data, the recordings and other—’ He tilted his head, focusing in the distance. Chestnut brown hair, full length black coat. No, it wasn’t her. ‘What? Sorry, Bruv.’ He turned back to Ethan.

‘Other what? The recordings and other…’

‘Other evidence. We can give a brief summary, in lieu of a fuller report.’

‘Sofi’s already gone to work on that. She’ll have it done by the time we get back to Down Street.’ Ethan folded his arms. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t what I meant.’

‘What did you mean then?’ Helix looked over his brother’s shoulder. ‘Do you know him?’ he said. ‘Stocky fella, apologising his way through the crowd.’

Ethan turned. ‘Nope.’

‘Major Helix,’ the man said breathlessly, ‘I’m glad I caught you.’ He clamped his hands together. ‘Could you both come with me, please?’

‘And you are?’ Helix said, pressing