Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,34

door, his face expressionless, his feet up on a desk and that strange machine pistol clasped in his hand.

Suddenly the lift dinged. It opened and Glover saw the man and woman who’d kidnapped him walk out and head towards the large man. They were a terrifying pair.

He and Melissa had just woken up and had been preparing breakfast and planning their day when someone had knocked on the door. Glover had opened up and been punched hard in the face. He’d fallen back and the man and woman had entered, a silenced pistol trained on him and Melissa, who’d been sitting at the kitchen counter eating a Danish. They’d forced them out of the apartment, taking them downstairs and hustling them into a car outside, then brought them straight here. He watched as the dark-haired woman pulled a small vial from her pocket. Glover recognised what it was straight away and his blood ran cold.

It was Dr Flood’s virus.

The curly-headed guy took it from her, raising it and examining the vial in the light.

He turned the cylinder, peering at it from all angles.

Then he looked over at Dr Glover and a broad grin spread across his face.

Back at the Pier, the screaming inside the store had long since ended. The ESU and several Hercules teams had formed a cordon with a fifty yard radius. CRT had opened up a secure containment tent, rigging it up to the outside of the building and sealing it airtight to ensure that any remaining gas was contained. The bodies of the five victims who’d made it out of the store had been quickly covered before the news cameras got there. Respective news teams had arrived, but they were being kept well back along with everybody else.

Having shown their badges to an ESU officer guarding the barrier, Archer and Josh were standing inside the cordon, looking at the entrance to the store. Neither said a word. A CRT specialist stepped out from the tent and walked towards the two detectives. The man pulled off the helmet of his bio suit, running his gloved hand through his hair. His face was grim. The two men moved forward to meet him.

‘What’s the damage?’ Archer asked.

‘Fifty nine dead. No survivors.’

Silence.

‘You have any idea who’s responsible for this?’

‘We’re working on it.’

‘Well work faster. I think the youngest in there is about twelve.’

Pause.

‘What about containment?’ Josh asked.

‘We sealed the place before it got out. Believe it or not, we got lucky. The bomb went off on the second floor, so it bought us some extra time. We shut down the building ventilation system and the tent is keeping the place airtight. Luckily, there are no windows in there so the gas had nowhere else to go. We’re still working on filtering the air.’

‘What’s the cover?’

‘A chemical pipe ruptured. If the truth gets out we’ll have a major panic on our hands.’

Without a word, Josh pulled his cell phone, turning and walking away, leaving Archer and the CRT specialist alone.

‘Do you have a spare suit?’ Archer asked.

The guy nodded.

‘Follow me. I’ll give you a mask.’

The interior of the store was dark. Incongruously, the music was still thumping and the lights were flashing. It looked like an abandoned nightclub. Archer moved inside slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He had a gas mask sealed to his face, his air filtered and protected through the respirator. Although he’d trained with a gas mask at the ARU, he hadn’t worn one in a while and felt claustrophobic and uncomfortable with it pulled tight to his face. No way was it coming off, however.

The floor was littered with bodies. Corpses, shopping bags and personal belongings were scattered everywhere. Amongst the twisted and contorted dead, Archer could see a few who were obviously trying on clothes when they got hit but who must have abandoned the fitting rooms in panic, desperately running for the doors and the air outside. They lay there half-dressed, many of them with arms outstretched, blood around their mouths and all over the ground beside them. Archer moved further into the store, stepping carefully past the bodies making sure he didn’t touch any of them out of respect.

The CRT specialist led him up to the second floor. The scene was much the same as downstairs, the place strewn with infected victims, people of both sexes and all ages. Then the specialist pointed to a white bag beside a stand.

‘There it is,’ he said, his voice muffled.

Archer walked forward and