"Stop," said Harvey, planting his feet and pulling Melody behind him. The dog's speed increased as it drew closer.

  "Harvey, what are you doing?" asked Melody, sliding behind him. "Let's get out of here."

  But Harvey kept his ground in the centre of the small, empty road that ran around the park.

  "We'll never outrun it," he replied quietly. "Trust me."

  He made eye contact with the dog at twenty metres, which at first seemed to aggravate the animal. But as the distance closed and Harvey held his ground, the dog slowed. Its tail dropped low and the hackles on its back flattened.

  The large, eighty-pound German Shepherd came to an abrupt stop at Harvey's feet. He sniffed at his legs once then sat and held Harvey's stare, its ears flat against its head. Melody took a step back from Harvey and the dog growled once. But one look back at Harvey and the dog quietened.

  "Harvey, I hope you know what you're doing."

  The boots Harvey had heard in the park emerged from the iron gates as a six-foot-something policeman with a bright yellow jacket came running after the dog.

  "Stop right there," he called to Harvey.

  The dog turned its head to its master, then returned its attention to Harvey.

  "Bruno, attack."

  But the dog remained still even as the policeman approached.

  "Oh for god's sake, Harvey," Melody muttered under her breath. "That's it now."

  "Do you mind telling me why you're running, sir?" asked the policeman, panting as he approached.

  Harvey didn't reply.

  The policeman raised his hand to operate his shoulder-mounted radio.

  "I wouldn't do that," said Harvey.

  The policeman stopped.

  "Is that right? And why is that?" he asked.

  "Let go of the radio, officer."

  "I'm going to need to take your name, sir," he continued. He spoke into his radio. "Control three two four. Control three two four. I have the suspect."

  "I said let go of the radio."

  "Right, sir, you leave me no option. Put your hands behind your back. You too, miss." The officer reached for his handcuffs but the sudden action triggered the dog's defensive nature; he turned and growled at his owner.

  "Why don't you put your hands where I can see them?" said Harvey.

  "Bruno?"

  The dog continued to growl. His upper lip upturned and the hackles raised on his nape.

  "Hands," said Harvey.

  In a smooth, slow motion, the officer brought his hands to his front. In one hand was a pair of matte black handcuffs.

  "Why don't you put them on?" said Harvey.

  "Oh my god," said Melody from behind him. "You can't be doing this."

  The houses at the end of the dark street lit up with the flashing blues of an approaching squad car.

  "Do it fast," said Harvey.

  The dog continued to growl at its handler as the cuffs clicked into place.

  Harvey reached out, with one eye on the dog, and unclipped the radio from the policeman's belt. Then he pulled the push-to-talk unit from the man's shoulder.

  "Let's go," said Melody. She knew not to mention Harvey's name.

  But Harvey didn't move. The flashing blues drew closer behind the line of trees that bordered the park.

  "You won't get away with this," said the officer.

  As Harvey checked to see how close the car was, the officer pulled his telescopic cosh from his belt. In an instant, the dog leapt up at the man, biting down hard on his arm and using all of his weight to pull the man to the ground.

  "Now let's move," said Harvey, taking Melody's wrist.

  He turned and walked away into Moorgate with Melody behind him. They slipped into a late night pub as the blue lights lit the street behind them.

  A rowdy crowd of four men in jeans and construction boots were standing at the far end of the bar and eyed them both as they bustled in. Their eyes hovered on Melody's tight jacket and her red, swollen eyes until Harvey pulled her past them towards the rear exit.

  Four heads turned. Harvey ignored them.

  The door to the washroom opened, blocking his way. A large man in light blue jeans, a white t-shirt and tan steel-toed boots stepped out. He was taller than Harvey by a clear four inches. At first, he apologised and moved to one side to allow the pair through, but when he caught sight of Melody's swollen eyes, his arm reached across the narrow hallway and blocked Harvey once more.

  "Are you okay there, sweetheart?" he asked Melody, his Irish accent thick and fast.

  "She's fine, mate. Move out the way, eh?" said Harvey, aware of the flashing blues that shone through the windows, rhythmically lighting the inside of the bar.

  "I didn't ask you, sunshine. I was talking to the lady." He turned back to Melody. "Is he giving you bother?"

  With a roll of her eyes and a glance at the blue lights in the mirrors behind the bar, Melody shook her head.

  "No," she said. "It's fine. We need to go."

  But the man caught the flash of blue, then studied them both, putting two and two together.

  "Are they for you?" he asked, and gestured at the lights. "Have you got yourselves into a spot of bother, eh?"

  "Mate, do yourself a favour," began Harvey, "move out the way. Sit down with your mates and forget you ever saw us. It'll be better for everyone."

  The man laughed in Harvey's face. A few hours of drinking beer had soured his breath and the stench of his body odour added to the mix.

  "Or what?"

  He turned to block their path.

  "What the bloody hell just happened?" shouted Dumas. His voice seemed to run along the tiled tunnel and return to Lola in a haunted whisper.

  Nobody spoke.

  "Somebody answer me," Dumas shouted.

  "They got away, boss," said Antonio.

  "They got away?" repeated Dumas. "How did they get away? I thought you were the one controlling the doors?"

  "I am, but they must have access too."

  "So how can they open the doors if you are the one controlling them?"

  "I-I-," Antonio began to stammer.

  "It's rhetorical, Antonio. Now tell me where they went."

  "I-I-," Antonio began to stammer again.

  "Find them," shouted Dumas. Then he turned to Lola. "Who are they? You know them. You must do. Of course, you do. Tell me who they are."

  But before Lola could answer, Dumas returned his attention to Antonio, whose hands shook as they hammered the keyboard. Various windows popped up on the screen.

  "You have found them?" spat Dumas, his Spanish accent strengthening with his anger.

  "I'm trying to access the security cameras in the area," replied Antonio.

  "Try harder," said Dumas.

  Then once more, he shifted to Lola.

  "Do you think it really matters?" he asked. "You think that just because your friends escaped that they will find us here and stop us?" He shook his head. "No. Because, like I said, your father is very short-sighted. It would have been nice if your friends would have been trapped, and your father would have been implicated. He should have gone to prison a long time ago, Lola, but with his silver tongue and his money, he has managed to avoid it. Like the snake, he basks in the sunlight then slivers away under his rock when the heat gets too much."

  "You're wrong if you think I'm going to stand here and defend him, Dumas," said Lola. "And you're wrong if you think I know anything about any of this. What my father does is his business. What I do is my business. We're two people. Two minds. Do not paint me with the same poisoned brush you use on my father."

  Dumas considered Lola's statement. He turned and strode away in five slow, methodical steps. He swivelled on his feet, took the same five slow, methodical steps back to Lola and slapped her hard across the face.

  "You're right. You are two people. But inside you runs your father's blood. It courses through your veins, Lola. Your father taught you well. I know he did. I have been watching from afar. A spectator of your career. Do you wonder why I have brought you here to this place, so far underground?"

  "Because you're insane?"

  Dumas laughed.

  "No, Lola. It is because your father's blood runs through your veins. You saw the lengths your father would go to protect The Defeat of the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar. I imagine your friends would require fake security, they would have floor-plans of the gallery, and they clearly had access to the security cameras. All of these things require resources, Lola. Your father's resources."

  "So?" said Lola, still licking the blood from her lip.

  "So, imagine if your father had a choice. Where would his loyalty lie? With the arts? Or with his beloved daughter?"

  Lola remained quiet. It was a question she'd asked herself before, but she'd never found an answer. A swell of tears, anger and frustration grew behind her eyes, hot and pulsing with the beat of her heart.

  "Mark my words, Lola, before the night is out, your father will show his face." He stepped closer to Lola and held a strand of her hair between two fingers. He sniffed at it, his eyes closed to savour the smell. Then he let go of her hair and let his face take on a cold, remorseless stare. "Or he will lose his daughter."

  "I have found them," announced Antonio. "They are inside this bar here. Look."

  Dumas glanced across at the laptop that Antonio was presenting.

  "Good work," he said. "Are you sure it's them?"

  "Positive. I will never forget that man's eyes," said Antonio.

  "Good. Tip the police off. Let's make sure they do not scupper our plans."

  Four wooden stools scraped across the old, wooden floor. Four large shapes closed the way behind Harvey and Melody. The large man in front smiled.

  "I don't like bullies," he said. His eyes flicked to Melody and back to Harvey.

  "This is your last chance," Harvey replied. "Sit down with your mates. Forget you ever saw me." But the sentiment was lost on the man, who looked down on Harvey with disgust. "Melody, go take a seat at the bar. Keep an eye on the door. Order these men five large whiskeys and five bags of ice."

  Melody edged past the men as the man in front of Harvey erupted.

  "You can't buy your way out of this, sunshine. The way I see it, you have two choices. You can lay on the floor and let us kick the living hell out of you. Or, I'll knock you down, and then we'll kick the living hell out of you."

  Harvey was standing in a narrow hallway. If he stretched his arms out, he could touch both walls. Photographs of London from the early nineteen hundreds lined the walls to the washrooms in cheap frames that each shielded their own square of clean paintwork in the surrounding walls stained with a hundred-year-old layer of dirt and tobacco.

  Harvey rolled his neck, waiting for the satisfying click each side.

  Behind the man in front was the rear exit, which Harvey guessed would lead to an alleyway or beer garden. Either way, it would be a route out of there that wouldn't be covered by City of London security cameras. The wooden door had nine small opaque windows arranged three by three. The reflection of the men behind Harvey was distorted but clear enough. The men were standing two by two like ranks waiting for the command to step into battle.

  "Who's first?" asked Harvey.

  He hadn't finished his sentence when the big man jabbed out at Harvey's face. It was a move Harvey was ready for. He cocked his head to one side, reached up with his right hand and twisted the man's arm back. Using the momentum of the punch, Harvey pulled his attacker towards him, kicked down sideways on his knee and delivered a finishing blow to the man's throat.

  Harvey dropped the big man to the floor wheezing for breath and clutching his ruined leg with gritted teeth. Then he turned to face the four behind him.

  He studied the men for a second.

  "You're a lefty, you're a righty," he said to the front two. "You're fat, and you're ugly," he finished, addressing the rear two with his last comments.

  The two men in front were shorter than the two behind but stocky from a life of construction work. Before either man could react, Harvey took a stride forwards and slammed his forehead into lefty's nose. As if on cue, righty took a wild untrained swing at Harvey who pulled the still-stunned lefty into the line of fire. The man's punch connected with his friend and Harvey shoved the limp body towards righty, who instinctively caught him then, realising his mistake, dropped him. But it was too late. The second it had taken for him to catch his friend had been long enough for Harvey to grab his throat, pinch his windpipe and deliver three hard jabs to his stomach, the last of which cracked a rib.

  Righty fell to his knees alongside his two friends, fighting for breath.

  Harvey turned to face the remaining two Irishmen.

  Ugly took a step forwards, ducking through the doorway into the narrow hall, but all Harvey had to do was to stamp on his outstretched leg as he did, and the man was down.

  "Just you left, fatty," said Harvey. "Fancy your chances?"

  The last man was left standing alone, dumbfounded at what had just taken place. In less than ten-seconds, his friends had all been floored. A forced look of feigned anger appeared on his face as if he might scare Harvey into reconsidering his position. But Harvey remained firm.

  Then, from nowhere, the sound of glass shattering broke the silence. A boot swung up from behind and crunched between the fat man's legs. Fatty fell to his knees, revealing Melody who was standing behind him. She kicked him out of the way and ran past Harvey to the rear door.

  "Let's go, Harvey. I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" she said with a smile. Then she pulled the door open and checked outside just as the front door to the bar crashed open.

  9

  Fallen Angel

  There was no time to be selective. The inside of the pub had hushed when Harvey and the men had fought, but when the front doors were kicked open and armed police stormed inside, the place erupted. Melody scrambled over the outside side wall with Harvey on her heels. Shouts boomed from behind them as they sought an exit through the neighbouring property.

  "Reg, we're going to need your help here," said Melody, pushing the button on her earpiece.

  As faithful as a hound, Reg swung into action.

  "Let's see where you are," he began. Melody pictured him staring at his screen and working with his homemade software, LUCY, a program designed to track people, phones and tap into satellites to provide live views anywhere in the world.

  "No time for fancy games, Reg. We just need an out and fast," said Harvey.

  "Okay, I found you. There's a courtyard to the rear of the next property, and behind that is an alleyway that'll take you back onto the main street. I'm on the live satellite now and you have a clear run out. I'd suggest heading north and getting out of there. The place is heating up fast."

  Both Harvey and Melody scaled the wall and dropped into the courtyard of an office building. They saw the narrow pass between the two buildings and slipped onto Queen Victoria Street.

  "Hey guys," said Reg, "I said to head north. You're going south-east."

  Harvey grabbed Melody's hand and walked casually across the road into a smaller lane as if they were just an ordinary couple strolling home from work.

  "No time, Reg," said Harvey. "We need to find Lola. We're heading for Cannon Street Station. Have you found Dumas' target?"

  "There's so much art in the City. Dumas could be going after any of it. We have no way of knowing," said Reg.

  "What does Smokey have to say about it?" asked Melody.

  "Not a lot. Now he knows the painting is safe, I think the reality that his daughter has been kidnapped has hit home. He went back up to the main house feeling unwell."

  "Reg, we're five minutes from Cannon Street. Find Dumas," said Harvey, then switched off his comms.

  Behind them on the main road, a convoy of police cars raced past with their sirens blaring. Melody turned to see the last of them slow, then stop.

  It began to turn.

  "Harvey," she said, "we've got company."

  "Don't look," he replied. He held her hand and crossed the street into another side street. Once out of view of the police, they both ran. The buildings either side of the narrow cobbled street channelled the noise of the engine as the driver gave chase.

  Harvey tugged Melody through alleyways, left then right, until they found themselves on the pedestrianised pathway beside the River Thames. London Bridge was ahead. A few drunken office workers stumbled towards them as they ran. Melody didn't need to turn to look; they could hear the pounding of heavy boots behind them.

  A ramp leading up to the bridge and Lower Thames Street came up on their right, so they took it then ran with everything they had. Sirens were growing louder as more police were called in to close them off. They reached Lower Thames Street at a set of traffic lights. To their right, coming from the Tower of London, three police cars sped into view. To their left, another set of flashing blues waited for them.

  "We're trapped," said Melody, as they reached the road. Behind them, two policemen chasing on foot had just turned the corner.

  Before Melody could stop him, Harvey stepped out into the busy road. A taxi swerved to miss him and slammed into the car in the next lane in a hiss of angry steam. The two cars ground to a halt. Two more cars failed to stop in time and smashed into the back end of them, forcing the crash onwards. A motorbike slowed and swerved to avoid the crash, but the rider turned too fast and slid off. The bike came to a halt a few feet in front of Harvey, who picked it up, swung his leg over, revved the engine and shouted to Melody.

  "Get on, now."

  "What the bloody hell are you doing?" she shouted back at him as she climbed on. Harvey dropped the bike into first gear, revved once more and tore away from the scene.

  Harvey didn't reply.

  The police car that had been waiting for them roared into life, blocking their way. Harvey mounted the pavement, ducked beneath a traffic sign and took the bike down to the riverside pathway where the cars couldn't follow.

 

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