A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #2)

She smiled thinly and her voice sliced through the hushed hangar.

‘Acting on information provided by you, Dr Knox, Ronan sent twelve of his people to those co-ordinates to locate and bring back the pods. They never returned. They couldn’t – not from where I’d sent them.’

She paused and I shivered, wondering just where and when they were. It wouldn’t be good and if Mrs Partridge said they wouldn’t be coming back, then they wouldn’t. I remembered Katie Carr saying there seemed to be fewer of them after a while.

Knox was staring at her, his mouth open. He wasn’t the only one.

She continued.

‘I imagine that, at this point in your relationship, you and Mr Ronan decided to part company. Your usefulness to him as Director was ended. You were allowed to take Number Seven and depart for a new life. In return, you agreed to provide a base for him and his people whenever required. And that, Director is what I wanted to say.’

I could only see her profile as she stood slightly behind Evan, already merging slowly back into the darkness.

You could have heard a thistledown drop.

The Director stirred and cleared her throat.

‘Does anyone else have anything to add? Not you,’ she said, as Knox opened his mouth.

Complete silence all around the hangar.

‘Very well. Alexander Knox, you have …’

And that was as far as she got, because Evan leaped to his feet beside her, stuck a gun in her temple and said, ‘Shut up. Dr Knox. Quickly. Go to Number Seven. Get the door open and I’ll …’

And that was as far as he got because Mrs Partridge stepped back out of the darkness, walloped him hard round the back of the head with her scratchpad, which shattered on impact and he fell face forward across the table.

At the same time, Knox got a rifle butt in the kidneys, so that was both of them out of the game for a bit.

Long seconds passed. Farrell poked my knee.

‘Breathe.’

I took a couple of deep breaths to get my lungs working again and waited to see if anything else would happen, but that seemed to be it for the time being.

Knox was replaced, not gently, on his chair and Evan, bleeding and dazed, dropped beside him.

Mrs Partridge made no move to pick up the pieces of her scratchpad. Obviously feeling that finally the children could be left to handle things by themselves, she said politely, ‘Do you require me for anything further, Director?’

Pinkie dragged her eyes away from the scene in front of her.

‘No, not at this moment, thank you, Mrs Partridge.’

‘Thank you, Director,’ and she undulated back into the darkness.

Now they had him, they had to decide what to do with him. And Evan too. I stared at the man I had made Senior Historian and wondered if I should be locked up somewhere where I couldn’t do any harm. This was why his injuries had been comparatively light. And why he’d been so bolshie afterwards. Of course, Ronan would leave one of his own people in with the prisoners. He had been one of them the whole time. Saying nothing as his colleagues were shot, beaten up, raped – maybe, in some way, he even helped to select the victims. I was not the only one gazing shocked and bewildered as he struggled to sit up. He got no help from Knox.

The Director stood up and waved us over. Together with her senior officers, we crowded into a huddle.

‘My recommendation,’ the doctor was saying, ‘is that we take the pair of them to somewhere remote in time and place, and leave them to survive as best they can. If they can. It’s certainly more mercy than they’ve shown anyone here.’

I stared at my feet, waiting for someone to object, but no one did. Finally, I looked up and caught Farrell’s eye. He nodded grimly.

I said, ‘With respect, Director, I disagree,’ and found everyone staring at me. I hated this. Gritting my teeth, I went on. ‘I think we must remember that Ronan is still out there. They may not be best friends, but they’re all each other has. Knox has provided a sanctuary for him over the years. We must ensure he can never do so again. There’s no guarantee they don’t have some form of communication and Ronan won’t swoop down and scoop him up again as soon as our backs are turned. And then neither St Mary’s will be safe.’

Alongside me, the Chief nodded.

I continued. ‘I don’t think we can take the chance of that happening. Dr Bairstow is about to consider an assignment in which we hope to engage our Mr Ronan. You may safely leave him to us, Director. However, I think we should deal with Knox now. And permanently.’