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Turning my head, I stared at the gathering police officers surrounding where we stood. "Do nothing. If that grenade goes off, the radius of the explosive dispersion is 200 metres. We will die."
"Correct," Wheatley suggested. "When our friend here was gambling with this Ukrainian spy's existence, there was bluff involved. Please understand, I am not bluffing. Tomorrow, my colleague and I intend to be on the Russian submarine monitoring this coast." He hesitated and studied us, his eyes gleaming in the glare of the police searchlight. "If I may not go intact, and I cannot realise this aim, I have little want to lengthen this time of mine. I intend to drop the grenade, and I implore you to accept that I am bloody earnest."
Nutty as a March hare.
"How does Sheena accept your flippant opinion about her way of life?"
"Sheena came from a life where two different stepfathers violated her." He began. "Grew up in foster care and became pregnant at 19. Various jobs. An auditor in retail. A drink server, dancing in topless clubs. Three years of telemarketing. Working at a massage parlour. Before choosing an Open University course in science and biotechnology. Sheena's existence is mine to command as I see fit, and she knows that."
"You're mad," I responded. "That bomb will kill you as easily as the rest of us."
"If I have to go, it does not bother me who goes with me."
Insane. I watched, mesmerised by fear and obsession as he shuffled with the lemon.
"Now," Wheatley continued, "I have altered the setting on this weapon. Is the time shortened or lengthier?"
No one spoke.
"Please step forward one and give hand over the pistols, butt foremost, at arm's length and cell phones. Pay attention and try nothing that might lead to shed the explosive. You are first."
Reversing the gun, I gave it over, at the absolute dimension of my arm, taking agonising care.
"Phone?"
"I don't have one."
"No, of course not." A snicker.
Complete failure. This psychopath and executioner will disappear. Carry out what pain and violent conclusions he proposed. None of this counted for shit. The sole part that counted was that no one offered a reason.
One by one, they handed the firearms over. After that, he called us to line up, while Sheena Ryder went behind, checking for more handguns, detecting none. Then Wheatley restored the pin to the hand-grenade and replaced it into his coat pocket.
"Ordinary weapons will serve for now," he said. "One is much less likely to make permanent mistakes."
He collected two revolvers from the pile. Sheena dumped on the bonnet of their automobile earlier.
He beckoned to her and whispered instructions. I know lip reading, but could understand nothing. Pausing communicating, she acknowledged perception, staring at our group with a different understanding in the eyes.
Didn't appreciate the expression one bit. Demonstrated what a nasty piece of work she was. Wheatley pointed one of his guns at the two police officers from the chasing automobile.
"Off with you uniforms," he declared. "Now!"
The men glared at each other, and one expressed through clenched teeth, "I fucking well won't!"
"You'll be dead if you do not, you dopey fucker!" I responded.
"Don't care. I will not remove this uniform off for anybody." He cursed.
"It's an order!" Constable Smee snarled. "It won't be too much trouble to take off your gear with a bullet between your eyes. Get them off," she ended with slow intensity.
The two officers did their job. Remaining there shuddering in the hard rainfall. Sheena gathered their clothing and shoved them into the BMW.
"Who is in contact with Suffolk police headquarters?"
Someone ran a skewer through my middle. Gave it a twist: but I was thinking the same.
"Me!" Smee admitted.
"Good. Get through to Martlesham. Say you are taking the suspects to London for further questioning by Special Branch and MI5. Explain to enforce police cars in the region back to their bases – except, of course, those on routine patrol obligations."
"Do as he says," I said. "I guess you're smart to try any fancy stuff, smee."
Smee did as instructed. Limited choice, not with the muzzle of one of Wheatley's guns scraping in her left ear. When finished, Wheatley acknowledged his pleasure.
"That ought to work out."
Sheena clambered in the stolen motor.
"Our car and the one belonging to our quivering companions will be driven into the woodlands, and their distributors wrecked for safe measure. Won't recover them before morning. With the search called off, the two uniforms, we won't have any trouble clearing this county." He glanced at the BMW. "When Martlesham realises you are missing, this car becomes a hot property, leaving me to think what to do with everyone."
Wheatley lingered until Sheena had removed both cars, gazing out with blank indifference into the pouring shower, then added, "Is there another spotlight in the BMW?"
"There should be one in the boot." Smee said.
"Get it."
Wheatley's eyes and mouth puckered into a smile. The kind tiger captured in the bottom of a pit when the fellow who dug the abyss trips and stumbles beside him.
"I would shoot you if that building were not so close. No reason bashing anyone on the skull. I doubt if any may surrender to that. I cannot tie you up, for I'm not in the habit of securing ample ropes to immobilise and silence everyone. But one of those farm houses might work in a provisional prison. Constable Smee, turn off the automobile headlights and then show the way with your light to those buildings. The rest follow in a double file. Miss Briggs and I bring up the rear. The gun in my hand is against her back and should any of you try to run for it or otherwise cause trouble, I shall pull the trigger."
I didn't doubt him. None of us doubted him.