There were more than a dozen kegs of it, and he realized that there was far more intended with that shipment that had been intercepted. As for the arms discovered with those kegs? He could only guess what the targets might have been.
But with the loss of the shipment Soropkin, Redstone, and others who had joined them, had continued on with the plan to destroy Parliament.
Even as he saw the extent of what they had planned Redstone, unaware that he had been followed, strung wire from one keg to the next down the line with the obvious intention of then lighting the fuse.
Were there others that were part of it? And where was Soropkin?
He held the revolver firm in both hands.
“No further, Redstone.”
There was surprise at first on those sharply aristocratic features, then a dark shadow in that hooded gaze.
Too many times he had seen the same in those he had come across in his time with the MET and then private inquiries. From the lowest grifter and thief, to others who tried what Redstone was determined to finish now.
Redstone smiled slowly as he straightened. He was calm, self-assured, arrogant.
“Former Inspector Brodie. Come to arrest me? That is not a complete surprise from one such as yourself, pledged to protect the people of London. But you cannot stop it. Nor can your… wife. Quite a surprise there I will admit. Or perhaps not, given her penchant for those less fortunate than herself…”
“However, this is much larger than yourself… You cannot stop it!
“Or me!”
“Stop!” Brodie told him, one last chance.
“To stand trial and then face the gallows?” Redstone replied. “And give them satisfaction? I think not!”
He came at him, the knife used to pry open those kegs clutched in his fist.
Brodie cursed, then fired. Once, twice, three times.
Redstone fell against him, that arrogant expression now one of surprise as he stared back then slowly slumped to the slate floor of the passage.
“You cannot stop the changes that are coming…” Redstone whispered, a gurgling sound, as blood filled his throat.
Brodie kicked the knife away then crouched down beside Sir James Redstone’s body.
“I just did.”
Seventeen
“Miss Forsythe,I cannot allow you to remain. You must go where it is safe.”
I argued. I threatened. I even pleaded.
It did no good and I was escorted out the main entrance of Westminster Hall, a safe distance away it was explained by an officer with the Met, who failed to be impressed by those arguments, threats, or even my begging which I would never admit to anyone.
“On the Chief Inspector’s orders.”
In consideration of the MET’s reputation for lack of professionalism in the aftermath of more than one scandal that had included the Chief Inspector, I was not pleased.
Police had cordoned off the entire building, moving people back even further, as soldiers appeared. They swarmed inside and then around the entire exterior of the former palace with weapons drawn.
Redstone was dangerous, perhaps more dangerous in some ways than Soropkin. He was titled and wealthy, the epitome of what Soropkin and his followers hated and had vowed to destroy. And then used.
What had changed and persuaded him to become one of them? Was it a worldview changed by what he had seen and experienced on his travels, some which I had shared?
Or perhaps something else had motivated him to join Soropkin’s murderous brotherhood?
