She glanced outside as her vehicle made its way along the motorway, unable to keep up with a high-speed super-train on a track close to the road. She thought back to the last time she had travelled by train herself and settled on the 1970s when she and her sister Peggy had made their way to Newcastle to see a Richard Burton play. Sofia had maintained a huge crush on him since her teenage years and he hadn’t disappointed when she’d met him backstage afterwards. She had not told another living soul what had happened in that dressing room, not even Peggy. Even now, the memory brought about a guilty smile.
Without her glasses, she struggled to make out the destination on her GPS map but could just about see it would take an estimated two more hours to reach. She wondered where the studios were located and recalled how it was all so much easier when London was the centre of the British television industry. In the name of diversity, studios were now scattered around the country, making some areas harder to reach. She hoped that Oscar would last the car journey without needing a toilet break. Or her, for that matter.
Sofia felt her resting face had slipped back into place. She removed lip gloss from her handbag, applied anothercoat, looked into the camera once again and gave it an actress’s smile. Using her little finger, she pushed her hearing aids deeper into each ear in the hope that when she was given further instruction, she could pick up more of what was being said.
She also hoped that upon her arrival at the studio she might find that her agent Rupert had acquired her a new wardrobe. He knew the designers she favoured, even if they no longer favoured her. Once upon a time, they’d be falling over themselves to clothe her for red carpet events. But as she fell from the pages of the newspapers in favour of prettier, slimmer and younger versions of herself, they weren’t as willing to part with their designs when she couldn’t guarantee them coverage.
Sofia last attended a premiere with husband Patrick in February. The film title escaped her now but Patrick’s face lingered. She assumed that by now Rupert had informed him where she was going and that she was uncontactable. Or perhaps he’d been in on the secret since the beginning. She knew all too well just how practiced he was at holding a secret, and as a result, so was she. For forty years, he had made her complicit.
Now she would gain a much-needed break from him while filming forCelebs Against The Odds. The downside was that he was free to do what he wanted without her watching over him. She prayed he was being careful. Over the years his mistakes had cost her a lot of money.
Chapter 18
JUDE HARRISON
‘Jesus Christ!’ gasped Jude as Victor Patterson’s death unfolded before him.
The terror felt by the other Passengers came through his car’s speakers alongside the uproar from the Inquest room. His stomach muscles clenched as a wave of nausea rushed through his body. Having failed to eat for the best part of twenty-four hours, there was little left inside him to make a reappearance.
Jude couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. Live footage continued from an unidentified second vehicle behind Victor’s burning taxi. It braked and attempted to swerve the fireball ahead. But of all the potential hazards it had been programmed to react to, a car bomb was not one. It smashed into the rear, its bonnet crumpling like a concertina. Jude could hear more screaming, this time from inside that second car, then the car doors opened and its Passengers scrambled to safety. Moments later, a second fireball engulfed that car too and the footage came to a swift end.
He briefly forgot about Libby as his attention was drawn to the other Passengers, trapped like him, all with no means of escape. In particular, he was concerned about the visibly distressed Claire. Hers was the firstvoice he’d heard in his car after the Hacker’s. He watched as she held one hand over her mouth, the other protecting her unborn child. When faced with death, her maternal instinct was to shield something she loved unconditionally. He admired her selflessness. Amongst the other terrified voices, he could just about make hers out. ‘Please … I’m begging you,’ she sobbed. ‘Please.’
Jude was filled with a need to try and reassure her that help was imminent and that they mustn’t give up hope. There was very little he could say to reassure her or anyone else held in their vehicles against their will. But he had to try.
‘Claire,’ he began, attempting to make his voice heard above the others. ‘Claire. It’s Jude Harrison.’ He waited for her to acknowledge him waving at her. ‘Are you okay?’
Her hand moved from her mouth to her eyes to brush away the tears. ‘I can’t die,’ she said, her voice barely audible above the others. ‘I can’t die now. Not like this.’
‘Please, try not to panic. I know it’s easier said than done, but we can’t give in, okay? My instinct rarely lets me down and it’s telling me that you’re a strong woman. You need to hold on to that for both of your sakes. You hear me? Don’t give up. None of us should give up. We will find a way out of this.’
‘How?’ she asked. ‘That Hacker, he said we are all going to die like that poor old man. How can we stop that happening?’
‘I don’t know yet and it’s going to be difficult, but try and keep faith until we’ve exhausted every avenue. Okay? Will you promise me that?’
Claire sniffed up much of the snot running from her nostrils and wiped away the rest with the back of her hand. Jude watched as her response came in short, sharp nods.
His eyes returned to the screen and, in particular, Libby. In an instant he noticed that something wasn’t right with her.
Chapter 19
Almost a year had passed since Libby had last suffered a panic attack.
They’d plagued her through her early twenties before gradually tapering off as her thirties had loomed. When they’d reappeared and limited her tasks as an in-patient mental health nurse, her ex-fiancé William had insisted she told Occupational Health who’d matched her with a counsellor. Dr Goodwin had suggested what Libby had already suspected: that they were a symptomof Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Now, witnessing Victor Patterson’s murder brought to the surface memories of both Monroe Street and her brother Nicky’s death.
The counselling sessions taught her mechanisms for when she sensed an attack looming. So, soon after her heart palpitations began in the inquest room, she pushed her chair back from the table, ignoring the commotion surrounding her and tried to keep herself steady despite the disorientation. Next came the dizziness and underarms and chest sweats. She picked a blank wall to stare at and clear her mind.
Ride it out, she told herself,don’t run away from it,confront it head-on, it’s not going to kill you.
Libby had been advised that having someone with her during an episode might help to reassure her. But there was no one she placed her trust in inside that room. The only person she had any faith in was just an image on a screen and who was facing much more life-threatening problems than hers. Gradually, Libby’s eyes left the blank wall and returned to Jude’s screen until the anxiety slowly drained from her body and her escalated heart rate decreased.
The seven remaining Passengers appeared afraid. If the Hacker could kill a disabled pensioner and war hero so casually, he could do the same to any of them.
There was so much shouting and talking over one another that Libby struggled to take in complete sentences, and could only pick up on a few random words and phrases. Sam kept repeating to his wife Heidi that he loved her and that they would be okay, but neither looked convinced. Bilquis, the woman wearing the colourful hijab, wouldn’t give up hope that her telephone might just work, and kept pushing at buttons and trying to summon her operating system. Meanwhile Shabana didn’t appear to understand much of what washappening, only that it wasn’t good. Only Sofia was taking it all in her stride and kept smiling to the camera.
Jude was more concerned with putting someone else’s well-being above his own. Libby watched Jude reassure Claire, who was cleary distressed. Listening to him trying to persuade her not to lose hope was proof her instinct about him the night they’d met was the right one. He was a good man, a man who cared for others. And in Libby’s experience, they were few and far between.
The Hacker’s voice cut through the chatter. ‘Now, Jack,’ he continued, ‘do I have your attention?’ But before he answered, Libby jumped in.
