Eardrums ruptured yet again. Number Seven sat, not in silence, but in the deafening hum that was all that was left of the sound of the explosion. The phantom sound cut him off from everything. Cut him off from the rubble in front of him. From Number Four, sitting next to him on the floor of the ambulance. From the paramedics who were stabilising Number Six behind him.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and followed the line of Number Four's pointing hand to see a familiar figure coming his way. For a moment, when he could only see a feminine silhouette, he dared to believe it was Number Two but this woman was taller, slimmer and darker.
Abigail Opeyemi, the Boss's top minion. No. That was unfair to both the Boss and to Abby. Abby was the Boss's strong right hand. And Number Two's ex. What was it that Two had always called her?
Number Four signed at him in hurried BSL, ^Look. It's Number Two's favourite dapper butch.^
That was it. She was, as usual, immaculately dressed and elegantly coiffured. She wore a three piece black trouser suit, a purple shirt and a lilac silk tie. Her wiry black curls were swept up into a neat French twist.
Abby was speaking. He stared at her lips. She seemed to be asking how they were, more out of politeness than for information. It should have been clear to anyone with working eyes that they were fucked.
'We're not dead. Six isn't dead yet. Can't speak for the others.' Seven signed as he spoke so that Four would understand. She probably wasn't as deaf as him but her ears must still be ringing.
^You were here quick,^ Four signed and presumably also said.
Abby frowned. She brought her hands up and tried a few faltering signs but her meaning wasn't clear.
Seven resisted the urge to let out a dramatic sigh. She was a brilliant intelligence analyst and spoke even more languages than he did but hadn't learned BSL. Number Two had tried to teach her, years ago, during their time together, but it clearly hadn't taken.
'Just finger-spell it. Or get some paper and write it down,' he said. He felt Number Four sniggering next to him, her shoulder shaking against his arm.
^My hearing is coming back,^ signed Four, ^and I can lipread better than Lucky. Tell me and I can translate.^
Seven winced at the use of his hated codename but let it go. This wasn't the time.
Abby began to speak, Four's nimble hands kept up. 'I was in the area anyway. I knew you were holding his wake here. I wanted to come and pay my respects. I was going to join you but I changed my mind when I got to the club. I'm not one of you and you know how I hate to watch the way you all drink. I thought an argument about that wasn't the best way to remember a brave man.'
'I don't know. You and me arguing about my liver at his wake is something he would have found hilarious,' said Seven.
Abby turned her head slightly but he saw the half suppressed smile raising the corners of her lips. She looked back. 'Maybe, but it's probably a good thing I didn't come. I can't keep up with you lot. Is it just the three of you? No Number Two?'
Seven knew why she was asking. Probably not because of their relationship but because Two was the fastest of them. He had expected her to be outside too. He resisted the urge to make something of it.
'Just us so far,' he said.
'How's the wife?' said Four. So clearly she was willing to twist the knife. Seven fought the temptation to kick Four in the shins.
'Still pregnant, thanks,' said Abby. She seemed unphased but Seven was sure he detected a hint of irritation at the suggestion that she might not be over Number Two.
She had moved on about as comprehensively as it's possible to. Met another woman, got married to her, fostered two teenage kids and now the wife was pregnant with one of their own.
Something was happening behind him. He could feel the vibrations through the floor of the ambulance. Abby looked at something over his shoulder and her eyes went wide. Next to him Number Four was scrambling to her feet. Either Number Six had come round or he was dying.
Seven turned to look, but gingerly because the slightest movement turned the dull ache from his cracked ribs into a fiery agony that made it hard to breathe.
Six was still face down on the gurney but he was struggling to get upright and he had the paramedic by the throat. There was blood everywhere. Number Four slapped Six's face to get his attention. Six let go of the paramedic.
Seven could see him speak, then look puzzled. He saw Four sign explosion.
Abby slipped past Seven and into the ambulance. She checked on the paramedic's neck. Abby said something to Six.
Four signed, ^she says you need to stop struggling and let the man take you to hospital.^
^Over my dead body,^ Six signed.
^Poor choice of words, mate. Even your shrapnel's got shrapnel. You keep resisting and I will put you down myself before you bleed out,' signed Four.
Six looked at Seven, a question in his eyes. Seven knew what he wanted to know. Was it really that bad? Seven nodded, but gently because he was still dizzy.
'Fine,' said Six and signed as he did, 'But you two had better stay here and keep me apprised.' In BSL he added, ^you are ok to stay, Lucky?^
Seven nodded.
The paramedic said something to Six. Four translated it but the angle was bad and Seven couldn't read the signs properly. Something about his phone. Maybe something about having to switch it off.
Six must not have liked it. The paramedic crumpled to the floor of the ambulance. Seven recognised the consequences of one of those pressure point strikes that made Six so irritating to spar against.
Number Four slapped Six's hand. Abby placated the paramedic.
Seven got to his feet and staggered towards the rubble that was all that was left of the back of the Special Forces Club. Every instinct was screaming at him to attack the rubble pile with his bare hands and dig the others out but he was having trouble staying upright.
The explosion had brought down the ceiling of the back room and part of the building above. The corridor that Two, Three and Five had run down had filled with rubble. Mainly bricks from the outer wall and debris from the floor above
Two, Three and Five. That was probably the order. Two was the quickest of all of them. Five had faster reflexes than Three but he'd been farther from the door and Three had those long legs.
The fire brigade arrived and moved him back for lack of anything else to do.
Another ambulance and more paramedics. They prodded and poked and asked him questions that he couldn't hear and couldn't be bothered trying to lipread.
He refused to go anywhere. Number Four concurred. Abby backed them up.
The specialist rescue team arrived with heat cameras and dogs.
The Boss arrived at the same time. She had a few words with the Chief Fire Officer then charged towards where Number Seven stood, leaning against a wall, because vertical was still a problem. Number Four paced in front of him.
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Number Seven could tell from the flush of colour to her usually pale cheeks that the Boss was winding up for a serious shouting match. She was far more intimidating than a slender, mature woman who was all of 5'2' with her shoes on had any right to be. He grinned. There were benefits to his temporary deafness after all.
It was almost anticlimactic when Abby appeared from somewhere and interposed herself. He watched as Abby deftly stole the wind from the Boss's sails. Abby kept patting Seven’s arm and Four's shoulders. She kept doing the sympathetic head tilt and nodding as the Boss spoke. Whatever the Boss was asking Abby kept finding an answer for it.
Seven felt a sudden upwelling of gratitude. ^I must send her something,^ he signed to Four.
To anyone else in the service he would have sent a bottle of single malt. Abby was harder. She was vocally teetotal and had no vices and few interests outside of work and family.
^Jewellery? Or a really nice tie?^ Number Four looked unconvinced.
^Cufflinks? Does she wear cufflinks?^ Seven was suddenly appalled that he didn't know. She was going to be his boss one day. He should at least know if she wore cufflinks.
Abby jerked in surprise at something that Seven couldn't hear, cut the Boss off mid word, and headed for the rubble. Number Four ran after her. Seven followed more slowly. The adrenalin from the grenade had long since worn off and his body had stiffened.
When he caught up with the women the rescue team were levering a roof beam off a prone figure. It was Number Three. Face down but definitely still alive because he was swearing. Seven couldn't hear the words but he could tell from the vehemence with which he spoke.
Number Four crouched beside him and took his hand. He was bleeding from the ears so his eardrums had gone too. He tried to speak, then signed ^Who's safe?^
^I'm fine,^ signed Four. ^Six and Seven and I got out through the window. They took Six to hospital but he's going to recover. Abby's here from HQ.^
Three lifted his head enough to see them. Abby waved. Seven signed a greeting.
^The boss is off shouting at the Chief Fire Officer and the Deputy Chief Constable,^ signed Four.
^No Two?^ Three looked confused.
^Not so far,^ signed Four.
^She was ahead of me,^ Three signed.
Two paramedics, a cop and one of the rescue team got in the way and insisted that they back away from Three.
Seven backed up the bare minimum number of steps that would placate them. Four took his arm. He hated to lean on her but he didn't have much choice.
Abby insisted on an instant debrief from the cop.
Four found an ambulance for Seven to lean against. They watched as the paramedics removed Three from the remains of the building and Abby questioned the cop.
Abby joined them. 'They had one big heat signature and they don't know how many individuals. They can't be sure yet if Three is all there is or if the others are close,' she said and Four translated.
Abby reacted to another shout from the rescue team. 'Stay here so you don't fall over. I'll find out.'
She was back in less than a minute. 'It's Five. He was right behind Three, practically on top of his feet. He's alive but he's not conscious.'
#
Number Seven and Number Four sat on either side of Number Three in the ambulance while the paramedics bandaged him and tried to persuade him to go to hospital. He couldn't hear their arguments and Four didn't bother to translate.
'Don't waste your time,' said Three, 'I'm staying till they find everyone. If you want me to go now you'll have to knock me out and I don't fancy your chances.'
^I found something that might interest you both,^ signed four. She passed a dusty but unbroken bottle of Napoleon Brandy to Seven.
^Where did this come from?^ signed Three
^I liberated it from the front of the club. Most of the building is still standing for now but they'll probably have to pull it down. I don't think they're going to miss this.^
Seven opened it, took a swig and passed it to Three. The paramedic tried to argue but Seven and Three both glared at him. Seven watched the fear trickle down the man's spine as he changed his mind about the advisability of imbibing.
'I know it's a bad idea,' said Three, 'And I know why it's a bad idea and I have decided that I don't care.' He took a swig of the brandy and passed the bottle to Four.
^You realise this is all going to come out of our wages?^ signed Seven.
Four passed the bottle back to Seven, ^Good thing you and Five found all those gems hanging about then,^ she signed.
^Where did the grenade come from?^ Three reached for the bottle.
^No clue. It was just on the floor under the table. Do you think there was some sort of IED under there?^ signed Four.
^Who did the room sweep?^ signed Seven.
^Number Two, I think,^ signed Number Three.
That worried Seven. More than worried, terrified. Seven had to admit that he might have missed a grenade under a table. So might some of the others. Two wouldn't have missed it. She wasn't any more cautious than the rest but she was more thorough. She didn't know how to leave a job half done. He didn't want to say that out loud. They were spooked enough as it was.
^This must be connected to Number One,^ he signed instead.
^I don't see how. That was some ritual bullshit. This was a grenade. And it's not like we're short on enemies. Any one of us has enough to demolish the whole building brick by brick,^ signed Number Three.
^I wouldn't be so sure, Three, there were black feathers on the floor with it. Didn't I read something about a black feather on One's body?^ signed Four.
Number Three formed a series of the most vehement and unpleasant signs that Seven had ever seen. When he'd run out of steam they gave him a polite round of applause.
^I hope you realise that I'm going to put that in my report,^ signed Number Four.
^Bite me,^ signed Three.
^Don't tempt her,^ signed Seven.
^Lucky, what was wrong with Number One?^ asked Number Four.
^Don't call me that,^ signed Seven. ^Nothing was wrong with him.^
^You said the holding him while he cried thing happened twice a year,^ signed Four.
^You did say that,^ signed Three. ^It tends to suggest that something wasn't right.^
^The man had a lot of trauma to work through and he had a certain reputation to live up to. That's why he wouldn't talk to anyone else about it. But the stories he told me about his childhood,^ Seven stopped and stared at his hands. He couldn't bear to make them form the right signs. If he could even work out what those were. ^I was proud to be his shoulder to cry on. I'd do the same for any of you.^
They all stared straight ahead for a long moment.
^Who the fuck is slicing onions?^ signed Four.
Number Three signed, ^You should take him on it right now. I would but I can't lean over that far.^
Number Four raised her hands to sign a reply but something else grabbed her attention. She hopped off the end of the Ambulance and ran for the wreck of the building.
Seven hobbled after her. Movement was getting harder The bruised organs and cracked ribs had well and truly caught up with him. When he found Number Four she had her face in her hands. She did that whenever emotion contorted her face in ways she objected to. When she took her hands down she would be displaying the sweet, impassive mask she preferred.
He looked beyond her. Number Two was recognisable from her red wig and not from much else. So she was dead then. He felt the knowledge like a weight in his chest. It joined the hollow feeling left by Number One.
The building hadn't killed her. The grenade hadn't killed her. She was too fast for that. Protruding from her back was a kunai, a kind of throwing knife he recognised from his time in Japan. He knew it had to be poisoned. It wasn't big enough to be fatal. A thing that size wouldn't even have slowed her down.
Hanging from the kunai were two black ribbons with hand stitched letters in red thread. He couldn't read the whole message but he could see the word DEBTS.
Number Four lowered her hands and looked up at him. Someone who didn't know her would have read her expression as completely neutral. He could see the simmering rage that she was barely containing. He'd only seen her like this once before and he shuddered inwardly at the thought.
Number Four strode away from him and out of the wrecked foyer. He followed her to the ambulance. He saw Number Three see her face and read it all there.
Seven saw Abby moving toward the rubble out of the corner of his eye. There was a moment when he continued standing with Three and Four, not moving but with some part of his mind screaming at him.
Eventually understanding percolated through the haze of anger, grief and alcohol and he understood what it was trying to tell him. That Abby was about to see her former lover lying dead and disfigured in the remains of a building that she had decided at the last minute not to enter. She was about to see the body of someone she had cared for, and still considered a friend, and blame herself for it.
He turned and tried to run back to the scene. He tried to get between Abby and the body of Number Two but he just wasn't fast enough.
She was standing there, hand over her mouth, unnaturally still.
He touched her shoulder and she turned, rage in her eyes, hand already curled into a fist. She caught herself in time.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
She started to speak, then realised he couldn't hear her. He saw her face crumple. He knew what it was. She couldn't sign to him because she hadn't stuck with Number Two long enough to learn and now it was too late. And she wanted to be angry at him. He had survived. How dare he survive? But she knew she was looking at Number Two's second favourite person and he was hurting as much as her.
Without intending to do it his arm slipped around her shoulders and he pulled her closer. She buried her face in his lapel and wept. He didn't mind. The funeral suit was ruined already. A little salt water wasn't going to make any difference.