The Legacy

couldn’t. He had failed. There was no use pretending.
    Another guard appeared in front of them and looked quizzically at the first.
    ‘I’m taking them to Room W467,’ the first explained. ‘Mr Samuels’ orders.’
    The second guard shook his head. ‘Hillary Wright is here. She has ordered that all guards report directly to her,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to call up.’
    ‘Directly to her?’ the first guard asked sarcastically. ‘Since when do we follow the Secretary General’s orders at Pincent Pharma?’
    ‘Since now,’ the second guard said.
    ‘Well, I’m calling Mr Samuels,’ the first insisted. Jude watched him put his gun back in its holster. ‘See what he has to say about this.’
    ‘You don’t understand,’ the second guard said. No gun, Jude noticed. Maybe strapped to his ankle. Still, it would take time to pull it out. He looked at Sheila. They had to try, didn’t they? Even if they died in the attempt. Maybe that would be better. ‘It doesn’t matter what he says,’ the second guard continued. ‘She’s the boss now. She’s in Mr Pincent’s office. She –’
    Jude took his chance, grabbing Sheila and running down the corridor. They tore round the corner, heading for the West exit. He could hear the guards charging after them, yelling at them to stop. Shouting that they would shoot. Still Jude ran, his heart pounding in his chest. He only needed a few minutes. He could lock down the system, close the doors, shut off the cameras. He could do something. He could get Sheila out. Get the others out, too. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t be a failure, an also-ran, the person who led Peter, Sheila, Anna, the children to their deaths. Not without a fight. Not without . . .
    ‘Stop! Or we fire!’
    He stopped, fell to the floor. Sheila screamed. The noise, louder than anything he’d ever heard. A shot. A bullet. Then another one. Crack! He felt his chest. He wasn’t hurt. Sheila? Had they shot Sheila? He opened his mouth and a strange sound came out, barely human. He grabbed her, pulled her towards him. ‘No. Sheila, no.’
    ‘She isn’t hurt, Jude.’
    A voice. A familiar voice. A voice he once trusted. He looked up. Pip and Derek Samuels were walking towards them. He edged backwards, turned. On the floor behind him the guards lay slumped in pools of blood. His chest constricted. He looked back at Pip. ‘You,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It was you. You told Peter to come. You told Richard about the ring.’
    ‘Yes,’ Pip said, his blue eyes looking intently at Jude. ‘And you came, Jude. I knew you would. Give me the ring, please.’
    Derek was pointing his gun at Jude. He looked around desperately but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Hating himself, he handed the ring over.
    ‘You knew I’d bring Peter and Sheila,’ Jude said miserably. ‘Like lambs to the slaughter. To him.’ He looked at Derek Samuels with angry hostility. ‘To this monster. Your friend.’
    Pip looked at the ring, his eyes shining, and put it on. Then he glanced over at Derek. ‘A monster,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose he is. But then again . . .’ He looked back at Jude, holding out his hand to help him up. Jude ignored him, turning instead to Sheila, who was staring at Pip in horror. ‘It’s time,’ Pip said. ‘It’s time for the truth to come out, Jude. Will you come with us?’
    ‘Never,’ Jude said bitterly. ‘I trusted you. Everyone trusted you.’
    Pip smiled sadly. ‘Yes, Jude, I know.’ Then he turned to Derek. ‘Will you bring them, please?’ he asked.
    Derek looked at him for a moment, then quickly moved over to Jude and Sheila, taking their arms, pulling them up, then pushing them down the corridor towards the lift.

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    Chapter Twenty-three
     
    The silence was electrifying as the lift containing Pip, Derek, Jude and Sheila shot up to the fifth floor, to Richard Pincent’s suite. Jude felt as though he’d been kicked, punched, picked up and punched again. Pip had been like a surrogate father to Peter. All Jude had wanted to do was to earn his respect, to prove himself to Pip – and for what? Had the Underground been a sham all along? Was that why it had never come close to winning? Had Pip been Derek’s agent, forming a resistance movement to ensure that all rebels, all those who disagreed with the system, could be carefully managed, contained, kept at bay?
    He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Even now as Pip walked in