The Midnight Bell

The door opened, and Maggie, splashed with blood, said wearily, “He’s going, Hannah. I’m so sorry.”

Hannah was on her feet and darting past her. Dillon and Sara hesitated, and Maggie led the way to an operating theater at the far end of the corridor, where they were able to observe through a window. Hannah stood beside the bed, and Bellamy was there, his theater scrubs stained with blood. Maggie said, “It was one thing after another. The professor really fought for him, but … just a minute. What’s happening?”

Very slowly, Hamid raised his right arm, which was swathed in bandages, and Hannah held his fingers, and his lips moved, and then his head lolled to one side as he died, the alarm calling in more staff, and Dillon and Sara turned and went back to reception.

“A bad one, Sean,” she said, as they sat. “I saw plenty killed in Afghanistan, but some things you never get over.”

“You could say that. If this Omar the Beast was standing in front of Hannah, she’d empty her gun in him.”

Before Sara could reply, the entrance door swung open and Ferguson entered, face grim, followed by Tony Doyle.

“Has he gone?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Sara told him.

“I thought he might.” He offered a folder to Dillon. “Roper looked up this Omar Bey for you. MI5 have him on file.”

Dillon opened it, and Sara leaned over to look at the enormous animal that Omar Bey appeared to be. “My God,” she said. “A monster.”

“He’s certainly murdered a number of fellow Muslims, but Scotland Yard got nowhere with those. There’s a total unwillingness amongst the Muslim community to get involved,” said Dillon.

“I can believe that,” Ferguson said. “But we’ll keep the file, Dillon. It may prove useful.”

Hannah joined them, looking bleak. “So that bastard gets away with it?”

Dillon passed her the file. “I don’t think so. That’s what he looks like.”

She glanced at the photo in the file, then closed it. “What happens now?”