Free Twenty Twelve by Helen Black Page B

for God’s sake. And she was high profile now, whether she liked it or not. She couldn’t get caught impersonating a doctor.
    When they reached his car, Clem released his hold and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Do you want to tell me what you were doing?’
    ‘I needed to speak to you,’ Connolly replied.
    And sneaking into a police-guarded hospital wing seemed like the logical solution, did it? ‘Surely it could have waited?’ asked Clem.
    Connolly shook her head. ‘You were stalling, not telling me the full story.’
    Clem sighed. This girl was supposed to be the hero of the hour. Saviour of the Olympic Games. How the hell did she intend to do that from a cell in Holloway?
    ‘I may not be an experienced old hand,’ said Connolly, ‘but I know bullshit when I hear it.’
    ‘You came this close to being arrested.’ Clem held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
    ‘Yes,’ said Connolly. ‘Thank you for getting me out of there.’
    Clem was still furious, but there were more pressing things to discuss. He unlocked his car with the remote and it let out a petulant beep. ‘Get in.’
    Once inside, they both kept their eyes straight ahead.
    ‘The man in the hospital room,’ said Connolly. ‘Is he dead?’
    Clem nodded. A bullet passing through skin and bone would tend to do that to a person. ‘Did he say anything?’ he asked.
    ‘He said he had nothing to do with the bomb,’ Connolly replied.
    ‘In the infamous words of Mandy Rice-Davies, well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Clem used enough sarcasm to shame Simon Cowell.
    Connolly swivelled in her seat so that she was looking at Clem’s profile. ‘I thought terrorists were supposed to claim their successes, make sure everyone knows what their cause is all about.’
    It was a fair point and one that had been niggling Clem. ‘What else did he say?’
    She shrugged. ‘Nothing very coherent, he just kept going on about someone called Ronnie.’
    Clem kept his eyes fixed towards the windscreen. ‘What about Ronnie?’
    ‘I don’t really know. Just that he’d never give him up.’
    ‘Did he say anything about where Ronnie might be?’
    ‘Nothing,’ said Connolly. ‘Like I say, he wasn’t really with it.’
    A moment of silence lapsed while Clem tried to process the facts. He had never really believed that Shining Light were the culprits and having seen the cell and its set-up, he remained unconvinced. The boy, Miggs, was just some no-hoper from the schemes. No way did he have the know-how for something like the Plaza bombing.
    But what about the mysterious Ronnie? Nothing had ever been proved but there were suspicions that Ronnie was into some serious shit. Someone who would have all the necessary contacts. And Miggs’s face had changed at the mere mention of Ronnie’s name. He was clearly not someone to be messed with.
    ‘So do you think this Ronnie person is behind it?’ Connolly’s voice broke the quiet.
    ‘It’s looking possible,’ Clem answered.
    ‘Some people might say that’s a little bit neat.’
    ‘Then some people would be stupid.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    Clem turned so that he was finally looking at Connolly. ‘Because it overlooks the small detail that Ronnie is still out there.’
    Back at home, I watch dawn break over London; weak, pink sunlight unfurling over the rooftops as I take small sips from a can of Diet Coke.
    I had been bloody daft to do what I did. I’d been caught up in the moment, not thinking straight. Now I had a growl of nausea in my stomach from the aftermath of exhaustion and realisation.
    Clem had been furious but, fortunately, clearheaded enough to get me out of the hospital. When the alarm had sounded, I was frozen, faced with a clear picture of what I had got myself into. Then the room flooded with nurses and doctors and policemen all barking instructions and talking over one another, until the sister who had granted me access in the first place bellowed at the top of her voice: ‘Clear the room.