Ben Aaronovitch - Broken Homes

‘Here’s Bruno!’ I shouted. But the Faceless Man wasn’t listening to me. He was staring at the Statdkrone and, even with his mask on, surprise and anger were written along the length of his body. The roof lurched underfoot, dropped a centimetre, stopped, dropped again — Skygarden was not about to defy gravity for much longer.

The Faceless Man turned, took three steps and threw himself over the railing.

I ran after him and followed him over.

What else could I do — it’s not like I could stay on the roof, was it?

Besides, the Faceless Man didn’t strike me as the suicidal type. And if he had some plan to survive the fall, then I didn’t think he should be allowed to keep it to himself.

Otherwise, I was going to have to think of something on the way down.

I didn’t fall far before landing on his back. Then I threw my arms around his neck and hung on. He was definitely doing some sort of magic, a spell involving aer I thought, that caught hold of the air like a parachute. Or more like a para-wing, because we were gliding rather than falling.

‘You just keeping going, my son,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Because I’ve got nothing to lose.’

He must have carefully calculated it against his own weight, but with mine added he fell dangerously fast. I made sure that I was the one riding him down — thinking heavy thoughts. We must have been falling at the same speed as the tower, because I could hear rending and crashing of concrete behind us and see billowing, dense grey and brown clouds reaching out around us.

We were roughly heading for the gap in the blocks where Heygate Street met Rodney Place. There, I presumed, he’d have a getaway vehicle standing by. But he wasn’t going to make it with yours truly on his back. And he couldn’t even squirm without breaking his concentration.

Serves you right for being an arrogant dickhead — if it had been me, I’d have tripped the explosive from the viewing gallery in the Shard.

I looked down and saw the big wide world rushing up to meet me fast. I really hoped it was going to be friendly.

We came down in the garden just short of the far edge. He hit first and tried to roll, but I made a point of breaking his centre of gravity so that he went down hard. Unfortunately, so did I. Then the dust cloud rolled over us and we were fighting blind, only he was in a suit and I was wearing Doctor Martens. Before he could get up I got one good kick to his head, and down he went. I put him face down, and got hands behind his back in the approved fashion and cuffed him.

‘You’re nicked, you bastard,’ I said.

I heard Lesley calling my name.

‘I’m over here,’ I shouted, but you couldn’t see more than half a metre because of the thick, rolling clouds of dust.

I choked on it, so did he. I hauled him up until he was sitting upright. I didn’t want to risk positional asphyxiation.

Lesley called again and I shouted back — the dust seemed to be settling.

‘I am genuinely impressed,’ he said.

‘I’m so pleased,’ I said.

‘I believe this is the moment of decision,’ said the Faceless Man.

‘I already made up my mind,’ I said and reached for his mask.

‘Sorry,’ said the Faceless Man. ‘But I wasn’t talking to you.’

Lesley tasered me in the back of my neck.

I know it was her, because she dropped the taser half a metre from where I was lying. It matched the serial number of the one she’d been issued. However, she didn’t drop it before tasering me again when I tried to get up.

It’s painful and it’s humiliating, because your body just locks up and there’s nothing you can do.

The Faceless Man’s shoes appeared in front of my face. I noticed they’d got quite badly scuffed during the fall.

‘No,’ said a muffled voice that I later decided had been Lesley’s. ‘That wasn’t part of the deal.’

And then they walked away and left me.

Sometimes, when you turn up on their doorstep, people are already expecting bad news. Parents of missing kids, partners that have heard about the air crash on the news — you can see it in their faces — they’ve braced themselves. And there’s a strange kind of relief, too. The waiting is over, the worst has happened and they know that they will ride it out. Some don’t, of course. Some go mad or fall into depression or just fall apart. But most soldier through.

But sometimes they haven’t got a clue and you arrive on their doorstep like god’s own sledgehammer and smash their life to pieces. You try not to think about it, but you can’t help wondering what it must be like.

Now I knew.

I got up off the ground and went after them. Because otherwise what good am I?

I was covered in dust and I must have looked pissed off, because random strangers would rush forward with offers of help only to back off quickly when they got close enough to see my face. I grabbed one that had foolishly got within arm’s reach.

‘Did you see a woman in a mask,’ I shouted. ‘She had a man with her — did you see where they went?’

‘I haven’t seen anyone, mate,’ he said and broke away to leg it.

I reached the outer cordon where a uniformed skipper took one look at me and ordered me to the ambulance assembly point. He sent a probationary constable to guide me and, although she looked about twelve years old, she already had the command voice down pat.

I should have told them who I was, not least because all the gold, silver and bronze commanders thought I’d been on the roof when it came down. But certain things have to be kept in the family.

There were at least a dozen ambulances in the casualty marshalling area on Elephant Road, but even as I was being bundled into the back of one I saw a couple peel off and head back into general circulation. The London Ambulance Service is one of the largest and busiest in the world, and can’t afford to hang about waiting for people to get injured. Not even at a major incident.

A paramedic checked me over and I asked him if there were any casualties.

‘There were two people on the roof when it went down,’ said the paramedic. ‘But they haven’t been found yet.’

And that’s when I should have told them I wasn’t dead. But as I explained to the subsequent investigation by the Department of Professional Standards, I’d just survived having a tower block collapse on me so they should cut me some slack. The real reason was that they would have asked too many question that I couldn’t answer until I’d talked to Nightingale.

I told the paramedic I wanted to call my dad and could he lend me his mobile. He handed it over but only after assurances that my dad wasn’t living in Rio or Somalia or somewhere exorbitant like that. I called Nightingale and I could tell he’d been worried by the tone of his voice.

‘What the hell happened?’

‘I had him sir, I had the Faceless Man. Had him bang to rights and Lesley tasered me.’

There was a shocked pause.

‘Lesley tasered you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘To facilitate the suspect’s escape?’

I believe this is the moment of decision.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you in any doubt about Lesley’s participation?’

That wasn’t part of the deal.

‘No, sir.’

‘Peter,’ said Nightingale, ‘as your first priority you must secure the Folly and inform Molly that Lesley is off the guest list. You must do this now regardless of instructions from any other senior officer. Once you are there contact me again — was that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Get a move on.’

I can have trouble getting taxis as the best of times, but nobody was going to stop for me when I was white with dust. To avoid disappointment I merely stepped in front of the first black cab I saw and used the combination of my warrant card, a twenty-pound note and hints that I was part of a vital anti-terrorist operation to get my ride. He got me back fast enough — he was in such a hurry to get rid of me he didn’t wait for a tip.