The Annihilation Score Read Online Free PDF Page A

blades to the Police Armed Response car at the edge of the pad. There are a pair of uniforms waiting beside it, big solid constables who loom over me with the curiously condescending deference police display towards those they’ve been assured are On Their Side but who nevertheless suffer the existential handicap of not being sworn officers of the law. “Ms. O’Brien?”
    â€œDr. O’Brien,” I correct him automatically. “I’ve been out of the loop for two hours. Any developments?”
    â€œWe’re to take you to the incident site, Doctor. Um.” He glances at the violin case. “Medical?”
    â€œThe other type,” I tell him as I slide into the back seat. “I need to make a call.”
    They drive while my phone rings. On about the sixth attempt I get through to the switchboard. “Duty Officer. Identify yourself, please.” We do the challenge/response tap dance. “Where are you?”
    â€œI’m in the back of a police car, on my way through . . .” I look for road signs. “I’ve been out of touch since pickup at zero one twenty hours. I’ll be with you in approximately forty minutes. What do I need to know?”
    Already I can feel my guts clenching in anticipation, the awful bowel-watering apprehension that I’m on another of those jobs thatwill end with a solo virtuoso performance, blood leaking from my fingertips to lubricate Lecter’s fretboard and summon his peculiar power.
    â€œThe Code Red has been resolved.” The DO sounds tired and emotional, and I suddenly realize that he’s not the same DO that I spoke to earlier. “We have casualties but the situation has come under control and the alert status is cancelled. You should go—”
    â€œCasualties?” I interrupt. A sense of dread wraps itself around my shoulders. “Is Agent Howard involved?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I can’t—” The DO pauses. “Excuse me, handing you over now.”
    There’s a crackle as someone else takes the line, and for a second or so the sense of dread becomes a choking certainty, then: “Dr. O’Brien, I presume? Your husband is safe.” It’s the Senior Auditor, and I feel a stab of guilt about having diverted his attention, even momentarily, from whatever he’s dealing with. “I sent him home half an hour ago. He’s physically unharmed but has had a very bad time, I’m afraid, so I’d be grateful if you’d follow him and report back to this line if there are any problems. I’m mopping up and will be handing over to Gerry Lockhart in an hour; you can report to him and join the clean-up crew tomorrow.”
    â€œThank you,” I say, adding
I think
under my breath before I hang up. “Change of destination,” I announce to the driver, then give him my home address.
    â€œThat’s a—” He pauses. “Is that one of your department’s offices?” he asks.
    â€œI’ve been told to check up on one of our people,” I tell him, then shut my trap.
    â€œIs it an emergency?”
    â€œIt could be.” I cross my arms and stare at the back of his neck until he hits a button and I see the blue and red reflections in the windows to either side. It’s probably—almost certainly—a misuse of authority, but they’ve already blown the annual budget by getting the Coast Guard to haul me five hundred miles by helicopter, and if the Senior Auditor thinks that Bob needs checking up on,
well
 . . .
    I close my eyes and try to compose myself for whatever I’m going to find at the other end as we screech through the rainy predawn London streetscape, lurching and bouncing across road pillows and swaying through traffic-calming chicanes.
    The past twelve hours have rattled me, taking me very far from my stable center: hopefully Bob will be all right and we can use each other for support. He