THE THESEUS PARADOX: The stunning breakthrough thriller based on real events, from the Scotland Yard detective turned author. Read Online Free PDF

because he forgot to buy some pasta at the supermarket and got a Mars Bar instead.
    What was the point of feeling shitty all the time? Feeling like you were second best? Inferior?
    He’d walked out one day. Said he needed a break – time to sort his head out. He’d spent several weeks inside a bottle of whisky.
    But sometimes, just sometimes, at the end of the day, Jake looked at the four walls that surrounded him and wondered if homemade spaghetti Bolognese on a Monday night might have been the better option.
    On days like those, he’d have liked a bit of normal.
    Two years later and he was still trying to figure it out – an attractive nurse with a good figure made it no easier.
    ‘Mr Flannagan, you shouldn’t really be leaving the hospital,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ve had a very nasty bang to the head.’
    ‘I can’t stay. There are things to do,’ replied Jake.
    She gave him his prescribed pain medications, guessing he wouldn’t be hanging around waiting for a discharge prescription and made him promise to get his stitches removed in a week or so. Jake nodded in agreement, knowing full well he’d end up doing it himself, as always.
    He made it out to the car park in a daze before realising he didn’t actually know which hospital he’d been in. The sign outside put him straight. He had no phone and no car – he had to contact the office. It was only a five-minute walk into the city centre; he needed to clear his head and decided to aim for Millgarth police station, next to the bus depot and markets.

7
    Thursday
    7 July 2005
    1255 hours
    Millgarth police station, Leeds, West Yorkshire
    Millgarth police station looked like it should be a multi-storey car park from the outside. Architecturally speaking it was not one of the prettiest buildings Leeds had to offer. Jake had visited a couple of times whilst he’d been working up north; red brick with a nasty, bare-concrete staircase at the front, and few windows.
    The place had a lot to answer for. West Yorkshire Police had orchestrated the Yorkshire Ripper enquiry there during the late seventies and early eighties. The enquiry had missed the culprit himself, Peter Sutcliffe, for many years – despite him being named during the investigation and interviewed nine times.
    Jake made his way swiftly across the car park. Regardless of his injuries, he didn’t hang around; the place was well known for being infested with rats the size of small dogs. He was buzzed in and made his way up to the small front desk. He asked the officer manning reception for a phone to call the Anti-Terrorist Branch Reserve Room. The officer looked quizzically at his Def Leppard T-shirt and checked his ID before ushering him into his office.
    Jake made the call back to London. ‘DI Flannagan calling. What’s happened?’ he asked, without waiting to hear who was on the other end of the line.
    ‘Sir – heard about your accident. Are you OK?’ asked the officer manning the phones.
    ‘I’m fine, fine,’ Jake lied. ‘What’s gone on?’
    ‘There’s been a terrorist attack. Four separate explosions – suicide bombers possibly – all at separate sites. Three Tube trains and a bus – large number of people dead and wounded.’
    ‘Who’s in charge down there?’ asked Jake.
    ‘Well, sir – it’s all a bit patchy at the moment. As you know, everyone and his wife was up in Scotland for the G8 summit. Tony Blair is flying back later today with two of our superintendents on the same flight. All of our cars are up there. Personnel and vehicles are on their way back but won’t get here until later tonight. You’re not exactly flavour of the month for writing the Audi off, sir…’
    ‘I’ll sort that out. Where’s DCI Helen Brookes?’
    ‘She’s at the scene of the bus bombing in Tavistock Square.’
    ‘I need her mobile number. I lost my phone in the accident.’ Jake took down the number and ended the call.
    He turned to the station officer who’d clearly been listening