Changing the subject?
I watch him for a moment, trying to work out what to tell him.
“It’s different. Everything is bigger. Louder.” I wave my hand at the crowded bar around us. “And what we do means something.”
“No recruits?”
“No recruits. Actual, real work. I feel as if I can make a difference here. Track down some terrorists. Keep people safe. Keep the bombers away so this lot,” I wave at the bar again, “can carry on as normal.”
He smiles, but there’s a look in his eyes that reminds me of Lee. “That’s idealistic, don’t you think?”
I lean across the table. “That’s my job, David.”
He laughs. “I thought your job was keeping Bracken on his feet.”
Ouch.
I can’t help fighting back.
“Bracken’s not the one doing the work. I am. I’m tracking terrorists and finding their weak spots. That’s what I do, every day. I’m on the trail of my missing recruits. If I find them, I find whoever’s protecting them, and we have a target for Lee and Bracken and the Terrorism Committee to take down.” I lean back in my seat. “That’s what I’m doing. That’s what my job is.”
He smiles again. “Looking for a promotion, are we?”
I smile back, enjoying the eye candy, and take a sip of my drink. “Always.”
He puts his drink on the table and looks at it for a minute before meeting my eyes.
“Watch out, Ketty. There’s more going on here than you know.” His smile is gone.
This sounds serious. Pay attention, Ketty.
“So what don’t I know?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t talk about it. Not here.”
“Really? You’re going to drop that nugget of information, and then you’re not going to tell me?”
He shrugs. “I can’t. But keep your ear to the ground, Ketty. Be careful. And keep an eye on Bracken.”
I roll my eyes. “When do I not keep an eye on Bracken?”
“I’m serious. There are concerns that he won’t handle what’s coming.”
I’m suddenly sober. My head clears. I don’t like the sound of this. “What’s coming, David?” He shakes his head, and downs his drink. I lean across the table and look him hard in the eyes, shouting over the music. “What’s coming?”
He holds a finger to his lips, and shakes his head, a cold smile on his face.
“I think we’re done here. You and me.” He points between us. “Just … keep your eyes open. Don’t go down with Bracken.”
The bar is too crowded. The music is too loud. This isn’t a celebration – he’s cornering me. Offering me information and then pulling it away. He wants me to chase him for it. He wants to keep me at a disadvantage, to have me on a leash, and I was stupid enough to listen. Stupid enough to fall for the eye candy.
He stands up. “Walk you home?”
So I can ask you again in private? Coax the information out of you? Play your game?
I put what’s left of my beer down on the table and pick up my coat. “No, thanks. I can look after myself.”
And find my missing recruits, and take care of Bracken.
I leave him standing in the bar, a look of confusion on his face.
I’m not other girls, Corporal. Don’t make that mistake.
Flying
Bex
I walk back up the beach to my friends, and the sound of my footsteps seems to break the spell of silence. I sit down next to Jake.
“So what happened on the way here?” Charlie’s voice seems loud in the darkness.
“There were soldiers, driving into Newcastle. We passed them on our way out.”
“That’s not unusual …”
“Soldiers in black armour. Troop carriers full of them. Not patrols in fatigues.”
No one speaks. If those soldiers were coming for us, we’ve left Neesh and Caroline and the others from the bunker behind to face them. I think again about the guns in the kitchen, and they seem laughable against troops in armour. I wonder what Neesh has to protect her flat, and her shop. I wonder what’s going on, while we’re out here, waiting.
I feel the cold wind on my hands. There’s nothing we can do to help. The best thing we can do for everyone is get away. They’ve risked a lot to get us out here, and more to get us to safety. I take a deep breath. I need to let this go.
And then Dan’s on his feet, switching on the searchlight and holding it up, the beam directed out over the water. I search the night in front of us until I see a white light, low over the sea. And there’s a sound, getting louder, thudding over the breathing of the waves.
We’re all on our feet, rucksacks on, waiting for rescue.
*****
The helicopter is impossibly loud as it hovers over the beach. Sand and water whip up around us as the wind from the rotor blades batters our faces and tugs at our waterproofs. In the searchlight, the pilot beckons, and we follow Dan to the door, climbing in as the landing skids sway above the sand. Inside, we crawl into seats and strap ourselves in, rucksacks on the floor. Charlie slides the door shut behind us and straps herself in as the pilot waves a headset at us, and points at the ceiling. I reach up and unclip a pair of headphones, and settle them onto my head, relieved to be pushing my hood down for the first time today.
The noise fades to a loud hum, and I can hear the pilot’s voice. I pull the microphone down to my mouth, and listen to her instructions.
“Is everyone strapped in?”
Charlie checks that we’re all in our seats. “Yes.”
“Can everyone hear me? Names, please. One at a time.”
We call our names, and we can all hear each other.
“This is everyone?”
“This is everyone!” Calls Dan.
“OK then. Hold on!”
The helicopter turns, and heads out to sea, the beach dropping away behind us in the dark, the sound of the waves replaced by the roar of the engines. I close my eyes, and feel the icy water on my hands.
We’re leaving. We’re really leaving.
*****
We fly through the night, lights from the coast visible as we turn north. The sea is black below us and the sky is black above. It’s dark in the cabin, and we’re flying low to avoid detection.
The motion and the noise are hypnotic. I’m warm and safe. I’ve spent the day in the fresh air, and I’m exhausted. I don’t know when I fall asleep, but Amy touches my shoulder and wakes me, pointing out of the window.
In the middle of the dark sea, there’s a light. A boat, or an oil rig – I can’t tell at this distance. And on the horizon, another, and another.
“Oil Rigs!” Dan’s voice is loud in my ears. “We’ll be landing soon.”
I watch, resting my head against the window as the light grows larger. A spotlit tower, metal framework and lines of glowing windows in the dark. We slow down as we approach, and the pilot radios ahead. Someone turns on the lights on the helipad, and I watch as we circle the rig, the pilot lining us up with the platform.
We’re touching down, in the middle of the North Sea, in the middle of the night. I feel as if I’m still dreaming.
*****
We land on the pad, the rotor blades strobing in the spotlights. I keep my head against the window. None of this seems real.
“OK, passengers. It’s been my honour to transport you. Your next ride will be here in a few hours. I need to leave again as quickly as I can, before anyone notices I’m off-course, so please get yourselves out of the cabin, and make sure you take everything with you.”
I hang up my headset and I’m unclipping my harness when someone slides the door open and offers Charlie a hand down to the pad. Amy follows, then Jake. Dan waves me forward, and I pick up my rucksack and step to the door. I take the hand of a tall, red-headed man in day-glo yellow overalls and jump down to the landing pad, ducking under the battering wind from the blades. Dan jumps down behind me, and the man leads us to the edge of the platform.
<
br /> “Hands on handrails at all times!” He shouts, holding his hands in the air. “Follow my instructions, keep out of the way, and we’ll all have a happy ending.” He turns, and waves to the pilot, who waves back and starts to lift the skids from the platform. In the downdraft from the helicopter and the wind from the sea he leads us down a set of metal stairs and across a walkway to a metal door.
I watch as the helicopter lifts off from the pad and tilts away from us, into the night.
Our guide opens the door, and waves us inside. He closes the door behind him, shutting out the freezing wind, and turns to us as we stand, packed together in the brightly lit corridor.
“I’m Greg. I’m the manager here.” His face breaks into a grin. “Welcome to Scotland!”
Threats
Ketty
Another early trip to Belmarsh. Bracken doesn’t look too bad this morning, and it’s me who needs the coffee when we arrive.
“Late night, Ketty?”
“Something like that, Sir.”
Lying awake, wondering what Conrad was trying to tell me. Trying to keep you in your job.
I hand Bracken a second coffee and pour another for myself. “So who’s first this morning, Sir?”
“We’re talking to Sheena first, then William. See what he’ll say to protect his daughter.”
I nod. “This should be interesting.”
*****
“Sheena Richards.” Lee leans back in his chair. “We haven’t spoken. I’m Brigadier Lee, this is Colonel Bracken. We’re here to ask you some questions about your activities at Makepeace Farm.”
The prisoner sits up straight, hands cuffed to the table in front of her. Her long hair is tied back, and she watches Lee carefully as he speaks. I’m watching from behind the glass with Conrad, who is treating me with exaggerated formality, and hasn’t mentioned last night.
Good decision, Corporal.
“We found you,” Lee consults his notes, “in the farmhouse. Protecting the base, were you? Holding the fort? In charge?”
He waits for her to respond, and she returns his gaze.
“As I recall, Brigadier, I was asleep. Your soldiers dragged me out of bed, tried to poison me in the yard with an illegal chemical weapon, then abducted me and brought me here.” Her voice is calm and assertive. “I’ve been waiting to talk to someone in authority ever since.”
Lee spreads his hands. “It’s your lucky day. What do you want to tell me?”
Sheena leans forward, her arms resting on the table. “I’d like to request a lawyer. I’d like to know what, exactly, I’m being charged with. I’d like to know why I’m being held here.” She looks around the room. “I’d like to know where I am.”
“Talkative, isn’t she?” Conrad adjusts the recording levels on one of his boxes.
Lee starts to respond, but she holds up a cuffed hand. “No, wait. You stopped all that when you used your attack on Leominster as an excuse to put us under Martial Law. I don’t get a lawyer, because you’ve decided that I’m a terrorist. You’ve used that definition to take away all my rights, and you’ve locked me up in this hole in the ground.” She looks at Bracken. “You were there. Tell me – what bomb-making equipment did you find in the house? What terrorist plots did you unearth? What is it that makes me so dangerous that I have to be locked away?”
You were at Makepeace. That makes you a terrorist. Stop talking.
Bracken shrugs, and Lee pulls some photos from his folder. He lays them out on the table in front of her.
“Bomb-making equipment, maps, diagrams,” says Conrad. “There’s even one of a missile launcher in the barn.” He sounds amused. “Lee brought it all in for the raid. Made sure we got photos. She’s going to love this.” He grins, and watches the prisoner.
She picks up the photo closest to her, and her shoulders slump.
“You have evidence. Of course you have evidence.” She drops the photo, and looks at the others on the table. “Did you bring this lot with you? Drive it all up from a warehouse in London? Something to plant in case you didn’t find what you were looking for?” She sits up straight again, and looks up at the mirror. “I want it on record that I have never seen any of this stuff before. This equipment was not at Makepeace Farm before your raid. I’m sure you enjoyed setting it up and taking your photos, but this is a fiction.”
Conrad laughs. “Good luck using that defence on TV.”
“So you deny the existence of the bunker on the property? You deny that it was being used by a terrorist cell?”
“As you have already stated, Brigadier, you found me in the house. My clothes, my property – everything was in the house. And I can tell you that none of this was in the house.” She holds out a hand towards the photos.
Lee turns to Bracken. “Plausible deniability. Interesting.” Bracken nods, and Lee turns back to the prisoner. “But I think you’ll find that when we air this on PIN, no one will care where we found you. No one will be interested in the difference between sleeping in a farmhouse, and sleeping in a terrorist’s nuclear bunker.” He waves a hand at the photos. “I think the images will speak for themselves. Don’t you?”
She takes a deep breath. “Let me guess. You’re charging me with terrorism. Or at least with aiding and abetting. Both are firing squad offences.” She glances down at her orange jumpsuit. “So, tell me. Why am I still here? Why have I been here for nearly three months, waiting for this conversation? Is it because you’ve only just figured out who I am?” She leans forward again, her voice still calm. “Why haven’t I been sent to a firing squad? Why am I not just another face on PIN? What is it that I’ve got that’s so important to you?”
Lee watches her. I can imagine the look on his face. He reaches into his folder, pulls out another photo, and places it in front of her. It’s William, sitting where she’s sitting, hands cuffed, orange jumpsuit.
This time, she closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“It’s not about what you’ve got that’s important to us. It’s more about what we’ve got that’s important to you.” He places another photo in front of her. Margaret Watson. Orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, being held by two prison guards.
She slumps back in her chair and glares at Lee.
“What is it you want from me?”
“From you?” Lee waves a hand. “Nothing. Just sit in your cell for us. Behave. Be nice. Don’t make any trouble.” He looks at the photos. “From Margaret, here?” He glances at Bracken, smirking. “Some entertainment. Some soundbites for PIN before she meets the firing squad. A little Enhanced Interrogation.”
She shakes her head. “You’re a monster.”
Lee ignores her, picking up the photo of William. “But from Daddy? We want everything. Everything he can do to protect you.”
Bracken nods. “We want his cooperation. If he helps us, you stay safe. We won’t bother you.”
She looks at them both, eyes flicking between them.
“He won’t help you. He won’t fall for this.” She tugs at her handcuffs. “You might as well shoot me now.”
“She’s trying to convince herself.” Conrad points through the window. “She’s just realising that she has no power. It doesn’t matter how brave she is, and how much she talks back to Lee, there’s nothing she can do to change this.”
Lee puts the photo down and leans his elbows on the table.
“I think he’ll help. I think he’ll do anything to protect you. You’re all he has left to protect.” He sits back. “Anyway. It’s not important. It’s all up to him now. Firing squad. No firing squad. Nothing you can do about it. Either he helps, and you live, or he doesn’t, and you die. Before or after Enhanced Interrogation – that’s up to him, too.” He watches her carefully. “I’d relax, if I were you. This is out of your hands. This is all up to your father.”
She tugs again at her handcuffs in frustration, and when she looks up at the mirror there are tears on her cheeks.
Did you think this would be easy? Did you thi
nk you could outsmart Lee? That being brave would help you? Think again.
*****
Father and daughter meet in the waiting room, handcuffed and restrained. She’s being taken back to the cells, and he’s being brought out for questioning. Conrad and I watch from across the room as the guards hold them apart.
William’s face crumples when he sees his daughter. He holds out his hands, but the guards hold his elbows and keep him at a distance. She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face.
“Don’t listen, Dad. Don’t do what they want.”
He stares at her, and says nothing. The guards take his elbows and lead him to the interrogation room.
“Twenty pounds says he lets her die to protect the resistance.” Conrad hisses in my ear as we hurry back to the observation room.
We settle into our chairs behind the window. William refused to answer questions last time, but I saw his face when he looked at her. I don’t want to talk to Conrad, but I know he’s wrong.
“Twenty pounds says he gives up without a fight.”
Conrad raises an eyebrow, and sets the recordings running. The light comes on above the door.
The prisoner sits, slumped forward in his chair, hands chained to the table.
“William Richards. Welcome back.” Lee can’t hide the delight in his voice. “We’ve got some more questions for you.”
William’s voice is quiet, but the force behind it sends ice down my spine. This is the man who sent my recruits onto the coach. The man who planned the attack. The man responsible for my pain, and Jackson’s. Last time he sat here, he was defiant. Silent.
As far as we can tell, he ran the terrorist cell. He was in charge. But now he hangs his head, and there is pain and defeat in his voice when he speaks.
“What do I have to do?”
I can’t hide my smile.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 54