“I thought you said the flats were empty?” This one is furnished and decorated, and full of someone’s belongings. We watch as the soldiers sweep ornaments off surfaces, pull drawers out and tip their contents onto the floor, and pull everything out of the kitchen cupboards.
Bracken nods. “Someone lives there,” he agrees. “They weren’t around last night, though.” The soldiers move through the flat, pulling the cushions from the sofa and the mattress from the bed. There’s no one hiding, and there’s nothing unexpected in the drawers or the cupboards. The soldiers pull back to the stairwell, and head upstairs.
And that’s when everything gets interesting.
A solider ahead of the helmet cam points up at a security camera, hidden in a corner of the staircase. Round a turn in the stairs, they come to a landing, and a solid front door. It takes several minutes to break the door down, using an axe and a battering ram.
Inside, there’s nothing. The kitchen cupboards are empty. There’s a table and two chairs in the corner. The fridge is off, and empty, and there’s an empty biscuit tin on top. In the two bedrooms, the beds are stripped bare and there’s nothing in the cupboards. In the living room, an ancient sofa sits in front of a coffee table. No TV, no cushions, no more furniture.
But there’s a CCTV monitor in the entrance hall, wired to the camera on the stairs. And there are six locks on the reinforced door.
We’ve found our safe house.
*****
“So who owns the shop?”
Bracken sips his coffee. “Lee has someone tracking them down. ‘Morgana Wholefoods’. Hiding in plain sight.” He shakes his head.
“And the prisoners?”
“Three of them. Settling into their cells.”
“Shop staff?”
“As far as we can tell. They could be terrorists, or OIE agents. We’ll find out when we start the interrogations.”
I think about the owner of the car, begging the men in black jumpsuits to leave him alone.
I’m sure we will.
*****
Lee calls us up to his office after lunch. He sits behind his desk, his face like thunder. He waves us to the chairs, facing him.
“I thought this raid was going to give us the local cell.”
I clear my throat. “Yes, Sir. I was hoping so, Sir.”
He leans forward, his eyes burning into me. “You were hoping?”
“Yes, Sir. We took them by surprise. We were hoping there would be someone there …”
Lee slaps his hand down onto his desk. “I am not interested in your hope, Corporal. Hope doesn’t bring me useful prisoners. Do you know what hope does? Hope sends my soldiers searching through empty flats. Hope fills my cells with terrified people who have no idea what we’re asking them about.” He glares at me until I can feel the floor opening underneath me. “Those people are shop workers, Ketty. That was a legitimate business we took down last night, and the people we’re questioning this morning don’t know anything about safe houses and terrorist cells. Nothing!” He slaps the desk again, and I flinch back in surprise.
He sits back in his chair and watches us both.
“The good news is that we’re watching the shop. We’re leaving guards around the building, and if anyone tries to access the flats, we’ll be waiting for them.” He turns over a piece of paper on his desk. “We’ve also got a team going through the inhabited flat. Plenty of clues there to help us find whoever was living there. He picks up a photo and holds it out to me. “Look familiar?”
I smile. It’s the woman from the nursing home. The woman who drove the getaway car.
“Yes, Sir. I can place her in Stockport, during Bex’s escape from Orchard House.” I look closely at the photo. “She’s definitely involved, Sir.”
Lee nods. “Good. That’s a start, at least.” He thinks for a moment. “Any idea where she is now, Corporal?”
I shake my head. “No, Sir. I’ve only seen her once.” I point at the photo. “Did that come from the flat?”
“It did.”
“And was there anything else? Any ID?”
Lee gives me a long, uncomfortable stare. “Do you think we’d be having this conversation if there was?”
Stupid question, Ketty.
“No, Sir.”
Lee smirks at Bracken, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Come on, Sir. Back me up.
But he doesn’t. He gives Lee a quick smile, then looks down at his hands.
Lee stares at me again. “Let’s hope the prisoners know more than they’re letting on. And let’s release some of that footage to PIN for tonight’s news. The stuff from the shop should be enough. Can you handle that? And bring it up here for checking?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nods, his eyes on mine.
“Good. Dismissed, Corporal.”
*****
Pulling out suitable footage and copying it to a flash drive takes twenty minutes, and I add it to the daily footage of Elizabeth before heading back upstairs to hand it to Conrad.
“Something special for the news tonight, Corporal?”
“As always.”
He takes the flash drive and turns it over between his fingers. “It’s a shame about the safe house, Ketty. That could have been your saving grace. Something to show for all the work you’ve done, tracking down the recruits?”
Leave me alone, David. This isn’t over yet.
I give him a cold smile. “I don’t think I’m done with this. Do you?” He looks amused. “I think there’s more here to find. I think we can still track this cell, and find out who was in charge of looking after our runaways.”
He smiles back, and shrugs. “I’ll pass this on to Lee. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the show tonight.”
*****
I’m back at my flat before I realise I haven’t phoned the hospital today. I get changed and run, the pain in my knee reminding me not to give up. Not to let the brigadier get to me.
We haven’t finished with the prisoners yet. We haven’t finished going through the flat.
We’ll find something. And when we do, I’ll be there to join the dots.
Watch me, Jackson. I’m not giving up on this. I’m going to bring them what they want.
Neesh
Bex
We’re confined to our rooms for a second day. Someone from the kitchen brought us food, and we’re sitting in the common room, watching rubbish on daytime TV. The 24-hour news channels are fascinating to begin with, but there’s nothing exciting going on today. When we’ve seen the same three news stories repeated over and over, we change the channel.
“Why does anyone watch this stuff?” Dan presses buttons on the remote control, scrolling through the channels. We find a political comment programme, and we watch in amazement as guest after guest criticises the Scottish government and makes personal attacks against the Prime Minister.
“How can they say all this? How can they get away with it?”
Charlie shrugs. “I guess that’s life in a free country. Say what you want, and the worst thing that can happen is that someone says the same about you.”
No one wants to be stuck in here, but the committee is still figuring out what to do with Jake. How much damage he’s done to the resistance. How much damage he’s done to me, and my image. My face on those posters. I think about the people risking their lives to put up my picture, and about Jake, tearing me down.
I knew he blamed me for leaving him with Ketty and Bracken. I knew he was upset when the resistance used my photo on their posters. But I didn’t know how deep the hatred went.
Someone else I’ve hurt. Something else I need to let go.
*****
When the kitchen staff bring us dinner, we ask them to send one of the liaison officers over with a computer. We want to watch the news on PIN.
We’ve just finished eating when Gail arrives, carrying a laptop.
“OK. The committee says you can watch PIN on this, but I need
to stay and watch with you.”
I shrug. Dan takes his feet off the sofa and sits up.
Gail puts the laptop on one of the tables, and waves us over. “It’s better over here. We can all sit round, and you’ll be closer to the screen.”
We move over to the table, dragging chairs with us across the floor. Gail flinches at the noise, then pulls up a chair of her own. She signs in, types in the PIN page, and scrolls down the list of tonight’s stories. We all lean in to see what’s there.
“Safe house raid.” The others look at me. “Safe house raid,” I say, pointing at the screen. Gail clicks on the link.
And we’re watching video from the street outside Neesh’s shop.
Amy gasps, and puts her hands to her mouth.
It’s a camera on someone’s helmet, and the film wobbles and jumps as they walk, but I can’t look away.
There are soldiers, walking down the street to the door. Someone’s blocked the road with black vehicles, and there’s a group of soldiers walking towards the shop. They hang back before they reach the shop windows. There are lights on inside, and they’re making sure that the raid is a surprise.
I can hear my pulse hammering in my ears as they line up against the neighbouring shop fronts. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach.
The lead soldier waves the others forwards, and they run towards the shop, our camera following behind. The doors are locked, but the battering ram breaks through the wooden frames, and they kick the splintered pieces out of the way. There’s a distorted sound of breaking glass, and some screams from inside the shop.
“Nobody move!” The soldiers spread out from the doors, forming a line across the front of the room, cutting off the tills from the shelves. “Hands in the air!” There are two – no, three – employees, stacking shelves and mopping floors, visible as the camera swings round. We’ve never met them – we stayed out of sight in the loading bay and the store room – but these are Neesh’s workers. One by one they put their hands in the air, Morgana Wholefoods logos visible on their lime green shirts.
Amy grips my hand. Dan leans forward in his chair. Charlie has her hand over her mouth as we watch, the colour draining out of her face.
Two soldiers check between the aisles for anyone who might be hiding, but there’s no one else.
“Which one of you is the owner?” The employees exchange worried glances, but no one speaks. The lead soldier waves someone over to the closest employee.
A soldier walks up to him as he stands with his hands in the air. They lift their gun, and point it into his face. “The owner! Which one is the owner?” The employee blinks and cowers back. “No one,” calls someone else. “The owner isn’t here.” The soldier moves their gun to cover the person speaking.
“Where are they?”
“Off shift. It’s just us tonight. The owner’s gone home.”
“Where’s that?” Shouts the lead soldier.
Amy pulls her hand away as my hands curl into fists, the nails digging into my palms.
“Come on, Neesh,” whispers Amy beside me. “Don’t be home. Don’t get caught.”
The second employee points upwards. “First floor.” She points at the door at the back of the shop. “Stairs are out back.”
The third employee gives her an angry glance, but as soon as he turns back there’s a soldier in front of him, bringing the butt of their rifle up. “Hiding something?” The angry employee shakes his head, and the soldier brings the butt of their rifle down on his nose.
We all gasp. Amy hides behind her hands. Gail shakes her head, slowly.
The lead soldier leaves four soldiers in the shop, and waves the others towards the back door. The soldier with the camera jogs through the shop, following the others out into the store room.
The store room where we spent our mornings sorting deliveries and stacking boxes.
Amy starts to sob. The camera swings around the room as the soldiers search between the shelves and boxes.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
The lead soldier waves everyone over to the stairwell. My heart is beating so hard I can feel my pulse moving my arms.
“Come on, Neesh. Come on, Neesh.” Amy is whispering through tears.
And then the video ends.
There’s a moment of stunned silence before we’re all shouting at Gail.
“That’s it?”
“That can’t be it!”
Gail clicks on the screen. She closes the video, then opens it again. She checks the list for more footage.
“That’s it. That’s all there is.”
And we all stare at the screen.
Dan clears his throat. “We should check the prisoners. The rest of tonight’s news.”
Gail clicks back to the list of news items, and we work our way through.
There’s more footage of Mum, but it’s from the same interview as before. The bruises on her face are the same, and there’s nothing new in what she says.
Tonight’s prisoners are strangers. No one we’ve seen before. There’s some footage of the Morgana employees being led to the back of a prison van, but no footage of Neesh.
“That’s a good thing, right?” Says Amy. “If they haven’t shown us Neesh, then they haven’t found her.”
Charlie leans over and gives her a hug. “Let’s hope so.”
But I remember Gail, yesterday. Telling us that they haven’t heard from Neesh, or Caroline.
They’re missing. Our protectors. The people who saved us after the bunker.
“Come on, Neesh,” I whisper, under my breath. “Be safe.”
Loss
Ketty
I’m in before Bracken. I push myself to walk up the stairs and head to the coffee machine and the document drop. The Private hands me today’s folder, and then looks up.
“Have you had the message?” He consults a sticky note next to his phone. “Someone’s trying to contact you. Nurses? A hospital?” He squints at the note, and shrugs.
Jackson.
I’m running for the office before I know what I’m doing. The Private is shouting after me, and I realise I’ve left everything – the document case, the folder, the coffee – on his counter. And I don’t care.
Through the door. Round the desk. I reach for the phone, fumble it, drop it. I take a deep breath and pick it up, dialling the number with shaking hands.
“Nevill Hall Hospital, High Dependency Ward.”
“This is Corporal Ketty Smith. You have a message for me?”
Come on, Jackson.
“Corporal Smith. Just a moment, please.” The phone crackles as the nurse presses her hand over the handset.
I stifle a scream of frustration as the nurse makes me wait.
“Corporal?” A new voice on the line.
“Corporal Smith here.”
“Corporal Smith. This is the Charge Nurse. We were asked to inform you of any change in the condition of Liam Jackson.”
“Yes. Is he …?”
“I’m sorry, Corporal. Liam Jackson passed away earlier this morning.”
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I can’t stand up. My knee gives way and I fall into my chair. There’s no air in the room, and I’m clutching at the neck of my shirt, trying to loosen the collar. I realise the Charge Nurse is still talking. Something about injuries and infection.
“Corporal? Corporal, are you there?”
I force myself to speak. “I’m here. Thank you. Thank you for letting me know.” And I hang up, as I do every morning.
*****
Bracken finds me, head in my hands, when he walks through the door. I have no briefing for him, and no coffee. I have no idea how much time has passed since I hung up the phone. In my head, I’m back on the coach. Jackson is at the back door, and I’m jostling Ellman into an empty seat, keeping her away from the recruits.
Three shots. That’s all it took. Two shots at Jackson, one at me, and Pearce took us both out.
I’m still her
e. My knee is a mess, I’m limping, and I’m in pain, but I’m still here.
But Jackson’s gone. Dan Pearce and Bex Ellman killed him. They left him lying in the road, and they drove away. They’re free, and he’s gone. He’s been fighting for months, but the damage was too much. Two of Dan’s bullets in his lungs and they couldn’t save him.
“Ketty?”
I drag myself back to the office, to this morning, and look up at Bracken. I should be crying. I should have red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I should be angry.
But I’m numb.
“He’s gone, Sir,” is all I can say.
“He?” Bracken looks confused. “Jackson?”
I nod. “This morning.”
It’s a moment before he says anything.
“I’m so sorry, Ketty.” He stands in front of the desk for a moment, then opens the door to his office. “Come in here. Come in and sit down.”
I stand up and walk into his office. He holds the door open for me, and I sit down in front of his desk. Every move I make feels as if it is being made by someone else. There’s a barrier between me and the world. I feel as if my ears are stuffed with cotton wool and my skin has forgotten how to feel. As if I’m on my own inside a glass jar. I sit down, and stare at the wall behind the desk.
“Wait here.” Bracken leaves, and comes back some time later with coffee for both of us, along with my case, and the briefing folder. He puts the coffee cups on the desk, and pulls today’s whisky bottle from the bottom of the filing cabinet. Before I can protest, he pours a generous slug into both coffee cups, and hands one to me. He sits on the edge of his desk, watching me with concern as I take a sip.
It’s strong, and it’s hot, and it gives me something to focus on. Something to hang onto.
“He was …” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain who Jackson was to me. How much I’d been looking forward to talking to him again. To taking his mocking and his jokes and pushing back, just as hard. How we competed and how we teamed up. How we could get each other through anything.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 60