Ask No Questions

by Hartley, Lisa

  ‘Drink?’

  Thrown, he nodded, and she bent to open the cupboard. Inside was a fridge. She removed a can of beer and handed it to him, then took out a bottle of water for herself.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, then, after some hesitation: ‘Look, Caelan, I’m sorry. I know it’s a shock to see me …’

  She gulped some water and gave a bark of scornful laughter.

  ‘It’s a surprise, not a shock. Who sent you? Nasenby?’

  Nasenby had been Caelan’s boss, the head of the Metropolitan Police’s Intelligence & Covert Policing section. He had accepted her resignation with reluctance, though he had understood. She remembered the day she had told him – his sadness, and her resolve. Her time lurking in the shadows was over.

  But Richard was shaking his head. ‘Higher than Nasenby.’ There was no reaction. ‘They want me to offer you an opportunity.’

  ‘I don’t work for them any more. I told them I never would again.’ She screwed the lid back onto the bottle and turned away, pulling back the curtain from the window to stare out at the gardens beyond.

  Richard glanced around. ‘Are we okay to talk in here?’

  ‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Caelan kept her back turned. ‘Where else do you suggest?’

  ‘The beach? A walk?’

  ‘The beach is busy, and there’s nowhere to walk.’

  ‘Do you mind if I check around?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ she muttered, opening the door to the balcony. ‘I’ve done it, but please yourself. I’ll wait out here.’

  Richard watched her march onto the balcony and throw herself into a chair. Reluctantly he turned back to search the room, scouring every inch of it. The drawers and wardrobe were empty. Her clothes must still be in her suitcase, as his own were. Force of habit. He wondered if she had brought a weapon. It seemed unlikely, airport security being what it was, but you could never be sure with Caelan. He saw no sign of one in the room. Her shorts and vest top wouldn’t provide any hiding places, and the safe in the wardrobe wasn’t big enough to conceal a gun.

  When he was satisfied, he stuck his head outside and spoke quietly. ‘Will you come back in, please?’

  She turned, her expression mutinous. At first he thought she would refuse, but eventually she stood and moved across the balcony. His eyes scanned the gardens outside, and he took in the sounds of children playing and splashing drifting from the pool area. An elderly couple sauntered along the nearest path, arm in arm, both streaked with sunburn. Further away, a man hauled a squeaking trolley of clean bedlinen along. Caelan pushed past Richard, and he closed the door, drew the curtains.

  ‘Are we going to sleep?’ She stood by the wall, her arms folded.

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a room,’ he grinned. Her face was stony. ‘Come on, Caelan, I’m joking.’

  ‘Tell me what you want, Richard.’

  ‘All right. I was called to a meeting yesterday, told to come out here to see you.’

  ‘By?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Does to me.’

  Richard moved closer, lowered his voice even further. ‘Elizabeth Beckett, on instructions from the Home Secretary.’

  There was a pause. Caelan gave another snort.

  ‘Aren’t we honoured?’

  ‘They have a proposal for you.’

  ‘Not a chance. Goodbye, Richard.’ She jerked a thumb towards the door.

  He reached out a hand to touch her arm, then thought better of it. ‘Caelan, listen. I was given a name.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Seb Lambourne.’

  Her jaw clenched, but when she spoke, her voice was even. ‘He escaped. Left the country.’

  ‘They think he’s back.’

  She considered this, her head tipped to the left, fiddling with her bottle of water. Richard waited.

  ‘What are they going to do?’ Caelan asked eventually.

  He held up his hands. ‘I agreed to come and talk to you, that’s all. They want you to find him. I don’t know what they’re planning.’

  ‘That’s reassuring.’

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’

  She made a gun from her fingers and aimed it at him, one eye closed.

  ‘Who’s involved? How do they know he’s returned to the UK?’

  Richard moved over to the nearest bed and sat down. ‘Like I said, I don’t know. All I’ve been told is that it’s about Lambourne.’

  ‘And they think that’ll tempt me out of retirement?’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘No.’

  3

  In a bland conference room, three men sat around an oval table, a laptop idling in front of them. Deputy Assistant Commissioner Michael Nasenby was in his mid fifties: grey-haired, slim and elegant in a dark suit, white shirt and plain charcoal tie. The second man was younger, but not by much. Commander Ian Penrith was overweight, balding. His face had a world-weary, battered appearance, as if his every experience was displayed there for all to see. A scar sliced through his left eyebrow; his nose had been broken more than once. He was sweating through a too-tight shirt, his dark blue tie covered in a busy pattern of tiny white rugby balls. The third man was the youngest: mid thirties. He wore a well-cut suit and expensive shoes. Tim Achebe was one of the few black police officers in the country to hold a rank above that of inspector, and those in the know were tipping him as a future assistant commissioner, possibly commissioner, of the Metropolitan Police. Achebe himself quietly hoped their predictions were true.

  Caelan Small stared out from the laptop’s screen as they studied her photograph. Tim Achebe stared at the image, trying to reconcile her face with the stories he had been hearing.

  ‘That’s her?’ He was sceptical. Caelan Small looked … ordinary. He knew better than to judge by appearances, but he would need convincing. It was vital that the assignment they had been discussing was a success. Anything less would be disastrous.

  Nasenby spread his hands. ‘She’s the best we have. Had, I should say.’

  It might have sounded like a boast, but it was a simple statement of fact. To illustrate his point, Nasenby clicked the mouse and a second face was displayed. Achebe squinted.

  ‘And who’s that?’

  With a smile, Nasenby said, ‘Caelan Small again.’

  Achebe let out a whistle. ‘Bloody hell.’

  The faces appeared to belong to two different women. The colour of her hair and eyes was different in the second photograph; even the shape of her eyebrows and the set of her shoulders. Achebe had to admit, he was already impressed. Beside him, Penrith screwed up his face.

  ‘Some facial padding and a hell of a lot of make-up,’ he scoffed. ‘Caelan Small is a liability.’

  Nasenby coughed. ‘That rather depends on who you ask, Ian.’

  ‘Since I was invited here, I’d presumed my view would be valid,’ Penrith snapped. He lifted the water jug that sat in the middle of the table, slopping the liquid as he filled a glass. Nasenby frowned at the mess.

  ‘How old is she?’ Achebe ignored the interruption, still marvelling over the photographs.

  Nasenby leant back, crossed his legs. ‘Twenty-eight.’

  ‘We thought perhaps she could pose as a student. A mature student, admittedly …’ Achebe said.

  ‘It won’t be an issue. Caelan’s been anyone we’ve asked her to be in the past.’

  Achebe ran a hand along his jawline.

  ‘You’re certainly confident about her abilities.’

  Nasenby leant forward to pick up the jug of water. He poured himself a glass but didn’t drink. ‘As I’ve already mentioned, Caelan has proved herself time and time again.’

  ‘But Lambourne has seen her before. He’ll know who she is.’

  ‘He doesn’t know Caelan Small. She was Kay Summers for that assignment. There’s no way he will recognise her, I’d bet my pension on it.’

/>   Achebe nodded, satisfied. He had to trust them, after all. This wasn’t his show. ‘Is she back in the country?’

  Flicking up his shirt sleeve, Nasenby glanced at his watch. ‘She should have landed by now. We’ve time to have some lunch.’ He sipped his water, brightening at the prospect of food, then set the glass down.

  ‘And is she alone?’ Achebe asked.

  ‘Yes. One of our people went to speak to her, but he flew back the next day.’

  ‘Has she said she’ll do it? I understand there have been some issues.’

  ‘Yes, Caelan did tender her resignation.’ Nasenby held out a hand to examine his fingernails.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She didn’t agree with a decision that was made.’

  Achebe frowned. ‘And that prompted her to resign? That concerns me.’

  ‘It needn’t,’ Nasenby told him. ‘Several of us saw the decision as poor judgement, justifiably as it turned out.’

  ‘But you didn’t all throw the towel in?’

  Nasenby laughed. ‘No. Probably because we didn’t have the guts.’

  ‘But Caelan Small did?’

  ‘It was more personal for her. Someone was sacked, made an example of. Another officer.’

  ‘A friend of hers?’

  ‘Well, someone she had grown to trust. I’m not sure she has friends.’

  ‘She works well alone?’

  ‘I’d say that Caelan does everything alone.’ There was a trace of sadness in Nasenby’s voice, and he cleared his throat. ‘She seems to prefer it that way.’

  * * *

  At East Midlands Airport, Caelan walked past the only man in arrivals wearing a suit without looking at him. In the toilets, she splashed water over her face and stared into the mirror. She didn’t want to be dragged back into their world, but since Richard Adamson had mentioned that name, she had known that she had no choice.

  Seb Lambourne.

  ‘You fucker.’

  She hadn’t realised that she’d said the words out loud until a middle-aged woman who was drying her hands turned to look warily at her. Another woman, late twenties, glanced her way and smiled. Caelan gazed back, eyes appraising, and watched her blush. Washing her hands, she wondered what the woman would do if she stepped closer, slid her arms around her waist and backed her into one of the cubicles.

  Not today. Today she would go out and be driven back to her old life. She was reluctant, but Seb Lambourne had evaded her once. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  The young woman let the door swing closed behind her. Setting her jaw, Caelan followed her out. She disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance as Caelan smiled to herself.

  He was still standing there, his gaze fixed on the passengers flooding through passport control. Caelan stepped up close behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, then whirled around to face her. Late twenties, broad shoulders, military bearing. She had never seen him before. Smiling, she flung her arms around him, kissed his cheek.

  ‘Lovely to see you.’ Then, with her mouth close to his ear as she hugged him: ‘Play along, all right, and keep your voice down.’

  She linked her arm through his as he recovered himself.

  ‘You’re Caelan Small?’ He murmured the name uncertainly: Carlin.

  ‘It’s pronounced Kaylen,’ she told him. ‘And yes, I am.’

  ‘I was expecting a man.’

  Caelan rolled her eyes, pulling her arm away from him.

  ‘I can see you’ve been well briefed. Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘No, I mean … I thought Caelan was a man’s name.’

  She waved a hand. ‘Call me Colin if it makes you feel better.’ He flashed an uncertain smile. ‘I assume you’re here to take me to a meeting?’

  He hurried after her as she started walking. ‘Yeah, I—’

  ‘I’m also presuming you don’t want to broadcast the fact to the world?’

  Blushing, he tried to take the handle of the suitcase that she was wheeling along, but she pushed his hand away. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Davies. Ewan Davies.’

  ‘And where’s your car, Ewan?’

  They left the airport building, emerging into a grey, damp and cloudy afternoon. He nodded towards a queue of shivering people, most still wearing shorts and T-shirts. ‘We have to get a bus to the car park.’

  They joined the end of the line, Caelan grateful that she had worn jeans to travel in. Ewan straightened his tie and brushed his jacket sleeves with his hands. Caelan watched, amused.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Again, colour flooded into his cheeks. ‘Feel a bit of an idiot wearing a suit when everyone else is in holiday gear,’ he mumbled.

  ‘They probably think you’re arresting me.’

  ‘Don’t they come onto the plane to get you if they’re doing that?’

  ‘Do they?’ She craned her neck. ‘Here’s the bus.’

  * * *

  In the car, Caelan leant back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  Ewan hesitated. ‘I was told not to say.’

  She opened her eyes again, fixing him with a hard stare. ‘You’re not allowed to tell me?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ridiculous. Well, I’ll assume London.’

  He started the engine. There was a silence, and then Caelan yawned.

  ‘Wake me when we get there.’

  After a minute or so, Ewan risked a glance. She seemed to be asleep already. He realised his hands had the steering wheel in a stranglehold, and made a conscious effort to relax them. Why hadn’t he been told she was a woman? Someone’s idea of a joke, no doubt, allowing him to blunder in unprepared. His lips tightened as he accelerated past a truck that was lumbering its way down the dual carriageway. Hilarious, and so professional. As he knew only too well, being unprepared could cost you your life.

  Caelan shuffled in her seat, her head tilting slightly as a small sigh escaped her lips. Ewan kept his eyes fixed on the windscreen for a few seconds, but she soon settled again. It felt strangely intimate to have her asleep in the next seat. Most of his passengers sat in the back and barely acknowledged his presence. Not her. She had hoisted her suitcase into the boot, then started to walk around to the driver’s side before remembering and turning back. No doubt she would have driven herself if she’d had the chance.

  Ewan’s orders were clear, even if the details of the passenger he had to collect hadn’t been. He was to park the car, escort his charge into the building and up to the second floor, then wait outside the room for further instruction. Under no circumstances was she to be allowed to wander off on her own. He wondered what he should do if she wanted to use the toilet – wait outside, he supposed. If she was determined to get away from him, he wasn’t confident he would be able to stop her. She radiated capability. He glanced at her again, trying to determine exactly what it was about her that intimidated him so much.

  * * *

  ‘Ms Small?’

  Caelan felt a tentative hand on her shoulder and brushed it away impatiently. There was a pause, then the voice tried again.

  ‘We’re here, Ms Small.’

  Instantly she was awake, her eyes focusing on Ewan’s face.

  ‘Where?’ she demanded, passing a hand over her dry mouth.

  Ewan reached for his door handle. ‘We need to go inside.’

  She sat up straight, narrowing her eyes at the anonymous office building that filled the windscreen. She didn’t recognise it.

  ‘Who do you work for, Ewan?’ she asked softly. He half turned towards her, his hand straying up to the knot of his tie, resting there for a second and then fluttering back down to the steering wheel.

  ‘I’m not sure I should—’

  ‘Who?’

  He lifted his chin.

  ‘They’ll be waiting.’

  She smiled, clearly surprising him, then leant forward and touched his
knee with her fingertip.

  ‘Come on then.’

  * * *

  Ewan tapped a number into the keypad that was fixed to the right-hand side of the blue-framed glass door. Caelan grinned as the locks clicked and he stood back, waiting for her to enter the building first.

  ‘Two six nine four,’ she teased, as they crossed towards the empty reception desk, their footsteps muffled by the expanse of thick grey carpet.

  ‘Wrong.’

  Caelan laughed. ‘No I’m not.’

  He ignored her, knowing he was blushing again. It happened to him too often. Not ideal, especially in this line of work. They approached the lift, and he pressed the button to open the doors. Caelan shuffled her feet.

  ‘Can’t we use the stairs?’

  He frowned. ‘Why?’

  She didn’t reply, but stepped inside the lift and stood with her back to the mirrored wall, clearly reluctant. Ewan selected the next floor up and waited as the doors closed, conscious of her watching him.

  ‘Who are we going to see?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know. I was told to bring you here, but no more.’

  ‘And will you be driving me home afterwards?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  The lift arrived with a clunk and the doors opened. Ewan stepped aside to allow Caelan to exit. She didn’t, hanging back instead.

  ‘What is it?’ He felt a stab of panic. Was she trying to trick him, planning to send the lift back downstairs?

  ‘I’m deciding whether I want to hear what they have to say.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

  Caelan considered it, then stepped forward, out of the lift and onto more luxurious carpeting, navy blue this time.

  ‘No, I’ll hear them out. Why not? We’re here now.’

  * * *

  Nasenby slid his mobile phone back into his jacket pocket.

  ‘They’ve arrived.’

  Ian Penrith rolled his eyes and fidgeted in his chair as Achebe straightened his tie. Achebe was nervous, which surprised him. Caelan Small was one of them, on their side, despite the stories he had heard about her. They knew how she worked – her motivations, and her weaknesses, such as they were. Still, he was apprehensive. Penrith had made his opinions clear, and he was a man whose views Achebe had listened to before. He lifted his chin, not acknowledging Penrith now, closing out the older man with his grubby suit and gloomy features. This time Achebe would make up his own mind.