The Minders

by John Marrs

  Sinéad remained in her vehicle as she rehearsed how to approach Gail. After the Doon debacle, she paused to consider whether it might be wiser to climb back into her car and leave. But she owed it to her friend to try to make her see that she was better off without Anthony. Sinéad had the finances at her disposal to help Gail to relocate and live a life without oppression. She gathered herself and left the car.

  Baby Taylor’s shrill cries caught her attention as she approached the front door. Sinéad peered through the lounge window and spotted the infant strapped in her car seat and placed precariously on a narrow coffee table. She watched and waited, and the time taken between the cries and her mother’s appearance was so long that Sinéad questioned whether Taylor was actually alone in the house. The child’s face was red and crumpled as a long-buried urge inside Sinéad began pulling at her, an overwhelming need to pacify the baby, to comfort her, to feel her head resting on her collarbone and her warm milky breath connecting with her neck.

  Eventually Gail appeared and Sinéad backed away from the window. As she turned her head, however, there was a second scream, a long and persistent one, but this time coming from an adult. Her attention returned to the lounge, where Gail was hunched over her daughter, back arched, shoulders forward and mouth wide open, bellowing at the terrified tot.

  Sinéad craned her neck, convinced her eyes were deceiving her. They weren’t. Instead of comforting Taylor, Gail was taunting her, pushing her face ever closer to the infant and screaming in time with her. Then she raised both her hands and slammed her fists hard against the sides of the car seat, heightening the baby’s agitation. “Shut the fuck up!” she yelled. “Just shut the fuck up!” Not surprisingly, the frightened baby cried louder until, to Sinéad’s horror, Gail slapped the child’s face. Then she stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Moments later, music blasted from a room upstairs.

  Sinéad released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. How had she gotten her friend so wrong? Either Gail was well skilled at hiding her true self or Sinéad had only seen what she’d wanted to see. She had long suspected postnatal depression might be the cause of the disconnect between mother and child, but PND did not make mothers violent and neglectful. Then she recalled the conversation in which Gail had defended her husband and blamed herself for the problems in their marriage. Sinéad had been all too willing to cast Anthony as the villain, not his wife. What if Gail had been the one to slap him, not the other way around?

  But there was someone she needed to prioritise above the mess of that couple’s relationship. Taylor. And there was no way on earth that Sinéad was going to leave a vulnerable baby inside that house a second longer.

  She would not be letting two children down in her lifetime.

  Without considering the consequences, heart pounding in her throat, Sinéad made her way along the side of the building, unlatched the gate, and quietly opened the kitchen door. Upstairs, the music boomed, she assumed to drown out Taylor’s continuing wails. Inside the lounge, she gently picked up the baby in her car seat and caught the odour of a full nappy Gail had failed to change. Then Sinéad hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of nappies from the countertop, and raced back to her car, where she buckled Taylor into the back seat and began to drive.

  She was breathless for the entire journey south through the village until she passed under the Dalhousie Arch, marking her departure from Edzell. Only when she reached the English border three hours later did she begin to breathe properly again.

  There had been many stops on their journey to purchase nappies and wet wipes and auto-heated formula. Years had passed since Sinéad last nursed a baby, and as she held Taylor in the crook of her arm and fed her with fluttering hands, black-and-white memories of Lilly returned in waves. They began with the moments after Daniel discovered she had died, her greyness and how cold her head felt as Sinéad had stroked her wisps of hair and begged her to come back to life.

  But now, as Taylor drank, the colour returned to Sinéad’s recollections. She remembered Lilly’s red rosebud lips, the twitch of her pink button nose as she suckled, the blondness of her eyelashes, and the gentle, random leg kicks and flicks of her wrists. Instead of recalling the baby she’d lost, she thought of the one she had cherished.

  SINÉAD, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE

  “I don’t think it’s much further,” Sinéad told Taylor as her car came to a halt at a set of red traffic lights.

  They were leaving the Northampton town centre and growing ever closer to their destination when Sinéad tried to predict what might happen once she reached the safe house. How would Karczewski and the other Minders react when she appeared with a baby? Her reasoning wouldn’t matter; it was completely against protocol. But as long as Taylor was away from Gail and Anthony, that was all that mattered. She could only hope Karczewski would accept that she’d had little choice.

  Minutes later, Sinéad’s car climbed a steep hill until she reached the rear of Great Houghton village. She located a private road stretching down a slope and towards a stack of farm buildings. She pulled up alongside a gate and pressed a buzzer. A green light flashed but no voice came. Instead, an illuminated screen invited her to scan both irises and input a fifteen-digit code she’d memorised. Only then did the gate open and allow her to approach the farm.

  Sinéad parked in front of a cattle shed next to two shiny off-road vehicles at odds with the mud surrounding them. She gave the farmhouse the once-over but the reflective glass windows and solid metal doors made it impossible to glimpse inside. “I promise you that you’re safe now,” she assured Taylor with a confidence she didn’t really possess.

  The front door automatically opened and she and Taylor cautiously ventured inside. A gentle breeze took her by surprise, nipping at her eyes and forcing her to keep blinking. The door closing triggered lights to illuminate a suburban home, not the high-tech space she’d imagined was hidden behind its traditional facade.

  “Hello?” She spoke but there was no response. She made her way through the dimly lit living room and into a dining area. Shrink-wrapped plastic covered the furniture, sofas, and walls. In the next room was a kitchen, leading into a pantry and an old-fashioned larder. They too were all covered in thick dustproof sheeting.

  “We must be the first ones here,” she muttered aloud, and tried to open a window to release the musty smell. It wouldn’t budge and she didn’t know the code on the digital lock attached to it. When Taylor began to whimper, Sinéad glanced to her watch and assumed it must be feeding time. She placed the car seat on a kitchen table, rubbed her eyes, and turned the tap on to wash her hands, only nothing came out of it. She opened the fridge door to see if there was any bottled water, but it was empty and unplugged.

  “Why would there be nothing waiting for us when they recalled—”

  But Sinéad wasn’t afforded the opportunity to finish. Instead, she felt someone behind her grab her hair, yank her head backwards, and jab something sharp into her neck. The room started spinning as she fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER 51

  EMILIA

  The woman’s head twitched as the effects of the anaesthetic began to wear off. A line of saliva stretched from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin as she groaned.

  The injected dose had knocked her unconscious for an hour: enough time for Emilia to arrive, accompanied by Bianca, Adrian, and an assembly of faces she hadn’t been introduced to. It had also given them time to bind their victim to a chair with plastic restraints. Clear transdermal medical patches were affixed to her wrists, neck, fingertips, and chest to monitor her vital signs.

  Outside in the farmyard, Bianca and Adrian’s team waited by their cars. Inside, it was now just Emilia and, according to her national identity card, Sinéad Kelly, although Adrian had warned it was likely a false name. Her real self would have long been buried.

  So far, Sinéad was the only one o
f the four to have accepted Emilia’s recall message as genuine. She had been located on the approach to one of three safe houses that Bianca’s surveillance team had identified and monitored with drones and field operatives. She had kept to herself that she knew the faces and the locations of the other three. Something was warning her not to show her hand just yet.

  Emilia took advantage of their time alone to study Sinéad’s appearance. The only unusual thing about her was the small clumps of missing eyelashes which left her eyes naked. The rest of her appearance was so unassuming and ordinary that Emilia questioned what Sinéad had done or what she was privy to, to warrant such drastic attention. Emilia had also asked the same question of herself many times. Who had she been for terrorists to need her help? And was it a life she really wanted to return to when this was all over?

  Neither Adrian nor Bianca offered an explanation as to why they wanted to find Sinéad or the three missing others. She just hoped that, for Sinéad’s sake, she told them everything.

  Suddenly, Sinéad’s eyelids fluttered, then opened wide, startled. Emilia pressed the earpiece and microphone she’d been given deeper into her ear canal. Sinéad tried to move, to no avail.

  “Where’s the baby?” she asked.

  “She’s outside with the others. She’s safe.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “I’m sorry but you can’t, not yet.”

  The two women regarded one another until Emilia noticed a flicker of recognition cross Sinéad’s face.

  “You know me, don’t you?” Emilia asked, eyes narrowing. Sinéad didn’t answer. “I’m familiar to you, I can tell.” Again, Sinéad remained silent. “Look, I really need your help, Sinéad. I need you to tell me who I am and what you know about me.” Sinéad’s face remained deadpan. “I’m sorry that you’re in this position but I had no choice.”

  Sinéad focused directly on her captor. “We all have choices. You’ve chosen to be a traitor.”

  It was the second time Emilia had heard the word used as a weapon against her. First from the figures chasing her through the grounds of Ted’s estate, and now from Sinéad.

  “A traitor? To whom?”

  “To yourself and your country.”

  Emilia took a step back. “I have no choice,” she said. “I know they are bad, bad people because I’ve seen firsthand what they’re capable of. So please, for your own sake, just comply. I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.” But Sinéad simply looked away. Emilia knelt in front of her so their lines of vision were level. “Something happened to me that means I don’t have any memories from earlier than a few weeks ago. I was told that you and three others can tell me who I am. And if you do that, I’m sure I can talk the others into letting you go. Have we met before?”

  “No,” Sinéad replied.

  “But you know who I am?”

  “Yes. And I know what you did.”

  Emilia’s stomach pitched. Sinéad’s ominous tone made her almost reticent to ask. “And what did I do?”

  When Sinéad shook her head, Emilia explained all that she’d learned since waking up, including the threat to her family if she didn’t assist. Sinéad’s response was unreadable.

  “Whose baby did you bring with you?” Emilia continued. “I’m told she’s not yours. If I can prove to you that she’s safe, will you talk to me?”

  Sinéad’s eyes reached Emilia’s and she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “Okay, wait here,” Emilia continued. Then closing the front door behind her, she made her way to the empty cattle shed, where Adrian was waiting. Three more dark vehicles had joined them.

  “Where’s the baby?” Emilia asked.

  “Being checked over by a medic,” Adrian replied.

  “I told Sinéad she could see her if she talked to me.”

  “I heard and I can’t let that happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your approach isn’t working. She’s not going to break. Look at her stats.” Adrian pointed to a screen displaying Sinéad’s stress and anxiety levels. Each was much lower than average, and diminishing with every heartbeat. It was as if she was shutting herself down, preparing for an inevitable outcome.

  “You didn’t see the way she looked at me when I told her she could see the girl. It might make all the difference.”

  “You’re wasting your time. This is a dead end.”

  “I’ve only been in there for a few minutes. You can’t expect me to give up just like that. This is my life we’re talking about.”

  “Emilia,” Adrian said firmly. “We have had to make a call on this and we’ve decided to end it now.”

  “You said I could have as long as it takes.”

  “In this business, decisions are fluid.”

  “Please, just hold back for a bit longer.”

  She left Adrian and found the baby being examined in the vehicle Emilia had arrived in. She lifted the girl and pressed her against her chest as she marched back to the farmhouse. Pushing the door open, she approached Sinéad from behind, the baby starting to become restless, her arms and legs flapping.

  “Look, Sinéad, she’s safe and well like I said,” Emilia began. “But I can’t guarantee how long that’ll be the case for you. I’m begging you, please tell me what you know about . . .”

  Emilia’s voice faded into nothing when she spotted a trail of blood across the wooden floorboards. It led to Bianca, who was standing just outside the shadows, a spectral figure with sharp, discerning eyes. She clutched a Stanley knife in one hand and a slender silver object in the other.

  CHAPTER 52

  BRUNO, OUNDLE, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE

  Bruno was unwilling to admit why his apprehension was escalating as he made his way along the countryside path to meet Karen Watson and her daughter. But deep down he knew that it wasn’t only the prospect of revenge that was drawing him towards her like a magnet.

  The recall notice had placed a deadline on his mission. He had to find a way into her home or revert to the original plan. And he honestly didn’t know if he could kill her like he had the others.

  There was one enormous benefit to an early recall—if his mission was coming to a premature end, then according to his contract, he and his son would be reunited four and a half years earlier than planned. And they would be financially set for life.

  Bruno scanned his surroundings as he approached the picnic spot on the banks of the river Nene, close to the bench where he had engineered their first meeting. Surrounded by lush green meadows and woodland copses, he tightened his grip on his supermarket shopping bag and the lead attached to Oscar, the homeless pet he was volunteering to walk. He hoped the dog might reaffirm to Watson that he was a decent, caring man. And quietly he wondered if somewhere inside him that man remained. Because much time had passed since they’d last been acquainted.

  As they rounded a corner, Bruno spotted her, kneeling on a picnic blanket and removing the lids from Tupperware boxes. He paused for a moment to take her in, a forgotten memory returning of Zoe once doing the same thing.

  “Remember what Watson has done to you,” a faceless Echo began, swiftly followed by a chorus of approval from others. “Don’t lose sight of the fact that she deserves everything that’s coming to her.” Bruno waited until the Echoes faded and he was ready to approach her.

  “Hi . . .” he began, then promptly became tongue-tied. He ended the sentence with an awkward smile.

  “Hello there,” Watson replied, rising to her feet. “I’m glad you could make it.” This time, their mutual pecks on each other’s cheeks landed successfully.

  “I didn’t know what to bring, so I kind of brought everything,” Bruno admitted, lifting the shopping bag to show her.

  She pointed to the tartan picnic blanket behind her and bags from the same supermarket he had shopped at. “Great minds think alike.”

 
Bruno acknowledged the young girl sitting in a wheelchair, whose smile was as broad and genuine as her mother’s. On her lap was an illustrated guide to river birds, and by her side, their dog, Luna, had been lying on the grass until she spotted Oscar. As her lead strained, Bruno unhooked Oscar and the two dogs began eagerly sniffing around one another like old friends.

  Bruno reached to shake Nora’s hand, but her flexibility was limited. So he lengthened his arm to fill the gap as they introduced themselves. It was difficult not to take in her appearance as he asked about her book. She reminded him of a delicate porcelain figurine, albeit one with a Mediterranean skin tone and olive-green eyes. She was the complete opposite of her mother. Nora’s torso favoured the left side, her neck the right. Her limbs were awkward and short, and had he not known she was eleven, he couldn’t have attached an age to her. Her electric wheelchair had all-terrain wheels and was operated by a remote control strapped to the palm of her hand.

  “It wouldn’t take much to push her into the river, would it?” The Echo with a German accent was as sudden as he was sinister. An elderly man with sunken cheeks and a white beard and clad in an old-fashioned surgical apron and mask appeared behind Nora. Bruno recognised Claude Zimmerman as a pioneer in paediatrics who’d escaped Nazi Germany and relocated to England. It was only years later that British investigators discovered he had actually been an active Party member and had experimented upon Jewish children. However, his past was quietly overlooked in exchange for the positive discoveries as a result of his barbaric procedures. Bruno shuddered as Zimmerman placed his hands upon Nora’s wheelchair.

  “Just a little shove and she’ll be lying on the riverbed choking on the reeds.”

  You’re not real, you’re not real, Bruno repeated to himself. But Zimmerman wasn’t inclined to leave. “You know what I’m saying is true,” Zimmerman continued. “If you really want to punish the mother for her sins, then punish the child.”