Enemy Within: A heart-wrenching medical mystery (British Military Thriller Series Book 3)

by Nathan Burrows

  “Oh, really?” Hannah said with a look of mock surprise. Adams moved his thumb until it was over the top end of one of the child’s forearm bones, the radial head. “Right, on three, I am going to pull the silliest face you have ever seen,” Hannah continued. “Are you ready? One, two, three.”

  As Hannah said the word three, Adams rotated Tiffany’s forearm and gently flexed her elbow. He was rewarded with a soft clunk under his thumb as the radial head relocated itself. The child didn’t even notice, but was entranced by whatever face Hannah was pulling.

  Adams got to his feet, his knees creaking as he did so.

  “Your turn,” Hannah said to Tiffany. To Adams’s relief, the child brought both hands up to her ears and repeated Hannah’s earlier movements along with screwed-up eyes and tongue sticking out.

  “Have you fixed it?” Patrick asked Adams as they watched.

  “Maybe you could stay for ten minutes or so in the waiting room,” Adams replied. “Keep an eye on her and if she seems happy and is using the arm normally, then you’ll probably be okay to go home. But any problems, you come straight back.”

  “Sure,” Patrick replied, the relief on his face obvious. “Mate, next time I see you, I’m buying, yeah?”

  “Well, I won’t turn that offer down,” Adams said with a grin.

  “Sound,” Patrick punched Adams softly on the shoulder. “Nice one, fella.”

  Adams and Hannah watched as Tiffany and her father made their way back to the waiting room. Tiffany ran to the play area in the corner, using both hands to pick up a toy to play with.

  “Thanks, Hannah,” Adams said. “She looks happier.”

  “See, I told you,” Hannah replied. Adams turned to look at her and saw her expression was somewhere between playful and serious.

  “Told me what?”

  “We’re the dream team, you and me.” She repeated Patrick’s gesture and play-punched his shoulder. “Don’t you forget that.”

  65

  Eleanor waited until she heard the staff room door open and saw Jimmy’s reflection in the window before she started sobbing. She was quite subtle about it, just a few shakes of the shoulders and a small, anguished cry. He crossed to the chair where she was sitting and knelt down next to her.

  “Hey Eleanor, what’s wrong?” Jimmy asked. Eleanor looked up at him, managing to squeeze a single tear out of the corner of her eye.

  “It’s Daniel,” Eleanor replied.

  “Who’s Daniel?”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Eleanor said, raising a tissue to her eye and sniffing. “Well, ex-boyfriend now, I guess.”

  “Oh mate, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Jimmy’s face was full of sympathy, and for a few seconds, Eleanor felt bad about deceiving him. Then she thought about that journalism award and her feelings abated. This was business.

  “It’s been on the cards for a while, but I never thought it would actually happen,” Eleanor said in a small voice. She got to her feet and flapped her hands in front of her face. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

  “Was it him or you who broke it off? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It was him. He’d been seeing someone else.” Eleanor took a deep breath, pretending to compose herself. “I’m such an idiot. I should have realised sooner.”

  “He’s the bloody idiot, Eleanor,” Jimmy said forcefully. “If we were together, I wouldn’t even so much as look at another woman ever again.”

  Eleanor smiled at him, knowing what was about to happen. He would give her a hug and then try to kiss her. She took a half step toward him to make sure that it did and looked up at him, even going so far as to run the tip of her tongue over her lips. Sure enough, a few seconds later, he wrapped his arms around her after asking her if it was okay to give her a hug.

  When he hugged her, Eleanor made sure she pressed her breasts against his chest and responded to the kiss, when it came, for just long enough to give him something to think about when he was sitting on his own in his little cubicle. Then she broke it off and put her hands to his shoulders, gently pushing him away.

  “I’m sorry, Jimmy, it’s too soon. I shouldn’t have, um, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Eleanor knew, without having to look down at his crotch, that Jimmy had been suitably distracted by the kiss to notice her slipping his key card from its holder on his belt. He was already hard by the time he’d kissed her. She knew biology was biology, and that she had pressed her body against his. But for all of his qualities, subtlety wasn’t Jimmy’s strongest.

  “No, I mean, yes,” Jimmy said, obviously flustered. “You’re right. It’s just, well, it’s just that I like you a lot, Eleanor.”

  “I like you too, Jimmy,” Eleanor replied, sliding her hand behind her back to slip the key card into the band of her skirt. She smiled at him. “Perhaps in a week or so, once the dust has settled a bit, we could go out for a drink?”

  “I’d like that a lot.”

  “You know, just see what happens?”

  “Okay,” Jimmy replied with a smile. “That sounds like a plan.”

  Leaving Jimmy on his own in the staff room, Eleanor made her way to the ladies’ bathroom. “To freshen up,” she told him as she left. Inside the bathroom, she made her way to the furthest stall, checking that the others were all empty, even though she knew they would be. It was only her, Jimmy, and one of the male researchers still in the building. She closed the toilet lid and stood on top of the bowl, reaching up to slide the ceiling tile to one side.

  When Eleanor had gone for a run that lunchtime, she had varied her usual route slightly to visit her car, which she had left unlocked to avoid having to ask Jimmy for her key from the secure cabinet. In the glove compartment of the car was a small high-definition camera, the type worn by snowboarders and mountain bikers to record their exploits. It was less than half the size of a packet of cigarettes, could film in full 4K resolution, and had a fully charged battery that Eleanor knew would last for several hours. Taped to it was a small 128GB memory stick.

  She had grabbed the camera, hidden it in her hand, and then returned to her normal route down the side of the fence. When Eleanor reached the blind spot, she had knelt as if to tie her shoelace and slipped the small camera through the fence before retrieving it during her mid-afternoon coffee break. The camera, now on the secure side of the Ascalon Institute, was resting on a ceiling tile. Eleanor slipped the key card next to it before replacing the other tile and climbing down. She flushed the toilet, just in case, and left the bathroom.

  When she got to the main foyer of the building, she could see Jimmy in his cubicle, frantically searching through the drawers. He must have realised that he’d lost his key card, but did he suspect her of taking it from him? She’d hoped for a longer time-frame between her taking it and him realising he’d lost it.

  “You okay, Jimmy?” Eleanor asked him. His face, when he looked up at her, had no trace of suspicion on it.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just lost something, that’s all,” he replied.

  “Anything important?”

  “Um, not really, no. Nothing that can’t be replaced.” But would the other one be cancelled, Eleanor thought with a sudden sense of alarm. She had no idea how these things worked. Should she go back in now and look at the lab? The only problem with that was that Jimmy might see her on the cameras. It needed to be during the day, and she had already worked out a time in a couple of days’ time when the entire laboratory complex would be deserted and the other employees—including Jimmy—would be busy showing a party of local schoolchildren around. There was nothing else for it—she was going to have to wait.

  “Hey Jimmy,” Eleanor said, stepping up to the counter and placing her elbows on it. Jimmy turned, and she saw his eyes flick down for a few seconds. Her blouse had fallen away from her chest as she had hoped. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for what?” Jimmy replied, managing to meet her eyes with his. Eleanor dropped her voice to a whisp
er that she hoped sounded sultry, or at least alluring.

  “Thank you for that kiss,” she said softly, seeing his face light up at her words. “It really was quite something.”

  Leaving Jimmy with a big grin on his face, Eleanor turned to leave the institute. Her face hardened as she walked down the road to her car. She didn’t like the thought of Jimmy replaying the moment, and imagining a lot more involving her, when he was on his own in whatever crappy little bedsit he called home.

  “In your dreams, Jimmy,” Eleanor muttered.

  66

  Lizzie sat back in the kitchen chair, completely full. She sighed.

  “Divya,” she said. “Where on earth did you learn to cook like that?” Around the table, the others were in a similar state of gratification. Even Jack, who had to be one of the fussiest eaters Lizzie had ever known, had cleaned his plate. What Lizzie had thought was going to be a simple potato curry had turned out to be the most amazing potato and aubergine allu bangun, rich with tomato sauce, whole cumin, and mustard seeds.

  “My mother taught me,” Divya replied, a smile on her face from the compliment. She had told Lizzie the previous evening that she felt bad about Jack having to give up veganism and wanted him to have good vegan food. Lizzie, who didn’t think Jack was that fussed in the slightest, had kept her own counsel.

  “That was amazing,” Obi said, running a hand over his flat stomach. He looked at Lizzie with a broad grin on his face. But that was normal for the man. No matter what, he always seemed to be smiling.

  “Seconded,” Isobel chipped in. Only Claire remained quiet. She seemed to Lizzie to have something on her mind.

  “She always used to say ‘you don’t need a silver fork to eat good food’,” Divya said. “We were taught to throw nothing away.”

  They all sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, contented and sated. Lizzie got to her feet and grabbed some bottles of water from the fridge, before replacing them with ones from the pallet.

  “You’re only doing that so you don’t have to do the washing up,” Obi said with a laugh.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Divya said, making to get to her feet.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Divya,” Isobel replied, putting her hand on Divya’s forearm. “It’s mine and Jack’s turn. Isn’t that right, Jack? I’ll wash, you dry?”

  “Suppose so,” Jack replied with a look of mock irritation aimed at Isobel. She just gave him a motherly smile in return.

  They all got to their feet and took their plates to the sink to pile them up. To Divya’s credit, there was almost nothing to be scraped into the bin.

  “Does anyone want this last piece of naan bread?” Obi said as he picked up the flat bread from its plate. Everyone except Claire laughed. Obi was like a hoover, always sweeping up at the end of every meal, yet he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him.

  Lizzie took her bottle through into the lounge and sat in an armchair with a sigh, while Obi and Divya took the sofa. Claire had obviously decided not to join them. Obi flicked the television on.

  “Does anyone mind if I catch the BBC news headlines?” he said as he changed channel and replaced the remote control in its allocated place in the middle of the coffee table without waiting for a reply.

  “Not at all,” Lizzie replied, turning to talk to Divya. “I’m not joking, Divya, that meal really was quite something. You’ll have to give me the recipe, although I don’t think I’d be able to do it justice.”

  “I haven’t got one,” Divya replied. She tapped the side of her forehead. “It’s all up here.”

  “Could you write it down for me?”

  “I could try,” Divya replied, “but it depends on what you’ve got available at the time you’re cooking.” Lizzie was envious. If she didn’t have an exact recipe to follow, anything she tried to cook was inedible, and even with a recipe it often turned out that way, anyway.

  Lizzie listened as Divya chattered away about cooking while they both idly watched the television screen. There was footage of small boats in the English Channel and some sort of demonstration about climate change. Then the newsreader started doing a piece to camera before a familiar face appeared on the screen.

  “Obi!” Lizzie barked, startling him so much that he dropped his bottle of water. “Can you turn that up?” Obi did as asked, and Lizzie leaned forward to concentrate on what the newsreader was saying.

  An extensive manhunt has been launched in Norfolk and Suffolk today for this man, Robert Hunter, who is wanted in connection with the fatal arson attack in Great Yarmouth earlier this week.

  “Oh my God,” Lizzie gasped. “I know him!”

  Hunter, who was last seen in the Honington area, is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. Police are advising members of the public who see him not to approach him, but to dial 999 immediately.

  “How d’you know him, Lizzie?” Obi asked as they looked at the mug shot on the screen. The man staring back at them, dressed in civilian clothes, certainly looked dangerous.

  “He works on the base I was working on before coming here,” Lizzie replied, astonished. “He was a patient of mine. Titch, he’s called.”

  “My goodness,” Divya said. “He looks horrible.”

  Lizzie thought back to when she had stitched Titch’s leg. She’d not liked the man, but she’d not had him down as an arsonist, or even particularly dangerous. When the newsreader moved on to a piece about the forthcoming Trooping of the Colour for the Queen’s Birthday, Lizzie got to her feet. The sun was about to set over the bay and she wanted to get some pictures from the roof to e-mail to Adams. Also, she couldn’t wait to tell him about Titch.

  “I’ll see you guys in a bit,” Lizzie said as she left the room.

  She made her way out of the White House, waved at Jojo, who was polishing one of the cars, and climbed the external metal staircase to the roof. It was early evening, the sun was just setting, and the view from the top would be amazing.

  To Lizzie’s surprise, when she reached the top of the roof, she wasn’t alone. Standing behind the air-conditioning unit was Claire, her head half-hidden by the large plastic bottle of water on the top that humidified the air the unit pumped into the house.

  “Claire?” Lizzie called out, not wanted to startle her in case she’d not heard the stairs being used. Claire didn’t turn around as Lizzie approached her. “Everything okay?”

  When Claire turned around, Lizzie could see that she was on the verge of tears.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Lizzie said. They weren’t exactly best friends, but Lizzie still wanted to make sure she was okay. “You’re upset.”

  “Did she bring you here?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. Charlotte.”

  Lizzie paused before replying, wondering how best to handle the question. In the end, she decided to just be honest.

  “Yes, she did,” Lizzie said, keeping her voice even.

  “I thought so,” Claire said, looking back out over the bay where the sun was just setting. “She told me this was our place. Hers and mine. Now it looks like it’s hers and yours.”

  67

  “How much for the moped, mate?” Titch asked the gangly young man behind the desk of the garage. Calling it a garage was a bit of a stretch—Titch couldn’t see anything other than old cars and bikes for sale—but it was discreet and, more importantly, didn’t have a CCTV camera in sight.

  “Which one, fella?” the salesperson replied, getting to his feet as if even the prospect of a sale was an effort.

  “The Sym Jet one,” Titch said, nodding at a battered, red moped with the back trim held on with gaffer tape. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his face. “It runs, does it?”

  “Course it does, mate. Runs like a charm.” The salesperson crossed to the motorcycle and cranked it three or four times before it burst into life with a cloud of thick black smoke. He revved the engine, which only made the smoke worse, but the engine was running. Perhaps not like a charm, but i
t was running.

  Titch had managed to get to the village of Martham, close to Great Yarmouth, in his car while still under the cover of darkness the previous night. He’d driven with the windows down, although quite what he would have done if he’d heard the thwack of rotor blades in the sky he didn’t know. He’d parked the car down a rutted lane before covering it with a tarpaulin he kept in the boot for that very purpose. By the time he’d reached the boat, the sun was just rising on the horizon and he was sweating hard from the effort of carrying his go bag and the supplies he’d picked up from Honington. The marshland was hard work, but that also meant there were few visitors to the area. Never take more than you can carry in one go had been a mantra of his for years, and it had served him well that morning. After he had secured his precious cargo, he’d slept like a baby for most of the day.

  He’d known he was taking a chance by driving back into Norwich while it was still light, but he needed to get rid of the car and find another means of transport. The car was safely tucked away in an underground car park on the outskirts of Norwich, with the keys still in the ignition. Perhaps someone would do him a favour and start driving it round? If that was the case, whoever stole it would get more than a ticket if they got caught. That would be the best diversion for Titch, but he couldn’t make it happen. The car was safe enough and couldn’t be seen from the sky.

  “Two hundred quid, mate,” the salesperson said. Titch glanced around the small decrepit building that served the garage, not seeing a terminal for a credit card. “Full tank of petrol as well.”

  “Cash?”

  “Yes, fella. We only do cash here.”

  “Okay, I’ll take it.” Titch reached into his pocket for the money. “Does it come with a crash helmet?”

  “No, but I can sort you out with one.” Titch thought for a moment about asking about tax and an MOT roadworthiness certificate but decided against it. All the moped had to do was get him back to Martham.