by Gary Baker
Becky opened her eyes letting rip with an impressive stream of profanities ending with, '… hurts.'
So this is what Roger finds attractive, thought Julia. No, that's not fair.
Meadhill's bullet had missed its intended target and instead, carved out a slice of flesh from Becky's upper inner arm. The wound was bleeding profusely and the blood on her chest was from her own hand as she first of all grabbed instinctively at her wound then patted herself to see if she could feel any other injuries.
The medic lifted her arm and applied a pad which he then held in place with a bandage around her arm.
'Keep your arm down and pressed to your side until you can get proper medical attention,' said the medic.
Becky nodded. 'I know,' she said.
'She's a nurse,' said Roger sitting back on his haunches. Julia had to back off to one side to make room for him.
'Where's my bag?' said Becky trying to sit up.
The soldier left to guard them came forward holding Becky's tiny, sparkly handbag; looking rather sheepish, even through his balaclava.
She tried to take it with her good hand but sank back wincing with pain. The medic took her shoulders and gently laid her back saying, 'Take it easy.' The other guard pulled off his balaclava and offered it as a small woollen pillow for under Becky's head.
Roger took the bag, thanking the guard. 'Don't worry,' he said to Becky. 'I have it.'
Becky smiled bravely.
It was all Julia could do to stop herself kicking the plucky little princess. 'We have to go, Roger,' she said.
'Yes,' agreed Roger. 'We need to get her to a Doctor straight away.'
Julia took Roger's arm. 'Absolutely. Kent can take her to the hospital when he comes back. In the meantime I need to make sure you're -'
'What? No way,' he said. 'We can't leave Becky here.'
The medic agreed. 'We only have one vehicle ma'am,' he said.
'My car's parked outside the gates,' said Becky.
Julia stood over her. 'Becky is it?' she said. 'You just … ' They were right, of course. They should wait until Kent returned before moving anywhere. 'You just lie back and rest. I wasn't … I was just a bit anxious you -'
The sound of heavy footsteps saved Julia. Kent and his three men jogged back from the single doorway at the rear of the hangar.
'Let's move,' he said quickly appraising the situation. 'Target Charlie got away but may still be in the area. You,' he pointed at the soldier left on guard, 'take the casualty's car and follow us.'
Roger took Becky's car keys from her purse and handed them to the soldier who ran off through the main hangar doors.
'Everyone else,' said Kent, 'evacuate back to the vehicle.'
The vehicle turned out to be black Mercedes minibus with heavily tinted windows. It was parked in the inky darkness one hundred yards farther along from Becky's own car.
They drove the ten miles or so from Teesside Airport to Darlington Memorial Hospital in silence.
*
Meadhill sat in his car testing his foot by pressing it down on the brake pedal.
'The pain is out there,' he said aloud. 'An interesting phenomenon, that's all.' He put more pressure on the brake pedal. 'It's just a message to my brain, that's all.'
The only road in and out of the Teesside Airport complex ran past the car park where Meadhill sat. A small bus with blacked out windows followed by a small Ford Ka headed away along this road.
'Amateurs.' Meadhill started the engine.
*
'How am I going to explain this?' asked Becky as she stepped down from the bus and, helped by Roger, headed for casualty.
'Don't worry,' said Julia. 'I'll sort things out with the police.'
Becky nodded uncertainly as two nurses, who obviously recognised her, descended. They flapped madly about, pushed Roger out of the way and took her arms on either side and demanded to know what had happened. Roger tagged awkwardly along behind them as Becky told her story and her two friends lamented the destruction of her best peach dress.
Julia leaned against the bus as Kent lit a cigarette beside her.
'When Nurse Becky,' said Julia, pausing to wave smoke away from her face, 'has been taken care of, I need to go somewhere quiet to make sure Peerson, Target Alpha, is … fully functional.'
'Yes ma'am,' said Kent not caring about the smoke. He let his gaze move over her figure-hugging black jumpsuit. 'Just let me know where.'
Julia sensed his interest. Quickly she said, 'Peerson has a place not far from here. In Barton. About five miles away if memory serves. It's nice and quiet out there.'
'No problem,' said Kent.
A short plump man wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket puffed up to Kent. 'You'll have to move your bus,' he said.
Kent dropped his cigarette, crushed it with his boot and repeated, 'No problem.' Turning back to Julia, Kent said, 'We'll be parked in the road near the hospital entrance.' He made his eyes smile at her. 'When you're ready.'
Julia nodded then walked towards the hospital entrance acutely aware of Superman's gaze following her movements.
*
Roger stood at the door to a small private hospital room and watched Becky as she slept. Julia had worked her governmental magic and, as well as making the police disappear, had secured Becky a room which Roger considered much safer than her home while Meadhill was at large.
He closed the door quietly, leaned back on it and let himself relax at last.
That had not been fun, Roger thought to himself. So much for me using little nurse Becky. There had been moments during the last few hours when he would have given his life to prevent any harm coming to her. He was smitten alright. And it felt good. Didn't it? No, it bloody didn't. This was a complication he could well do without.
Roger guessed that Julia, and the mandarins pulling her strings, would consider his home in Barton compromised and insist he move down to London or somewhere. He couldn't ask Becky to move. Could he?
Roger looked up. Julia was waiting for him at the end of the corridor, standing with her arms folded, rather like the nurses do. It must be contagious.
Roger walked up to her nodding his head approvingly. 'Black suits you,' he said looking her up and down.
Julia tossed her hair. 'What? These old things?'
'You look tired though,' said Roger.
The game ended there. Julia became very businesslike.
'The team is waiting outside,' she said.
'What? All this time?'
'Yes. Don't worry, last I heard they were ordering pizza and beer.'
'Where did you get these guys from? Is there a section in Yellow Pages for Cavalry?'
'You're very important to us, Roger,' said Julia. 'Important to the country. And … a very valuable asset.' She took his arm and turned him towards the exit. 'but … ' Julia stopped and looked Roger in the eye, 'I have to check you again. You know that.'
'Don't want to be accepting damaged goods,' said Roger.
Julia ignored the remark. 'Let's go back to your place and run some tests. What do you say? Will only take an hour or so.'
Back home. Why not.
'I haven't actually been home for … well, for ages. Can't remember the last time.'
'I know,' said Julia.
*
The house sulked under the night sky, flaunting an air of abandonment; its prime rooted beyond a marker grounded in the past; its construction on the sunnier side of a bridge between then and now.
Roger had been different then too. A product of different memories. He could remember not having the memories.
The cherry tree seemed a fraction bigger; the bushes bushier.
Yet it was only a few short days ago that he'd left. Oozing snot and shedding tears.
All the curtains were drawn. He didn't remember closing them all. The orange glow from the streetlamp turned his bright red front door a dark shade of amber.
He patted his trousers and jacket. No key.
'That's okay,' said Julia,
'I just happen to have a spare.' She unlocked the door pushing hard against a pile of junk mail and newspapers.
'And you don't even look embarrassed,' said Roger.
'About having a key? Don't be silly. I own you,' she said. The joke wasn't funny.
Kent and his men were behind them. 'Want us to check it out for you ma'am?' he asked.
'Err, no,' said Julia, glancing quickly at Roger. 'The place has been under twenty-four hour surveillance for quite some time. Thanks for everything, Kent.'
Kent inhaled to say something, seemed to think better of it, made his eyes smile at her again, saluted with one finger and returned to the bus.
'What?' asked Roger. 'Surveillance?'
'Afraid so,' said Julia. She pointed across the road. A row of bungalows with immaculate front gardens faced them. In the large sitting room window of the bungalow exactly opposite, a man waved back. It was Peter.
'That's Peter,' said Roger.
'Yes,' said Julia.
'I know him.'
'Yes.'
'He's got a dog called Sally. A Labrador.'
'Yes, Roger.'
'I thought he was a retired builder.'
'He is,' said Julia. 'He used to be one of those builders who organised the very last coat of paint on the most secret of doors. He's been doing us a favour for all the work we pushed his way over the years.'
'But I know him,' said Roger again and waved back.
Why was he surprised? It had just never occurred to Roger he had been under constant surveillance. Even at home.
'Let's go in,' said Julia, 'The neighbours will talk.'
The house was cold.
'It's the pressure,' said Roger. 'If the water pressure drops the heating clicks off.'
Roger turned lights on and pointed out the kitchen and lounge to Julia.
'I'll just pop up and put the heating on,' he said.
'Mind if I put the kettle on?'
'No, please, help yourself,' said Roger trotting up the wide stairway. 'I doubt if there's any milk though.'
Roger let some water in to re-pressurise the system from a valve he kept permanently connected to the mains. Half a turn, a whishing noise and the pressure indicator quickly moved up to the one bar mark. He pressed the reset button and the boiler clicked a few times, the gas caught and burst into life. The house perked up.
*
Meadhill pulled his car into a parking area in front of Half Moon Pub and switched off his lights. Two hundred yards away, past the ancient stone cross that marked the centre of Barton village, the small black bus pulled away from the front of Roger's House.
He waited until the bus was out of sight before getting out of his car. Blood squelched in his shoe, warm and sticky.
Meadhill looked around. All windows were dark. The only sound came from his car as it cooled and settled.
He pulled his 45 from under his arm. From his left jacket pocket he pulled a silencer and deftly screwed it onto the barrel, never taking his eyes off Roger's house. He checked the clip and, to complete the cliché moment, hauled back the slide so loading the first shell with a double click that echoed loud and alien in that dark, sleeping English village.
*
Roger went back downstairs and into the front room. A coal fire was laid ready to light. Roger vaguely remembered doing it. A layer of newspapers, some fire lighters, some small sticks and some coal. He pulled a long match from its holder. The match spluttered into life as it was dragged through the scratchy embrace. Roger lit the newspaper along the front and watched as the flames caught the firelighters and soon had the sticks crackling in a very satisfactory manner.
Gentle creeks and groans moved under the floors and in the walls as hot water pushed its way through the pipes and into the old cold radiators. The familiar sounds of home brought the house closer to Roger. It hadn't been that long, after all.
'It'll soon warm up!' Roger raised his voice so Julia would be able to hear him in the kitchen. He had a quick look round. Seemed okay. Fairly neat. Nothing horrible lying about. What was the kitchen like? Had he filled the dishwasher?
He hopped up the step from the lounge, crossed the hallway and joined Julia in the kitchen. He cast a critical eye around. Not too bad actually. Bit of a musty smell. No growth laden dishes lying around at least.
Julia leaned her buttocks against a kitchen unit, folded her arms – was this becoming a habit – and looked at the ceiling. It was a very high, timber-framed barn-like construction and always drew admiring comments from women over the years. Men usually said, 'nice floor', while tapping the stripped floorboards with their foot. Women usually looked up and said, 'nice kitchen.' Did that mean anything? Probably not.
Julia looked down and rubbed her foot on the old, ridged floorboards. 'Nice floor,' she said.
No. It didn't mean anything.
The stainless steel electric kettle behind Julia began to grumble and pop. Julia lurched forwards in surprise.
'Noisiest kettle on the planet,' said Roger opening a high cupboard. 'I have some Chinese tea,' he said. 'With Jasmine. Very good.'
'Sounds fine. Anything hot and wet will do me,' said Julia.
Roger placed two identical red mugs on the surface near the kettle then fussed around getting the tea bags out of their shrink wrapped box.
The two stood and watched as the kettle came noisily to the boil then clicked itself off.
The kitchen was suddenly quiet. Quiet enough for the sound of the rain to be heard hitting the skylight windows in the roof.
'Started raining,' said Roger as he used a teaspoon to prod the teabags and coax colour into the hot water he had poured into the cups.
'Looks like we got inside just in time,' said Julia.
Roger ran the cold water tap for a few seconds then topped up each cup with water to cool them down a little. He handed a mug to Julia. 'Try that,' he said.
Julia took a sip. 'Good,' she said, nodding. 'Aromatic.'
The two sipped. Delayed.
*
Meadhill kept low as he moved silently along the fence running up to Roger's open gate.
The kitchen window was just six feet away and he could clearly see the back of Roger's head as he stood side by side with a dark haired woman.
Meadhill ducked out of view as Roger turned to face her.
*
'Okay,' said Roger at last. 'Let's get this over with.'
'Yes,' said Julia.
Abandoning their mugs, Roger and Julia left the kitchen and entered the front room where Roger pulled out a calculator from a corner cabinet, handed it to Julia and then lay down on the sofa.
Julia slid a chair easily over the wood polished floor and sat facing Roger.
She said the words. Roger relaxed and, after a few minutes, went under.
She asked some simple, by Roger's previous standards, arithmetical questions to start with.
'What's the cube root of seven four zero eight eight?'
'Forty-two,' he answered instantly.
'What are the primary factors of three one two nine one?'
'Thirteen, twenty-nine and eighty-three.' Again, no delay in answering.
Julia then took a very careful tour around Roger's mind. The three Roger personalities responded. Roger B asking, as always, if she was wearing stockings. Each of the Roger's unique personalities betrayed themselves to her in turn. Unique shadow puppets outlined against the screen of his voice. Occasionally Roger B and C would try to trick her. But the shadows they cast always gave them away.
The personality which had in the past identified itself to Julia as Jennifer did not respond. It seemed she was gone or suppressed so deeply Julia could not raise her. This was the worry for Julia as Jennifer had appeared to be the holder of Roger's savant talents. When asked about his abilities on a previous occasion Roger had answered to the effect that he, or one of the Rogers, would ask Jennifer the question and she would tell him. Roger simply repeated out loud what Jennifer had told him. Now Jennifer see
med to be gone, how did it work? Roger A, the dominant personality for most of the time, said that the answers just came to him. Whether or not his code making and breaking skills had been compromised would have to remain an unknown until he was back at work and in a more controlled environment.
Julia prodded Roger with unhappy memories forcing him to recall the times during and immediately after both Jennifer and Harry's death. Roger coped well. As far as Julia could tell, Roger was stable.
She brought Roger gently back from his deep hypnotic state.
Roger sat up. 'I did okay, didn't I?' he said.
'That,' Meadhill's voice cut across the room like a thunderclap, 'was fascinating.' He stood in the doorway, humourlessly showing his gold tooth, a big, silenced gun held by his side, his long black coat glistened with raindrops.
Chapter 29
Meadhill didn't waste time pointing the gun at Roger. Levelling the heavy, silenced weapon at Julia, Meadhill addressed Roger: 'You know why I'm here.'
Oh, Jesus, Jesus.
'Let's not get carried away,' said Roger, standing. 'I'll do whatever you want.'
Julia's unblinking eyes watched the gun. Silence.
Say something, prodded Roger B. 'My - the - there's a computer, a connected computer upstairs in the study. Spare bedroom.'
'What does he want, Roger?' Julia's asked.
Meadhill took half a pace towards her, staggering slightly, his face suddenly veined and red with anger. 'Don't you talk about me as if I'm not here, bitch!'
The last word hung in the air, fading to a tinnitus whine in the silence.
Roger and Julia stood rigid, not daring to breathe, waiting for Meadhill to regain control of himself. At last he motioned with the gun for them to leave the room. He moved sideways to let them by.
Roger led Julia and Meadhill out of the front room, up the wide stairs to his study. He paused outside, waiting for permission to proceed.
Meadhill came up the stairs slowly, heaving on the banister. He left a spot of blood on the pale green carpet of every other step.
'In you go,' he said, motioning Roger to enter.
Julia followed Roger into the small study. Meadhill gave her a gentle shove forcing her to stagger and sit on a leather settee jammed into the space. Roger sat at his terminal.