by CJ Carver
Dan struggled up to see an old man leaning on a cane. Aquiline features. Alert blue eyes. He came forward, studied Dan. In fluent English, he said, ‘Where did you learn to drive like that?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jenny had to force herself to move. She felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience, numb and disconnected. Shocked.
Brimstone.
Dan had practically screamed the word.
Do you remember what we said about Brimstone?
How could she forget? After his breakdown Dan had lost great chunks of his memory, from what his favourite food used to be to where he used to work, and when he learned he’d been employed by the Security Service he demanded she tell him everything she could remember. She’d been brutally honest, saying how much she’d hated his job, and how the final straw had come when his cover had been blown one day and he’d rung her with their code word Brimstone.
Brimstone meant an emergency. That they were in the gravest danger. That things had turned catastrophic and in order to survive they had to implement a previously agreed plan.
Which was for Jenny to take Luke and go into hiding immediately. Without telling anyone where they were going. Not Dan’s boss. Not even her parents.
She had to vanish without leaving a trail.
She had to hide for as long as it took, days or weeks. Until she heard the release code: cloverleaf.
Fortunately, she and Luke had only been out of the house for three hours when Dan rang with the release code, but it was the worst three hours of her life, not knowing what was going on, whether Dan was alive or dead. When she’d said this to Dan last year, however, he said he thought Brimstone and what it represented an excellent idea, and despite her trying to assert that life was over he’d insisted they keep Brimstone in play. Just in case, he’d said. He’d even gone so far as to get a credit card in a different name. Mr & Mrs Fisher. She had no idea how he’d done it and didn’t ask – she decided she’d rather not know. He’d also put aside some cash for them to use, which occasionally they dipped into when they were short but which he quickly topped up. She called him paranoid; he said he was prudent.
She started to shake. She never thought she’d be back here again. With her family’s life in danger.
What was going on?
No time to think.
She had to get out.
But first she had to wipe his phone. That was the priority. Quickly she grabbed her laptop. Logged into Dan’s account. Two more taps on the screen and she found the icon she needed, erase iPhone.
Done.
She desperately wanted to see where he was, using the locating feature on his phone, but she would be wasting precious time. He could be in Brazil or Bristol and the situation would be the same. She had to pack for her and Aimee. She had to be organised in case they were gone a long time. She had to shut up the house properly but she mustn’t get bogged down doing things that weren’t vital. No pausing to clear the fridge or take out the rubbish.
Thank God her parents had left earlier. Small mercy. They’d never have understood the situation.
Pack and leave.
Preferably within five minutes. And while remaining completely calm.
‘Aimee?’ she called and, as she turned round, she almost collided with Poppy, who’d been at her side. She’d forgotten about the dog. Another thing to worry about. She couldn’t leave the dog behind. Besides, Poppy had proved herself useful, chasing that man away.
Jenny glanced through the window but saw nobody hiding in the trees, nobody running down the drive. Just sheets of sleet and snow billowing over and around her car. She’d have to pack warm clothes. DVDs. A couple of games . . .
She strode into the living room. ‘Aimee, that was Daddy on the phone.’
Her daughter looked up from her colouring book.
‘We have an emergency,’ Jenny said. She knelt down, looked at Aimee seriously. She’d learned over the years that if she talked to her daughter openly, matter-of-factly, she responded far better than if she tried to hide the truth. ‘We have to leave home right now. Daddy couldn’t tell us exactly what the emergency was, but that it’s to do with his work, and that we might be in danger if we stay.’
Aimee’s eyes went as wide as soup plates. ‘What sort of danger?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jenny was honest. ‘But when I find out I’ll tell you, I promise. But in the meantime, we have to leave now, OK?’
Aimee looked at her colouring book then back at Jenny. ‘But I don’t want to go anywhere.’ Her voice rose into a whine. ‘I want –’
‘I’m going to pack some things for us.’ Jenny spoke calmly, wanting to prevent Aimee from stepping on to a hysterical spiral. ‘Would you pack for Poppy? She’ll need her dog bed and bowl, biscuits and –’
‘Her ball!’ Aimee jumped up, immediately distracted. ‘And she’ll need some treats too!’
As she started to run to the hall Jenny called out, ‘Don’t go outside, please. Just put everything by the front door. I’ll pack the car in a minute.’
‘Okaaaay!’
As Jenny hared upstairs she could hear Aimee talking to the dog over metallic clanks of the dog bowl. She never thought she’d be glad of Dan’s dog but right now she could have hugged the creature for preventing Aimee from having a meltdown. Diving into the spare room she grabbed two holdalls from the divan drawers. No time to fetch the suitcases, which were in the loft.
She flew across both bedrooms, grabbing underwear, socks, shirts, jeans and jumpers. Toiletries. Books, crayons, sparkly nail polish, Neddy the stuffed horse. Everything shoved haphazardly into the bags. A framed photograph of Dan was shoved on top.
‘Ready!’ yelled Aimee.
‘Gosh, that was quick.’ She lugged the bags downstairs to find dog and daughter standing by the dog’s items, looking expectant. ‘Do we have her lead?’
‘Yes.’ Aimee held it up proudly.
‘I’ll be one minute and then we’ll pack up the car.’
Laptop, phone, chargers, DVDs, more books, waterproofs, wellies, handbag, car keys. Big leather wallet which held passports, marriage certificate, birth certificates, paper driving licences and a handful of Euros left over from a previous holiday.
Quick glance outside. Nobody there that she could see.
‘Let’s go.’
They ducked their heads as they ran to her hatchback. The wind was viciously cold, biting their skin and the sleet stung their eyes. Jenny flung their things in the rear. The dog would have to take the back seat.
‘Buckle up,’ she told Aimee.
‘Can I sit with Poppy?’
‘If there’s room.’ She wasn’t going to argue and waste time.
Jenny was about to set the alarm when she remembered her phone. Taking it out of her handbag she ran with it to the house. Left it on the hall table. Even if it was switched off she couldn’t use it; it could still be traced. Dan had said it was far better to leave it behind and buy a new one. What else? Frantically she ran a mental checklist, but stalled as soon as she got past the essentials: passports, cash, emergency credit card.
She switched the heating to fifteen degrees. Did a fast sweep to check the windows were locked, then she set the alarm and left the house.
As she headed down the drive she searched for the man in the trees but saw nobody. Was it because he wore camouflage clothing, or was he simply not there? No car followed her through the village. No vehicle behind her as she wound her way down the mountain. Her heartbeat began to settle, her sweat cool.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Aimee. She was scrunched into one corner with Poppy’s massive head on her lap.
‘Kent,’ Jenny said. ‘Lots of walks for Poppy there.’
‘Kent?’ Aimee looked blank.
‘Well, we’ve never been there before, and Daddy and I thought it would be a bit of an adventure.’
She didn’t like going somewhere she didn’t know, but that was what they’d decided. For h
er to go to a safe house near Canterbury, owned by a fellow spook and friend of Dan’s called Max Blake, who had agreed they could use it, pitch up without warning, any time of day or night. Plus Kent was close to major airports, ferries and the Eurotunnel. And London too, if they needed to get into the city for any reason.
‘Did you hear that, Poppy? We’re going to Kent for an adventure . . .’
While Aimee prattled on, Jenny’s mind burned ahead. She could hardly remember anything about the safe house except that it had a public phone box nearby. Would Max Blake be there? She’d never met the man. What if she couldn’t find his house? Panic rose and she forced it down.
Cross bridges when you come to them.
She would use her laptop to access phone numbers she needed. Like Aimee’s school. Her parents and her clients. She’d use the story she and Dan had come up with back when he was still with MI5, that Dan’s father had died overseas. Bill Forrester was alive and well in Weston-Super-Mare, but since the only people who were likely to check would be whoever they were running from, she wasn’t concerned.
She gave a shiver. Checked her rear-view mirror to see nothing but a windswept country lane.
Where was Dan? Was he OK? What was happening?
She reran their earlier conversation. Heard his voice in her head as he said, I’m sorry. It had been filled with regret and sorrow and she knew he’d forgiven her. That when he came home, it would be home, with her and Aimee, and not to the flat he was staying at, in London. She wanted him to come home so much.
She felt tears rise and forced them down. She didn’t want to scare Aimee.
Jenny drove across the country. As she joined the M25 the bad weather eased and the sun came out. They stopped briefly for fuel and to use the loos, buy some lunch and walk Poppy. She bought some food supplies from M & S with Mr & Mrs Fisher’s credit card. She had no idea how it would get paid but there seemed no point in worrying about it. Pasta and sauce, pizza, bread and jam, some eggs, simple things because she had no idea of the cooking facilities ahead.
Back in the car Jenny accessed her laptop and retrieved the postcode for the safe house. Tapped it into her satnav. Continued driving east as the sun moved overhead. They passed Canterbury and she took the A28 towards Margate for a few miles before ducking right and into the countryside.
Five p.m. and it was nearly dark.
Aimee appeared to be asleep. The dog too.
You have reached your destination, her satnav suddenly announced.
Jenny looked up and down the lane to see nothing. No building, no lights.
She dropped her speed. Passed a farm before crossing a bridge over a river. She kept turning her head to the right and left, peering past trees and hedges, desperate to find the safe house. Please God it was here. She was exhausted.
And then there it was. A small brick cottage set back from the lane. A neat gravel drive to the front door. As she turned through the gate, her headlights lit a small wooden sign that read Sparrow Cottage. No car outside. No lights. It looked empty. Her spirits rose a little.
‘Stay here,’ she told Aimee. She wanted to check it was the right place. She walked to the front porch. Lifted the flowerpot to find a single Yale key.
Great security, she thought, but who cares. We’re here. We’re safe.
She brought in their bags. The cottage was cold, the air dead. Nobody had been here for a while. She switched on the lights, tracked down the boiler and turned on the heating before having a quick look round. Neutral walls, neutral furniture, no personal touches. Three bedrooms, one bathroom and a downstairs loo. A linen cupboard that looked as though it held everything they’d need. Her spirits lifted further when she saw the sitting room. Wooden beams, an overstuffed sofa and two big armchairs. TV, DVD player and stereo. An open fire already laid with logs and newspaper, a box of matches on the hearth.
She went and fetched Aimee and the dog. ‘Why don’t you choose a room,’ she said to Aimee, knowing it would be guaranteed to keep her occupied for at least five minutes. Poppy scouted the garden before she came in and checked the cottage, working her way from room to room, busily inspecting every corner, every wastepaper bin, every inch of carpet.
Jenny filled up the dog’s water bowl before feeding her. She opened the kitchen cupboards to find basic supplies: long-life milk, rice, beans, oil, tins of soup and tuna. Two jars of honey. The fridge held a bottle of vodka and another of tonic and – her eyebrows lifted – two bottles of rather good Chablis. The freezer was empty apart from a tray of ice and a packet each of frozen peas and broad beans.
She cooked some pasta for supper, and after reading Aimee a story and putting her to bed with Neddy and her nightlight – thank God she’d forgotten neither – she lit the fire and poured herself a large glass of wine. Poppy settled at her feet with a sigh.
The wine tasted delicious, especially having not had any since Boxing Day, when she’d missed her period and guessed she might be pregnant. Sorry little one, she told the baby. But this is an emergency. She took another sip and closed her eyes. Part of her couldn’t believe this was happening, but the other part was saying, Things could be worse. You and Aimee could be dead, kidnapped, held at gunpoint, the safe house could have been a dump, filled with vagrants, filthy, but it’s actually pretty decent. She tried to keep positive thoughts in her mind but she couldn’t help the tears hovering.
How long would they have to stay here? Where was Dan? What was going on?
She switched on her laptop. Logged into Dan’s iPhone account once more. Asked the software to find my device.
Nothing happened.
Heart in her mouth, she waited.
Finally the screen changed. She felt a rush of horror. The green pin wasn’t in England. It was in Russia. Dan was somewhere in Moscow.
She wanted to ring Bernard and shout at him, scream abuse for coming back into their lives, sending Dan on a mission doing God alone knew what. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t supposed to ring anyone. Even the head of MI5. That was what Dan had asked, and that was what she’d promised.
Trembling, nauseous with anxiety she turned on the TV, desperate for some distraction. She was staring at the news, not taking in a word, when a car drove slowly past. She didn’t hear it. Nor did she hear the light footsteps outside as a man checked her number plate. And made a phone call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Monday 2 February
The room Dan was brought into was painted battleship grey and furnished with two desks facing one another. A pair of battered filing cabinets that looked as though they’d been there since time began stood to one side. The walls held maps of Moscow and a portrait of the Prime Minister. Another of Putin. It reeked of cigarettes.
A man in police uniform sat behind one desk, smoking. He was overweight and his jacket was tight across his chest and arms. Late forties or so. Pale face, pudgy fingers. Grey hair, close cropped. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at Dan.
Dan didn’t say anything either. He went to the window and looked out to see an ice-packed car park, and beyond that, what looked like office buildings and a snow-covered church tower. He had no idea where he was. Or what they were going to do with him. He felt dirty and tired after a night in a cell, his muscles aching.
He heard someone enter the room behind him, and turned to see the old man enter the office, leaning on his walking stick. He wore a grey suit and shirt and smart black shoes. His eyes glittered as he surveyed Dan. He might have been old but somehow his intellectual energy made him seem much younger.
‘Good morning,’ he said to Dan in English, perfectly polite.
‘Have you contacted the British Embassy yet?’ Dan demanded, wanting to keep up his camouflage of innocent businessman abroad, even if it was shaky.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why does a British high performance instructor flee from our security services?’
‘I wasn’t fleeing. I just drive fast.’
; The old man arched his eyebrows, threadbare wisps of grey. ‘You certainly do that.’
‘You can’t keep me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Aside from driving dangerously, endangering pedestrians as well as other drivers. It’s a miracle you didn’t kill someone.’
Dan gave a snort. ‘I’m a professional, trained to the highest level to drive in complete safety . . .’ He went on to give a mini lecture on his driving abilities, maintaining his cover and detailing his expertise in teaching police and ambulance drivers how to drive excessively fast in the safest way possible on public roads. It was the job he used to do before he started with DCA & Co.
‘Yes,’ the old man said. ‘We checked with your colleague in London.’
Bob Stevens, Dan’s allocated cover. He wondered if Bob had had to bring in backup yet, or if he was fending off the Russians OK on his own. He’d spoken to Bob before he’d flown out, to cross a few t’s and dot some i’s and now he hoped it was enough.
‘What’s going on?’ Dan continued playing the injured tourist. ‘Why am I here?’
‘Where is Ekaterina Datsik?’
‘Who?’ Dan looked blank.
The old man clicked a finger at the policeman who rose and passed Dan a handful of photographs. They showed the bar at the Radisson, Ekaterina and Maria talking to two young men, and then another handful of photographs of Ekaterina coming to sit with Dan.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know her name. She picked me up.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’d heard Russian hookers were good-looking but not how good-looking.’
‘She is not a prostitute.’
‘Oh,’ Dan said again. Once again, he kept his expression blank.
‘Why did you meet her at St Clement’s Church?’
‘She suggested it.’
The old man stared at him.
‘She’s a beautiful woman,’ Dan sighed. ‘I would have met her in a crypt if she’d asked.’
‘You are married, yes?’