by Oliver Tidy
Hart bestowed a cold, unfriendly stare on Sansom and followed his master out.
‘You could have got more, you know?’ said Shelby, when the door had been shut several seconds.
‘What, more than my life back? What could be better than that? Thanks for your advice, by the way – before they arrived, I mean. I appreciate it.’
‘I didn’t tell you this before but the night that the two officers were shot dead in that house, I interviewed the lady who called the police - an old woman who saw you crossing her garden. She was adamant that the shots were fired after you had left with your box. She’ll be your neighbour now. It stank of something rotten after that.’ Changing the subject, Shelby said, ‘Is there anything you need? A lift somewhere?’
‘Thanks, but I rather think that I’d like a walk with my new-found freedom.’
‘Well, mind how you go. There might still be some people out there who remember who you are from their chip-wrapping and fancy having a go at collecting the reward. It’ll take time for information of your innocence to filter down through the media and the masses.’
‘Point taken. Maybe you can let me have a hat and some dark glasses.’
‘I’ll see what we can do.’
Shelby led Sansom through the labyrinth of corridors in the bowels of the station. He stood beside him while his release papers were being prepared and then showed him to the front door.’
‘Good luck,’ he said and offered his hand.
‘Thanks. You too. You could do one last thing for me, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Mrs Tallis. Can you see that she gets a message about the resolution? Tell her I’ll be looking her up soon.’
*
Sansom stepped out of the police station into a cool night. He drank in the polluted city air like a submariner surfacing from weeks of underwater incarceration. He stood like that for a long moment, savouring being able to stand on the steps of a police station and be unafraid. He got some strange looks but his beatific expression warded off the curious. As he stood enjoying the moment a sleek dark car, like some deep-sea predator, eased out of the shadows and rolled to a stop at the kerb. The rear passenger window was electrically lowered.
‘Can I offer you a lift, Mr Sansom?’ said Crouch. ‘I’ve had an idea that I’d like to discuss with you. It won’t take a minute?’
Sansom approached the car with no little suspicion. The driver stepped out and opened the back door. There was only Crouch inside. Sansom got in.
‘Good,’ said the civil servant.
The car moved off smoothly and without instructions. Sansom noticed a thick pane of glass between the driver and the rear seats.
‘What do you want?’ said Sansom. ‘I haven’t made my call yet.’
Now it was Crouch’s turn to laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Acer, this is all very friendly and informal. I gave you my word and I rarely break it.’ Sansom would have preferred to hear ‘never’. ‘An idea occurred to me while we were chatting earlier. I’d like to sound you out about it while the iron is still relatively warm.’
‘Go on.’
‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do now? For work, I mean. I take it you’re not expecting to live off an Army pension for the rest of your life.’
‘Are you offering me a job?’ said Sansom, unable to keep the note of complete and utter surprise out of his voice.
‘You have certain skills and qualities that I could use. But perhaps you are planning to try an ordinary, mundane existence? Maybe you’ve had enough excitement for the present. Forgive me if this sounds a little presumptuous but I know people, Acer. I cannot see you settling down to live in your new home with a nine-to-five and sitting in front of the idiot’s lantern night after night running to fat.’ Sansom was made temporarily inarticulate by the offer. ‘Don’t answer right away. You’ll want some time to get over all this anyway. I fully understand that. But while you are, think seriously about it. No rush. If you wish, we can talk about it. There is something else that I would like to ask you about while we find ourselves thrown together.’
‘What’s that? said Sansom, still reeling.
‘Hart said that you mentioned something about Iran. Would it be asking too much for you to explain that reference?’
‘Is that the reason you came to the police station?’
‘No. Bishop, Smith and their private enterprise was the reason I was there. But now that is, hopefully, laid to rest the Iranian comment is something I am keen to hear you elaborate on. And, incidentally, it’s not the reason I’m offering you employment. These are all separate issues.’
‘How familiar are you with my history with those two?’
‘Vaguely. If it’s important and pertinent, perhaps we could make time soon for a proper chat. I’m afraid that right now I’m rather late for an engagement and I’m sure you have celebrations to enjoy.’
‘All right.’
‘How about tomorrow?’
‘It must be urgent.’
Crouch nodded grimly. ‘It is. Every day that goes by brings the threat of a nuclear holocaust in that region of the world a little bit nearer. I’m not one for sensationalism, Acer. If you knew the half of it, you’d wonder why anyone bothers planning for the future at all.’
‘Where would you like to meet?’
‘You have my card. Call the number and I can have a car sent for you. Now, can I drop you somewhere?’
‘This is fine.’
Crouch tapped on the glass and the car pulled into the kerb.
As Sansom let himself out, Crouch said, ‘Tomorrow then. And, please, think about what I’ve offered you.’
For the second time in ten minutes, Sansom found himself standing alone in the capital. Crouch’s offer, resounding in his ears, made him smile. A quiet, ordinary, mundane life was exactly what he was planning. Perhaps not in England. He’d still talk with him tomorrow. He found that he had taken a liking to the slightly eccentric old man and it wouldn’t hurt him to disclose what he knew and show some good faith into the bargain.
As he walked, he thought of what he had learned about the fate of the Hammonds. In the days they had spent together enjoying being under sail in the Pacific, he had become friendly with both the husband and the wife, as he had with all the close-knit group. They had two young children. Where were they now? What conditions were they being held in, or forced to work in? Sansom could imagine the leverage that could be exerted on the nuclear physicists if their captors were holding their children. It made him think again of his lost loved ones. He would have done anything to have preserved their lives even if it had meant working on weapons of mass destruction for a fanatical regime that he was ideologically at odds with. It made only slightly more sense to him that all those on The Rendezvous had been killed to protect the knowledge of the kidnapping, the identity of those taken and their destination. But that knowledge didn’t make him feel any better about it.
Passing a typical London pub, he felt the urge for a proper pint. It was quiet inside – a sign of the times. He ordered, wasn’t bothered by anyone and drank on his empty stomach. He took out the mobile phone that had been returned to him when he left the station and dialled Susan. It was answered on the first ring.
‘Acer?’ She sounded desperate and he felt a pang of self-reproach for not having thought to call her immediately he was free.
‘They’ve let me go.’
‘That’s fantastic. That’s wonderful news. Why? What happened? Where are you?’
He understood that she would be brimming over with questions and that he’d need to answer them. He owed her all that and more. ‘I’m in a pub.’ He felt guilty as soon as he said it. ‘They let me go and I just walked a bit, enjoying my freedom. I felt like a pint. Come and join me.’
To his relief, she began to laugh instead of berate him for his insensitivity. ‘What’s the name? Where is it?’
He asked the barman and relayed it to her.
As he sipped his ale, he stared at the mobile and thought to leave a message for Eda but with the time difference he doubted that there would be anyone at her paper to answer him.
He sat and watched the television. The news was still excited about the unnamed MP who was believed to have attempted suicide in the house where two unarmed police officers were shot dead only days before. He stared up at his old Army mugshot and learned that the man the country had been living in fear of for a fortnight – the alleged ‘cop-killer’ – was now no longer being sought in connection with a recent spate of murders. Sansom thought the barman might be looking at him, so he challenged him with a stare. He looked away. Sansom took his drink off to a quiet corner and waited for Susan.
By the time Susan arrived he was on his second and feeling slightly euphoric in that transitionary beer-fuelled phase of good-will-to-all that lies between complete thirsty sobriety and sated drunken emotion. Being completely sober, she could see at once the way the evening could go for him if she didn’t intervene. He was demob happy and looking to celebrate. The thought that you could take the man out of the Army but you couldn’t take the Army out of the man scudded through her thinking.
She declined the offer of a drink and led him instead across the road, despite his protestations, to a restaurant, judging that what he needed was something other than just alcohol sloshing about his system. Realising that they could order wine with their food mollified him a little. She ordered a basket of bread while they were looking at the menu and encouraged him to make a start.
He was not so far gone that he was not able to recall lucidly the events of his hours in custody. Being among the most important in his life, he doubted that he would ever forget them. While the alcohol had to take some credit for his buoyant mood, his relief and satisfaction at the position he had worked out for himself – how his plan had come together to deliver as good an outcome as he could have hoped for – kept a smile on his face.
Susan was just as pleased for him. In the time that they had been thrown together she had come to feel something more than simple sympathy for the man opposite her. She admired his single-minded determination, his way of getting things done and his courage. He had also risked his own life to rescue her from a fate that she did not care to dwell on.
As he recounted the unfolding of the afternoon’s, the evening’s and the night’s events, she had continually to encourage him to keep his voice down, despite finding his narrative as gripping and compelling as any espionage novel’s plot.
She moderated his intake of the wine and as the food worked its way into and subdued his system his nervous excitement dissipated and he began outwardly to calm and slow.
‘I could never have done it without you,’ he said, finally managing to get around to voicing his thanks for what she had helped him achieve. ‘I’m a free man again. I have my life back. And that is thanks in great part to you.’ She allowed him to top up their glasses and raised her own in response to his. ‘When do you want the bad news?’ he said.
‘I don’t have a story, do I? That Pulitzer you promised me has to stay buried, right?’ He hadn’t actually categorically said so but it would have been hard for her to miss.
‘It’s the deal I had to make.’
‘To be honest, I guessed that it would be.’
‘If it’s any consolation, when I came to you I meant what I offered you. Things changed.’
‘It’s OK, Acer,’ she said and laid her hand on his. He let it lie there until she thought to remove it.
‘There is a silver lining,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Part of my demands are that your contribution and your silence be recognised.’
‘How?’
‘Up to you. Financially? What would that story have been worth to you? Or perhaps I could ask that you get advance word on the next big thing. Actually, I’ll insist on both.’
‘Nothing will ever be as big as this.’
‘Don’t bet on it.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You know something?’
He laughed it off. ‘Not yet but I promise you that when I do you’ll be the first person I call.’ He adopted a serious expression. ‘I mean it, Susan: I will never forget what you’ve done for me. I can only give you my sincere thanks for now. But if I ever have the opportunity to help you in any way, I will. And if there is anything I can ever do for you I want you to ask. Clear?’
‘Clear,’ she said and hoped that her face and colour didn’t betray the base thought that slipped unguarded into her mind. She took another sip of her drink. ‘What’ll you do now?’
‘Order the cheesecake and then coffee and maybe a liqueur. I don’t suppose they sell cigars, do they?’
She laughed. ‘I meant tomorrow, the day after, next week, next month.’
‘I know. I have someone in Turkey.’
‘Eda, from your story?’
‘Yes. My home country has lost some of its appeal for me. I might try life as an ex-pat for a while.’
‘Good luck,’ she said. She raised her glass. ‘To a fresh start.’ They clinked glasses. ‘Have you thought as far ahead as where you’re spending the night?’
‘Good point. No. I’ll find a hotel.’
‘Looking like that? Don’t forget that you are still Acer Sansom. Not everyone will have heard about the change in your fortunes so quickly. You can stay on the sofa if you like.’
‘Thanks. I think I might prefer that.’
*
They enjoyed the rest of the meal in amiable companionship. Searching his pockets for his crumpled paper money, he realised that he couldn’t pay for half of what they had consumed. With an exaggerated sigh, she put it on her card and left the tip to him. It was generous enough to see them escorted from the premises with sincerely expressed hopes that they would come back soon.
They hailed a taxi. The old Londoner at the wheel gave Sansom several long appraising looks in the rear-view mirror during the quiet journey. He dropped them at the kerb outside Susan’s apartment block. As she was gaining entry to the building, Sansom looked back to see the driver on his mobile phone, looking in their direction. Still in implacably good spirits, the soldier made a gun from his finger and thumb and – with a grin – fired it in the driver’s direction before he crossed the threshold.
Sansom excused himself for a much-needed shower while Susan busied herself making coffee and then further distracted herself by arranging his sofa-bed. She was vainly fighting down the irrepressible desire that despite the future he had planned for himself perhaps they might yet end up in the same bed. He came out with just a towel around his waist and the urge in her stomach restated its case.
He flopped down on the duvet offering further thanks for her efforts as she saw to the cafetière and arranged a tray. When she entered the small living space two minutes later she was greeted by his sprawled form snoring contentedly. The fire in her belly went out and she let out a long, disappointed breath. She allowed herself a long moment’s voyeuristic appraisal of his largely-naked form. Even the considerable white scarring couldn’t detract from his lithe, toned physique. She took her coffee off to her bedroom and a loud shower, leaving the door open in the forlorn hope that he might wake and take a hint.
***
25
He did not wake in the night. When Susan emerged from her room after nine o’clock the next morning she found him where she had left him and still lightly snoring. So much for the early riser, she thought. She dressed and went through to make noise in the kitchen. The tactic seemed not to bother him but the odour of fresh coffee drifting through the living area did. He came around to find her sitting at her desk tapping away on the computer. It took him several seconds to realise that he had passed out on her and he felt bad for it. He got himself upright, seemingly more concerned about his state of undress than he had the
previous night.
‘What were you saying?’ he said.
‘Before you fell into a coma, you mean?’ she replied over her shoulder. ‘Nothing much. Just my life story.’ Without turning away from the screen, she indicated a black plastic bag she had dumped next to his bed. ‘Your clothes are filthy and they don’t smell too good. You might find something to fit you in there.’
Sansom pulled the top open and lifted out a couple of T-shirts. They were obviously men’s clothes. He didn’t ask whose or whether he’d mind. He did well out of it, but had to go back to his own trousers. Whoever the mystery man was he had little legs.
‘The Internet news sites are all as good as proclaiming your innocence. You have been “eliminated from further enquiries,”,’ she read.
‘Good. Any news on Bishop?’
‘They still haven’t named him but they are saying that “his” condition is critical.’
*
Mrs Botha closed the Internet connection and turned off the monitor. She stood and went to the large patio doors of the office space – her dead husband’s office – that opened out onto the rear of the farmhouse and the outdoor swimming pool. She folded her arms across herself for comfort as she watched and listened to her four children shriek and splash and run and jump in the Bodrum sunshine and her indecision occupied her thoughts completely.
He was alive. He was innocent. He was free. What should she do? Contact him? How? Tell him? What? Risk losing the girl she loved as much as any of her own boys? Could she do that to Pearl? Could she do that to herself? Could she do that to him?
He hadn’t come before. Perhaps he hadn’t understood. Would he want to now?
*
Sansom insisted that they ate out. His appetite seemed to have returned to match his new healthy outlook. The newspapers on the street were full of revelation and speculation concerning the previous day’s events. He bought a tabloid and a broadsheet.