by Jessica Ashe
Maybe half a glass of wine.
The silence drags on. He looks comfortable with it, but I’ve never been good with silences. How the hell do I flirt? Abigail always does the hair twirling thing and that works for her.
I casually move my hand up to my head and then use a finger to curl my hair. This doesn’t feel at all natural.
“Are you still expecting the Canada call?” I ask, trying to distract from the mess I’m making with my hair.
“Um, no, that’s been taken care of.”
Damn, my finger’s stuck in my hair.
“There never was a Canada call was there?”
“Nope. I needed to keep you around tonight. Should I have asked you to dinner outright?”
I pull my finger away from my hair and it eventually comes loose. That didn’t work well.
“Probably, but then I would’ve been nervous all day. At least this way I didn’t have to worry about it much.”
Although I did spend the day tearing myself apart thinking about you on a date with another woman.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No. A bit. Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the Prime Minister.” Except that’s not all. I’d be nervous around a guy like Wade even if we met in a bar. I’m not good with handsome men, and the Prime Minister is definitely handsome.
“Right now, I’m not the Prime Minister. You should just call me Wade when we’re together like this outside of work.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“Very funny,” he replies, with a smile. “I suppose if you like calling me Prime Minister, I can get on board with that. Is that your thing?”
Yes.
Maybe it’s because of work, but I have to admit that when I think of him… doing things to me, I usually end up screaming his title, and not his name. Is that bad? It sounds bad now that I think about it.
The silence is interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.
“Come in,” the Prime Minister—Wade—yells angrily.
Terrell opens the door and pokes his head through. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you’re needed.”
“Is it—”
“Yes, sir. Very.”
He turns to me, as if asking for permission. I stupidly nod my head, before realizing he probably wants me to come with him to take notes. We scramble to the Cabinet meeting room where a bunch of tired and concerned looking faces greet the Prime Minister.
Something’s happened, and it’s not good.
Chapter Fourteen
Wade
Something’s wrong.
The weary greeting I receive on entering the meeting isn’t because of the late hour. These are all ex-military personnel; they can handle a late night in the office.
“This is about the mission in Kurtmanistan,” I say, matter-of-factly. I don’t bother to ask how it went. Clearly not well. “What went wrong?”
“The mission got delayed five days due to weather conditions,” Zach explains. “We went in on the last possible day.”
“It’s late, Zach. Get to the bit where you explain how it all went tits up.”
He takes a deep breath. “Our team got in there and made the kill as planned.”
“Zawahiri’s dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
It hits harder than I expected. I’ve killed before—many times—but this is the first time anyone has been killed on my order. Worse, this wasn’t technically an enemy combatant. I’ve assassinated a foreign leader—albeit an evil one—and I’ve only been in office a few months.
“So what’s the problem?”
“Our troops found twelve women in the house with him. They were being kept in… undesirable conditions.”
“Fuck.”
Suddenly I don’t feel quite so bad about killing the bastard.
“Our men escorted them out of the building towards our helicopter.”
“Did the women all make it out alive?”
“Yes, sir. Every one of them. They’re being held at one of our military bases in the area.”
“Bring them back to the UK. If they want to come.”
“Sir, that would require—”
“If you’re about to tell me they need to apply for a fucking visa then I suggest you keep quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
Now I know what went wrong.
“How many men died?” I ask.
“Four,” Zach replies. “After rescuing the women—”
“The helicopter couldn’t take off with everyone on board, so some of our men had to stay behind. They were found by the enemy and killed in a firefight.”
Zach nods curiously, surprised that I managed to piece everything together so easily. He knows I served, but he thinks I only lasted a few years and that I’m still wet behind the ears.
“When will you inform the families?” I ask.
“Now. I sent people to their houses before coming to see you.”
“Why so quickly?”
I’m not complaining, but I also know from experience that it often takes a few days to get the news to parents when top-secret operations are involved. Zach must have bypassed more than one level of clearance to inform the parents so quickly.
“There’s an urgency to the situation,” Zach says.
“Because Zawahiri is dead?”
“No.” He takes a deep breath. The death of our soldiers was not the only bad news he came to deliver. “We were caught on camera during the evacuation. I’ve had editors from three different newspapers get in touch. The footage is being sold to the highest bidder. By the morning, the UK will likely be linked to the assassination.”
“Fuck.” I slam my fist down loudly, shaking glasses of water, and making most of the battle-hardened military personnel jump in their seats.
“We can expect support from the US on this,” Zach says. “They provided some of the intel and would have done it themselves if we hadn’t been closest. I expect there will be condemnation by the UN, but it will be half-hearted. Everyone knows you’ve saved countless lives doing this.”
I don’t give a shit about the UN right now. Zawahiri was a dictator and breached international laws in ways that would have made Hitler jealous. No one will mourn his death. It’s not Zawahiri I care about.
I stand up and Janie does the same. I forgot she was here, and that’s really saying something. When she’s in the room, she’s usually all I’m thinking about.
“I want phone numbers for all the bereaved parents and spouses on my desk in fifteen minutes,” I tell Zach.
“It’s late, sir.”
“They’ve just found out their sons and husbands have died. I doubt they’re going to get an early night.”
“Typically, the Prime Minister sends a letter,” Zach says. “A phone call isn’t customary.”
“It damn well is now. Fourteen minutes and thirty seconds, Zach.”
I never want to make phone calls like that again, but I know I will. I hope they always feel this painful. If I get used to phoning recently bereaved parents and spouses then it means the job has truly sucked the humanity from me.
Janie was by my side the entire time. I shouldn’t have dragged her into all this, but once in my office, she refused to leave until the calls were complete. She came here to be a secretary. Sure, a few late nights once in a while are to be expected, but she can’t have ever imagined she’d listen to me giving assassination orders and talking to parents about their dead children. Children I played a part in killing.
It’s gone midnight when the calls are complete. The house is empty except for the nighttime security staff. And Janie.
“You should go home,” I say to her. “I’ll sort out a car for you.”
“Why don’t I stay a bit longer? You look like you could do with the company.”
“If I had my way, you’d never leave.” I pause, noting that she doesn’t offer any argument. Has she fallen for me as much as I’ve fallen for her? It seems un
likely that anyone could want me after what she’s seen and heard. She doesn’t know the half of it. “I’ll escort you out. I could do with the fresh air.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” she says, a breezy freshness coming through in her voice that should be impossible after the day we’ve had.
“I can’t just ‘go for a walk.’”
“Why not?”
“Where would we walk?”
“Around the garden. It’s not huge, but at least it’s private.”
The garden is surrounded by huge trees which block out the line of sight of any eager sniper. It’s the easiest place for me to get fresh air without advance planning.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Security guards want to follow us around, but at my order, they settle for stationing themselves around the garden and make a vague effort to appear discrete. We’re rarely out of earshot, and never out of sight, but I’m gradually becoming used to that.
“I’m surprised you haven’t quit yet,” I say to Janie once we’re out of the house.
“I like to last more than a few weeks in a job. It looks bad on the résumé otherwise.”
“You have enough information to blackmail me for one hell of a recommendation.”
“Yeah, but that brings up the whole ‘treason’ issue. Plus, I get a lot of vacation days here.”
“Perks of being a civil servant.” There’s silence for a few moments, which I know makes Janie nervous for some reason. “Sorry for dragging you into all this. I’ll keep you out of classified meetings in the future.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a secretary if I avoided half of the meetings. Besides, I want to be involved. You shouldn’t have to bear the burden by yourself.”
Bearing the burden is the least I can do. I’m not the one grieving for a child, spouse or, in one case, a father.
Janie brushes her hand against mine, but we don’t lock fingers. It’s enough.
“You blame yourself for what happened,” Janie says plainly.
“Of course. I am to blame. There’s not much doubt about that.”
“Remember why you made the decision in the first place. You did it to save lives. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people will live who would otherwise have died. Logically, it was the right call.”
Janie is wasted as a secretary. She keeps a cool head in horrifying situations. I can’t say the same about everyone serving in the armed forces or in parliament.
“Logic doesn’t bring back those dead British soldiers.”
“I’m assuming the soldiers were competent?” Janie asks.
I nod, although she might not be able to see it in the dim light. “Yes. The best.” Which just makes them harder to replace.
“Then they knew what they were doing when they stayed behind to save those women. That wasn’t your call, it was theirs. They gave their lives to save others, and their families will be proud of them.”
It finally dawns on me. I can’t believe I missed it for so long. The air of authority in her voice when she talks about soldiers is too much for a typical civilian.
“Who was it?” I ask.
“Sir?”
“Call me Wade, remember?”
“Okay. Wade?”
“You know someone who died in combat. I’m guessing a family member?”
I should already know this. It’s almost certainly in her file; the one I didn’t bother to read. I’m a much better judge of character when I meet someone face-to-face, and the moment I laid eyes on Janie I knew I could trust her. That’s all I needed to know.
“Father,” she replies quietly. “He died in Kurtmanistan.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He saved a family from an IED but got caught in the blast. Obviously we were devastated—still are—but we’re proud of what he did. Four people are alive today because of him. They live in Germany now. One of them is in college. They write to Mom all the time with updates.”
“And that helps?”
“Yes. Not completely, but it gets me through the worst moments.”
“Thanks.”
“What for?”
“You’ve given me a way to help those families.”
I can’t bring back their loved ones, but I can make sure those women get all the help they need to rebuild their lives in the UK. Those men will not have died in vain, and that might be some comfort to the child who will grow up without a father thanks to me.
“You still sound tense,” Janie says. “And you look stiff.”
“You’re a good-looking woman.”
“I’m being serious. You need to find a way to relax.”
“People don’t want their leaders to relax. It makes us look lazy.”
“I don’t want to speak for everyone, but personally I don’t want people to be stressed out and on edge when they’re in charge of the nuclear codes.”
“I could use some exercise,” I admit. “That always kept the stress at bay when I was in the Army. Most of it, anyway.”
“I keep forgetting you served,” Janie says. “You don’t talk about it much.”
“There’s not much to talk about,” I lie. There’s not much I can talk about.
“Most politicians who’ve served never shut up about it. You barely discussed it during your campaign.”
“I didn’t serve to get plaudits or to be elected.”
I can barely even remember joining up. It all happened so fast. I was an eager kid who thought he could right the world’s wrongs by joining the military. I was an idiot.
“Did you lose someone close to you?” Janie asks. “Is that why you won’t talk about it?”
“I lost a lot of friends,” I say truthfully. “But I made a lot of friends as well.”
“Like Terrell.”
I nod. “He’s a great guy. Saved my life more than once.”
“And you returned the favor, I bet.”
“Yeah, but he’s still winning.”
“How long did you serve for?”
I hesitate before answering. One of the reasons I never talked about my time in the Army was to avoid getting caught in a lie. I served for three years before joining the SAS and was with them for three years as well. Me being in the SAS isn’t public knowledge, so we told the public that I was in the Army for the entire six-year period.”
“Six years,” I reply.
“And you were in Afghanistan the entire time?”
“Yes,” I lie again. How many lies have I told her tonight? We’ve only had dinner together, and I’m already spinning the web of bullshit that I’ve given to reporters. I don’t have much choice. I can’t tell her the truth. Membership of the SAS is top secret for a reason. My own advisors don’t even know about it. That’s not even the biggest secret. If the news of me being in the SAS leaks, then it won’t end my career. It’ll likely enhance it. The SAS are as close to super-soldiers as you can get in the British Armed Forces, so my ratings will get a healthy boost.
But then there’s the off-the-books mission Terrell and I took part in. That one’s another level of secret entirely. The only people who know about that—and are still alive—are Terrell and me. And Alec Costa, but he’s in the US. That mission pissed off some very important, powerful, and rich people. I’m important and powerful, but money talks and these people have more money than many countries.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Janie asks. “You don’t have to. Sometimes it helps relieve the tension, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“I’ll stick to the exercise,” I reply. At least that way I don’t have to tell her any more lies.
We complete another lap of the garden, and this time I come to a stop by the back door. We walk through the house and head to the exit where I order a car for Janie.
“I don’t mind getting a taxi.”
“No chance. This way, I know you’re getting home okay. Mind you, I’m going to have to start giving other employees private car rides, or this will start looking susp
icious.”
“That’s what Emilia is for, I suppose.”
Janie is trying to act cool, but it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable. There’s no way the public can know about my feelings for Janie—not yet—but I owe her more than a quick meal in my bedroom after a fake date with someone else.
“Let’s have dinner again,” I suggest, as the car pulls up alongside us.
“Okay. Let me know when I need to ‘work late.’”
“No, I mean a proper dinner. We’ll go out.”
Janie laughs. It’s delightful, filling the cold night air with joy that seems unbecoming of Downing Street these days. “You’re the Prime Minister. We can’t just go out for dinner.”
“We can and we will. Like you said, I’m the Prime Minister. If I can’t arrange a private dinner then I shouldn’t be running the country.”
“We don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“Okay,” Janie says, as she steps into the car. “You’re free on Thursday night.”
I laugh. “Thursday it is then.”
A secret dinner. This is going to take some effort. She’ll be worth it.
Chapter Fifteen
Janie
“What on Earth are these?” Lionel asks as he checks my belongings.
“They’re yoga mats,” I reply. “I want to de-stress during my lunch hour.”
That doesn’t explain why I’ve brought two of them to work, but Lionel doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“You do yoga?” he asks.
“I try to do it every day.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize you were into all that hippy stuff.”
“It’s not ‘hippy stuff.’ It’s exercise.”
“Sitting down and humming is not what I call exercise.”
He’s worse than Wade. What is it about men and yoga?
“I’ll have you know, you work up a real sweat during yoga,” I protest.
“Uh-huh,” Lionel replies doubtfully.
“Lots of men do it.”
“Straight men. And they do it to perv at women like you.”
Probably true. One of the reasons I stopped going to classes was because of all the leery looks from men. I use online videos now, or develop my own routines and do them in the cramped comfort of my bedroom.