Cold Intent

by Tony Salter

  I needed time to think.

  ‘That is a disappointment,’ I said, eventually. ‘But it’s been a long day. You must be tired. Let’s continue this over dinner.’ I clapped my hands together twice. ‘Signora Russo will show you to your room.’

  ‘My room? We can’t stay. I need to get back. I didn’t bring …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, as I stood up. ‘There are toiletries and some suitable clothes on your bed. We’ll talk over dinner.’ I turned my back on her and walked into the house.

  Not Again

  When Julie walked out onto the balcony, I knew I was dreaming. My nightmares often ended with her appearing, as if by magic, smiling, and saying ‘Hello, Sam’ in that sultry voice.

  I ran, as I always did in my dreams, feeling the familiar balloon of panic rising from my stomach and filling my throat. As I scrabbled and pushed my way into a grove of tightly planted orange trees, the heady scent of ripe fruit wrapped around me like a blanket, making it ever more difficult to breathe. Time to wake up.

  Time to wake up, but it was no dream. I felt a sharp pain in my arms and saw how the freshly pruned stems had gouged deep scratches in my skin. Crimson droplets materialised like tiny rubies in front of my eyes. There was never any blood in my nightmares. It was no dream.

  I stopped and listened, desperately trying to control my gasping lungs. There were no sounds of pursuit and I moved forward more slowly, doing my best to slip carefully and silently between the citrus-heavy branches. I had to try to find a way out even though I knew I would be wasting my time. Julie would never have let me see this place if there was any chance of me leaving in one piece.

  I tried my phone with the same sense of futile obligation. There would definitely be some sort of jamming system in place. It was the first lesson I’d learnt when travelling with Julie – no unauthorised phone or wireless network ever worked within five hundred metres of her. On the few occasions when I’d been responsible for paying our hotel bill, we’d been charged thousands of dollars extra to compensate other guests for the inconvenience. Julie hadn’t blinked; she was the most wanted target for every serious hacker cooperative worldwide and had no intention of letting them in on the ground floor.

  Nothing had changed. There wasn’t even a glimmer of a phone signal and I walked on, stopping every few paces to listen for pursuit. I can’t have gone more than a couple of hundred metres before the orchard came to an abrupt end at the edge of a cliff – a seventy-five metre drop of vertical, crumbling limestone karst. At its base was a narrow, raised strip of fallen rocks, maybe five metres wide, maybe ten. It was impossible to judge from the top, nor to guess the depth of the sea beyond the beach. The breeze was coming from behind me, but it wasn’t strong and I doubted I’d survive the fall even if I managed to jump past the boulders.

  I couldn’t stop myself smiling as I realised that I really was caught between a rock and a hard place. I looked over the edge one more time and drew the same conclusions –trying to climb down or jump off the cliffs meant almost certain death. I would have to try my luck with the hard place.

  I should have jumped.

  I was in no hurry to get back to whatever was waiting for me at the house and Nicki had the car keys, so I followed the narrow tractor track around the edge of the cliff, stopping from time to time to look for an easier descent. Hope seemed reluctant to die despite everything I knew about Julie. After a final fruitless check, I turned back to find a man standing on the path in front of me. He was about my age and looked Italian. A black cap was pulled down over his eyes, but my attention was drawn magnetically to the small pistol in his right hand.

  I had no more luck with language than we’d had with the housekeeper – his wife I suspected – and he seemed happy to leave the pistol to do the talking. My mind was still racing, fuelled by adrenalin, but each time I ran through my options, they would end with a bullet in the leg at best. I could only hope that Julie had become a different person or that Nicki might be able to persuade her to let me go. At the very least, Julie would want to gloat and there might be a slightly better opportunity when she did.

  Once we were close to the house, he motioned me towards a small stone building set against the walls of the garage. There was a blue wooden door which he clearly wanted me to open. I looked at the door and knew beyond any doubt that, if I went inside, I would never come out. So I turned and made a clumsy grab for the gun while swinging a punch at his jaw.

  Neither came close to connecting as he stepped lightly to the side and, before I could re-balance myself, a black object blurred at the edge of my vision. I fell heavily, a searing pain shooting through my head. My captor, who was now standing slightly further back, looked at me with cold, black eyes, his twisted smile full of contempt. He flicked up the barrel of the pistol once more – it was time for me to go inside.

  I tried to stand up, feeling my head spin and the sting of blood seeping into my left eye. I rolled over carefully and, as I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, I managed to slip my phone from my pocket and drop it behind a rock. It seemed like a futile gesture. I was on holiday in Italy; why would anyone try to trace my phone? A futile, desperate waste of time, but I wasn’t ready to give up hope.

  The blue door sat at the top of a spiral stone stairway which wound down into the bedrock. The steps were worn smooth and must have been there for centuries. At the bottom, a short passageway led to a green-painted metal door. The door was open and, as I reached the threshold, I felt a firm push in the small of my back and stumbled forwards into a larger room. Before I could turn around the metal door slammed behind me and I heard the grating of a turning lock. I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry and there was clearly no point in shouting for help.

  Having double-checked that the door was actually locked, I looked around. I was in a wine cellar, the size of a small hotel room, which appeared to have been carved into the limestone of the cliffs. A single bulb dangled from the stone roof and the walls were covered by floor-to-ceiling wine racks. The grille in the door let in enough air to keep my claustrophobia at bay and at least there was light. If push came to shove, I could drink myself into oblivion.

  I felt a strange calmness settle over me – I had no idea what Julie had planned for me and there seemed little point in upsetting myself further by letting my imagination run riot. There was nothing I could do until she decided to make her next move and so I sat down on a wooden crate, stretched out my legs and settled in to wait.

  Control

  I waited until I heard Nicki having a shower before going downstairs.

  The Russos were standing in the corner of the kitchen dressed in their everyday clothes and ready to leave. They were competent and discreet, but they were Sicilian and the standard agency contract always included taking Sunday off. Besides, I wanted the place to myself.

  Signor Russo wasn’t exactly a garrulous man – he used no more than two sentences and a grunt to describe his recent encounter. I wasn’t surprised to learn that Sam had found his way to the wine cellar without problems. Signor Russo came very highly recommended, and I knew Sam didn’t have the guts to jump from the cliffs. A smart move as it turned out – the water beyond the rocky beach was no more than a metre deep in most places.

  His wife was much chattier and spent five minutes talking me through the food and wine she’d prepared for me, opening the fridge and pulling out each dish with obvious pride. I made the effort to tell her how beautiful everything looked and she smiled and touched me briefly on the arm before grabbing her husband and leading him outside. I watched them walk to their car, laughing and holding hands like any other young couple on their way out on a Saturday night.

  I thought ahead to my dinner with Nicki. I’d hoped for a little more time, but circumstances had moved faster than expected. She’d been influenced too much by whispers in her ear and I couldn’t wait to formalise her inheritance. That would bring her back to me.

  First, I wanted to pay a visit to Sam. Ov
er the past year I’d allowed myself to imagine many different futures for him. He was just a foolish boy; he was still Fabiola’s son; he’d only been a two-year-old-when she killed herself; none of it was his fault; Dave, Rupert, Virginia and Daz were the real villains; Sam couldn’t hurt me … maybe I could simply leave him alone to live his dull life? Idle thoughts and fantasies which had helped to pass the time staring at prison walls but, as I walked across the car park, white gravel crunching under my heels, I realised that I’d always known how our story would end.

  The moment he’d seen that old phone with the screenshot of me and Fabiola, the moment he’d realised who I was, the moment he’d drawn his conclusions, that was the moment when our lover’s affection turned to eternal enmity. I was the lover scorned, and he was the vengeful son – there was never going to be a fairytale conclusion.

  I wasn’t in a hurry. The final page of our story wasn’t yet written and a lot would depend on Nicki. If it turned out that Sam had succeeded in turning her against me, if he’d corrupted the fruits of a lifetime’s nurturing, if that, then … my knees buckled and I leant against the door frame while the anger flowed through me and away. That wasn’t going to happen. Nicki was mine. She would understand everything. I knew it.

  I opened the upper door quietly and looked down the staircase which spiralled down like an ammonite fossil in the evening sun. There was no sound – he must have realised that banging on the door and shouting would get him nowhere.

  He didn’t hear me walk down the steps and up to the door. I peered through the metal grille and saw him sitting in front of me, hunched forward with his head in his hands.

  ‘Haven’t we been here once before?’ I said, softly.

  His head jerked up, and he jumped to his feet. ‘Julie!’ He walked towards me, clearly terrified. ‘Let me go … please.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can do that,’ I said. ‘Apart from anything else, I love this house and I want to stay here.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone where you are,’ Sam said. ‘I swear it. You can stay here. I’ll go home.’

  ‘And what about Nicki?’ I said.

  ‘What about her? She doesn’t need to have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Oh, but she does,’ I said. ‘She’s the key to it all.’ I tapped my fingernails on the metal door. ‘Come closer, lovely boy.’

  He walked up to the door and stood facing me, our noses no more than three inches apart.

  ‘I’ll be back later, but first I want to tell you something,’ I whispered. ‘You’ll be the only one who knows. Don’t breathe a word.’

  Sam leant forward as I pressed my lips to the rusty wire and told him my secret.

  He jumped back from the door, lips flopping up and down silently like a freshly landed fish. I couldn’t have hoped for more.

  Not wanting to ruin the moment, I skipped up the steps before he had a chance to say anything. I smiled and hummed to myself as I double-locked the outside door and turned off the cellar lights. There was no point in wasting electricity after all.

  When Nicki came downstairs, I was already out on the balcony, sipping a glass of very special prosecco and nibbling at a delicious morsel of sea urchin bruschetta. I was pleased to see that she’d changed into one of the outfits I’d laid out, a knee length summer dress with a floral print. She looked poised and calm – a lot better than she had earlier.

  ‘Hi Julie,’ she said, sitting down opposite me. ‘Sam not back yet?’

  ‘He left,’ I said. ‘I was wrong. He refused to listen to me, wouldn’t even look at me. He just asked for a lift to Peschici and I told my gardener to take him. I’m sorry. This whole trip’s been a waste of time.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ she said. ‘He must be unbelievably pissed off with me.’

  ‘You think?’ I said, laughing.

  It took Nicki a few moments to see the funny side. ‘I guess he’ll come round eventually,’ she said. ‘He’s a man. They don’t know how to hold grudges.’ She looked at me, as if for affirmation, before grabbing the prosecco bottle from the ice bucket and pouring herself a full glass. ‘I need a drink,’ she said. ‘It’s been a hell of a day.’

  ‘That it has,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘Cheers.’

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the swallows dipping and diving over the cliff edge. I loved this place and no-one was going to take it away from me. Never.

  ‘Julie …?’ she said, in a quiet voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the Damocles Lite thing. I should have told you. I know that.’

  ‘The thing is, Nicki,’ I said, eventually. ‘Men don’t know how to hold grudges, but I do. And I still want Sam and Dave punished for what they did to us. I built Pulsar for you and they took it away.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Nicki. ‘But can’t we just forget about it? I already have so much more than I need, anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to leave things alone and get on with life? Damocles Lite will be a thorn in their sides for ever. Even though it won’t destroy them completely, it will definitely punish them. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not enough for me.’ I reached over the table and took her hands in mine. ‘I need you to send out the proper virus. To complete the mission we agreed on.’

  I watched the inner battle dancing across her eyes as we sat facing each other until, with a sudden jerk, she pulled her hands away, stood up and turned to face away.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do it,’ she said. ‘I know what you’ve done for me, Julie. I realise what I owe you, and I’m truly grateful. But Sam’s my brother. He’s the only family I’ve got and I can’t do that to him. Anything else, but not that. Surely you can understand?’

  I pictured her beautiful face, now made ugly and twisted by the fight between conflicting loyalties, and realised that it was time. I was left with a single choice. I was going to have to tell her the truth.

  I walked up to Nicki and turned her around to face me. Her face was red and blotched and her mouth set in a determined sliver.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ I said. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t, even when I thought you might.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You do understand, though? Don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ I said, ‘But it’s not that simple. Things rarely are. You see, I’ve been keeping secrets from you too.’

  She pulled away. ‘Oh? What secrets?’

  I couldn’t find the words.

  ‘What secrets?’ she asked again.

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ I said, ‘but give me ten minutes. It’s hard.’

  I left her alone on the terrace and walked down to the cliff edge. I was close to tears as I sat on the low wall and looked out over the Adriatic. My whole adult life had been leading up to this point, and I was afraid for the first time in a very long time.

  Before I could tell Nicki the truth, I needed to go back, go back to that hidden place inside of me which I’d kept locked away for forty years. A different person, a different time, but I couldn’t hide from those memories any longer.

  Dark Memories

  After I left my pathetic dad stretched out on the floor of our cold Norfolk cottage, I grabbed the bag of cash and left. No point in running. He wasn’t coming after me in a hurry. I was taking control for the first time in my life, and no-one was ever, ever going to mess with me again – not with my body and not with my mind.

  I had to disappear though, and London seemed like the best bet for that. First, I needed to find a place to stash the money, followed by a roof over my head, something to eat and a few days to think. I got a safe deposit box at King’s Cross and found a room round the corner for eighty quid a week, no questions asked.

  For the first few days I spent hour after hour sitting on the sagging sofa, staring at the yellowing wallpaper and jumping out of my skin every time I heard footsteps in the hall outside. But no-one was coming for me; I’d made a clean break, and it was time to turn my dreams into r
eality.

  It wasn’t too late. I could do my A-levels online – Maths, Further Maths, Business Studies and Physics – and I’d get a place on a Computer Science degree course somewhere good, and a long way from Norfolk.

  Before I could do any of that, I needed to find out how to get a new identity. I’d read a few days earlier that my dad had actually bled out on the floor – that would teach him to be too mean to pay for a phone – which meant they’d be putting a lot of effort into looking for Janice Cargill. I wasn’t worried short term – I’d already cut off all my long hair and dyed it blonde. I didn’t even recognise myself, and why would they look for me here? In the longer term though, I had to become somebody else.

  And then I missed my period. I couldn’t believe it. That bastard was even managing to mess with my life from beyond the grave. The decision was clear. Get rid of it and move on. Clear, but not easy. I didn’t know anyone and the idea of asking about for some back alley abortion filled my thoughts with graphic memories of my father lying in a slowly spreading pool of black blood.

  With no paperwork, I didn’t have the option to go to a GP or Marie Stopes. The walls were closing in again and I tasted the metallic tang of panic on my tongue. I couldn’t allow it. Not again.

  It wasn’t easy for a fifteen-year-old girl in a strange city and it took months and several disgusting blowjobs before I found someone who could help me. Frank wasn’t the worst of them – although he was a sleazy lowlife at best – and he put me in touch with a real identity specialist.

  I probably learnt more from Ernst Bauer than from anyone after. He found me Jacqueline Daniels, helped me sort out my social security number and I became Jax. But it was too late. No-one was going to give me an abortion so late in my pregnancy – maybe I could have found a way, but I didn’t want to do anything to make myself noticed.