by Roger Pearce
Kerr searched her eyes, as if seeing her for the first time, striving for the right words. Then she looked past him, her voice quiet and calm. ‘You think I’m callous? That I should feel guilty about a few poncey Londoners with pensions and big houses and six-figure savings accounts? Don’t condemn me, John. When was it ever possible to have peace and justice?’ She finished her wine and fell silent, watching the river. ‘I can see those swans again.’
Kerr took the bottle and eased round the table as Robyn looked up at him, her face and voice suddenly brightening. ‘So what’s it to be?’ she smiled, crossing her wrists. ‘Cuff or fuck?’
Kerr turned away to put the glasses in the tiny sink, weighed by a deep sadness. ‘You betrayed me, Robyn.’
She swivelled round to touch his arm. ‘John, I don’t belong to you.’
Epilogue
Monday, 24 October, 21.47, Parsons Green
Parked in the crowded street outside Justin’s address, Kerr sat in the Alfa, listened to Classic FM and waited. Home for Justin and his partner was a flat on the first floor of a grand Edwardian house, not far from Putney Bridge. Arriving after nine, Kerr had peered up to the living room window, hoping to see light, then rung the bell for Flat 2, knowing it was pointless, for Melanie had already told him that Louise was working her physio clinic at the Royal Free in Hampstead.
Kerr recognised her by the street light the moment she turned the corner from the tube, still wearing her scrubs beneath a light jacket, a bulky canvas bag over her shoulder, door key ready. Her head was lowered, deep in thought, so he tried a smile as he got out of the car and called her name, anxious not to alarm her.
Louise looked surprised, then pleased, immediately holding out her hand.
‘Wasn’t sure if you would recognise me,’ said Kerr.
‘How are you, John?’ she said, then her face clouded. ‘This is about Justin?’
Inside, she went around flicking on lights and clearing a mug and cereal bowl from the coffee table. For the second time that day he declined a drink. ‘But don’t let me stop you,’ he said, as she cleared space for him on the sofa. He heard the running tap in the kitchen, then his eyes flickered to her belly as she returned with water in a pint glass.
‘Melanie told me you dropped by to see her and I feel bad this has taken so long.’
Bare feet tucked beneath her in the armchair, Louise shook her blonde hair free of its bun and nodded at the TV. ‘I’ve seen the news, John. A lot happening.’
‘I expect Justin’s told you.’
‘He’s not been here,’ she said, abruptly. ‘Well, only once since I called on Mel. We don’t talk much these days. She probably told you. He manufactured another row, then buggered off as soon as poss. What’s new?’
‘I think you called him a “closed book”?’
‘Really?’ She flashed a smile and shifted in the chair. ‘I was being polite, obviously.’
‘He’s done a fantastic job for us,’ said Kerr, toying with his BlackBerry.
Justin had sent his text message three hours earlier, while Kerr was at Paddington Green with Robyn. ‘Need space so going away with GC to think things through…not having her persecuted for this…dumping phone now don’t come for me…will let you know when sorted…sorry boss take care.’
‘So when do I get him back?’
‘There’s ongoing stuff on the European side we’re not making public. A follow-up mission. Justin’s cover as a pilot is our only chance to wrap this up.’
‘Where is he right now?’
‘Europe.’ The previous evening, according to Alan Fargo, Justin’s Cessna had unexpectedly taken off from Clacton, as planned. Henk Jansen, the Dutch liaison officer, had sent CCTV footage of Justin leaving Rotterdam airport with Gina Costello. The two had climbed into the back of a waiting Citroen and been driven off at speed.
‘That’s a big ball park.’
Kerr smiled. ‘Sorry, Louise. That’s all I can share right now. It’s a tough assignment that no-on else could manage. I have to know you’re alright with it.’
‘Do I have any choice?’
‘Of course.’
‘Is he in danger?’
‘Justin may not be in touch for a while but I promise to get him safely back to you. That’s what I came to say.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ She saw the car key in his hand and stood to let him go. ‘You should get some sleep.’
Kerr faced her. ‘Louise, I know what you’re going through.’
She absently touched her stomach. ‘So how long? Days? Weeks?’
Kerr held out his hand. ‘Soon. But it’s complex, bound to take some time.’ Her grip was strong. ‘This is personal for me, too, Louise. You can be very proud of him. Just as we are.’
THE END
http://www.roger-pearce.com/
The former Commander of Special Branch at New Scotland Yard, Roger Pearce was responsible for surveillance and undercover operations against terrorists and extremists, the close protection of government ministers and visiting VIPs, and other highly sensitive assignments.
He was also Director of Intelligence, charged with heading covert operations against serious and organised criminals.
After leaving the Yard he was appointed Counter-Terrorism Adviser to the Foreign Office, where he worked with government and intelligence experts worldwide in the campaign against Islamist terrorism.
Roger Pearce has degrees in Theology from Durham University and Law from London University. He is also a barrister-at-law. Married with three adult children, he has homes in London and Miami and was European Security Director of a leading, high profile global company.
In Agent of the State, The Extremist, Javelin and future titles, the author draws upon his knowledge and first hand experience of a career in national security at every level.
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