Iceline

by Martyn Taylor

Bill Jardine turned off the road and drove the Range Rover between the stone gate posts and up the gravel drive to the front door of the Grange and parked at the foot of the steps. He switched off the engine and leaned back in his seat, catching the clean air through the open window and listened. The breeze in the trees and the murmur of voices blended as a balm to his ears after the frantic bustle of the city. He dragged his briefcase from the passenger seat and walked up the steps to the front door, after the trip to London and the hours spent in meetings he was always relieved to get back to the relative calm of the Grange. Relative was the word, the bustle around the house with a good company of guests, as the customers were invariably known, overpowered the quiet of the countryside and they were a lively group in residence at the moment. Jardine pushed open the front door, leaning against the heavy oak and as the gap widened the murmur increased in strength. Half a dozen guests coming down the staircase from the second floor were laughing and sharing a joke about the day's activities; ribbing a colleague about friendly fire and a bruise on the arse the size of a golf ball. Jardine smiled, the atmosphere felt good and his mood lightened when he saw Josie Burke appear around the end of the staircase. She approached with a smile and the inevitable bundle of papers and files in the cruck of her arm; Jardine wondered if she ever put them down. "Good evening sir." She said and the warmth of her greeting revealed a genuine pleasure at seeing him again. She had a faint maternal feeling that worried whenever he went up to town.

  "Evening Josie; everything under control?" He asked.

  "Very nicely thank you, the guests are happy, they’ve had a good day." She coaxed a stray wisp of Auburn hair behind her ear.

  "Good, good, that's what I like to hear," and his smile was warm in a way that it hadn't been for a long time. The visit had gone well.

  "Can I get you anything sir," she asked, "I could ask Cook to rustle up a light supper.

  Jardine thought about it, shifting the briefcase from his right to his left and wiped his nose with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He said. "No, I'm fine, except perhaps coffee, a good strong brew; and I'd like to see you in my office, just to catch up."

  "Strong coffee and your office in five minutes," Josie said, paused as if she might say something else and changed her mind. "Right, I'll see to it." She said and went on her way. Jardine stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and eased his way around a knot of guests tackling one of the field staff about tomorrow's programme and slipped into his office. He closed the door and the thick oak muted the sounds in the hallway.

  The focal point of the room was a large stone fireplace faced by a pair of buttoned leather armchairs. French windows led out on to a terrace. His desk faced the windows from across the room and two more chairs faced the desk. A leather swivel chair behind the desk was pushed back. Jardine slipped out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a straight-backed chair against the wall and dumped his briefcase by the desk. He sat down and eased off his shoes before rummaging in the briefcase for the results of the day's outing to the city; the slim folder with a proposal for a meeting. Wriggling deep into the chair he hooked his heels over the corner of the desk and flipped open the file. Josie arrived with the coffee and more papers and then spent fifteen minutes with Jardine going over the diary for the next two days. Focussed on the job in hand, neither mentioned the undercurrent swirling through the staff, one of the team lost and the rumour mill churned out its stream of speculation. Josie picked up her files and left him to study the dossier undisturbed. He was packing the strong Balkan tobacco he habitually smoked into the bowl of his pipe as she left, thankful that she would be out of the room when the thick aromatic smoke began to drift across the ceiling.

  The tension of the day and the quiet of the room, not silent, but quiet enough for the activity in the house and beyond the French windows to seem far off, began to get to him and he found his mind wandering, drifting away from the file. The content was a confidential briefing and the accompanying security umbrella for a meeting of unspecified staffers and a brace of foreign diplomats. The man from the ministry had emphasised the need for discretion and security; and security was the area where Jardine had serious doubts. The clock on the stone mantel over the fireplace marked time, chiming the hours until it ticked off nine o'clock and he was still at his desk. Jardine's was the only ground floor light visible at the rear of the Grange overlooking the terrace and the formal gardens. The windows stood open and the smell of flowers came in with the breeze. He muttered something unprintable as he packed the bowl of his briar with a fresh plug of tobacco from the cracked leather pouch he kept in his jacket pocket. Closed the flap with a practised twist of his wrist and tossed it on the desk as he searched for matches. He struck one and wrinkled his eyes at the sharpness of the smoke as it flared then touched the flame to the bowl. The matchstick burned close to his fingers before he shook it out and flicked it into the ashtray. Waiting was the killer; the gutted helplessness that fuelled frustration and anger. No matter how often he told himself it wasn't fair, it got to him and he found himself apologising to staff who had done nothing except exist. Josie Burke was on the lookout for this as she headed for Jardine's office. Knocked on the heavy oak door and went straight in. He stirred as she approached, removed the pipe and turned his chair back to the desk. He put the pipe in the ashtray leaving it to smoulder. She had no need to ask. Jardine shook his head. "Sorry nothing not even a whisper." He saw her face fall and acknowledged the strain they all felt. There was more to working at the Grange than being a staff member, they were friends too, occasionally close and that came with a high price.

  She picked up a wad of paperwork from his desk, tucked it into her elbow and hugged it reassuringly to her chest. "So we wait," she said and Jardine nodded. Her voice was strained, tired and she rubbed her arm with her free hand, warding off an emotional chill.

  Jardine said. "Ring Ben Urquhart, if you can't get him at home try ship-to-shore. You should have the call sign for the Angel. I think he's working the Northumbrian Coast this season. Ask him if there's any word from the Duffel coats. I know it's a long shot, but it's better than nothing."

  Josie nodded. "OK, I'll do that. Is there anything you want? More coffee, sandwiches?"

  He shook his head. "No, the last thing I want is to be awake and I've no appetite for snacking. In fact I've no appetite at all. It's getting worse every day. I haven't had a decent meal in days. I’ll stay here until I can't keep my eyes open, then at least I will sleep.

  She sympathised with him. "It's getting to us all. Even the lads on the active side are touchy. The paint-balling exercise this morning was ferocious. There were definitely no prisoners in that one. One of our client's people asked if they were always so bloody-minded. He was pretty chuffed with how they'd done."

  “Satisfied customers?"

  "Could be, they're talking about a return match next time they're here." Josie smiled. Jardine straightened in the chair and stood up. He walked across to the open French windows. "Well, we'd better make sure they book their return visit before they leave, by the way, when are they due to leave?"

  "The day after to-morrow. To-morrow, they're out on the driving range, with the soft skin vehicles. Not into heavy metal was the remark heard from one of them, so the heavy metal's been put away and they're ready to go for it at the crack of dawn. That should give them plenty of time to unwind after lunch." Josie explained.

  Jardine leaned on the window frame, hands in pockets and stared into the evening light settling on the estate; the air was softened by the latent warmth of the day. Josie watched him and after a few moments he said. "Talk to Langhers and the lads running the exercise this morning. See how they feel about a return match to-morrow afternoon and then run it past the customers. This one’s on us, it will be worth it, if it dissipates the tension. The extra goodwill won't hurt either." Jardine suggested, "Get back to me as soon as you can. Oh and while your about it, ask Langhers to step in will you."

 
Josie nodded and turned to leave, pausing, she said. "I can assume that should we hear anything you will want to be notified?”

  "You can, but you don't sound too optimistic?" Jardine's voice softened with concern. Josie shook her head; he noticed she nibbled her lip, stiffening it, before she spoke. "I'm not, it's over a fortnight. We've never gone this long with a broken contact before, even if it's only been bad news, there's been something."

  Jardine nodded slowly, even bad news could provoke some sort of reaction, a direction in which to charge off and do something. "You're right, it is abnormal, but we can't do anything about that. Go on; chase up Ben and his lads."

  “It will keep me busy, which might help take my mind off things a little." She said.

  Jardine smiled. "Are you sleeping?"

  "Not well, but I am getting some sleep. I had a chat with the medics, but don't want to take anything, not yet at least." She spoke softly and her voice trailed off in a sigh.

  "Good call," Jardine said, "now go and see what you can find." She gave him a tight smile and left the room. Jardine turned back to the window and drank in the view across the formal gardens towards the landscaped park. Beyond the perimeter path of the formal garden a twelve-foot deep ha-ha was spanned by a small stone bridge with a gate to keep the livestock at bay and the grass rolled away towards the brow of the hill. The crowns of Ten Acre Wood broke the skyline and softened the harsh junction between land and sky. The noises off came from the other side of the line. Engine noises; four-wheel, six-wheel drive and tracked vehicles had churned a section of the park to mud. He listened as they moved away into the distance and fell silent. The zoo was being put to bed. Jardine watched a handful of figures in fatigues and camouflage gear, the dark material splashed with bright splodges and their faces darkened with camo-cream, stride over the line towards the house. He watched the way the silhouettes moved, hoping to see that familiar stride. Knowing it wouldn't be there, but hope is strange, no matter how forlorn, it remains strong. Despairingly, he wondered if it was better to live without it, but the thought was too black for such an evening as the sun settled beyond Ten Acre wood. He saw Josie cross the grass and detach a figure from the group and the two of them angled towards the house. Jardine slipped his shoes back on and stood by the windows until they reached the gate before he stepped out on to the terrace. Deep in conversation they threaded their way along the paths of the formal garden and parted at the foot of the steps, Josie slipped back inside the house and Kurt Langhers climbed the terrace steps. He wore British DPM jacket and trousers with lightweight combat boots and his fair hair was tucked under a green woollen cap. His face was smeared with camouflage cream and his grin was starkly white against this darkened backcloth. Langhers pulled off the cap and wiped the sweat from his face, smearing a little of the paint on the wool. "You called Boss?"

  Jardine motioned for him to sit down and they found a bench on the terrace. This was an off-the-record chat; outside, no limits. Jardine had once said, outside, breathe in and smell the air, fresh and clean. That's how the conversation was meant to go. No bullshit. Jardine leaned back on the bench and threw one arm along the back. Langhers sat hunched forward, his elbows on his thighs, toying with the cap. "So; what’s the craic"

  “Josie says you gave our guests a run for their money this morning?"

  Langhers nodded. "Yes, they got their money’s worth. We didn't pull any punches and neither did they and it worked. I know it worked. They're asking for a re-match."

  "Are your team up to it?" Jardine asked.

  "No problem boss, we might even think about letting them win." He replied.

  Jardine scratched his ear with a fingertip. "Don't even bloody think about it. You will not..." Then saw the grin on Langhers' face. There was no option to throw a fight in Langhers' book. The younger man knew the value of giving the client the buzz of having taken on the professionals and held his own. They walked out a bit taller and a touch straighter."

  “Steady boss, you took the hook.”

  The older man laughed a hard and brittle laugh. "Sorry Kurt, but this is close to the bone."

  Langhers said. "It's not the first time he's gone solo; pissed off into the sunset, is it? Remember what the admin lasses tagged him?"

  "One iron."

  Kurt chuckled. "So, what's different?"

  "Nearly three weeks" Jardine said quietly.

  "A couple of days we can live with, okay, its hell, but it doesn’t last long. Now he buggers off and weeks later we have fuck all, not even a fart." Langhers twisted the cap in his hands, "and the West of Scotland is as close as we can get for his last known. Didn’t he check in by mobile? Can you remember anything he said?"

  Bill Jardine shook his head, his mouth twisted with the effort of thinking. "No, nothing."

  "No help there then."

  "No, it came down the Outland line. By-passed every recording device we have. I suppose we could have isolated the cell?" Jardine muttered, his voice disconsolate.

  Kurt Langhers stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I suppose we could trace it, but that would only tell us where he was when the call was made, you know, triangulate it. It won’t tell us where he is now,” he grumbled angrily, "the stupid bastard. What the fuck was he playing at?"

  "Kurt, come on, you know that he wasn't playing."

  "I know that, but what was he doing?" Langhers asked, turning on his heel to face Jardine. "What, that's what we need to know; we don’t and we’re buggered.”

  Jardine rose from the bench and joined Langhers on the edge of the terrace. "Come on, have a walk round the garden and we'll talk." They dropped down the steps and walked the network of paths between the flowerbeds. "How are the lads taking it?"

  "On the whole, not too bad, they're champing at the bit, but that's no surprise, it depends on how well they know him, group dynamic really, you know some people better than others, so when things go wrong the effect is different. Yes, before you ask, it is translating it into the work they do. The lads are gung-ho; but the guests aren’t complaining, so provided we don't go too far, I think we can let it ride and watch how it develops. The lads are playing it like rugby."

  "I know it, blood and thunder in the field and a pat on the back and a pint in the bar afterwards. I can live with that. I’ll start worrying when you go hand-to-hand and they start coming in with fractured skulls."

  Langhers grinned. "Maybe, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

  "And you?” Jardine had stopped by the boundary hedge of the garden and looked back towards the Grange. Lights came on throughout the house as the light faded. Whimsically he saw a false gaiety in the sight, an echo of the house it had been a century ago. “You've known him for some time.”

  Langhers stopped and stood facing the park, watching the sunset. "I'm waiting for the body to turn up.”

  Jardine folded his arms and scratched the side of his nose with his thumb. "How do you feel about finding out what happened?"

  Langhers straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, standing at ease and went quiet. "I'd like that, but the end result might not be pleasant." He suddenly grinned and rested his hand on Jardine's shoulder. "All this speculation is making me thirsty, why don't we go and help the customers drink the bar dry."

  Jardine smiled at that. It would blur the edges a bit and a good stiff drink might help him unwind too with a semblance of that gaiety he had glimpsed earlier. The guests were having a good time this week; they had arrived with a good team spirit and were gelling together well. There were occasions when he felt a complete fraud selling his corporate team building exercises to the City types, but when it worked you were simply confirming what was already there. It didn't take a genius to know that a good team takes time to create and there had to be failures along the way. They paused outside the French windows and Langhers said, "I'll see you in the bar. Give me about twenty minutes while I clean myself up," he indicated the wa
terproof cream on his face, "then we'll have a couple of beers here and if you like, take a walk down to the village for the last one."

  "Are your team in the bar?"

  "Half and half, they make a habit of using the local pubs, puts a bit of brass across the bar, gives them an escape from work and helps ease relations with the locals, in fact one of the lads came up with an idea the other day."

  "Oh, no doubt it will cost money." Jardine grumbled.

  "Certainly," the younger men chuckled, “but think of the publicity."

  "Publicity is all well and good, but don’t forget there are some things that we just don’t want to publicise." Jardine reminded him.

  "Nothing big, a sort of open day for the locals; an invitation job to begin with. If we work it through the landlord of the pub, maybe the local padre, a garden party for the WI, you know the sort of thing, keeping the locals on side could help with security too. If you get strangers asking questions and the neighbours are feeling good about our being here, then they'll play it down. Just a bunch of city folks playing war-games etc., the old big-boys toys routine. Look; think about it, we’ve done exclusive invitation events like this before, had some of the local dignitaries along with the county types and it worked, it broke the ice and we’ve not had much trouble on the whole. I know we do the local community bit, using some of the recovery gear when the local farmers have trouble with agricultural machinery, well, how about getting some of them alongside. I’m sure you'll see the benefit. Be honest, it would be nice just to have some normal people around here, anybody without a suitcase full of secrets under their arm."

  “Kurt we all have secrets." Jardine reminded him.

  "Yes sir, but not like ours," he replied flatly, "I'll see you in the bar."

  Jardine stood thoughtful for a moment; he had tried to bring the local community on side from the start. Standing instructions to all sections carried the emphasis on trading locally wherever possible. Eventually he nodded his head, the action affirming the thought and went inside, closing the windows behind him. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he was aware of Josie sitting quietly in an armchair, staring at the cold grate of the fireplace. "How long have you been here." he said and switched on the angle poise lamp on his desk. The light fell on the tumble of hair down her face, throwing her features into shadow. She looked gaunt in the poor light.

  “A few minutes.”

  He settled into the armchair opposite and waited. She shuffled the files on her lap. "I haven't got hold of Ben yet, but I will try again before it gets too late."

  "Have you much left to do?" Jardine asked.

  "Not a lot," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear. "An hour or so at the most should see most of it put to bed."

  "Concentrate on getting Ben; leave the rest while morning, Kurt and I are going down to the bar for a drink, then nipping down to the Red Lion for the last one, why don't you join us? Some of the lads are down there already. Try and unwind a bit." Jardine told her.

  Josie frowned. “I couldn’t. I’d like to, but, well, I think you understand.”

  “Alright Josie, I get the drift,” Jardine acknowledged her loss for words and studied her closely. “Are you alright, I know you’re tired, but I have this feeling there’s something more, something deeper troubling you?”

  Josie collected her files and stood up, brushing the creases from her skirt. The stroke of her hand smoothed the soft grey wool down her thigh then she adjusted the mandarin collar of her blouse, the dove grey silk a match for the skirt. However smooth she may have looked, it couldn’t smooth out the crumpled feeling that seemed to fill her entirely. Perhaps there was something troubling her deeply, but precisely what it was she found herself unable, or unwilling to say. “No more than you would expect,” she replied, with a little too much clinical professionalism. “But thank you for asking.” Josie Burke mustered all the dignity she could and made her exit. Jardine stopped her before she reached the door. “Josie, wait a moment,” he called and she did, half turning towards him. “If you want to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

  She smiled weakly, nodding her understanding of his offer and turned to leave the room when he called her back. “Josie, I’m sorry, one more question. I didn’t ask how your team were taking it.”

  Josie returned and sat down in a chair facing the desk. Jardine sat down and reached for his pipe. She sat primly with her hands clasped around the files laid in her lap. It was going to be a long night.

  *****

  Chapter Three