The flight from Toulouse landed five minutes ahead of schedule. Raglan shadowed Abbie as she walked out of the arrivals hall at Heathrow’s Terminal 5. When he allowed himself to be seen she stopped. The scowl on her face told him all he needed to know.
‘I owe you an apology so I thought the least I could do is buy you breakfast and a cab ride to the office.’
She brushed past him, obliging him to step away from the wheeled case she dragged behind her.
He fell in step. ‘I don’t blame you for being irritated but I had to make the move so I could see what had happened for myself. I didn’t need a minder.’
‘Thank you for your offer,’ she answered coldly. ‘I phoned Mr Maguire as soon as I got out of the valley.’
‘Did Sammy and Didi look after you?’
She nodded.
‘Good. Then let me make it up to you for your unplanned stay with my friends.’
They reached the taxi rank and it was a long queue. She snorted in frustration. He knew she had been up since the early hours so her irritation was understandable. ‘I came in a taxi. He’s waiting and the meter’s running.’
‘Then this has been an expensive journey for you,’ she said.
‘In-flight breakfast is a joke. Let’s grab a bite.’
‘I’m not going to the office. I’m going home to shower and change.’
‘So why stand here? Come on. I’ll get you home.’ Without waiting for her reply he grabbed the case and walked away. He ushered her into the waiting taxi and she relented, giving an address in Southall. The taxi driver told her traffic on the M4 was slow, an accident had closed down two lanes, and so he planned to use the Parkway route. Raglan wasn’t familiar with the area but the exchange between the cabbie and the young woman told him she knew her way around. The driver leant his head back, listening as she gave him an alternative route to get to the address and once he got within a couple of miles to avoid certain streets. Her fluid instructions clearly impressed the driver and he and Abbie struck up a friendly conversation while Raglan sat as a silent passenger. She explained that her father had been a London taxi driver and when he’d taken to the streets on his scooter all those years ago to learn the multitude of routes before sitting the examination he’d brought his only child with him on the pillion. The cabbie laughed and congratulated her. If ever she needed a job he assured her she would walk the test without breaking sweat.
The two continued to share their street knowledge until the driver pulled up outside a 1930s semi-detached house in Southall. Most of the owners in the street had paved over their front gardens to accommodate cars, but this house had a brick wall surrounding well-planted flower beds, small but colourful. Any thoughts Raglan had of questioning the girl had disappeared. He had been studiously ignored throughout the forty-minute journey. Abbie fussed in her handbag, then swore beneath her breath in frustration as she searched her pockets for her door key.
‘Lost your key?’ said Raglan. ‘I’m fairly handy at breaking and entering.’
She cold-shouldered him and said her goodbyes to the driver. Raglan watched her ring the front doorbell. So this wasn’t her own house – probably shared, given the price of accommodation in London. Raglan saw where she got her looks from when a handsome white woman in her fifties opened the door and hugged her. Mother and daughter shared a common beauty. So, she was still living at home with her parents. Raglan ignored the driver’s request for his next destination and told him to wait. Abbie’s mother asked her something but Raglan did not hear what, or Abbie’s answer. With an anguished look, Abbie half turned to face his way. Her mother smiled and gestured Raglan to join them: home-grown hospitality frustrating Abbie’s desire to get away. He paid the taxi driver, with a generous tip, and stepped on to the pavement.
Abbie introduced him to her mother through near-clenched teeth. The older woman’s quiet dignity impressed him as she clamshelled his hand between her own and dipped her head in greeting. Her lilting Scottish accent made him feel even more welcome. Abbie made her excuses and heaved her case upstairs. Her mother, perturbed by her daughter’s sudden departure, guided Raglan to the sitting room where a heavy-set bearded man wearing a black turban sat in a wheelchair. Despite the blanket draped over his lap it was obvious he had no legs. He lowered the book he was reading to greet the surprise guest.
‘I heard Abnash’s voice,’ he said in honey-rich tones, glancing from his wife to the stranger in his home and then back to his wife again.
‘She’s here and she’s brought a friend,’ she said.
Raglan stepped forward, extending his hand. ‘I’m Raglan,’ he said.
‘I am Abnash’s father, but you have guessed that already. My name is Jal and you have already met my wife, Jean.’
‘I don’t mean to disturb you,’ Raglan said by way of apology. He could not help feeling he was intruding.
Abbie’s father raised a hand stopping any need for an apology. ‘Please, it’s not often we get visitors. You’re welcome. Sit, please.’ He turned off the radio. ‘Jean, where is she?’
‘She’s having a quick shower, she’ll be down in a minute.’ Abbie’s mother turned to Raglan. ‘You’ll have tea with us?’
‘I’m all right, thank you. Please don’t go to any trouble.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, no trouble at all.’
The two men sat in silence, neither of them wishing to initiate small talk. After five minutes Jal Khalsa’s desire to be hospitable obliged him to break the ice. ‘I don’t know what’s keeping her.’ He sighed. ‘How long does it take to boil a kettle?’ There was no answer from his guest. ‘So, you are a friend of my daughter’s?’ he went on, fixing his eyes on Raglan. ‘A good friend?’
Raglan didn’t mind being gently interrogated by the girl’s father. The man was probing. Fair enough. Why wouldn’t he? ‘We only met recently. We work together.’
Mr Khalsa nodded. ‘So you too are in administration at the Department of Transport?’
Abbie obviously had a cover story for her family. ‘Yes. I spend a lot of time on the road.’
‘Did she ever tell you how she got such an important job? It was because when she was a very young girl I used to take her on my scooter when I did the Knowledge. Do you know what that is, Mr Raglan?’
‘Yes, sir. I do. It’s an amazing feat of memory learning.’
‘It is. I drove a taxi for twenty years. I told her, “Listen, my girl, you can earn a very good income from driving a black cab in London. You should sit the test.” But she is an independently minded woman who would rather do what she thinks is the right thing for her. I don’t blame her, of course. It is how we brought her up. To think for herself.’ He settled his gaze on Raglan. His voice lowered. ‘And we have no problem if she wishes to marry someone who is not of my religion or race. It is difficult, we know that.’ He gave a nod towards his absent wife. ‘When we fell in love the community turned against us. It was hell for a long time. Death threats even. But after some years they accepted us. And I refused to move away from here. This is our home.’
Raglan heard the note of defiance in Mr Khalsa’s voice. A Sikh marrying a white woman thirty years ago could not have been an easy journey. ‘That’s very commendable, sir. But, as I said, I don’t know your daughter very well. We are work colleagues. I only met her a couple of days ago.’
‘Oh? No romantic inclination then?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No, sir.’
Raglan suspected there was a hint of regret. Maybe he wanted his daughter married off.
*
Abbie towelled dry her hair, dragged a broad-toothed comb through it and quickly dressed. She had left Raglan alone with her father for too long. A lot could be said in twenty minutes and anxiety added urgency to her actions. Pulling on her sweater she clattered down the stairs and heard men’s laughter coming from the lounge. As she reached the room she saw her father smiling broadly, clearly pleased to have male company for once. It was obvious her mother had deliberately lef
t them alone so the two men could talk.
‘Where did you meet?’ her father was asking Raglan.
Abbie’s entrance interrupted Raglan before he could answer, which was just as well because if the girl’s parents did not know where she really worked then odds were she had not told them that she had gone to deepest darkest France in search of an ex-legionnaire. Where had she been? She glanced at Raglan, gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, then bent and kissed her father.
‘My girl, there you are. At last. I was just telling Mr Raglan how you got such an important job in the civil service.’
‘Let’s not bore Mr Raglan, Daddy. I have to get to the office. I brought Mr Raglan down from Manchester with me.’
Raglan was thankful he hadn’t had a stab at it.
Her mother entered with a tea tray. Raglan quickly got to his feet and took it from her. She instructed him to set it down on the coffee table.
‘Mother, I must get back to work,’ Abbie protested.
‘There is always time for a cup of tea,’ her mother chided her. She smiled at Raglan. ‘Sugar?’
17
Eddie Roman’s stomach lurched. The noise from the nearby metal-crushing plant muted the cries of the tortured man, now bent double in the chair. Despite the cold, sweat sluiced from him. He sucked lungfuls of air to subdue the pain and focus his mind. When he threw back his head and bellowed in defiance Eddie could take it no longer. He went to the door. One of the gunmen stopped him.
‘Mother of God,’ Eddie hissed, ‘this is inhuman. Inhuman.’ He shook his head unbelievingly. That he was a part of this sickened him.
‘Relax, Eddie,’ said JD. ‘We’ll be moving soon. Have you checked all the vehicles?’
Eddie trembled. The stone-faced man next to him showed no trace of emotion and the torturer chewed the last bite of a juicy apple, wiped his hands on his jeans and tossed away the core. Eddie nodded.
‘Check them again,’ said JD. ‘We want everything to run smoothly. It’s all about timing. The police will find this place sooner or later. All right, Eddie? Are you OK with that? This unpleasantness will soon be over. We’re depending on you, you know that. You’ve done a great job so far. Hold your nerve a little longer. Yes?’
Eddie felt as though he was the family pet that had been patted on the head and given a treat. The man’s voice held nothing but contempt for him even though he had tried to disguise it. Eddie nodded. What else could he do? He was thankful to leave the fetid confines of the room and get back outside to check the car he had stolen the previous week. It was an old turbo-charged Saab, a hefty bit of metal that could shunt lesser cars aside if needs be, and a doddle to steal.
Jeremy Carter shook the sweat from his eyes. ‘How long… have I been here?’
‘You have plans?’ JD reached out and wiped his victim’s face with a cloth. True to his skills and temperament, the torturer was impervious to the pain he was inflicting.
‘How long?’ Carter insisted.
‘For what difference it will make, two days.’
Carter struggled to find some spittle in his mouth; it was dry with congealed blood. ‘I saved your life once... you’ve betrayed me.’
JD edged his chair closer. ‘And I owe you. Which is why, when you give me what I want, we’ll finish it quickly. Promise. But betrayal? No, no, that implies loyalty. I was never loyal. I was employed.’ Then he stood and wheeled over an intravenous drip stand with a clear bottle hanging from it. ‘Now, I’m going to hook you up to an IV because I need to keep you alive a while longer. What’s going to happen to you is brutal. No, worse than that, old friend, it’s medieval.’ He found a vein in Carter’s arm, inserted a cannula and then attached the drip-feed tube. ‘Two days is really too long for you to hold out. In truth, I didn’t expect you to last twenty-four hours. So you can see my predicament. Time is against us both. Hang on in there, Jeremy, but start talking.’
He hovered a switchblade below Carter’s damaged eye. The jocularity was gone. ‘When an eye is that swollen it’s best to cut into it and release the pressure. Jeremy, I need to know what I need to know.’
Carter desperately tried to hang on to his courage as with a terrifying gesture of intent his tormentor de-cored a fresh apple.
‘All right… all right…’ he whispered. ‘There’s a place…’
*
Abbie swung her small city car expertly through the traffic, cutting down side streets as she circumvented known areas of traffic jams.
‘So you noticed nothing unusual in Carter’s house during the search?’ said Raglan. ‘No documents that might suggest his involvement in anything out of the ordinary?’
She had agreed to drive him back into town. Her parents’ generosity had given her no choice. ‘You know I can’t talk to you.’
‘Maguire won’t mind. Why do you think he sent you? One of the reasons was he knew that at some stage, either then or now, I would ask. If he hasn’t briefed you on selling me a given set of answers then he knows that you know nothing. Are you really a technical analyst?’
‘Of course,’ she answered a bit too defensively.
He noticed the brief look of panic in her eyes and her knuckles whitened on the wheel. A rush of guilt from a woman not used to lying. Definitely not an operational MI6 officer. Certainly a desk jockey of some description. Likely to be a woman with inherent skills needed by the Service. But computers? His instinct told him otherwise. She could be useful once he found out more. Peeling away secrets always revealed a more attractive truth than that being offered on the surface. It was worth appealing to a different side of her nature.
‘Why don’t you help me in all of this?’
She glanced at him and then looked back to the traffic. ‘Sammy said you don’t work with anyone. That you are some kind of a loner who works out the problem and gets a result. Why would you want me to help you?’
‘You came to France; you did what was asked of you. Now you’re driving me back to town. Isn’t this better than sitting staring at a screen all day? This place has gone nuts since I was here a couple of years ago. All this construction and the weight of traffic. I don’t know how anyone manages. I need a driver.’
‘Mr Maguire would never allow it.’
There it was. That note of hope. A brief spark in her mind that her boss might let her in on an operation. Raglan knew he could reel her in.
‘Maguire needs my help. I need yours. If you want it, I’ll ask.’
He sensed part of her came a step closer. A nervous fawn approaching a concealed trap. ‘I don’t want you asking any more questions about me or my family.’
‘Of course. I simply need you to navigate London for me.’
She said nothing for a few moments. Then she nodded. ‘All right. If Mr Maguire says it’s OK, then I’ll be your driver.’
A car hooted behind them, as someone cut in. He saw that the cut and thrust of the traffic distracted her.
‘Allah yarham waldik,’ he said, thanking her.
‘Walidina u walidik,’ she answered without hesitation.
It took a couple of seconds for her to realize he had tricked her into speaking Arabic. She darted a glance at him.
Raglan smiled. ‘Just checking,’ he said.
‘You’re more devious even than I took you to be,’ she said bitterly.
‘Abbie, we’re trying to find the man. He’s got a family. It’s no good those of us searching for him having an agenda. You’re a linguist. French, Arabic. What else? Any Russian?’
She checked her mirrors, clicked on the indicator and swung the car down a side street. ‘Some Russian. Not much.’
‘And the Arabic?’
‘My grandfather served in the army in North Africa during the war and he taught my father – and he taught me.’
‘And Maguire wanted you to keep listening to me and my friends because of where the Legion spent a lot of its time. If we said anything interesting between ourselves you were to report back.’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes.’
‘We’re old hands at being spied on by outsiders. Did we say anything interesting?’
‘A few complimentary comments they thought I couldn’t understand.’ Her game was up so there was no point feeling sore about it. ‘They said some nice things. I could’ve pulled. There were some good-looking blokes there.’
Raglan grinned. ‘Dating ex-legionnaires can spoil a girl’s reputation.’
‘Who said anything about dating? I don’t need marriage proposals to have some fun,’ she said with a straight face. ‘All right. Where to?’
*
Amanda Reeve-Carter appeared calm despite her obvious fatigue. Her red-rimmed eyes looked as sore as the rawness in her heart. Raglan dropped the holdall he was carrying and embraced her. Amanda nodded politely to Abbie. Before the grieving woman could ask, Raglan shook his head. There was no word. Not yet. The armed police were still in place outside the house and inside additional panic buttons had been installed. The family could still be targeted, their safety used as a threat against Carter.
‘There’s coffee,’ she said. ‘I’m still clearing up after Maguire and his people turned the place upside down.’
‘Where’s Steve?’ said Raglan.
‘In his room.’ Amanda looked wearily from one to the other. ‘If you’re here to commiserate, don’t. The line of work you and Jeremy are in doesn’t leave much room for sympathies.’
Her bitterness was understandable, but he wanted to distract her by doing something positive. ‘Mandy, I brought Abbie with me to help you tidy up things in Jeremy’s office. Sometimes there are obvious things that people miss when they don’t know what they’re looking for.’
The Englishman - Raglan Series 01 (2020) Page 10