by Mike Binder
PART TWO
ON THE RUN
ON THE HUNT
ON THE RUN ■ 1
The limo dropped them all at the Connaught hotel. Sir David invited everyone in for a celebratory drink. Adam tried to beg off, to go back to the Millennium, but Heaton wouldn’t hear of it.
“Don’t be like that, Tatum. We’ve had a good day, a rousing success. You need to let a breath out and enjoy your win. Have a quick drink, man.” Adam went in but stopped to call his hotel from the Connaught’s lobby. Trudy answered. She was in the room with Billy. Kate was out somewhere, Trudy wasn’t sure where. Adam took a deep breath. His daughter was safe. One major load had been lifted.
In the Connaught’s smoky bar, the HGI group was in a good mood. Most of them wanted to talk about how exciting it was to be in Number 10, to meet Roland Lassiter and Georgia Turnbull. Heaton told a few funny stories about his first visit at Number 10 as a young man. They all drank expensive scotch and puffed happily on strong Cubans. None of it felt right to Adam. Not only did he sense that it would all end badly, but he also couldn’t get over the fact that they had so blatantly threatened his daughter, forced him to do something against his will. Brought him to London to use him for some reason that he still didn’t understand but was sure wasn’t legal, ethical, or morally sound.
The French lady gave him a friendly, relieved half-smile across the table; he returned the darkest look he could possibly give. There was talk of “the deal,” “implementation,” “bellwether comparisons,” and other “statistical anecdotes” concerning a package of this size, plus a lot of back patting on the historical nature of what they’d done, a “benchmark” set for years to come.
Adam finally excused himself. Heaton didn’t want him to go, but he wouldn’t stop him. Adam turned and left the bar before he lost his temper. He skulked toward the Millennium, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground the whole way back to Grosvenor Square.
As he walked into the lobby, he noticed several people standing at the hotel’s bar and café staring up at the television. They were all entranced by the screen. Others wandered over to listen. There was breaking news. The clerk, Ronnie, had left the front desk to see what everyone was looking at.
Adam crossed the lobby and craned his neck up to the television. His heart almost stopped beating when he saw stock footage of Downing Street on Sky News. A bomb had gone off at Number 10. That’s all that was known. There were no other details yet, just word of an explosion—no idea where it came from or what part of the building it was in, and no news if anyone was hurt.
The newscaster and the people in the bar all wondered who could have done this. The first guess was ISIL. Someone else guessed the Syrians.
“Don’t forget that last year we expelled their whole damn embassy. I bet good money it was the Syrians.” One guest thought it was the Palestinians; another mused that it was Israel trying to blame the Palestinians. Everyone in the bar took a stab.
“It could be the Egyptians. That whole country’s coming apart. I can see one of them doing something like that,” said a well-dressed man at the end of the bar. An older lady, at a table near the back, thought it was the Irish. She almost got laughed out of the room over that one.
Adam knew better. He knew exactly what had happened. His hands could feel the weight of the report that Louise Bloomfield was fed to put back into that cupboard. He had the weight etched into his memory: the weight—in his hands, on his brain—of the bomb. He broke into an instant sweat. Every pore of his body leaked with a liquid dread. He left before anyone could see his soaking forehead and the near meltdown of his mind and body as he came to the realization that it wasn’t ISIL, it wasn’t the Syrians, it wasn’t the Irish, the Egyptians, the Israelis, or the Palestinians. It was Adam Tatum. Adam Tatum had planted that bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before the whole world knew it.
* * *
HE HAD TRIED to call Kate from his cell phone on his way down the hall to their suite. There was no answer; it went straight to voice mail. He didn’t bother to leave a message, figured she’d see that he called. What kind of message could he leave, he wondered? Hey babe, get home quickly. I just blew up 10 Downing Street. We need to talk.
When he got into the room, Trudy was on the phone with the French kid and Billy was watching another cartoon. He distracted Trudy long enough to ask her where her mother was.
“I don’t know, Daddy. She said she was going out to see an old friend, that she’d be back in time for dinner.”
“Who was the friend?”
“She didn’t say. She doesn’t have to run that kind of thing by me. She’s the mother, I’m the daughter, remember?” She shrugged. He ignored her, was used to her talking to him this way. It was another part of the price he had paid since his time in jail. In times of disagreement she spoke to him more like a sibling than a daughter.
“Why don’t you just call her?”
“I tried. She’s not picking up her cell.”
“Try again.” She went back to her phone call and starting giggling in a whisper, inwardly rolling her eyes at her father.
“You need to hang up the phone now, Trudy. Right now. I want you and your brother to pack your stuff. Right away.” He stared at her. He gave her a beat to let what he said sink in. She looked at him, still listening to whatever Étienne was saying on the other end of her cell phone. She was still half chuckling at the French kid, half taking in what her father was going on about.
“I mean it, Trudy. Get off the phone now.” She raised a finger in a way that told him it would just be another minute and he needed to be patient. He walked over, took the phone from her hand, hung it up, and set it on the table.
“What are you doing? I was in the middle of a conversation.”
“Get packed. Right now. Help your brother. I mean it. We have to go.”
She stood up. She realized for the first time how serious he was. She realized he was talking in the tone he usually talked in just minutes before he’d be yelling.
“Go where? What are you talking about? What about Mom?”
“We’ll wait for her, obviously, but we need to be ready to go the minute she gets back.” He went over to the television and shut it off.
Billy gave Adam a look like he’d just killed all of the characters in the movie, a movie that Adam knew he’d already seen at least five times.
“Daddy? Are you kidding me? Why did you do that? I’m in the middle of that.”
“Not anymore. Pack your stuff. Right now.”
“What? Why? I don’t know how to pack. Mom packs me.”
“You heard me. Both of you. I need you both to listen to me really carefully. We need to be packed and out of here in the next five minutes. We’re moving to another hotel.” Billy was still staring at the TV, wounded and hoping somehow it would magically come back on.
“But I like this hotel.”
“Too bad. We’re leaving. Pack up. Now. We’ll meet your mother in the lobby when she gets back.” Trudy held her ground and bore down with a strident glare to her father.
“Mom’s not going to like this. You know that.”
“She doesn’t have a choice. Now for the last time, please go in there and pack your stuff. Both of you. Now!”
As they shuffled into their part of the suite, he tried Kate’s cell phone. Once again, there was no answer.
* * *
RICHARD LYLE STILL smelled the same. Almost twenty years later, he had that clean, soapy, almost cologne aroma that he’d had the first night she met him, when she was sixteen years old—Trudy’s age. Richard’s place even smelled the same, a wild combination of sweat, chipped wood, burnt microwave popcorn, and hair care products. A tiny mews house a stone’s throw from Paddington station, he’d lived there since finishing his A levels. He ran his music management company, his ticket-scalping operation, and his advertising consulting firm from the house, plus he did hair styling there. She used to tease him that he truly never had to l
eave home. That was when she used to do his food shopping and most of his cooking, so why would he bother?
Pictures on Facebook can be very deceiving. That’s what she kept telling herself in the cab over from Mayfair. There’s nothing to stop one from posting a fifteen-year-old photo and claim it’s as current as the morning’s paper. Richard wasn’t that type, though. She knew that. She knew that his pictures were current. She knew that he wouldn’t look all that different today than he had the last time she saw him in Michigan, seventeen years ago, the last trip he took over to try and convince her to come home.
She was ready for him to look the same. She just wasn’t ready for him to smell so “Richard.” She wasn’t ready for his place to feel so familiar, as if time had stopped and waited for her.
“Well, aren’t you a doll? Let me get a good look at you.” He was dressed in a trendy jacket, a dark pair of jeans, and crocodile leather boots. He had dressed for her, exactly the way he knew she used to like him to dress. The fact that two decades had passed was another story, but “it’s the thought that counts,” she figured. She could have laid out the outfit for him herself, exactly as she had done so many times before in another life, in another world, another dimension—a dimension she had somehow suddenly stepped back into.
Richard Lyle truly had not aged. If he had, it had only helped. She hated men for that, for aging so well. His hair was shorter but still thick. His stomach may not have been as flat as it once was, but it was attractively maintained. There was no doubt he kept up his morning workouts, still followed his strict diet.
“You look lovely, Rich.”
“And you, my doll. It’s so nice to see you. I can’t tell you.”
“Well, I had a couple of hours to kill. Adam’s at this business thing. I thought it’d be nice to say hello.” She wasn’t sure what to say, how much to say, what tone to say it in.
He made them tea.
The decoration and furnishings were as eclectic as Richard’s résumé. There were Victorian-era antiques in one corner, video arcade games in another. The dining area/solarium was equipped with an impressive array of secondhand gym equipment. The breakfast nook had been turned into a one-chair hair salon. Three Himalayan cats perched lazily on a giant modern leather couch in the middle of the living room.
Richard and Kate went out back and sat on the terrace. He filled her in on all the things he’d been doing. He told her about the “pretty lady” who had just dumped him. He made her laugh with the stories of his travails with nutty women. She smoked a cigarette.
“Haven’t had a cig in five years. Even when I did, it was a sneak, and I had to smoke it so fast it wasn’t any fun.” This one was fun. She smoked it to the nub—one of Richard’s fancy French ones.
The tea was perfect as well. Richard made her laugh some more. They told and retold old stories, relived favorite memories.
“You know that I see Gordon every now and then, right? For breakfasts?”
She smiled, sighed. “He’s lonely. He’s so lonely.”
Richard agreed. He refilled her tea, then lit another smoke and handed it over to her.
“That’s why I like to have breakfast with him. That, plus he keeps me informed on ‘all things Kate.’ Allows me to keep up on current events. So I’m prepared to sneak back into your life when the proper time comes.”
“Listen to you.”
“Why start now? You never did listen to me.” He winked. She grinned. They sat there in quiet, smoking and sipping. “You know, Kate. I know you’ve been through a rough patch. I know that your man’s had a hard run.”
“Well, yes, but it seems to be picking up for him. I hope. Gordon’s gotten him a job, with David Heaton. He seems to be doing well there.”
“I’ve heard. Like I say, I get filled in on all your comings and goings. Your dad, on the other hand, hates his job. He thinks Heaton treats him like a sack of trash.”
“Does he really? He never says that to me, not a word on that. He tells me the opposite, in fact, how much he loves working for Heaton.”
“Oh, great. Look at me now, back in the middle of a squabble with you two. The poor guy trusted me, opened up to me, and I blabbed to his daughter. Fat chance he’s going to buy me any more breakfasts.” She laughed.
“Well, don’t worry, I’ll probably keep your secret safe. Odds are that he’ll speak to you again, one day.” She thought about it some more, let what Richard said sink in past the playful banter.
“That’s sad that he hates his job, though, that Heaton treats him poorly. It’s horrible that he couldn’t tell me that. We’ve drifted so far apart, Daddy and I. It makes me truly sorry.”
They talked some more. She opened up to him a little, not a lot. She knew Richard too well. Knew if she revealed too much of her doubts and troubles with Adam, he’d use them. She was enjoying being with him, enjoying the attention he was giving her, but she didn’t see herself here again, in this lost world, not permanently. Too much had happened. Too much time had passed. She was a woman, not a little girl. Richard needs a little girl. Kate was a mom, a mother of two, someone’s wife. The visit was over. It was time to leave.
He walked her to the door. They took a long last look at each other. He still had a thing for her, it was obvious, and the truth is, she still had a thing for him—maybe not the same thing, but it was definitely a thing. He took her face in his hands, something he used to do in that other life, that other dimension. His giant hands wrapped her face, “like a cupcake,” and in that one second she was one of his little girls again. He leaned in and kissed her. She knew he would. She didn’t stop him. A little snog wouldn’t hurt.
Her heart was beating. He was just as good a kisser as he always was, maybe better. He pulled her in and held her tight in a way that reminded her instantly of the intimacy they once had. He was the only person other than Adam with whom she had ever shared such tenderness. It whisked her back to scents and sounds, feelings and pleasures long ago locked away—replaced, but never exactly replicated. After a moment she finally pulled away and left. It wasn’t easy.
* * *
ADAM AND THE kids and their bags tumbled out of the elevator and into the lobby. Billy was on his handheld game device, working a video game as they walked to the checkout desk, oblivious to where he was and where they were going. Trudy was the opposite. She was beside herself, trying to get her mother on the cell phone.
“You can’t just do this, Daddy. You can’t just make me leave. I haven’t even said good-bye. We’re supposed to be here eight more days. I had plans. You know that, right?”
Adam didn’t even stop. He just soldiered on, over toward Ronnie, the clerk at the front counter.
“Things have changed, Trudy. I can’t keep telling you that. We have no choice.”
He looked into the bar on the way over. The crowd had grown. Sky News now had the God’s-eye-view helicopter shot. Several soldiers and government workers were running in and out of the buildings that Adam had been inside of just over two hours ago. A Met cop could be seen running out of 11 and into 10 with a large fire extinguisher as a line of trucks and tanks pulled into the Downing Street concourse.
Adam walked over, dumped the keys to the room in the slot, and didn’t even bother checking out. Trudy had the continuation of her meltdown. She started to cry, right in the middle of the lobby. Adam did his best to keep everything as quiet as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. He gently picked up Trudy’s handbag, put his arm around her, and spoke softly.
“Trudy, I’m not happy about this, either. I am going to explain it all to you in just a bit, okay? I promise. I just need to get us all away from here. I get that you don’t understand it, but I’m only looking out for all of us. All of you. Please trust me, for a little bit more. Okay?”
She didn’t want to, but she reluctantly agreed. Ronnie the clerk came over on cue as Kate walked in the front door of the hotel, just back from Richard’s. Right away she noticed all of their
bags, hers included, laid out on the marble floor in the center of the Millennium’s lobby.
“What’s this? What’s going on, Adam?” Billy popped up and wrapped himself around her legs before Adam had a chance to answer.
“Mommy, I want to stay here. I like this hotel. Poppa’s gonna come over and we’re going to feed the ducks again. Please tell Daddy we want to stay here.” Ronnie the clerk was as concerned as Kate was.
“Excuse me, sir, is there a problem? Is something wrong with the hotel? With the service? Something that I can do to be of some help?” Kate watched Adam closely for an answer.
“No, no, thank you. It has nothing to do with the hotel. Our plans have just changed. We’re going to go somewhere else. Thanks for your concern.” Trudy broke into another round of tears. Kate looked at him, more confused than angry. Adam couldn’t explain himself with the clerk hovering so close. He bent down and started grabbing luggage.
“Go where? What are you on about, Adam?”
“Let’s go. Grab a bag. I’ll explain later.” He threw her a look, trying to tell her that she needed to back him and move along. Ronnie wasn’t quite getting the hint that Adam needed some privacy.
“Can I arrange a car for you, sir, or a taxi?”
“No taxi, no car. We’re good. Thank you.” Adam headed out to the street. He looked in all directions and tried to make some sense of what his next move would be. Kate and the kids, and Ronnie, followed. Kate grabbed his arm, desperately needing to understand what was happening.
“Adam, you need to talk to me. Why are we leaving here? What has happened? Have you told my father? The people at your company?”
Adam came over, leaned in, and whispered to his wife, “I will explain it all to you when I can. For now, we have to go and you need to trust me. Our lives are in danger, Kate.”
“What?… Have you been drinking?” Before he could answer, the clerk was in his space and in his face again.
“Are you sure, sir, that I cannot call you a taxicab? An airport shuttle? A sedan?” Little Ronnie didn’t want to give up. He had been trained too well.