Keep Calm

by Mike Binder

  He pulled a key from his pocket, opened the door to one of the small homes on the back street, made sure no one had followed them, and then, once convinced they hadn’t, quickly took Trudy inside and closed the door.

  * * *

  IT WAS THE oddest place she had ever seen—video games in the dining room, a workout set in the living room, several cats perched on a modern sofa in the middle of the hallway. She actually liked the way the place smelled. It had an acidic fog of a scent, like hair products, which made sense seeing that there was a hair salon chair in the kitchen. The strange man was over at the sink, catching his breath and checking the wound on his stomach. She slowly came over. He glanced back and winked at her as he looked over the gash on his midsection.

  “It’s gonna be fine.” After another beat, once he had gotten his breathing right and made sure the wound wasn’t going to kill him, he stuck out his free, freshly washed hand for a shake. He gave Trudy a big friendly, toothy, almost goofy smile.

  “It’s my great pleasure to meet you, Miss Trudy. My name is Richard Lyle.”

  * * *

  ADAM AND KATE were glued to the radio as they drove, heading back toward London, waiting to hear from Richard. They were listening to BBC reports of the bombing, desperate for some knowledge of what they had been thrown into. Billy sat quietly in the back, scared, oblivious, and unsure of what was happening, he retreated into the only place that was safe for him to go, deep into one of the many worlds of his Playstation.

  The news was still sketchy. A bomb had gone off and the prime minister was in the hospital, gravely injured. The chancellor, Georgia Turnbull, was set to speak to the press soon. That’s all anyone knew at this point. It wasn’t much. That would change quickly, Adam thought. They would be looking for an American. There would be talk of a madman, an unstable ex-cop, and then the press would have his name, Adam Tatum. It would happen soon.

  They drove in a dreary silence that was instantly interrupted when a Mercedes in the next lane over violently rammed into the driver’s side of their car. Their rental slammed two lanes across the highway, toward oncoming traffic. It was Heaton’s men. They had tracked them from the airport.

  The bald guy was driving. He rammed them again. Billy cried out from the backseat, suddenly out of his video game bubble. The Mercedes battered them again, flying ferociously into their side, pushing Adam farther into the opposite lane. With cars and trucks barreling straight on at seventy miles an hour, Adam threw the wheel left and hit the gas, scurried across the oncoming wall of wheeled missiles and the brutal symphony of horns and squealing brakes, careening toward the opposite side of the road.

  They reached the dirt shoulder by inches. It was useless to stop. The momentum carried them off the road, airborne now, flying into a field, touching down violently, instantly shooting forward. They torpedoed wildly across a young crop, tearing through the poor farmer’s neat rows at eighty miles an hour, never on all four wheels more than two seconds at a time.

  “Adam, you need to slow down,” Kate begged, her hand dug deep into the armrest. He ignored her, kept pressing on. He knew only one thing and that was that he had to get as far away from those two psychopaths as possible.

  “Daddy, please, slow down. Please, please, slow down.” His little boy was crying. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t even want to take the energy to answer. He had both of his hands and all of his concentration on the wheel as the car whipped and jumped, rumbled and roared at a dizzying speed. They finally came up to a small fence alongside of a road and he plowed through, smashing the fence, never lifting up so much as a fraction on the gas pedal.

  He climbed through a ditch and hit the back road, traveled south, turned right after a quick quarter mile and sped forward for a good ten minutes until he came to the top of a hill. The road behind him was empty. He turned into the parking lot of what appeared to be a shuttered shipping warehouse, drove behind the building, and snuck into the back lot so that he could watch the road they had just come from, down to the misty valley.

  Finally, feeling relatively safe, he turned the engine off, gave the car a break and leaned back and tried to breathe again. They sat in a languid, loaded silence. Adam had no idea what to say. At least now Kate would understand the danger he had been going on about. She couldn’t form a thought either. She was too terrified. Billy as well. He sat there in the back, wondering if this was real, waiting for his parents to speak or to wake him from his dream.

  Kate’s cell phone roused them from their collective daze.

  “It’s Richard.” She answered it.

  “You have her? Oh, thank God, Richard. Thank you so, so much.” She looked over at Adam, who let out a visible sigh of relief. She listened to what else Richard was saying, her perfect face contorting in disbelief.

  “Dear Lord, no! She attacked you with a knife? Elise? Oh my God, what is happening? What is going on?” She turned to Adam. The tears were back.

  “Tell him we need to meet up, get Trudy. We can’t go back to the airport. We have to figure something else out. Ask him if he has any idea where we can meet, safely. Tell him we’ll explain everything when we see him.” Kate nodded, went back to Richard, and repeated what Adam had said verbatim. She listened as Richard shot back with an idea.

  “Your father’s place? The mill house in Kent? Your aunt owns that, doesn’t she? Yes. Yes. I do. I do remember how to get there, I think.” She turned to Adam.

  “He has a place—technically it’s his aunt’s now, but he’s fixing it up—a mill house in the middle of nowhere, in Tunbridge Wells, near Kent.”

  “Does your father know where it is?” She thought about it. She wasn’t sure. She asked Richard. She listened while he answered, finally turning back to Adam.

  “Says it’s a shithole, he only goes there to get drunk and watch football, but no one knows it exists. Just he and his auntie, who’s in a home in Dulwich.” Adam nodded, and Kate went back to the phone call.

  “Richard, thank you so much. You’re a doll. I mean it. Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” She hung up the phone and mumbled out loud, more to herself than to him.

  “Thank God. At least there’s someone we can count on.”

  Adam wanted to take issue with that sentiment for a variety of reasons, volley back with a good strong response, but for several reasons even better he decided to let it lay.

  ON THE HUNT ■ 4

  At home in her parents’ flat in Bloomsbury, Steel was on the phone with the prosecutor of Adam Tatum’s attempted murder case. It was ten o’clock at night in London. One full week after the bombing at Number 10 there was a suspect, that was clear, but the motive was missing. Nothing seemed to make sense to her: Tatum’s involvement, Heaton’s involvement. Neither seemed to be sitting up straight yet. She wanted to download as much information from the US prosecutor as possible, learn as much about Tatum as she could.

  While she spoke, her mother brought in a pot of tea and sat across the coffee table from her in her bathrobe, listening to the whole conversation. She watched closely as Steel took notes, probed, asked more questions, and rummaged through a small mountain of papers and many more files on her laptop. It seemed all very exciting to Sheena Steel, so utterly different from her dreary life in the sandwich café.

  When Steel finally hung up, her mother sat there, beaming.

  “What’s gotten you?” Steel asked her mother playfully.

  “You’re sharp as a tack, girl, that’s a given. You could be a Georgia Turnbull yourself now, couldn’t you?”

  “That’s the last thing I’d want then, isn’t it?”

  “What? Come on, I thought you’d thought the world of Georgia Turnbull?”

  “I do, but I’d never want to be in politics.”

  “Maybe something in business then, with that head on you? Maybe you’ll be a lady of finance somewhere.” She sipped her tea and looked at her daughter, as smitten as she could be.

  “I like what I’m doing. It’s just
fine.”

  “I know that, baby. It’s just, how long can you do this kind of a thing without it, you know, getting to you? All the killings and the bombings that you’re needing to be sorting through. It’s bound to take a toll. I worry about you.”

  “Well, don’t waste the worry. I love what I do. It’s a puzzle. I’m putting the puzzles together. I enjoy it, Mum. You know I do.”

  Sheena smiled and nodded. “Tell me about this one then, this puzzle?”

  Steel looked at her sweet mum’s face. She had held her away long enough. She wanted to let her in a bit, maybe show off a little. She leaned closer.

  “I’ve just found another clue, another piece. Not sure yet where it fits. Number one, he didn’t want to kill the governor in Michigan. He never even planned on it. They didn’t know the governor was in the mansion when they broke in. He’s not a killer.”

  “Go on then.” Sheena’s eyes were wide with curiosity.

  “The whole thing was an amateur’s prank. He isn’t even close to a terrorist, this one. It was cheap theatrics. It was a misguided stunt gone bad.”

  “Then why come all the way here and place a bomb in Number 10? He obviously planned on the PM to be home, that’s for sure, and he was.” Sheena was getting into it now, loving the fact that Davina was including her.

  “Here’s the thing, Mum. All four of their plane tickets were purchased together. From here in London.”

  “So maybe someone framed him up? I like that. It’s juicy. Someone else placed the bomb and this fellow takes the fall. I saw this in a Dirk Bogarde film once.”

  “Sometimes a puzzle piece fits; sometimes you jam it in and you lose view of the bigger picture. Maybe he did try to do this. Maybe he’s just rotten to the core, or loony bin–bound. One doesn’t know until you know. It doesn’t feel like it to me, though. Why would he bring his family to London if he was coming here to murder the PM? It hints to me of another piece of the puzzle.”

  Sheena sat up. Shook her head as she thought it all through. Steel looked over to her mother who suddenly had a big silly smile on her face.

  “What’s on your mind now, you daft goofy thing?”

  “I’m just proud. That’s all, Davina, my love. As proud as any mum could ever possibly be.”

  ON THE RUN ■ 5

  The old mill house just off the Derry Road in Tunbridge Wells was easy to find. Kate spent many weekends there with Richard’s family in her late teens. It was beaten down by the years—the gardens and the lawn had long been unattended—but the old brick home with the walled courtyard seemed strong and sturdy and still had the same lulling calm. It was obvious that Richard, or someone, had been working on the place; it seemed frozen in the early stages of a renovation.

  Adam, Kate, and Billy waited a few hours for Richard and Trudy to arrive. When they finally did, Kate leapt from the car to head for Trudy; at the same time, Trudy jumped out of Richard’s car and ran to her mother. Kate pulled her in tight and cried. Adam came over, softly stroking Trudy’s back.

  “I’m so, so sorry … Mommy, Daddy, I’m so sorry.” She pulled Adam in and hugged him firmly.

  “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I feel like such an idiot.”

  “It’s okay, Trudy. You’re here with us. That’s all that matters.”

  “They used me. Used Étienne. It was all fake. It was never real. It was all a game to them, wasn’t it, Daddy?”

  “No, it wasn’t a game. This is very serious. I’m sorry that you’ve been put in the middle of it. Both of you.” He turned to Billy now, who was tightly holding his sister’s hand, listening closely, a dark look of dread on his young face.

  “We’re in a tough spot, kids. Some people have gotten me into trouble. It’s going to be okay, though. We will get through this. I just need to know that I can count on both of you to do what I say, to trust me. We need to work together. Is that clear now?” Trudy nodded. She had little doubt. Billy had more questions.

  “What about Poppa? Is he going to be safe? Are we going to see him again?” Adam looked to Kate, wondering if she wanted to take a swing at an answer. She didn’t. Adam turned back to his son.

  “I don’t know, Billy. I don’t know yet when we’ll see Poppa again. I’m sorry.”

  “Because you hate him, right? Just like Mommy has always thought, right?” Kate came over to Billy.

  “No, Billy, this isn’t about your daddy. This is about men that Poppa works with. It has nothing to do with your father’s feeling toward Poppa. Do you understand?” She tried to comfort her son, but he pulled away.

  “Yes. I understand because you’re all lying.” Trudy piped up to help her brother understand what he was hearing.

  “They’re not lying, Billy. I thought so, too, but they’re not. The men at Poppa’s company have done something really, really bad and they want everyone to think Daddy did it. Mommy and Daddy are not lying.”

  “Daddy is. Daddy’s lying. He’s a criminal. That’s why the people want to put him back in jail. He wants to blame Poppa, but he’s the criminal.”

  Billy had had enough. He turned away, ran to the back of the mill house, and started to cry. Trudy went after him, reassuring her parents.

  “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

  Adam and Kate watched them go. The children’s absence left an uncomfortable void. Kate crossed the courtyard and gave Richard Lyle a warm hug.

  “Thank you so much, Richard, thank you so, so much.” She held him close as Adam came over to thank him as well, noticing the bloodstain on his shirt. She saw the halfhearted attempt at bandages on his side through the rips in his flannel top.

  “She got me a good one. Not too deep. It’s gonna be okay. From what I can tell, she’s your daughter’s boyfriend’s mother. She didn’t seem happy that I was there to look out for her. Gave me a nice little sticking.”

  He turned to Adam and stuck out his hand. “Richard Lyle, Adam. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Adam reached over and shook Richard’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Think nothing of it, then. Seems to me like you’ve gotten yourselves in with a bad crowd.”

  Kate looked at Adam, not sure how much to say. Adam took the ball.

  “Richard, we’re in trouble. The whole family. We’re in a world of shit.”

  “Seems like it. What’d you do, rob a bank?”

  Kate hit him playfully. “Stop it. It’s no time to joke. We’re in trouble, Richard. Big trouble.”

  Adam noted how closely and comfortably Kate stood alongside Richard. He decided this wasn’t the time to be jealous or small. This man had just saved his daughter’s life.

  “It’s true. We’re in a lot of danger. I was about to get them out of the country, all three of them, but then Trudy ran off to see her boyfriend.”

  “But the mum had different plans? Sounds like she’s part of the reason you’re in danger.”

  Adam nodded in agreement. “She’s involved. Yes. The boy’s nothing more than a tool to manipulate Trudy. They’ve used her. They’ve played with Trudy from the beginning, using her to manipulate me, to get me to commit a crime.”

  Richard nodded affirmatively, even though he had no idea what they were talking about.

  “Maybe you should both come inside. I’ll open a bottle. Seems like it might help.”

  * * *

  INSIDE THE HOUSE, with the kids still outside by the mill, Adam explained what had transpired. For some reason, none of it seemed to faze Richard. Maybe the years spent bopping along through life in London, getting by nicely but never growing so tall that he had to fit in with the crowd that ran the world, left him with an innocence, a desire to believe people when they told a story. He believed Adam’s accounting. Never for a moment questioned its veracity.

  “Truth is, I’d just heard of it on the radio on the way down. Poor Lassiter. I didn’t want to dwell too long on it, what with the girl in the car. I did wonder, seeing as you had said Ad
am was at Number 10 today, if he had gotten mixed up in it, but I was thinking in terms of getting hurt or getting delayed. Wow. You really are in a bit of a wringer.”

  Adam wanted desperately not to like Richard. He wanted to confront him about e-mailing his wife, about having her over at his apartment, but he knew not only that it was absurd to think she didn’t have the right to do what she pleased, but also that he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on at the moment. He had no claim to righteousness. Richard had given them shelter in a dark hour without which Adam would have no idea where to turn. He knew that animosity toward his wife’s old boyfriend would get him nowhere fast.

  They drank some wine and talked about the security of the house. Kate went outside to check on the kids. Billy was already on to the next agenda, which was that he wanted to play on the mill wheel in the pump house by the small river out back. Normally Kate would say no—worry about the pitfalls, the danger—but today it seemed safe compared to the rest of the world. She wanted time alone with Trudy so she caved, begged him to be careful, and watched as he ran off to play, to be eight years old again, to shed the burdens of the last few hours.

  Adam hid the rental car in a field down the road behind a thick row of brush. He couldn’t take the chance that anyone already had the license plate. As he got back to the house, he saw Richard through the front window. He was on his cell phone. By the time he got back inside, Richard was finishing up a conversation with someone, not the least bit worried about Adam seeing him. He said good-bye and hung up the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  “Just a friend.” In truth it was Gordon. He was sick with worry. He had called earlier. Richard was only letting him know they were all safe now at the house, that he’d call later, once they’d calmed down. He was just trying to be a good friend and, truthfully, a good potential son-in-law if things stacked up nicely for him one day.