Dominic allowed silence to descend upon the room. His audience made no sound. It was as though he was addressing a gathering of shop-floor mannequins.
Maxi raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Well then... I’ll leave you to it. At ease.”
The dormitory sprung to life as all ninety boys started talking once again and moving about the room freely.
Dominic patted Maxi on the shoulders twice, before leaving his hand to rest there for a long moment. “I want them ready in two months,” he said seriously.
“Ready? Ready for what?” enquired the Filipino.
“Everything and anything; but mostly violence and chaos,” replied Dominic cryptically. “Have fun.”
“Are yous sure of ya-self Dom’nic Schillin’?” Elspeth was standing in a corridor outside the dorm-room, her arms folded beneath the rise of her breasts. She wore a serious look and her eyes were hard and flint-like.
“What’s wrong?” Dominic looked like a kid’s football coach with the silver whistle still hanging around his neck.
“Yous! That’s what’s wrong! Ya take me for a dunderheid!” Elspeth spoke angrily.
Dominic didn’t understand. He shook his head. “What’s happened? Why the hostility?”
“When wis you gonna tell me aboot the hijacking? Yer fizzog’s all over the papers... an’ in the news; the Americans has ya on their mos’ wan’ed list... What’s you bin draggin’ us in ta?”
“When did you get the chance to see the news?” Dominic spoke in an amused tone.
“There’s a toaty t’ing called a telephone... p’raps you’ve heard of them? Aye, twas Dougal who tol’ me... They’re sayin’ ya also involved with killin’ that scientist guy... George Jennings.”
“Ellie... everything I told you before I arrived has not changed. Most of what Dougal’s heard is lies; they’re saying I hijacked a plane and took 256 hostages. I didn’t. Sure, I took a plane... but only the one hostage. And he was the pilot, but that was all part of an elaborate plan. Everyone else on board you’ll find here... and they weren’t passengers.”
“Where’s t’ pilot noo?”
“Safe... a bit fuzzy headed and a little concussed, but he’ll live. As for George Jennings... how was I supposed to kill him? Even the stupidest person should work out that there was no way I could travel to Cuba from Washington, kill the man, and then get to Los Angeles to steal a plane; not in the timeframe being indicated. They’ll be claiming I have the ability to fly AND shoot lightning bolts from my backside next!”
“There’s nah need to be reekbeek,” said Elspeth meekly.
Dominic tenderly placed his hands on Elspeth’s shoulders. “Believe me Ellie. You’re in no danger here. I would never see any harm come to you.”
Elspeth leaned forward so that Dominic’s hands could slip beyond her back, and descended into his chest, burying her head in the crook of an arm. She casually snaked her hands to the back of his body. “I b’lieve you, Dom...” she said softly. “But please tell us, why here? Why me?”
Dominic planted a gentle kiss on Elspeth’s ginger head. “Because I... like you,” he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard. “And... I needed someone to trust.” he said.
“What aboot Jennifer Ratcliff? Aren’t you and her...”
Dominic sighed. It was true. Complicated, but true. He and Jennifer had been intimate. Many times. But the truth was, he was fonder of her than she was of him. He was just a plaything to her... something she was happy to use when the mood suited and dispose of thereafter. Jennifer’s denial that he had been Director of Security and Intelligence at Kaplan Ratcliff was simple proof of that; although he knew she had her reasons, he wished she could have come to his defence. But that wasn’t how Jennifer Ratcliff operated. It was a thing she would call self-preservation.
“Once,” replied Dominic after a long pause. “Now... she’s just a means to an end.”
“An end?” Elspeth was looking up from below Dominic’s chin.
“Yes. An amazing, wondrous end,” he said in a bewildered tone. “I promise.” For the slightest second, thoughts strayed back to July in London, and the Whisper of Persia came to mind.
Chapter Eleven
Emily
“I’ve missed you...” Emily sounded sad and spoke tiredly. “Being back behind a desk in dreary England is soul-destroying. It’s mostly been raining since I’ve been back,” she continued. “You and Washington, it feels like a lifetime ago.” Emily was in her kitchen, the cordless phone propped up between her left shoulder and ear whilst she spooned out cat food from a tin into a ceramic bowl. Circling her feet was a young tabby cat that meowed every few seconds, despite knowing that she was about to be fed.
After informing Ryan that she had deciphered the code, Emily had insisted that she would pass on the information to Sophie herself, a deed that hadn’t proved simple. Within the office her call had gone to voicemail twice. On the second attempt she left a message asking for the younger woman to call her back.
It was whilst she was in the midst of feeding her cat − Sally − that Sophie returned her call.
“Any joy with the code?” Sophie skipped the small talk. She sounded weary at the other end; her voice was barely recognisable. Emily guessed that the death of her father had something to with that.
“Yes, it was quite easy. Your father has a safety locker at Fresno Yosemite International Airport. The number 8-8-0-5-1 is the combination code.”
“Okay, genius... but I assume there’s more than one locker there. Which one is my father’s?”
Emily didn’t much like Sophie’s tone. Ignoring it, she picked up the cat bowl and placed it down next another containing water in front of the kitchen cupboard below the sink. With the cat no longer bothering her, she transferred the phone to her hand and left the kitchen in favour of her living room. She made herself comfortable on a sofa, tucking her legs up beneath her.
“Well... that wasn’t so simple. I shan’t bore you with all the details.”
“No?”
Emily further ignored the note of sarcasm in Sophie’s voice. What is wrong with you? she thought. Sophie was really off with her.
“The locker number is 3-3-1-1. Listen... I’m sorry about your father. I mean...” What could I say? she thought. “I should’ve listened to you and insisted on helping to find him... instead of, you know...”
Sophie didn’t respond to Emily’s platitudes, instead sounded preoccupied. “Hold on... let me write... that down.” The phone line went quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m back. You know... it’s an amazing coincidence that my father dies the same night I learn of his whereabouts. Uncanny, really.”
Emily didn’t understand what Sophie was suggesting. “What are you saying?”
“I found Mitch Youngs. He told me why he did it; why he killed my father.”
“Oh. What did he say? Is... is he dead?”
Sophie sighed. “No,” she said sadly. “A little concussed, but he’s going to wish he was. Barry’s gifting him to the Americans at Guantanamo Bay as we speak. I hope they’re as hospitable to him as they were to my father. But, first he was most forthcoming. I asked him why? Why did he kill him? He just said he was following orders...”
“Yes... we know that. Marty Heywood gave him the instructions.”
“It wasn’t Marty, Emily; it was Ryan,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “It was Ryan who ordered the hit! He probably killed Marty too, to try and mask his tracks and cover it up.”
“What are you saying? That Ryan is to blame?” Emily was shaking her head. “No, uh-uh. You’re wrong. I know he blames your father for Clara, but what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. And ask yourself, why now?”
“Simple: he didn’t want to lose me to George, so he got to him first. For him, I’m som
eone to replace Clara, someone he can dote on as he grows old; someone to cling to.” It didn’t truly sound plausible, but Sophie didn’t stop. “He says he’s my grandfather. That he might be, but you don’t go killing members of family, or seeing harm come to them. No matter what...”
“I know Ryan, he’s honourable. I assure you, he didn’t do it. If he wanted your father dead − and I know, he does blame him for Clara’s death − he wouldn’t get someone else to do it. He’d do it himself!”
Sophie considered her response. Seeming not to have listened to Emily’s argument, Sophie spoke further: “The question bugging my mind is: did you know about it too? After all, back in Washington you pretty much sided with Ryan from the get-go; you never gave any consideration to what I needed or wanted to do.”
“That’s not fair! You know it made better sense to put a stop to GYGES first. You aren’t being rational.”
“Rational? And look how being rational has ended up. Dominic going AWOL with a third of the children and my father DEAD!”
“So-phie,” there was pleading in Emily’s voice. “I swear! I knew nothing about the plot to kill your father. And I know Ryan had nothing to do with it either!” Emily’s voice had taken on a vehement pitch.
“We’ll see,” Sophie replied ominously, and hung up.
Chapter Twelve
Sophie
“All set?” Sophie was standing by a row of payphones to the far side of the airport’s waiting area having just finished with her call to Emily, her hand luggage at her feet. Barry had returned, looking very hot, but relieved that he was back. She felt uneasy, and a little guilty for the way she had ended the call, and the way she had spoken to her friend. She didn’t mean to accuse Emily of conspiring against her. It was the grief of losing her father and the anger bubbling up inside.
It was at José Martí International Airport that Barry had left her three hours earlier, transporting Mitch Youngs (still unconscious) to the American base at the south of the island. He had now returned and on approaching, Sophie could see that he was brandishing a pair of tickets for the return trip to Miami.
“We’re booked in Business Class,” said Barry, “the only seats available on the next scheduled flight.”
Sophie shrugged. She couldn’t care less. “Did the Americans like your gift?” She reached down to her backpack and hoisted it up to her shoulder. Together they started walking casually towards the departure lounge for the Sun Country Airlines flight to Miami.
“I guess. I didn’t stick around long enough for the reward or a thank you card. I’ll be glad when this is all over...”
“I doubt it’ll ever truly be over,” said Sophie glumly, almost with foreknowledge.
“You know what I mean,” grumbled Barry. “All this; all what we’ve done over the past couple of days.” He looked downcast and a little glum.
“What’s wrong?”
“In the car, on the way back, I couldn’t stop thinking about all those kids, the ones on the helicopters.” He shook his head miserably. “They didn’t have to die.”
Sophie looked momentarily distant, as though grappling with an uncomfortable thought. Finally, she voiced it: “Whilst you were away, I couldn’t help thinking exactly the opposite, about the kids that got off the helicopter; the ones that Dominic now has.”
“Oh?”
“I’m actually wondering whether we made a huge mistake keeping them alive, and that Ryan had been right to order their deaths all along. I have this terrible feeling that whatever Dominic has planned for them, it’s not going to be good.”
“I guess we will find out soon enough,” opined Barry.
They stopped at a sectioned-off corridor that zigzagged towards a security checkpoint having walked the short distance across the airport’s terminal building. Beyond the checkpoint was an x-ray scanner and half a dozen armed officers waiting for them to pass through, mean and menacing-looking.
“No doubt,” replied Sophie. “But for now, we have an errand to attend.”
“Oh?”
Sophie recounted the conversation she’d had with Emily just before he had arrived. “She deciphered my father’s code,” she said off-hand, retrieving her passport (in the name of her alias, Sophie Mason) and holding it ready for inspection. “The number is a combination code for a locker at Fresno Airport.”
“Fresno? If I’d known, I could’ve booked tickets to LA... would’ve saved time and money.”
“Doesn’t matter; we’ll get connecting flights,” asserted Sophie. “Besides, we need the things we left in the SUV,” indicating her serum, “anyway; Emily was able to locate the locker number.”
They arrived at the security checkpoint and Sophie waved her British passport and travel documents frivolously, like she had no cares in the world.
The Cuban security guard checked Sophie’s visa cursorily without a word before stamping the passport and swiftly handing it back. Barry, close behind, had his passport scrutinised more thoroughly, the guard checking and double-checking the photograph on the passport up against the man standing in front of him. After a long moment, the guard stamped the passport and handed it back. He urged him to move on with the wave of the back of his hand.
Passing through the ‘step-through’ metal detectors, their hand luggage drawing no attention, they were safely clear of security. On the other side, Sophie continued updating Barry on her latest development:
“All we need to retrieve what my father intended for me is to go to Fresno Airport, locate the locker, and key in the code.”
“Sounds simple,” suggested Barry, slightly scornfully.
“Knowing our luck, it’s likely a trap,” replied Sophie flippantly. She tried to smile; tried to lighten the mood. “We’ve got an hour to kill; come... let’s treat me to some duty free...”
“All well and good if you like cigars,” mumbled Barry, following her into the shopping area of the departure lounge.
Two-and-a-half hours later the Sun Country Airlines flight from Havana landed at Miami International Airport. The actual flight only lasted fifty-seven minutes, but it felt longer owing to the cramped aircraft cabin and the lack of any refreshments. It was close to midnight when they reunited themselves with the silver SUV parked within the airport’s long-stay car park.
“Take everything you need or want to keep; everything else − including the guns − we’ll need to abandon.” The boot door to the SUV was pulled up and Sophie was leaning in for her holdall. Unzipping the large sports bag, she rifled through the clothing, re-discovering her Glock handguns. She lifted one up just high enough for Barry to see.
“Shame about these though,” she whispered sadly. “I’ve grown quite fond of them.”
“I’ll buy you a new pair when we’re back in London,” said Barry, as though discussing footwear or sunglasses. “Come... let’s be quick.” The car park was full of cars and empty of people, but Barry couldn’t pretend that he didn’t feel nervous and exposed. Dotted around were CCTV security cameras. He knew that Sophie was still being sought by the authorities, and couldn’t be certain that there wasn’t a warrant for his arrest also.
Ruefully, Sophie put aside the guns, zipped up the sports holdall and carried it out. She slammed the door closed. “What time’s the flight?”
“Half-six in the morning,” said Barry tiredly. “We’ll doss down for the night in the airport.”
“Doss down?” She had never before heard the expression.
“Yes. Sleep it rough. There may be someplace we can go grab a bite to eat, though unlikely at this hour.”
“You really know how to impress a girl,” muttered Sophie, walking away with her backpack flung over her right shoulder and her holdall slightly off-balancing her, gripped in her left hand.
“Chivalry has always been one of my stronger points.” Bar
ry countered, smiling.
“Clearly.”
Unsurprisingly the domestic departure lounge at 12:30 a.m. was practically deserted. A cleaner on a ride-on scrubber drove around the large hall washing the black Terrazo floor tiles that decorated the airport, manoeuvring the small vehicle around corners before completing the journey back-and-forth several times over, cleaning and polishing. A quick survey of the room confirmed that there were no shopping or recreational facilities open at such a late hour, which included places to eat or drink.
Disheartening them both, supper consisted of bags of Cheetos and Planters Peanuts, washed down with cans of coke. Afterwards, Sophie used a washroom to freshen up and change from her turquoise flower dress into denim jeans and a white loose-fitting T-shirt. Barry managed to find sleep stretched across four padded seats.
Morning and the flight to Fresno Yosemite International Airport came about slowly for Sophie. Barry was still asleep when the first call for passengers was announced over the public address system. Despite the number of people arriving in the departure lounge, and the increasing noise level, it took a hard shove to wake Barry.
“Rise and shine.”
“Wah...” Barry swung his legs out and sat up. “I wasn’t asleep.” Bones cracked as he stretched out his arms and arched his back.
Half an hour before the flight was due to take off, the boarding gate was opened and Barry and Sophie sauntered towards the security guard manning the entry point.
“Identification and boarding passes please?” the guard on the desk requested. He was not much older than Barry, but had slightly longer and darker hair. Sophie noted that he had bright bluey-green eyes that sparkled and which she found herself magnetically drawn to. “Ma’am?”
Sophie’s cheeks reddened as she realised that she had been staring. “Sure... sorry... I didn’t mean to gawp. Here.”
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 8