The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3)

by Philip J. Gould

  Sophie dropped the gun to the floor where it clattered and bounced harmlessly to the side.

  “Sophie! Please wait,” implored Emily, standing up and making to go after the invisible woman, not knowing exactly which direction to turn.

  “I... I can’t,” Sophie replied dejectedly. “If I go with them, they’ll stick me in a cage and dissect me like a lab-rat; I’ll be dead within a matter of weeks. This is the only way,” she said pragmatically, adding, “the only way to be of any use in getting Meredith and my brothers back.”

  Emily turned her head in the direction of Sophie’s voice. She was now close to the door. A double-bleep as Sophie used her ID card on the security pad confirmed it. The door glided open.

  “You don’t have to go with them!” spouted Emily desperately. “They can’t arrest you... Ryan and the Chief sorted it. You have Absolute Immunity, as prescribed by the Home Secretary. You have been completely exonerated of any wrong doing, and as such cannot be held accountable in any court of law. I did try to say... before you went all schizoid.”

  At first, Sophie said nothing. Emily believed the young woman had not listened and instead had vacated the room. The door slipped quietly closed.

  “A’you sure?” Sophie quizzed close by, uncertain. However, she had never known Emily to lie to her. She reappeared by the woman’s side.

  Emily exhaled in relief. “I have the signed affidavit here.” Emily turned away, stepped around Mullins who was still lying on the floor out cold, and walked to her desk. Brayden was now standing up and shaking his head. “You see, we had expected this day would come... sooner or later,” she said with conviction.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Meredith

  Her surroundings were unfamiliar. Lying on a strange bed in an almost empty, windowless room, it took Meredith a long moment to gain her wits and start to fathom what had become of her.

  An overhead fluorescent tube burned brightly, illuminating the space around her, allowing the ten-year-old to see that her two brothers were also with her. Both appeared to be asleep on separate beds.

  “Stanley?” Meredith spoke in a hushed tone and sat up, a wave of dizziness forcing her to immediately fall back, her head hitting the pillow hard, but cushioned.

  “Erghhh.” Stanley groaned but didn’t move. There were three single beds in the room, placed alongside each other with a couple of feet gap between them. Stanley was in the middle with Meredith to his right and Charlie to the left.

  Without speaking, Charlie rolled over and fell out of the bed, quickly picking himself up. Seeing his sister attempting to sit, he ran around the beds, seeking comfort.

  “Where are we, Mer?” asked the five-year-old. He hadn’t felt this confused since awaking for the first time at Grandpa Theo’s house, the day after his parents had gone away; that had been what Theo had told him, temporarily shielding him from the harsh truth.

  Meredith swung her legs off the bed and made to stand. Before her feet could take her weight, giddiness off-balanced her and she allowed herself to drop back down, the springs giving her rump a little bounce and creaking in protest. “I don’t know,” she muttered. Blinking hard, trying to clear her head, Meredith tried to make sense of what was going on. She clawed at her memories, seeking answers to their current situation.

  The last thing she could recall was being seated around a dinner table with her family on New Year’s Eve. Sophie had been there, as were Ryan and Emily. They’d eaten their dinner and had started the dessert...

  Outstretching his arms, Charlie reached up to Meredith, an action that meant he was seeking a cuddle. Frequently since their mother had died, he gravitated to his sister for comfort, unofficially making her an unwitting guardian. Obligingly, as always, Meredith swept her youngest brother up in an embrace.

  “Where ARE we?” Stanley was now awake and sitting in his bed. A puzzled look was stretched across his face.

  Ignoring the question, Meredith put Charlie to one side, stood up and crossed the room to the door. Twisting the silver doorknob, she was unsurprised to find it locked, the round door furnishing allowed no give or movement.

  “Where’s grandpa?” Charlie was at Meredith’s side, watching his sister desperately seeking a way out of the room.

  “I don’t know,” Meredith replied distractedly to both questions, her attention shifting from the door to a small CCTV camera in the corner on the opposite side of the room, affixed to the ceiling on a ball-and-socket bracket.

  Sluggishly, she walked away from Charlie to stand beneath the camera, her frame in clear view of the lens. Studying the security equipment, Meredith could see that it had a built-in microphone and that it was in operation. A small dot of red light to the side of the camera’s housing glowed subtly.

  “Hello!” Meredith double-waved at the eye-in-the-ceiling. “Where are we?! What do you want?!”

  Stanley and Charlie quickly joined their sister beneath the camera and started to signal with their hands and arms also, shouting at the device a mixture of demands and requests, their voices intermingled and desperate:

  “Help us!”

  “What do you want with us?!”

  “Let us out!”

  “You can’t keep us here! I know our rights!”

  After a long, slow two minutes without a response, Meredith sat down on the end of a bed, her brothers continuing to scream for attention. “It’s no use,” she said miserably. “They’re not listening to us.”

  “Help!” Charlie cried one last time, before sitting at his sister’s side.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Stanley anxiously, stepping in front of the older girl. “Why are we here? What do they want?”

  Meredith shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied, sounding small. She guessed it had something to do with what had happened to their mother and father, and most likely involved the girl she had once believed lived in her mirror.

  Devoid of natural light, clocks, watches and television, the three children had little − or no − concept of time, except for the growing hunger that snarled within their bellies. More than three hours had passed since they’d given up trying to gain attention, and with nothing to do for entertainment, except for one game of eye-spy (eye-spy with my little eye, something beginning with the letter ‘b’; err, is it bed?), they lay on their beds, whiling away the time by conjuring pleasant thoughts.

  The metallic sound of a lock being disengaged at the door brought the children swiftly to their feet. The silver knob was turned and the door gently opened inwards to allow a woman wheeling a trolley laden with food to enter.

  Meredith recognised her as the waitress serving dinner the night before at her grandfather’s house. She was still wearing the black and white maid’s outfit. “You!” she accused. “Where are we?! What have you done with my family?!” Meredith made herself look big and readied to charge at the newcomer.

  The woman closed the door behind her and withdrew a handgun from beneath her apron. “Uh-uh,” she shook her head, waving the small black weapon from side to side, pointing it towards the ten-year-old. Meredith had no doubt from the way she looked that the woman wouldn’t hesitate to use it. “Now, sit! Enough belly-aching!” One handed, the woman pushed the trolley deeper into the room, her other hand still clutched around the handgrip of the gun.

  Meredith sat back down, intuitively raising her hands in surrender.

  “To answer your question, you’re in ‘sunny Scotland’; albeit on an uninhabited island far from civilisation,” the woman replied. “Don’t worry; no one will be able to find you here.”

  Meredith and Stanley shared a worried look. Hearts were sinking.

  “I’ve brought you some breakfast and lunch...” She lifted a metal plate cover to assess the meagre offerings. She replaced the cover and said: “I hope
you like Scottish food. We’ve got plenty of haggis for later.”

  Although haggis made Charlie wrinkle his nose, the offer of food emboldened the older of the two boys. If their captors meant to feed them, it was hardly likely they were in any imminent danger. “Why have you done this? Why are we here?” demanded Stanley, bitterness creeping into his voice. “What have you done with grandpa and the others?!”

  The woman lowered the gun slightly, but it was still aimed perilously towards the children. “I should be more concerned about what’s going to become of you,” she retorted menacingly. “But, to answer one question. Your grandpa is okay... and most of the others.” Although she said nothing about shooting Ryan, the tone she used implied an ill-fate had met someone.

  “What do you want with us?!” demanded Meredith. “We’re just kids.”

  “Are we going to die?” piped up Charlie.

  The woman smiled warily. It looked more like a sneer. “Leverage,” she said to Meredith, then tilting her head to one side to address Charlie, “and no... you’re not going to die... IF our plans are carried out. Now, get your food whilst it’s not too cold.” She walked away from the trolley back to the door, tucking the gun away under the apron. As she exited the room, she muttered: “Enjoy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  POTUS

  “Happy New Year Mr President...” Deputy Director Milo Calland made for the vacant seat opposite Avery Harrison ahead of the Resolute Desk within the Oval Office. His good mood was quickly quashed.

  Already in attendance were the President’s Chief of Staff, the Director of CIA Thawn Montgomery, General Bill Eastman and the Director of FBI, Elizabeth Reeves, amongst others less notable. The President was a little peeved at the Deputy’s frequent tardiness.

  “Sit,” President Harrison ordered, not in the mood for small talk.

  The morning had been full of drama, the very least being news of the multiple-organised heists occurring in Scotland late the night before, where some $60 million worth of American assets had been stolen.

  The President stood up from his leather chair, making himself look even more imposing as Milo sat down, feeling small and inadequate. “I’ve just been talking with the British Prime Minister, David Humphries,” he started, a smile threatening to appear on his lips. “It turns out the British Home Office knew of her whereabouts all along.” He was implying Sophie Jennings, the elusive young woman who he personally blamed for the atrocities carried out at Area 51 in October, although his suspicions were under heavy scrutiny and now proving to be false. A short time before making the call, an event involving Agent Brayden Scott and Special Agent Christina Mullins had been reported, motivating the President into contacting his British counterpart to demand some answers.

  “That’s outrageous!” bellowed the General. “That’s a violation of the Peace Treaty?” Bill Eastman was referring to a treaty signed by the United States of America and Great Britain at the end of the American Revolutionary War in 1783. He often spouted legal doctrine to highlight a point. The President gestured for the General to simmer.

  “Let’s keep a cool head,” suggested the Chief of Staff.

  “I hear you Bill,” President Harrison acknowledged the General. “Not only that, Humphries tells me they have her listed as a SIS agent, and that she has been granted absolute immunity.” He said it haughtily. “Apparently she has special clearance within the agency.”

  “Then, the British were complicit with her actions,” stated Director Montgomery. “A deliberate act of aggression of such magnitude is surely an act of war?”

  “Sir, we should respond decisively. Militarily, we have forces on mainland Britain who could strike within minutes.” General Eastman, military advisor to the President was leaning forward, an excited expression filling his face. He was a Republican and firmly believed armed conflict solved every argument.

  President Harrison sat down in his seat. “Calm down General, just listen; let’s not be too hasty.” He sighed in resignation. “Humphries denies vehemently and unequivocally that Great Britain had anything to do with the attack on our airbase, and... I now believe him. Agent Brayden corroborates his position. He’s learned that Dominic Schilling appears to have masterminded the entire event, albeit with help from a rogue MI6 agent named Sir Marty Heywood − the man it would seem who put Mitch Youngs up to killing George Jennings.

  “The Prime Minister said he’d already willingly given us access to all that British Intelligence had on the incident, and our agents are still on site completing their enquiries. Although they are a little aggrieved as you can expect.”

  “What about the reports of the ‘invisible force’ fighting against our soldiers within the underground laboratory? There’s only one person with that capability.” Milo Calland had received reports from a number of witnesses of the incident, and more than half a dozen had indicated a phantom adversary. “It can’t be a coincidence surely?”

  President Harrison shrugged. “Mass hysteria? Over-imagination? Who knows? I know one thing: there’s no such thing as coincidence. The fact is, we have no proof the Jennings girl was involved. Sure, there were some strange occurrences at the base, but we have nothing concrete, no hard facts or compelling evidence that we can trust. Just speculations, conjecture and hearsay. None of which would be admissible in a court of law.”

  “But then, if she’s invisible, there wouldn’t be, would there?” asserted the General, a hint of sarcasm and dissent in his tone.

  “So... we’ve been barking up the wrong tree, sir?” asked Elizabeth Reeves, feeling a little left out of the conversation.

  “I didn’t say that.” The President shut her down. “For now, we have to go along with it. Bide our time. The Prime Minister has totally ruled out extraditing Sophie Jennings, and even if he so wished, he cited that the ‘absolute immunity’ granted her prohibits them from doing so. However,” he smiled slyly, “Were an opportunity to arise whereby she comes into our custody willingly, that ‘absolute immunity’ order would become irrelevant.”

  The President’s senior advisors sat around the table taking turns to look at each other as what the American leader was alluding to sunk in.

  There was willingly, and there was willingly. The CIA had different understandings on how to interpret the word.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emily

  The CIA agent had stormed out of the office, a hand still nursing the side of his head where Sophie had fired Mullins’ gun, and a few curses being shouted as he went. A bitter exchange of words had passed between him and Emily before he threw up his hands in anger and made the decision to leave.

  Special Agent Mullins was still in Ryan’s SIS control room, the signed affidavit resting loosely in her hands. She had read and reread it countless times since being handed the document two minutes earlier.

  “This is only valid in the UK,” Mullins said, applying her own understanding of the law to the situation, which was exceptional but often bent to her own aspirations.

  “And where do you think you are, Special Agent?” asked Emily self-righteously, “back home in America? This isn’t Arkansas!”

  “I’m from Connecticut,” Mullins corrected, screwing her face up into a sneer. “Sophie will be made to account for her part in the crimes undertaken in America last year,” she said, knowingly. “That’s a promise.”

  Emily made no attempt at replying, her obstinate expression and folded arms conveying her riposte clearly enough.

  Mullins thrust the legal document back into Emily’s hands and left the office in a huff.

  “Wow!” Standing up from hiding behind his desk in the background, Mac, made his presence known. “You could cut the atmos with a knife!” he sounded exhilarated. “Did I just see that? Is she still here?”

  “I’m here.” Sophie reappeared beside the analyst, startl
ing him.

  “Jeez! You should wear a bell or somethin’,” he complained, a hand involuntarily clutching his chest as though experiencing a mild heart attack. “I heard about what you could do... but, seeing... wow! Puts a whole different perspec’ on it.”

  Ignoring Mac, Sophie sat down on the edge of a desk. “You okay?”

  The colour had drained from Emily’s face and she was physically shaking. She removed her spectacles and gave them a wipe with the lower part of her white blouse, exhaling deeply. “That could’ve gone better,” she said, implying their encounter with the two American agents. “They had me worried for a sec. I hate conflict.”

  “Forget them,” Sophie said, a hand reaching over to her friend, offering comfort. “We have more pressing matters.” She allowed the woman to calm a little, before adding: “So, what now?”

  Fully composing herself, Emily brightened. “We get off our backsides and set to work,” she said. “It’s more than a coincidence that your brothers and sister are taken, Ryan gets shot, and the massive theft-fest with what appears to be ‘invisible’ perpetrators all happening on the same night.”

  “Okay. That’s the obvious bit. But where do we start?”

  Emily inclined her neck and turned her head away from Sophie to face the garishly-dressed agent standing a short way over. “Mac, if you have no intention of going home to get changed, you can at least make yourself useful,” she started. “I want to know everything about those robberies occurring in Scotland last night; find out what was stolen, where most of the thefts took place. See if there are any patterns, anything that might strike you as odd. It’s New Year’s Day... see if there is a convergence of heavy traffic in any one area that stands out... roads should be quiet north of the border the day after Hogmanay.”