Another half an hour or so went by and Stanley returned, similarly fresh and attired as Charlie. Natasha was escorting him this time, relieving Hector from the task to go and answer a phone call.
“Meredith. Now your turn...” said the woman Charlie had nicknamed ‘Scarier.’
Meredith had still been pacing when the sound of the door being unlocked filled the room once again. She was on the far side of the room, a step away from the slosh bucket when the woman had reappeared. Although relieved − or would be when she had been to the toilet − for a change of scene, something about the way the woman stared at her made her nervous.
“Come on, I ain’t got all day!” Natasha did not hide her impatience and tapped her foot in agitation.
“I am!” Meredith back-answered. She grabbed Stanley’s hand as she passed and gently squeezed it. He squeezed back for reassurance.
“That’s right, sweetie. Say goodbye to your sister,” The woman mocked menacingly.
In the corridor, Natasha halted Meredith with a tug at her arm whilst she locked the door behind her. The ten-year-old looked over her shoulder, peering beyond the woman down the length of the corridor, which appeared brighter than usual. Before she realised the source of the light, her escort shoved her in the back, forcing her forward. “Well, move then!” Natasha ordered.
At first Meredith couldn’t move, her gaze transfixed on the natural light that entered through the opening at the end of the corridor. Focusing on it she could see what looked like grey sky beyond the doorway, with a frothy-white and grey skirt undulating beneath it.
The woman raised her hand threateningly. “I said move!” she snarled.
Meredith turned away and pushed forward reluctantly. A second nudge from behind made the young girl look back angrily. “I’m going!” she hissed.
She needed little encouragement, knowing the direction of the ‘twalk’ from memory. It was now possible, she thought, to negotiate the way in the dark from memory alone; the excursion took them past five doors on one side of the corridor and six others on the opposite before branching left at the end. The bathroom facilities were just a little way further ahead.
At the door, she glanced to her left, her eyes following the passage which continued a similar length to the one she’d just trudged.
“Wash and shower. There are clothes on the chair.” The door to the bathroom opened out into the corridor. Natasha twisted the silver knob and pulled it open; it swung gently away from her, the hinges to her left. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes to collect you.”
“Pity,” muttered Meredith, stepping into the drably-painted room. She glanced around the familiar four walls, observed the lack of fixtures and fittings adorning the plain white tiled surfaces, unchanged from previous visits. Behind her, the woman closed and locked the door.
Above the sink was a mirror screwed into the wall. She quietly studied her reflection, noting how tired and haggard she looked and how lacklustre and lifeless her dark-blonde hair appeared. Forsaking herself for a moment, her eyes surveyed the area of the mirror surrounding her, searching for something, for −
− someone...
“Sophie,” she whispered. “Where are you?” Meredith half-expected/half-hoped to see her sister appear in the mirror, like the girl had all of those magical times in the antique mirror, placed above her dresser in the old house when she’d first discovered her, when she believed the girl to be just a ghost.
This had been before they’d moved to Willoughby Rising; Sophie had appeared much younger then.
Now, Sophie was a woman having aged rapidly during the relatively short time she’d known her. Meredith didn’t really understand it all, only that her father had done something to make it happen.
Unsurprisingly, Sophie’s image did not appear alongside her own, and thoughts of her father surfaced, forcing sombre memories upon her.
“No Sophie,” she said, feeling dismal. “No dad. No mum. You’re all gone.” The realisation stung like a slap and she flinched from its force and started to sob.
Meredith undressed quickly, turned on the shower and stepped into a glassed-off cubical, its swing-door gently closed behind her. The gush of hot spray felt refreshing and almost pleasant against her cool skin. Closing her eyes, it was easy to almost forget where she was. Soon the misery that had engulfed her moments before, and her tears blending in with the jet of water from the shower, dissipated.
Bottles of shampoo and shower gel were affixed to the wall within push-button dispensers and Meredith helped herself to each in good measure, washing herself from head to toe thoroughly, lathering herself up and scrubbing, raking her fingernails across her skin. Feeling relaxed as she washed the soap away from her body, she pulled the shower head down from its bracket and held it in one hand. Now serene, she asked herself one simple question:
What would Sophie do?
Of course, Meredith knew she wasn’t Sophie, and without any of her wondrous abilities she never would be, but a strange, exciting thought entered the ten-year-old’s head.
“I can do it,” she said softly, steel in her voice, accepting the idea as though it had been planted divinely. Were she to have studied her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin at that precise moment, she would have seen determination simmering within her eyes, staring back at her.
“I WILL do it!”
The shower disguised her voice, but even had it not, no one was nearby to hear it. Unbeknownst to her, the facility within which she was being held was almost deserted, and the hundred-plus inhabitants away. They were following orders that she was earmarked to play a small, but integral part in.
She stepped out of the shower, reached for a plain white towel, and dabbed herself dry, prolonging the moment.
As Natasha had mentioned on arrival, there was clothing on the chair. Like Charlie and Stanley before, matching sweatshirt and tracksuit trouser combos had been selected for her; someone unimaginative had gone shopping, most likely a man (Hector), and probably at Primark. He’d spared the expense. Unlike Charlie and Stanley, footwear had been left out for her (white unbranded trainers), as well as a red padded winter coat, one with a fur-lined hood.
Instead of questioning the choice laid out before her, she embraced it, dressing hurriedly. She was sure that her twenty minutes were over and willed the woman to hurry up and return.
As Meredith zipped up her coat, the telltale hint that the woman was back sounded from outside the door.
Jangling keys.
As Natasha swiftly inserted the key into the door’s lock and placed a hand on the metal knob, Meredith quickly moved into position. When the door opened slightly, without thinking and on cue, Meredith launched herself.
The run-up provided the momentum needed to propel the door fully open, knocking Natasha completely over with a jumping kick, using her shock to gain the advantage. Bursting from the bathroom, she hurtled down the corridor in a sprint, turning onto the main stretch where she quickly counted down the doors as she passed.
Five on one side, six on the other.
They all looked the same; plain, solid, unmarked and unidentifiable. After the fifth door, she knew the next door led into the room within which her brothers were still being detained.
Looking at the lock, Meredith’s heart sank. The keyhole was there, but the key was not. With false hope, she tried the handle.
The door didn’t budge.
Behind her, the woman had regained her composure and was running after her.
“YOU! COME BACK HERE!!” she screamed pointlessly.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said to her brothers, leaving the door and charging off towards the exit at the end of the corridor, beyond which was the great outdoors and (she perceived) freedom. I’ll send help, she told herself, making the decision to abandon Stanley and Charlie mor
e bearable, giving it necessity.
Arriving at the end of the corridor, Meredith crashed into the door, throwing her full weight against the metal in tandem with her flailing hand that slammed down on the handle. She was sure it was going to be locked; expected it.
Satisfyingly, it wasn’t, and the cold, murky, outside welcomed her with promises of salvation and hope.
Meredith didn’t know what to expect as she jogged further out, stopping briefly to consider her options. It was drizzling, but the weather hardly mattered and didn’t hamper her.
Ahead, she could see the sea between a number of ramshackle cottages in various states of repair, and over the top of a sandy hillock in the short distance beyond the cottages; a dirty dishwater grey, waves undulating and crashing against a narrow jetty that stretched out like an admonishing finger. A small fishing boat was moored to it, offering a glimmer of hope.
Behind her, the door crashed open loudly, Natasha spilling out, off-balanced. She sprawled to the ground, screaming: “Meredith! COME HERE!!” sounding like a witch in a Grimms’ fairy tale.
Throwing a look back over her shoulder, Meredith saw the anger in the woman’s eyes, and something else.
Fear.
Whilst considering her pursuer, she briefly noticed the building from which she had escaped. A large, windowless construction that looked almost alien and positively out of place within the setting, positioned as it was in the gardens of the row of old cottages that sprawled along an ancient cobbled road. She thought it looked a bit like a warehouse, the type often seen placed around the quayside of busy container ports.
It was black, matching her thoughts, and oppressive, like the designs of her captors.
Galvanised, Meredith ran towards the cottages, heading for a sizeable gap that fell between two where once another cottage had stood; crumbling brick and stones were all that remained, crunching under foot amidst nettles and sandy loam. The roar of the sea was loud, and she was soon clear of the buildings, bounding for the mound that had been originally designed and placed to provide a defence against flooding and a bit of a buffer from the harsh winds that battered the island, although she was not aware she was on an island − not just then − and had no thoughts as to which direction she should go; all she knew was she had to keep moving. She had to get away and get help − for her AND for her brothers’ sakes.
“HECTOR!” The woman yelled for her companion who, unknown to Meredith, was around the side of the black building. On hearing his name spoken in such a pained tone, he came running fast and appeared within the clearing between the warehouse and the cottages to Natasha’s right within seconds. “SHE’S GETTING AWAY!”
Hector watched Natasha give chase and started to laugh. The situation wasn’t funny, but the way Natasha was running (like a school girl, arms flapping limply at her sides, her gait more shuffle than sprint), he couldn’t help but be amused.
“No, sugar; she’s not.” He thought to use the gun that was stuffed beneath the waist of his jeans just above his left butt-cheek, but dismissed it.
Dominic wouldn’t accept her being dead. It wasn’t part of the plan... especially as, Hector thought, he’d just received instructions from the man informing him to deliver the girl to a place in Edinburgh.
“DON’T JUST STAND THERE!!” screamed Natasha desperately, charging away. Meredith was now on the other side of the hillock, no longer in her pursuer’s, or Hector’s line of sight. A shingle beach was all that now separated her and the sea, and both beach and sea stretched for as far as she could see, left and right of her.
“DON’T PANIC! I’VE GOT THIS!” Meredith heard Hector holler back. She decided to aim for the fishing boat bobbing up and down on the water tied to a post on the jetty, and started running hard towards it. As she closed in on the rickety wooden jetty, twenty metres (or just a little over) of beach between her and the first steps, the young man Charlie had nicknamed ‘Scary’ appeared impossibly at the top of the sandy bank AHEAD of her.
Not stopping, she ran harder, thinking she could outrun him, her chest heaving and breath laboured. She could see the steps leading up to the small pier clearly, but every stride caused her lungs to burn, and every exhalation came with a pained sound; a wheezing, braying.
Nearly there! Meredith encouraged her legs to keep on moving and willed her lungs to continue pumping oxygen into her bloodstream.
Yes... Nearly... The jetty was now five metres ahead, so close she could almost reach out and touch the wooden railing.
Like a marathon runner she found an extra ounce of strength in her limbs and urged herself forward, one final effort, just a little more... just a little more...
A whistling/flapping sound grew into prominence from behind, like a rope lasso being helicopter-rotored above one’s head.
Thwapp!!
... she felt the ground rush up to meet her as both her legs became entangled and were swept out abruptly from underneath.
Falling forward hard, her body slammed with a THUD against the shingle. A groan escaped her lips from the force as she skidded, and stopped, a fingertip from the first step leading up to the jetty.
Not sure of what had just happened, Meredith lifted her head up, craned difficultly to peer down towards her legs and feet. Dismayed, she could see that they were entwined with cord, bound together tight by some weird throwing contraption.
“Nicely done. Thank God! What in hell is that?” panted Natasha trotting to within a foot of where Meredith lay. She was out of breath but did nothing to disguise the relief in her voice.
“A bolas,” replied Hector. “It’s a throwing weapon. I saw some of the initiates practicing with them yesterday, using dummies. Looked impressive, but I didn’t think they’d be very effective... but, now trying it out for myself,” he smiled, sounding compassioned, “proves their usefulness.” Hector dropped down to Meredith, and straddled her back like she was a gelding. “I told you I had it.”
“Get off me!” Meredith hissed, struggling beneath the man’s weight.
“Yea, you’d like that.” Hector slammed her face down hard into the sand, subduing her momentarily; there would be a bruise later. He pulled her arms up (Meredith yelped) and twisted a white heavy duty cable tie around her wrists, restraining her, before turning his attention to the girl’s legs. The bolas, once used by gauchos (Argentinean cowboys), comprised of two interconnected lengths of cord with weighted balls attached to their ends. Hector unravelled it from around Meredith’s shins before tying her ankles steadfast with a further cable tie. “You try anything like that again, and your running days will be over.”
Twisting to face Hector, Meredith spat in his face. “You won’t get away with this!”
“Let’s kill her,” said Natasha. A flick knife flashed open in her hand, pulled from a back pocket.
“Put it away,” urged Hector. “The boss needs her. In fact, he wants her right away.” He returned his attention to Meredith, using the sleeve of his leather jacket to wipe the girl’s slaver from his face.
“Oh?” exclaimed Natasha quizzically.
Hector ignored her, his focus still on Meredith. “You’ve got some spunk,” he said to her passively. “I quite like that. Sadly, you’re not going to be mine for much longer.”
Chapter Forty
Sophie
The Westland Puma landed smoothly on the asphalt at 1:15 p.m. in an area clear from the main runways and a sizeable distance from Edinburgh Airport’s terminal building. Special clearance had been granted for the military aircraft to land, and a welcoming committee provided by Police Scotland were waiting to collect and see them safely through security.
There were five vehicles, and they were parked in a row along the airstrip’s edge. In the background an Airbus A340 was approaching from the sky preparing to land.
Detective Inspector Hamish Bremn
er stepped out from his Audi S3 Sedan, its dark grey paintwork matching the sombre sky that looked no different to London, ready to dump a week’s worth of rain on them at any given moment, a normal occurrence in Scotland.
The rotors above the helicopter began to slow as the aircraft began to power down and the nearside door glided gently open. First to disembark were the eight FBI, CIA and MI6 field agents who, from their clothing, were indistinguishable, wearing uniform MI6 combat clothing and Kevlar vests. About their waists they wore holstered weapons and radio receivers clipped to their belts. Behind them stepped out Brayden and Mullins, then Emily, quickly followed by Liam and Sophie who was no longer invisible.
“Welcome, I hope you had a pleasant flight. I see you’ve brought the English weather with you.” DI Bremner spoke with a very slight Scottish accent and opened his hand, palm horizontal, feeling for rain. Swiftly, he turned and lowered it, offering it to Brayden to shake. The CIA agent took it and felt the Detective Inspector squeeze it hard.
“Appears so,” grumbled Brayden, retrieving his hand. He opened and closed it a couple of times, flexing out the discomfort the man’s grip had imparted.
“You must be Miss Porter who I spoke with earlier...” The DI continued, directing his pleasantries towards the auburn haired woman in glasses.
“Yes... and these are my colleagues, Sophie Jennings, Liam Cavanagh and Special Agent Christina Mullins,” introduced Emily. DI Bremner shook each of their hands in turn, though the ladies gentler than he’d been with Brayden.
“All the arrangements have been made as requested... but, I do wish you’d impart some details as to what brings you to Edinburgh. It’s discomforting having such a joint American and British task force in our presence, armed and dangerous-looking and not knowing the reasons.”
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 29