Extremities

by C A Devine

  ‘I never let myself think that the meeting was anything but coincidental,’ Max pushed to her feet, but then slumped back down. ‘Why did I get involved with him? Because I knew his marriage was arranged and that he didn’t love her. I thought he loved me. I wanted to believe he was the same guy I knew when I was fifteen and it was all going to be like that first kiss. And, of course, he made good on that promise about the Testarossa,’ she flashed me a weary grin. ‘He had me then and there.

  ‘France, the clothes, the hotel, everything I said in the book, it was all true. It was all like some bizarre fairy tale. Right up until the swimming pool outburst. I knew then it was all wrong. The angry young man that had called me a whore was still lurking under the surface. And I was no longer fifteen.’

  I heard the engines whir. They were out of the water. We were flying through the air. One. Two. Three seconds later, we slammed into the ocean. We were thrown left then right. The hull let out a sickening groan. ‘How much of that can this thing take?’

  She shrugged, ‘I don’t know, these things aren’t my area of expertise. But I’ve been around enough to know our main threat is capsizing, if we meet a huge or maybe not so huge wave. We just have to keep our fingers crossed that the sea conditions don’t get any worse.’

  ‘So what happened next?’ I asked. She looked over at me, a smirk playing on her lips. So I was curious. So what? It didn’t mean anything.

  ‘A few weeks before my surprise meeting in Paris, Dad was pulled into an investigation of a murder suicide involving a British dragoon corporal and a French legionnaire at a remote army camp in Afghanistan. This would normally be the remit of MPs, but the victim and the perpetrator had blood alcohol levels around point two. They were both slaughtered drunk. The MOD wanted to know where the drink was coming from. And they wanted it investigated independently.’

  ‘So they didn’t believe they could trust the grunts or the MPs,’ I said.

  ‘It would have been a PR disaster if news of large scale alcohol smuggling into the foreign troops reached the Afghan people. If it was going on, London and Paris wanted it shut down quickly and quietly. But Dad didn’t get free reign either, he was assigned a team: two MI6 officers and a French cop.

  ‘They flew to Afghanistan and pulled in all the soldiers’ mates. They got lucky with a French sergeant who seemed to have an attack of the guilts and spilled his guts. Their barkeep was a British lieutenant who the sergeant just happened to spot in a café while out on patrol in Kabul. The lieutenant was deep in conversation with what looked like a local. Dad sent Jason to do a spot of reconnaissance at the meeting point. Locals claimed an Italian man often hung out there. They staked it out for a week and Jason returned with a glossy photo. Dad hadn’t seen Malak for more than fifteen years but he couldn’t mistake that winning smile.

  ‘Dad’s team tracked him down and put him under surveillance. Trailed him to Marseilles, Provence and then up to Paris, where a new girlfriend turned up. And again one photo said it all. Me.

  ‘When I was dragged off the street in Aix-en-Provence and Dad claimed I was being used, I didn’t want to believe him, but deep down I knew he was right. It made sense; I was the insurance policy. Someone – the army, Michael, who knows – told Malak about the new police investigation. And the man in charge of that investigation was Assistant Commissioner Joe McKenzie.

  ‘When I found out about Dad and Cecile, I threw my toys out the pram and insisted I stay with Malak and find out what I could.’

  ‘You did all this to get at your father?’

  ‘Punishing Dad and reaping revenge on Malak, two birds,’ she shrugged. ‘I said it was childish. Joe wouldn’t entertain it. However Cecile saw the cold potential.’

  ‘What do you get if you cross the sister of an Afghan drug smuggler with an anti-terror chief?’

  ‘The perfect spy. And I could speak Pashto to boot. But sex and espionage really don’t mix. It was wrecking my head. And then there was the marriage proposal. I nearly broke down and told Malak everything right then and there.

  ‘The night before I had to run, I asked Malak about his wife. I had never broached the subject while I thought his feelings for me were real; I didn’t want to make it hard for him, but by then I didn’t care.

  Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over in a flood as he rocked back and forth,’ Max said, staring blankly out into the Atlantic. ‘I could see the devastation in his eyes. His family had been killed by the very alliance I was working for. Collateral damage is the term governments use to dehumanise the fact they are talking about somebody’s husband, somebody’s wife, somebody’s child. They were four and seven-years-old. They were my cousins. Malak might be into some pretty bad shit, but they were tiny children. “My babies are dead,” he wailed and wailed. All I could think to do was put my arms around him and hold him tight.

  ‘When he hunted me down in that field in France, I told him I loved him. I said I knew that it wasn’t coincidence that he was in the restaurant in Paris. I told him I was okay with that. I don’t think he wanted to believe I was spying on him. He must have loved me in his own way, otherwise why would he have let me go?’

  Max pulled open a storage hatch, ‘What does this bucket have in the way of drink?’ She rummaged but found nothing and slammed it shut. She moved on to the next. ‘Ahh only the finest,’ she grinned, dragging out a bottle and displaying an eighteen-year-old Glenlivet. ‘Want some?’ she gestured to me with the bottle. I shook my head. ‘Really? God, I need a good swig before I can carry on.’ She searched some more and came up with a sparking crystal tumbler and pored herself a multitude of fingers. She settled back in the seat and swallowed.

  ‘Someone on the inside had grassed me up, more specifically, someone on Dad’s team. They were the only ones who knew about me. The only person I trusted now was Dad. I called him, told him my cover had been blown, told him I knew they had killed Malak’s family. I asked him if he knew. He said yes,’ she took another gulp of whisky and a handful of deep breaths, in and out, in and out. ‘I was so angry with him for not telling me.’ She spoke quietly now, ‘I kept thinking of Raqiba and Safia, so small and full of life.

  ‘When I got onto the bus headed for Marseilles, I plugged the micro SD card into the phone and there you were, all over it: photos, details of your family, your girlfriend Lisa and a copy of an email containing your travel plans for Spain. I was on my own, isolated, obsession was dragging at me. I wanted to see what kind of person could kill a family. I just wanted to see you, who you were. I know it was Malak who put them in danger, but the wee ones didn’t have the choice,’ she downed the rest of the whisky, then stood and disappeared down the corridor. I pulled the gun from my waistband. I was about to follow her when I heard the flush. She reappeared a moment later. I pointed the gun in her direction. ‘I needed to pee again,’ she frowned, ‘the cold makes me need to go more often.’ She sank back into the chair. I lowered the gun.

  ‘The day I lay down on the lounger next to you and I saw the scars …’ she took another gulp and let her head fall back. ‘I didn’t understand how you were involved. I thought maybe you had given the order to blow up his house, or something like that. I wanted to get it out of you, get you to admit what you did and then … well, I hadn’t made up my mind about the rest.

  ‘But then I started talking to you. You weren’t what I expected. You had such an intensity. And we had such a laugh. It had been so long since I had had any fun. It was the first time in months I felt normal. You didn’t know me, didn’t know anything about me. If truth be told, I wanted it all to be over, or better yet to pretend that it had never happened. With you, I realised I could just be me, the old me,’ her eyes glanced in my direction, ‘and for a short time at least, it was just as I said, no past, no future, no baggage, just then and there, that moment.

  ‘If only my life was that simple,’ she snorted. ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think my involvement with you served Malak right for using me. But the whole t
hing was just insane. If I had thought clearly, for one moment, I would never have gone near you. I don’t know what I was doing. And I certainly I never expected to fall in love with you,’ she finished that off with one final long gulp.

  I didn’t respond.

  ‘When Malak turned up at Fiesta Major,’ she took off again, double time, ‘he was looking for you, not me. He had no idea I was there. But when he saw me with you, it sent him over the edge. It was the ultimate betrayal. When he and Shorty dragged me into that van, he told me not to worry, death was too good for me.

  ‘You know what happened next,’ she lifted the bottle of Scotch and filled her glass again. She took another big swig, ‘So now my father’s not sure where I stand. He’s worried I passed information to Malak after I found out about the children. If they interrogate me, he doesn’t know what will come out. So yes, I’m in danger from the mole, but he could have protected me from that. His real reason for shoving me into his running gear, stuffing me in the boot of his car, smuggling me off the base and giving 200 euros to a taxi driver who was willing to drive me to the Marina, is because he doesn’t trust me. But he’ll do anything to protect me.’

  ‘Of course he will,’ I said, looking over at her, ‘you’re his daughter.’

  ‘And he picked you, believing you were less likely to hurt me than his beloved system, even when you found out. You must have made quite an impression on him because he’s always hated all my boyfriends.’

  34

  Land Ahoy (Day 10)

  She had come to Spain to, what? Get a look at me? Kill me? Max was lying in a bunk, asleep. At least I thought she was; she kind of had to be after all the “good stuff”. I could just see her out of the corner of my eye from where I sat on the pilot seat. We had each agreed to take a watch. I had grabbed some rest first, but I had just lain there with the gun tucked under the pillow running the whole drama around in my head, over and over again, trying to figure out what to do and getting nowhere. Then I had watched her sleep, struggling to keep my eyes open.

  We were going to hit shore soon and suddenly it felt too close. I needed more time to think, plan, work out my feelings. My head was spinning with detail, confusion, emotion. She had tried to end it all. She said she couldn’t face it anymore. Was that because she couldn’t live with planning to kill me? Joe McKenzie had urged me not to be too harsh on her when I found out who she really was. I guess I had just found out. And she was right, Joe had trusted me with his daughter. Why? Did he not know who I was? Did he really trust me to do the right thing? Or was I just the best of a lot of bad options? And what was I going to do about that?

  I looked in at Max again. She lay on her side with her eyes closed. I pushed out of my seat and walked down the corridor to the back cabin. I cocked the gun once again, just in case they had any ideas. I unlocked the door and swung it open. They both lay with their eyes closed. Weasel’s open mouth and snorting grunts led me to believe he was asleep. I tugged on his bonds, finding them secure. Bulldog, on the other hand, was way too peaceful. I pointed the gun at him as I pulled on his restraints. His eyes flashed open. He stared at me a moment and then his face wound into a smile, ‘The Baron will be awfully happy to see you again, Mr Van Hughs.’ I straightened my gun arm. I was tempted, very tempted. But then maybe that was the point. Maybe that was the point of the whole damn thing, right from the very start.

  I sank back into the pilot seat just as Max pushed up from the bunk, rubbing her eyes. I raised the gun as she walked towards me. She shot a glance to the pistol and fear clouded her face, ‘What are you doing, Mac?’

  ‘Just a little insurance policy, English.’

  ‘After all this, you think I would set you up? I didn’t have to tell you any of that.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me anything, English, until Weasel brought it up.’

  ‘I was about to, but we kind of got interrupted, if you remember,’ she snapped it out.

  ‘I’ve had just about enough of all this shit,’ I exploded. ‘All your James Bond spy shit. All I did was my job, to get drugs off the streets of New York. I didn’t ask for any of this Afghan, English soap opera bullshit. Now put your hands where I can see them Max, or Lucky or Lizzie or whatever the hell your name is.’

  ‘Calm down, Mac.’

  ‘Calm down? You came to Spain to, what, Max? Do you think I murdered your cousins? If you do, that makes you one huge risk in my eyes.’

  ‘Look at me, Mac, you know everything now. You know exactly who I am.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘I’ve laid everything bare for you.’ I didn’t smile, as I knew she intended me too. ‘Look Mac, I know you didn’t murder them. You brought down a bunch of drug smugglers. I know that.’

  ‘The problem, English, is that I don’t rightly know that you do.’

  Crack! It sounded like wood splintering. We spun to the noise, just as a blanket of water smashed into the windscreen. And then we were falling down a wave. Whack! My cheek hit the corner of the main console; pain speared through my skull. Max managed to save her face with her forearms. ‘Move,’ she roared, lunging for the controls. I scrambled back, clutching my jaw as the boat began to lurch violently from side to side. A scream bellowed from the back cabin. Weasel was obviously awake. We turned up through the wave as Max eased back on the throttle and then we were in the air. I started to slide back down the cabin floor. I could see the muscles strain on Max’s neck as she struggled to keep hold of the controls.

  It was all a matter of waiting now. We had no keel; if we came down at an angle, we were as likely to capsize as land the right way up. We slapped down and swung to starboard. I slid to the right, grappling out, desperately trying to latch onto something, anything. We lurched left, flattening out with a bone-shaking shudder. I blew out a sigh of relief, quickly replaced by fear as I was deafened by a horn.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Max squealed, swinging the wheel over and I was thrown against the now horizontal port wall and kept on going.

  ‘We’re going to flip,’ I squawked through a dry mouth.

  Max flung the wheel back, grunted and gunned the engine. We shot forward and flattened out into a clear path.

  ‘What have you been doing, you fucking idjit,’ Max snapped. ‘I thought you were on watch. That means you WATCH where we are going! You’ve got us in the middle of the Hudson shipping lane. Are you trying to get us killed?’ She shot me a glance, ‘Don’t answer that.’

  ‘Shut up, Max. Bring us in, and no sudden movements,’ I gestured with the gun. I was in no mood for a lecture.

  Max sighed, ‘Mac, you know everything now, I swear.’

  ‘Right at this moment I don’t give a shit. My only plan now is to survive the day.’

  35

  The Choice

  Max stood on deck, and against the pink glow of dawn, I knew she was real. We tore up the river still, on the course pre-set in the GPS, with the heights of Manhattan looming over her. We were headed straight into midtown, to one of the old piers. I pulled out the two cell phones. One finally displayed a signal. I punched in the number. It rang and rang, then hit the answer service. Of course she didn’t know the number. I tried again. On the third attempt, the ring stopped, followed by a halting ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mom.’

  ‘Mac, thank God. Are you alright? I was so worried. What’s wrong with the satellite phone?’ It all came out on a single breath.

  ‘I’m fine, Mom. Long story. Right now, I just need you to listen.’

  Max stepped back inside, just as I hung up. She took over the controls. We powered through the early morning traffic. Rush hour in New York wasn’t confined to the roads. ‘That’s where we’re going,’ she gestured to a clump of low concrete buildings. Max pulled back on the throttle and we swung to port. She guided the boat alongside a rusted metal pier, using the bow thruster to ease us into position.

  ‘Now tie us up and be careful; he’s out there somewhere,’ I said.

  ‘Oh that’ll be good, two people poi
nting guns at me,’ she strode out on deck, swung her legs over the rail and made the short jump down onto solid ground. I scanned the length of the crumbling concrete structure before following. Max secured the bow line as I attended to the stern, then dove for the cover of the building. ‘Get back on the boat and wait in the cabin,’ I said to Max.

  ‘No way. I’m not letting you go in there to face him alone.’

  ‘Just do it,’ I snapped, waving the gun at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead let out a groan and swung back up on board.

  I eased along the wall to a heavy metal door. Green paint flaked from the metal, exposing orange underneath. I pressed up against the concrete, breathing in and out, fighting the illusion of motion in my sea-weary legs. It was time to finish this. I stretched out my left arm and pushed. The door swung wide on a low moan. I listened. Not a sound, not a breath, nothing. I eased around the door, Sig first.

  I was blinded by darkness. I fumbled for a light switch, but felt nothing. I shuffled the last few inches around the door and stared into the gloom. I leaned my head back against the wall and breathed in, waiting for my eyes to adjust, wishing I’d thought to bring a flashlight.

  ‘Drop it.’ Cold metal pressed against my temple. ‘Now!’ I spread my fingers. The gun clattered to the floor. He patted me down from behind, wrestling the second gun from my waistband. ‘On your knees.’ I bent forward and the pressure on my skull eased. I crouched further, threw my arms sideward and lunged for his legs. Bang! He pulled the trigger as he fell forward. His face hit the floor and he let out a screech. One gun scuttled out of his right hand across the floor; the other remained in a tight grip in his left. Bang! I dived to the side as a second bullet hit the wall. I threw my weight down on his back and lifted his left arm. He pulled back, dragging his hand away from my grasp. I used the momentum to batter his hand off the stone floor. Then a second time, up and down, pushing all my strength into his arm, but still he held on. He started rocking sideward – small movements at first, back and forth, trying to shove me off his back. He started to get some momentum going. He was strong for a small guy. I banged down again just as he pushed up off the ground. I managed to grab his hand, but my fingers slipped until I only had his pinkie in my grasp. I bent it back.