Thunder

by Anthony Bellaleigh

  The PM abruptly let go of Greere’s hand and sat down again.

  “You can go now,” he said dismissively. “I know that you would have had nothing to do with anything that might be an embarrassment to us, or me, or... most importantly... to yourself.”

  ~~~~~

  Greere stormed furiously back into the office. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. His fucking useless agents, and their apparent fucking incapacity for any form of even subtle subterfuge, were ruining everything. If word of Paris, or Berlin, were to leak out... Let alone fucking Madrid, or Poland, or his rogue Joker, or any of all the rest...!

  Ellard looked round, startled as the door tried to jump off its substantial hinges. “How’d it go?” he asked. “Sir?” he braced himself as he glimpsed his boss’s expression.

  Greere slammed the door closed again and stared at his white-haired gimp with unbridled contempt. “Any news?” he spat.

  Ellard shook his head. “Nothing. No change. They’re either hiding, dead, or captured in Afghanistan.”

  “Or not! Like they weren’t in Hungary.”

  “It’s much harder to get out of Afghanistan,” Ellard muttered warily.

  “IF YOU DON’T GET FUCKING HELP, YES...!” roared Greere, exploding with pent up anger and frustration.

  “I’ve not helped them!” Ellard exclaimed. “No-one has! They’re trapped there. The bases are silent. No reports of any unusual visitors. Nothing! My bet is they’re dead. Executed somewhere. Otherwise we might have seen a speculative ransom demand.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Greere angrily. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  ~~~~~

  “So, Major Charles,” two men sat in the Cabinet Room at Number Ten. The same room they had been in before, many months ago. This time they were alone. Two men separated by acres of polished mahogany. “I understand that one Brigadier Greere works for you?”

  Sentinel nodded, “Yes, sir.”

  “Hmmm,” mused the Prime Minister. “You are, of course, aware that we’re getting a lot of quite awkward questions from abroad. It’s difficult to work out how we might best respond.”

  “I understand, sir,” Sentinel straightened his already impressive stature. “This whole thing is entirely my responsibility. We should not discuss matters further. I will prepare statements in readiness. Just let me know, via discrete channels, as and when you would like me to turn myself over to judicial authorities. I am not ashamed of my actions. I firmly believe that we have done the right thing.”

  The PM smiled. “As I would expect of anyone holding such a position as you do. But I don’t think that’s necessary, yet. It would seem to me, that you, Major, are not the liability, nor our most expendable asset.”

  ~~~~~

  Skala Kallonis

  We’re at the beach, sitting on our tyre, enjoying the summer sunshine. He’s had to endure riding on the pillion seat to get us here, but I’m getting fairly proficient at driving the moped, and I very nearly avoided all of the bushes today.

  “You not going for a swim?” he purrs. I think he just wants to watch me stripping off. He can’t go swimming of course, because of the bandages. I suspect he’ll look like a half-tanned, stripy zebra by the time we’re able to unbind him.

  I shake my head. “Not today,” I murmur.

  “Are you okay?” he asks carefully.

  I stare out, past the moored boat, and across the lagoon. “I need to go back.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to the UK,” I explain. “There’s something I need to do. Something I couldn’t do before....” My head drops, it hurts to think about it, let alone to put it into words.

  “It’s okay,” he says supportively. “You need to be extremely careful though. In and out. I guess this is something you need to do on your own?”

  I sense he’d like me to say, no. That he’d like me to say, that I want him with me. Need him with me. But I can’t say that. “Yes,” I reply.

  He nods, and reaches over to lift my chin with one strong finger. He is smiling, green eyes sparkling. There is no animosity. I sense that he only ever wants the best for me. “I understand,” he says genuinely, then throws his arm around my shoulders, and looks me full in the face. “Look at the two of us. Here. Who would have believed it, eh?”

  ~~~~~

  London

  “Any word yet on Tin or Mercury?” asked Sentinel, watching his subordinate closely.

  “Nothing, sir,” said Greere, deadpan. There wasn’t the slightest glimmer of concern visible in his lifeless, watery, brown, bug-like eyes. “With luck, they’re both dead.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sentinel. “Remind me. You said there were no comms from either of them after you sent the ‘Go Order’?”

  “That’s right, sir. Nothing.”

  “Strange,” said Sentinel cryptically. “I’d have expected them to have tried to use the EMT to get a flash report out? Or to advise on their exit strategy? Or even to have sent an extraction request, given that they were in some significant trouble?”

  Greere shrugged noncommittally. “Amateurs, sir. You were always skeptical about using them. Looks like you were right, as always...”

  Sentinel fought back a sudden urge to reach over and grab Greere by the throat. “I guess everything’s been wiped? Everything’s cleaned up.”

  “Yes, sir. All gone.”

  “Everything?” asked Sentinel, looking suitably doubtful. Greere wasn’t the only one who could put on an act.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  Sentinel could see that this wasn’t the kind of thing Greere wanted to hear. This, at least, was enjoyable. He needed to keep squeezing. Keep the gentle pressure on. He knew that Greere was lying to him. The PM had outlined the man’s apparently unhealthy hunger for promotion – though Sentinel could only wonder at what kind of leverage Greere had found to try such an audacious stunt. Well, either way, Greere had more than adequately proved he was untrustworthy. You don’t put untrustworthy men into places where trust is paramount. Where the safety of the nation is in the mix.

  For now Sentinel would continue to quietly chip away. Continue to dig. Continue to gather sufficient evidence to justify him taking action – when the time was right. He knew it wouldn’t be difficult. He’d already collected a great deal of material. Spirited away into his own set of secure information servers. Like he did with all of his teams. An echo, collected over many weeks, of everything Greere had worked so carefully to erase.

  For now, it was best to leave Greere where he was. To wait and see whether the current, mildly indignant, international shit-storm settled itself naturally. If it didn’t, then they’d give the world what it always wanted.

  Someone convenient to blame.

  ~~~~~

  What did Sentinel know, that he didn’t? Greere scowled furiously at his screen as he clicked through every directory on the server for the umpteenth time. Nothing. Not a trace.

  The only loose end was...

  “We need to make certain that neither of them survived,” he said. “Too many nasty secrets are surfacing,” a little exaggeration was required. “And neither of us would benefit from that. Would we?”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Ellard asked cautiously from the other side of the partition.

  Greere sat up and looked over at him. “We’ve all got secrets,” he said. “You included.”

  Ellard looked alarmed, “I’m not sure I understa...”

  “That’s a nice collection,” Greere cut him off, “that you’ve been putting together in your little château. When I had a look around, I was quite taken by some of the pieces myself. It’s easy to understand why you would want them for yourself.”

  Ellard stared at him. Shocked. Silent.

  “Anyway, you never had much time for Tin or Mercury, did you?”

  “No, sir,” Ellard muttered angrily.

  “No point in risking everything, just because of them. We’ve done well. Mission accomplished. And,
you don’t have long left to serve now, do you?” Ellard shook his head cautiously. “Well, let’s get this tidied up. Then I can make sure you have a nice cushy little role, right through to your retirement. I might even be able to bring that forward a bit.” Ellard appeared to brighten at that thought, so Greere hurried on, “The last thing we, or the country, needs right now, are a couple of rogue assets on the loose: unreliable, unpredictable, and well past their sell-by date.”

  Angry as he was at being discovered, Ellard knew he didn’t have many options. Somehow Greere had found his retirement fund. “I suppose you’re right, sir,” he said, noncommittally. ‘Fuck!’ he thought to himself. It must’ve happened sometime after Paris. That would have been why Greere had issued him a new phone. He sneered to himself as he remembered Greere announcing that he’d got him the new cellphone as a reward for all his good work in Berlin... Bastard.

  But Greere was right. Tin and Mercury were fucking liabilities. And he liked the idea of getting out of the business early. Given that his boss was effectively colluding with him, he knew that, once they were certain Tin and Mercury were no longer a risk, then Greere would be left with little option but to facilitate an exit for him. “If they’re alive and out of Afghanistan,” he ventured, “...then there’s only one place they will be.”

  Greere nodded.

  ~~~~~

  Barfold

  It’s raining.

  Good, solid, miserable, English rain.

  Pouring down from lead grey, wall-to-wall cloud cover which compresses the heavens into the thinnest sliver of drab twilight, despite it being nearly midday and nearly midsummer.

  It’s the perfect day for this.

  I force myself to leave the momentary cover of the churchyard’s quaint wood-and-tile Lych Gate, and head out along the weed-free gravel pathway toward the church. I can hear my feet crunching reluctantly beneath me, the woeful amber stones gnashing together sympathetically under my weight.

  We were married here.

  It has a squat, square, simple, Norman tower and unpretentious nave. It was, and still is, a simple country church for an ordinary couple’s big day.

  We also had Lizzie christened here.

  She had bawled and screamed in chorus with all the other infants and together they had raised the roof. Until, that is, the moment the holy water touched her brow. Then she was silent. A little angel. And you and I took over from her, tears of joy and pride running unrestrained down our faces.

  I blink back tears again now.

  A different kind of tears.

  These are tears spiced with burning acid. Tears milked from the teeth of serpents. Tears which would etch metal, destroy nations, and poison the very soul.

  The huge and ancient yew trees crowd close, and shepherd me forward. They reach out their always green, always dark, always mourning, branches and point the way.

  And I can see it in front of me.

  A tiny patch of lighter stone.

  Here Lie Iuliu & Elizabeth Dalca

  The stone is still too new to be populated by lichens and mosses.

  Beloved Husband & Daughter

  Still fresh.

  Cruelly Snatched Away From Us

  Still new.

  But Will Never Be Parted From Each Other.

  A pristine headstone, like the patch of beautifully tended grass which lies before it, and onto which my suddenly exhausted legs cannot help but bend, and they toss me forward so I’m pressing my face into the cruel hard rock, and my hands are grasping helplessly onto the unworn rain-splashed edges, and I’m howling like Hell’s own banshees have been unleashed from within me, and I’m adding my own bitter fluids to the gentle pattering of water all around.

  ~~~~~

  Clutching tightly to her umbrella and flowers, the woman made her way carefully into the graveyard. Every fortnight she came. Alone. Made the trip, on the bus, into the town. Collected a small bouquet from the tiny florists, and walked along up to the church.

  Every fortnight she felt a little more tired.

  A little older.

  A little closer to joining the sombre congregation amongst whom she now edged her aching bones.

  There was someone at the graveside.

  Crouched down.

  Hidden behind the small stone.

  She could see hands.

  Grasping at the top of the brutal memorial.

  She could hear sobs.

  Agonising sobs.

  “Nicola?” the woman ventured, her voice barely a whisper, her hopes held bound-tight by months of fear and worry. “Nicola?”

  ~~~~~

  I lift my head at the sound of my name.

  It’s been so long since I’ve heard it.

  ~~~~~

  “NICOLA!”

  ~~~~~

  “Mum,” I sob. I don’t care what miracle has conspired to bring her here. She is here. Now. When I need her the most.

  ~~~~~

  It is, without doubt, the face of her daughter. A mother knows her own child, anywhere, at any time, no matter how much might have passed or changed, but this woman’s coal-black eyes blaze with unfamiliar ice and steel.

  Burn with hitherto unseen fury and aggression.

  Burn as if they’ve been to the very edge, and peered into the depths of Hades itself.

  “What has become of you?” the woman wails, emotions tumbling wildly, her thoughts and feelings helplessly out of control, and she hurries forward, arms spread wide, rain and pain ignored. “Oh, my darling, sweet, Nicola,” she throws her arms around the other woman’s lurching shoulders. “Oh, my darling baby, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay...”

  ~~~~~

  Heathrow Airport, London

  Ellard walked along the balcony looking down at Heathrow Terminal Five’s expansive airside shopping area having just negotiated his way through specialist clearance. The contents of his canvas holdall wouldn’t go through any normal scanner.

  His phone started ringing, and he fished it out of his pocket, expecting he was about to be administered with another rousing pep-talk from Greere.

  The number was unrecognised. Very unusual. It would probably be a misdial.

  “What?” he answered abruptly.

  “Deuce,” said a deep male voice.

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  “Your Grandfather, Deuce. London’s Burning.”

  The emergency protocol. “All at sea,” he ventured. His response indicating that he was able to talk, but on an assignment. “Your name, Granddad?”

  “Sentinel.”

  Ellard paled, stopped, and leaned on the balcony rail. Had that wanker, Greere, fucking grassed him out?

  “Deuce, one question: Tin and Mercury’s last EMT message confirmed mission completed, yes?”

  Ellard watched aircraft milling on the tarmac through the huge glass walls. ‘Strange question,’ he thought, but cast his mind back to the night of the operation.

  “Deuce?” Sentinel prompted.

  “Yes, sir,” said Ellard. “Confirmed with collateral damage.”

  “Thank you, Deuce. Carry on.”

  The line went dead.

  ~~~~~

  Barfold

  We take a trip, in the hire car I’m using, around to the house so I can collect a few things together into the simple holdall I’ve brought with me. Mum helps me to select a couple of my photographs. Jack has made a space for them, on a faraway mantlepiece. He says they belong there too.

  I want to tell her everything, to confess, but I know that I can’t. It would put her in danger too.

  “Would you have come to see me?” she asks quietly, as she bustles around, keeping herself busy.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry that I can’t explain. And I need you to promise that you won’t tell a soul that you’ve seen me.”

  She smiles. “Mum’s the word,” she says.

  I’ve not told her the details, but have mentioned my dreams, and that Dad was in them. She asked h
ow he’d seemed, and I’d said he was the same as he always was – right, reassuring, strong and supportive. She’d seemed happy to hear that.

  “Your Dad was a good man,” she mused, half to herself. “But he wasn’t tolerant of any injustice. If he’d been alive, he would likely have tried to get back into the Forces to have a go at finding those wretched terrorists.”

  I look at her, surprised at this. “I didn’t know he was in the Armed Forces.”

  She smiles knowingly to herself. “We all have our own little secrets,” she says simply.

  I don’t have long. My return flight is in a few hours. In and out. Quickly. Different names, different carriers, different airports, different connections. I need to run Mum back to the home. She’s quite cheerful about it.

  “It’s full of scatty old biddies,” she observes wryly. “But that makes them perfect company for me.”

  I’m hoping I can maybe smuggle her out to visit, or perhaps to stay with us, once the dust has settled.

  “Say hello to Jack for me,” she says in parting, before climbing out of the car and trundling off around the corner to the home’s front door. She didn’t even bat an eyelid when I’d suggested we should avoid me being spotted. I watch her moving away with a puzzled frown on my face. I seriously think she must’ve done stuff like this before...

  ~~~~~

  Skala Kallonis

  Jack hadn’t slept well. He’d been worried about Nick. He hoped she was okay. If things went to plan she’d be on her way back by now. His heart beat hard just thinking about it. He’d missed her.

  He rolled uncomfortably around into a sitting position, and recovered his crutches from beside the bed. Their bed. The thought made him smile contentedly.

  Hefting himself upright, he hobbled through the lounge and then into the kitchen.

  Another bright and sunny day welcomed him through the room’s simple window, and he poured himself a glass of cold water and gazed out, like he always did, watching the birds wheeling above the nearby wetlands and listening to the comforting clanging of goat bells in the surrounding fields.

  That was when he spotted the car.