by Tom Marcus
I open my mouth to speak but I can’t remember how. I don’t know how to make words any more. Like my tongue is pinned to the top of my mouth. All that comes out is a feeble groan. The old woman puts a hand on my arm. ‘She’s over there, silly. Where did you think she’d be?’
I follow her gaze, to a bookshelf. Everything’s suddenly very bright now. A woman is standing with her back to me. She’s got long blonde hair and she’s holding a little boy by the hand. Together they’re scanning the bookshelf, looking for something together.
The little boy has a mop of dark, curly hair. Like mine when I was his age. He lifts his hand and touches a book with his finger. ‘D is for . . .’
‘Daddy!’ says the woman, and they both turn towards me, grinning. I still can’t speak. Ice-cold tears run down my cheeks, the only thing stopping them freezing is the heat from this fire.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ she says, moving closer. ‘There’s nothing to say. I know you wanted to join us, so we could be together. I wanted it too. But it wasn’t time. It’s not your time. Sometimes it’s like that.’ Sarah always has a way of putting a positive spin on things. I love her for that.
I blink my eyes to try and clear the tears. She’s still there. She’s so beautiful. I just want to reach out and touch her, but I can’t seem to move. The heat from the fire is becoming hotter, it’s distracting. Desperate to block it out, I focus on her as the smile turns a little sad.
‘I’m sorry, darling. This is just a visit. While you’re in between. We’ll have to go back soon. But I want you to know we’re OK.’ She ruffles the little boy’s hair. ‘And Joseph’s happy. You’d be proud of him.’
‘Big boy!’ he says, catching my eye and chuckling.
I stare at him. This is my son. God, I love him. The tears in my eyes are doing their best to ruin this for me. Absorbing every detail like a drug addict savouring his last fix, trying not to blink, so I don’t miss a moment, but he’s already starting to fade. Sarah scoops him up in her arms. Joseph’s elephant teddy bear dangling down. ‘Come on, you. It’s time to go. But we’ll visit Daddy again soon, won’t we?’ Joseph smiles like he’s just been told it’s Christmas Day. She turns to me and smiles. ‘Goodbye, Logan.’
Wait, please. I mouth the words but don’t make a sound, and before I can plead with Sarah to stay just a second longer, they’re gone.
Fuck.
The pain is excruciating.
It’s feels like my heart, stomach and everything in between is being pulled out of my body with meat hooks. The log fire is burning brighter, more furious and no longer peaceful. The fire is frightening. The flames grow larger, more violent as they try to lash out at me like demented whips.
Turning to the old woman, I’m finally able to speak. The frustration has somehow released me. ‘I don’t understand. That was my little boy. But he was only a baby when . . . when they died. It doesn’t make any sense.’
She smiles, and touches my arm. ‘Did you read that book?’
Shying away from her gaze, I feel guilty. ‘I didn’t really have any time. I’m sorry. I meant to, really. I just never . . .’
‘That’s all right. You’ve been busy. But one day it might help. It’s just stories about people who’ve lost loved ones. About what happened to them, how they coped. How they came to understand how things . . . work. Between this world and the next.’
I nod, as if I understand what she’s talking about. But I’m more confused than ever and starting to be consumed by anger; my family keeps being ripped away from me. The combination of rage and delusion is frustrating. ‘Then where am I? What’s happened to me? I thought I was dead. Look.’ I point to my chest. There’s a gaping hole, crusted with bone fragments and dried blood.
‘Oh, that,’ she says, gently touching the edge of the wound with a finger. ‘Yes, that was nasty. But I think they managed to fix it. You just needed some time to gather your strength before going back.’ She looks at a small gold watch on her thin wrist. ‘Oh my, just in time. I’m afraid I have to be going. It’s been lovely talking to you. And at least you know where Sarah and Joseph are now. And you know that they’re safe.’
‘Safe?’ I try to get out of the chair but it feels as if I’m tied down. Looking down at my arms, the flames lash around my wrists, pinning me down. Creeping around my chest, circling me, constricting every rise and fall of my ribcage.
I want to ask the old woman to help me, but she’s gone, and the rest of the bookshop is fading away, too. I say the word to myself, over and over. ‘Safe . . . safe.’ As if repeating it will let me remember this wherever I’m going to next. I struggle against the flames, as everything gets brighter. This whole place has been taken over by the fire, too bright to handle. Too hot, it’s unbearable. Please let this be the end. Please.
I close my eyes against the brightness. It’s like a spotlight is being shone in my eyes, burning into my pupils, my eyelids doing nothing to shield against it, it’s like hurtling towards the sun. Then I open them again and—
‘Yes, you’re safe. It’s all right, Logan. Everything’s fine. You’re safe now.’
It’s Alex. She’s smiling, but crying at the same time. I’m lying in a bed in a white-walled room. I can feel a tube coming out of my nose. My right arm is in a cast and my chest is cocooned in tight bandages. More explosions of pain suddenly scream out of my body and I feel my head spin uncontrollably. I think I’m going to be sick. There are more tubes attached to me. I start pulling at them with my free hand, and feel a shocking jolt of pain in my groin.
‘Jesus, Logan! Don’t do that!’ Alex pushes me down onto the bed again. The sudden sharp pain has cleared my head. My brain is starting to work properly, like it’s been rebooted. The dream or whatever it was has gone.
I’m still alive. I’ve never wanted to be dead more than I do right now. My family being ripped away from me on continuous loop. It’s like I’m being punished. I deserve it.
Everything comes screaming back to me, the boat, the brothers, the marina.
Alex is wearing a red climbing jacket. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. A pair of Oakley sunglasses are perched on the top of her head, pulling her brown hair away from her face. She looks composed, even as she wipes the tears from her face with a tissue. Not as if she’s just been in a life-or-death struggle with a pair of armed terrorists.
‘You’re OK?’
She grins. ‘Laddered my tights. Might have chipped a nail. Otherwise fine. And all the better for seeing you conscious again. Although I may live to regret that.’
‘You probably will. And the Foreign Secretary? How’s he?’
‘Yeah, he’s safe. Properly shaken up, lost a couple of toes during the torture, but he’ll recover.’ Alex pauses. I know she’s keeping the flow of information slow on purpose, so she doesn’t overwhelm me. But I need to know everything.
‘Did they breach the house? Did the DG get our call? Did he—’ A massive wave of pain down the right-hand side of my back stops me mid-question.
‘Easy, Logan, what do you remember? Take your time.’
‘I remember finding the boat, going in, and the Foreign Secretary in the orange jumpsuit. I cut some sort of cable I thought might be the internet feed they were using. Was that right?’
‘Yeah, cutting that cable stopped all the live feeds instantly.’
Thank fuck for that. ‘I got into a fight with Iron Sword and Stone Fist.’ The horrific details of how I dealt with Iron Sword are vivid and playing in my mind. There’s no need for Alex to hear that. She’s seen me do enough bad things. I run my hand over the bandages on my chest. ‘I remember Stone Fist shooting me. He had a stoppage. I tried to draw the fight towards me. Away from you and the Foreign Secretary.’
Alex adjusts the glasses on the top of her head, scraping her hair back as she fills in her side of the story, ‘Yeah, and it worked. I got him out the other end of the boat and ran for it. He was fucked, which is why we were slow, but what you did saved him. Us. An
d the phone call worked. The DG heard everything.’
I suddenly feel very tired. Whether it’s the mental effort of recalling the details of the fight on the boat, or just the relief at knowing we pulled it off, my brain just wants to shut down. But I still need to know what happened while all this was going on. ‘What happened at the house? Did the Special Forces guys go in?’
Alex shakes her head. ‘Bloody hell, Logan. I tell you, that was very nearly carnage. The DG heard the brothers shouting when you got into the boat. He called the PM and told her they have the wrong address and diverted a strike team over to the marina. They sent bomb disposal into the house. The footage being fed into the house was in a central room. No window access or outside walls, so they couldn’t get a camera in there.’
We were right – that’s how they managed to fool everyone. The webcam was recording the video link from the boat and transmitting it into this central room. The armed teams outside would have drilled tiny holes from the neighbours’ houses, which would have given them the audio coming from the room, but without getting into the address, they wouldn’t have been able to actually see inside.
Alex continues leaning in. ‘The door to that room had a pressure plate underneath it. All the explosives were underneath the floorboards. Nearly ten kilos’ worth. It would have been a massacre. They called off the breach just in time, the media is reporting a “huge success”, and obviously the Prime Minister is using this as an excellent bit of PR.’
Alex and I share a mutual head shake and eye roll as the door opens. A tall, silver-haired figure enters the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Long coat, black thick-framed glasses, royal-blue scarf and a dark-grey flat cap. I don’t recognize him at all. Too much hiding his appearance.
Instantly I feel a wave of panic, trying to edge myself further up the bed. I don’t like this, I feel vulnerable and wide open to another attack. Alex places her hand on my arm to calm me. She’s noticed the distress. As he pulls on the door handle to make sure it’s firmly shut, he turns to us, removing his glasses and hat. Then the scarf and coat come off. Fuck. Of course. It’s the DG.
Releasing the breath I must have taken in, my chest instantly reminds me I’m still broken.
Alex stands and the DG shakes her hand. ‘Afternoon, Ms Winters.’ He turns to me. The DG never misses a trick; seeing I was like a cornered animal when he walked in, his tone changes slightly. ‘And how are you feeling, Mr Davies?’
At first, I just stare at him blankly. What is he on about? Is it me who’s being stupid? Then the penny drops: he’s using our cover identities. He sits in the chair Alex has just vacated. ‘If anyone asks, I’m your Uncle Jeffrey, although this is going to be a brief visit which hopefully won’t draw too much attention. Ms Winters told me earlier you had started to drift in and out so I wanted to check up on you myself. And, of course, to thank you for what you did.’
Before I can splutter an embarrassed reply, he continues, ‘Of course, the person who really ought to be thanking you is Philip Day. He’s making the most of his new status as a national hero whilst claiming he can remember nothing of the abduction. If the PM goes, I think we can expect he’ll be trying to step into her shoes. Well, that’s politicians for you. Anyway, how’s the shoulder?’
Placing my hand on another set of bandages, I offer up an obvious but polite reply. ‘Bit bloody sore, but to be honest I don’t really know the extent of the damage.’
Alex jumps in again. ‘Luckily the bullet went straight through his upper right chest, just under the clavicle, missing his lung and scapula by a whisker. But it’s done a fair bit of muscle damage to his back, so even after the wound heals, he’ll be doing physio for a while. There’s damage to his neck and windpipe, too. The surgeon who operated on him said he’s lucky to have survived.’
‘Well, you look like shit.’ The brutal honesty is what I needed to hear. I imagine it’s one of the reasons why the DG has risen through the ranks to be in charge of MI5. I hadn’t looked in a mirror yet but I could see the DG looking at my neck and around my eyes, where I’d taken a pasting. I feel uncomfortable with all the attention, so try to divert the conversation onto another topic.
‘Boss, how is this being handled? Did I compromise our team?’
‘All taken care of. The Foreign Secretary has signed a gagging order and been given a few lines that he can say about you two and what happened. There’s a media ban on talking about the actual rescue itself, although we have used the usual channels to fake a leak that you are both military personnel attached to Special Forces. But so far so good. The police turned up with a medical team and managed to get the pair of you, along with the Foreign Secretary, out of harm’s way before the people’s press turned up with their mobile phones. Nothing on social media, thankfully.’
‘And what about here, the hospital? What’s the cover story?’
‘Victim of a carjacking, Mr Davies.’ I can nearly detect a hint of a smile from the DG. He loves all this cloak and dagger stuff. Nodding his head at my injuries, he continues: ‘Hence the bruising and gunshot wound.’
‘I hope the bastards didn’t get away with my car, then.’ Alex and the DG both smile at my attempt to make light of the situation, and I can feel my body wanting to laugh, but the combination of the bandages restricting my chest and the fact my body is barely functioning cause me to start coughing.
Every forced, uncontrollable cough is pain, pure pain. Desperate to stop it, I close my mouth. Alex can see me struggling but the DG beats her to it with a plastic beaker of water and a straw.
‘Sip it. SIP!’ Like a father to his son, I listen and try to follow his order, not wanting to disappoint him. The violent cough turns into a mild splutter as I get it under control.
No one speaks for a moment, giving me time to settle again. There’s a growing tension as Alex and I simultaneously figure out the real reason the DG is here.
Finally, Alex asks, ‘And Jeremy? Leyton-Hughes?’
The DG makes a sour face, as if he’s been wrestling with this problem for a while. ‘I suppose one could say all’s well that ends well.’
Rubbing his hands in a revolving motion, like they’re mimicking the swirling thought process in his brain, it’s the first time we’ve seen the DG hiding his real thoughts and having a clear tell. If Alex and I were playing poker against the DG right now, we’d be all in.
Choosing his words carefully, he continues: ‘Initially he said that he was simply providing a level of deniability by not informing me what Blindeye was doing. And that pulling you off Iron Sword and Stone Fist was purely an operational decision, a judgement call.’
‘One he got wrong,’ Alex mutters.
‘Well, I think there was more to it than that.’ The DG is opening up, probably realizing there is nothing to be gained by lying to us. ‘After further . . . conversations, he admitted the truth. He had a direct line to the PM’s office. A young chap he was at Eton with.’ He shook his head. ‘Something I should have been aware of. Basic bloody intelligence. Fucking Etonians.
‘Anyway, once you chaps had run the brothers to ground, Jeremy decided that instead of taking care of them quietly, which was the whole point of Blindeye, there might be an opportunity for something more public – in short, a propaganda coup for the PM. So he and his pal cooked it up between them. The irony is, of course, that in the end that’s exactly what they got. Thanks to you two.’
Alex is seething. We knew the risks becoming part of this team, but to be treated like pawns in some power game was eating at her.
‘Instead of the almighty bloody screw-up they almost created.’
‘Indeed.’
‘So what happens to him now? And his friend? Did Jeremy tell him about Blindeye?’ Alex wants blood.
‘His friend got what he was after – a big promotion. As for Jeremy, we’ll see. Blindeye remains operationally secure. It’s got to be handled very carefully, as you can imagine. Despite him trying to run this himself, he is perfectly
placed for this role. So for now, he stays in position.’
Alex and I share another look, we both know there is something between the lines, but we can’t read it.
He continues: ‘Craig, Ryan, Claire and Riaz are all in the area. No one knows about them or you, but they are providing a ring of steel around the hospital just to be sure. And, of course, now you’re awake you’ll have someone to talk to.’
As the DG leans in to my bed, he addresses us both with a smile that catches us off guard. ‘I’d quite like to have Jeremy shot, to be perfectly honest, but we’d probably best not go there.’
Matching his smile, Alex replies, ‘I know a guy . . .’
He stands, buttoning his camel-hair coat. That’s obviously as much as we’re going to get as far as Leyton-Hughes is concerned.
‘One more thing . . . In case the death of Stormy Weather is preying on your mind . . .’ The subtle shift in Alex’s posture is minute, but I see it. She’s still uncomfortable with what I did in the back of the van.
The DG pauses by the door to continue. ‘Now that you understand Jeremy was working off his own bat without my say-so, you still did the right thing. Had I been aware of the situation, I would have given my authorization. It’s not easy, and we don’t do these things lightly, but it was for this kind of operational –’ pausing to find the right word his eyes flicker until he picks one – ‘flexibility that Blindeye was set up. You have nothing to punish yourself for.’
He places his hand on my arm in a way that says he knows the hurricane of pain I’m in, not just physically but emotionally. I realize I’m a different person than I was a month ago. Tapping my arm, he signals that’s the last he’s going to say on the matter.
‘Now, recover quickly. As soon as you’re well enough to be moved, we’ll get you to a more discreet facility. In the meantime, you won’t see anybody in uniform about the place, but Ms Winters and the rest of your friends are here making regular visits around the clock, just to be on the safe side.’
He leans down to shake my good hand before he goes. No more needs to be said. From the intense look in his eyes, he knows the burden he’s asking us to bear. In this split second, I get the sense responsibility weighs heavily on him.