The Hostage s-1

by Duncan Falconer

Kathryn looked towards it; plants and a partition obscured much of the area.

  ‘There are rooms available. Would you like one?’ the receptionist said, the professional smile back on her face.

  ‘One moment,’ Kathryn said.

  She picked up her bag and walked over to the reading area. Only one person occupied it, a man seated in an armchair reading a newspaper. She walked up and stood in front of him. He ignored her and turned a page.

  ‘You want to see me?’ she asked him.

  The man looked over his paper and studied her, confirming who she was. He was a hard-looking individual with a face that appeared unused to smiling. He folded the newspaper methodically and indicated the seat beside him. ‘Sit down,’ he said in a soft Irish accent.

  She obeyed. Kathryn had thought of little else on the journey than about whom she was going to meet. She wondered if this was the all-important terrorist leader. Father Kinsella had told her she was not to speak to her contact unless asked.

  She had felt quite calm about the whole thing during the flight, although she hadn’t slept, but since climbing into the taxi at Heathrow she had started to feel nervous. During the drive into London it crossed her mind that what she was doing, meeting with terrorists, was illegal. She toyed with the pros and cons, and finally reasoned that she could not know if the person she was to meet was actually a terrorist. They could be a representative, which was like meeting a criminal’s lawyer. Not that it mattered. She would meet the devil himself on this matter, even if just to prove to herself that she was a good wife and mother.

  Whenever she thought of Hank she pictured him stuck in a dark and dirty cell, but in truth she remained as confused as ever about her feelings for him. They were tested a few days before when her mother asked her what insurance Hank had and if it covered abduction by terrorists. Kathryn found herself thinking about it on and off the rest of that day. She was pleased to be able to at least say she never actually tried to find out if she was covered and for how much; to do that before Hank’s fate was known would have been very low in her estimation. Her mother had also said a good lawyer could sue the US Navy for millions. Kathryn had done her best to rid her mind of such thoughts, but despite her best efforts they had helped dull her misery. In fact for one moment she saw herself moving into a big beautiful house on the water. She tore the thoughts from her mind, but could not help acknowledging that they did bring into question her true feelings for her husband. She was determined to do everything physically possible to save Hank if for no other reason than were something bad to happen to him she could look herself in the face without feeling guilt.

  The man handed her an envelope.

  ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he said. ‘Inside that envelope are train tickets and a hundred pounds. Open it and check it.’

  She put down her bag and opened the envelope. The contents were as he described and included an itinerary and instruction sheet.

  ‘Read and follow the instructions to yourself as I explain them to you.’

  She unfolded the piece of paper.

  ‘The hundred pounds is for taxis and general expenses. You’ll catch a taxi outside this hotel to King’s Cross railway station. You’ll go straight to platform 9 and catch the first train to King’s Lynn. Platform 9b to be exact.

  ‘Make sure you’re on the right train. Ask someone. King’s Lynn. Go to the far end of the platform. Make sure you’re in one of the front four coaches or you might get left in Cambridge. The journey takes about an hour and three-quarters. Do you understand so far?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, intimidated. She could feel his strength, his resolve.

  ‘King’s Lynn is the end of the line. The train doesn’t go any further. Get off the train, go outside, and get a taxi. The station has a taxi rank. If there are none left, wait for one. Don’t go anywhere else. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell the taxi driver you want to go to Burnham Market and a hotel called the Hoste Arms. He’ll know where it is. Read that back to me.’

  ‘The . . . Burn-ham Market, the Hoste Arms.’

  ‘Burnham. One word. The H is silent. Not burn ham.’

  ‘Burnham,’ she repeated correctly.

  ‘Go in the front door and find a seat in the bar. Someone will meet you there. They’ll say, what’s the weather like in Boston, Kathryn? Say that back to me.’

  ‘What’s the weather like in Boston, Kathryn?’

  ‘When your business is concluded, ask the hotel to call you a taxi and you will do the exact same journey in reverse. Is that clear?’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘Were you not told, don’t ask any questions?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. It’s just that—’

  ‘I’m here to talk.You’re here to listen and do what you’re told. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you get back to King’s Cross, platform 9, you will walk directly out of the station. If the train does not stop at platform 9, you will walk to platform 9 as if it had, and then walk directly out of the station. When you are outside, that’s in the open air, as opposed to being under the roof of the station, you will turn right and move out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, just a few feet.That means you will still be by the entrance to platform 9. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Someone will meet you there. At the bottom of the instruction sheet is a number. It’s a mobile phone number. You will call that in the event of an emergency only. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s it then.’

  ‘Can I ask you one question?’

  He sighed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Am I staying in this hotel?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do I have time to freshen up, I—?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I didn’t sleep on the plane.’

  ‘No. You’ll leave your bag with me. You’ll get it back when you return to London tonight. Now go. Outside. Catch a taxi to King’s Cross railway station . . . Go,’ he said with finality, staring into her eyes.

  Kathryn stood, looked at her bag, changed her mind about asking to get something from it, and turned and walked away.

  She stepped out of the hotel and looked up and down the road for a taxi. She saw one and waved, then realised she was waving with the envelope and money in her hand. She folded them and put them into her coat pocket as the taxi pulled over to the kerb. She paused to look at the hotel; there was no sign of the man - or her bag. The level of her nervousness went up a notch as she climbed into the cab.

  ‘King’s Lynn railway station, please.’

  ‘King’s Lynn? You sure, luv?’

  Kathryn had a flash of panic and quickly took the envelope from her pocket and checked the instructions. ‘Sorry. I mean King’s Cross.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ the driver said as he pulled away and headed up the road. ‘King’s Lynn is bloody miles away. Nice place though, parts of it. It’s on the coast. Me an’ the misses used to keep a caravan up there. Up the coast a bit. Nice place. Ain’t been there for years though.Yeah, don’t you get King’s Cross mixed up with King’s Lynn for Christ’s sake. Cost you a pretty penny by taxi that would . . . ’

  Kathryn hardly listened to a word he said.

  Aggy sat in her bedroom at her dresser, looking at herself in the mirror. She wanted to do something with her short hair but couldn’t think of anything she liked. Her eyes fell on the perfume bottle on the dresser. It was the only one she had. No one had ever bought her perfume before.

  She picked it up, removed the top, sprayed a little on her hand and smelled it for the umpteenth time. What the hell, she thought. Got to start sometime. She sprayed some on her wrists and rubbed them together then gave a little squirt to either side of her neck. She then had a mischievous thought, hiked up her skirt and sprayed some on her inner thighs, high up and close to her panties. She went to her bed, where she had laid out a selection of possible clot
hes to wear. She held up two blouses, looked from one to the other several times, and settled for the tighter one. She picked a bra up off the bed and tossed it into an open drawer and pulled off her shirt. She inspected her breasts in the mirror from one side and then the other, cupped them in her hands and pushed them up and then smoothed them over, as if putting them back into place gently. She pulled on the blouse and adjusted it. Sexy was definitely the word that came to mind.

  Her door opened and her mother leaned in holding a cordless phone.

  ‘Call for you,’ she said, then put her hand over the phone and mouthed playfully, ‘It’s a man.’

  Aggy smiled and took the phone as her mother raised an eyebrow at the blouse, suggesting it was cheeky. Aggy playfully shooed her out and closed the door.

  ‘This is Melissa,’ she said. There was only one man she was expecting a call from, and he knew her as Melissa. She was happy that he’d called even though she was due to meet him late that afternoon to spend the rest of the evening with him - and perhaps the night too.

  ‘Aggy,’ the voice said.

  All cheery images of her and Bill Lawton together fled from her mind. She knew who it was and he was the last person in the world she had expected to call, even though for a long time he was the only man she hoped would. She had long since given up that daydream. Now here he was.

  ‘Stratton?’ she said.

  ‘How you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine. You?’

  ‘Not bad. I asked your mum for Melissa by the way.’

  She’d thought Bill was the only person in NI who knew her real name. But then, nothing about Stratton surprised her, except a telephone call from him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  She couldn’t believe it. Now that she was seeing someone he was calling her. Nevertheless, she was torn. Bill had started to win her heart the past few weeks, but it was obvious Stratton still had a place in it.

  She and Bill had somehow managed to cultivate their relationship secretly by meeting a few times in Ireland. The credit really went to Graham the bleep. Aggy was permitted to leave the compound to go out in the evenings only if someone from the det accompanied her. It was the same for all the operatives. But she could hardly meet Bill if she was with one of the others. But on one shopping trip in Lisburn with Graham, they had bumped into Bill. It all seemed coincidental but Aggy remained suspicious that Bill had engineered it. By the time all three had finished lunch together it was obvious to Graham there was something between Bill and Aggy. Instead of spilling the beans, Graham actually suggested how he might be of help; he and Aggy would leave the det together for an evening out and while Aggy spent the time with Bill, Graham would happily hang out in a bar and wait for them to be done.

  Even though Aggy could not be disloyal to Bill, something deep within her hoped Stratton was finally making his move. She would not be able to accept, not now at least, but she would be pleased. But letting Bill go didn’t seem right either. Her heart was, in a word, confused. It was certainly not something that could be figured out right there and then anyway.

  ‘I was just about to go out,’ she said, aware that it was essentially deceptive not to admit it was with a boyfriend. She expected Stratton might suspect as much anyway and wondered how that might affect his interest. She would come clean if he asked, although she would not tell him who it was.

  ‘You’re going to have to cancel,’ he said. ‘You’re working. ’

  ‘I’ve got to go back?’ she asked, surprised as well as disappointed on several levels.

  ‘No. You’re on immediate standby to move. Sorry if it’s inconvenient . . . This is big, Aggy.’

  Aggy’s heart sank. She had not for a second considered he might be calling about work, since he had left the detachment.

  ‘You don’t have a mobile, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  Stratton expected as much. She was on leave for a couple of days to take a car back to the mainland and therefore would not have been permitted to take any operational equipment with her such as communications or weaponry. It would also be highly unusual for an operative to have a personal cell phone since they were not permitted to carry one on the job for security reasons, and operatives were home little enough to warrant owning one.

  ‘Then you’re gonna have to stay home and wait for my call. Sorry.’

  ‘Is this happening in London?’

  ‘I’ll let you know soon as I do. Later,’ he said, and hung up.

  Great, she thought. Not only did he not ask her out, he screwed up her evening to boot. The bastard. She sat back down at her dresser and looked at the phone in her hands. Despite the disappointment it had been nice to hear his voice. She began to wonder what the important job could be, then her thoughts went to Bill. Dear Bill.

  Chapter 19

  Bill Lawton climbed out of the shower, grabbed a towel and walked into his studio flat to dry himself off and pour a glass of whisky. He was feeling in a fine mood. Life was looking pretty good, all things considered.This feeling wasn’t based on anything tangible, although recent events had a lot to do with his optimism. It was more a suspicion that things were heading in the right direction after so many years of being in a kind of limbo. Since Henri had been blown, a vital link between Bill and his handlers had been broken. It was beginning to look as if this might work in his favour and assist his plans to remove himself from the tyranny of his obligations. It had all seemed to fall into place quite nicely. He wondered why he hadn’t seen the advantages earlier. All he had to do, while in this zone of silence and confusion, was quit the military, and as soon as he could. His excuse to his handlers, whenever they eventually made contact again, would be that he thought he was blown after the Paris incident, or at least was about to be, and that he felt he should get out while he still could and avoid incarceration. There was a possibility also that, once he was a civilian, even if MI5 did discover he had been the mole they might do nothing about it. That was not necessarily a pipe dream; they would not want the negative publicity it would bring, and these were not good times to shake the people’s confidence in the country’s intelligence services. As for his own people, once he was a civilian there was little he could do for them any more. He had provided them with some quality information over the years and it was inevitably going to come to an end one day. He was not so naïve to believe it would turn out as smoothly as this simply because things never did, but it was without a doubt the way forward. Anyway, he had already set the wheels in motion by asking for an interview with his boss when he got back to Lisburn. He was going to make an official request to terminate his Queen’s commission as soon as possible.

  The other reason for his happiness was Aggy. He had never expected to feel the way he did about her. His initial attraction had been purely sexual and he honestly never expected it to be anything more. It was a pleasant surprise when she turned out to be so much more fun than he imagined. She was more mature and complex than she appeared; she kept a lot inside and he found it rewarding each time she revealed a little more of herself to him. He could tell she was learning to trust him and, strangely, he was enjoying being trusted - and being trustworthy.

  And by God her body was every bit as beautiful and exciting as he had imagined.Those fools back in the detachment had no idea what a woman they had in their midst. He could not get enough of her. They had slept together only once, on their second date, the night after their first evening together. The memory itself was almost as exciting as the actual event. Even looking at her naked body afterwards was pure joy. When she got out of bed to leave him that night he could not take his eyes off her, revelling in every second of her flesh until she pulled her clothes on. He swore that if the only pleasure he were to be allowed for the rest of his life was to run his finger from her neck, down her back and along the parting of her buttocks, he would be more sated than most.

  A loud knock startled him out of his daydream and his eyes flashed to the front d
oor. He wasn’t expecting anyone. In fact no one but a handful of his workmates in NI knew he was home. He’d sneaked back from over the water just to see Aggy, having lied to his boss that it was a family emergency. She was of course the one person in London who knew he was home and the thought brought a smile to his face; she obviously couldn’t wait until their date later in the day.

  He went to the door and paused as a mischievous thought crossed his mind. He discarded the towel. The knock came again. He stood naked at the door, his hand on the latch. If it was someone who had the wrong apartment they were going to get a shock.

  He flung open the door, arms spread, in all his glory, and couldn’t have been more horrified if it was the grim reaper himself standing there. In Bill Lawton’s estimation the visitor was a fine candidate for the job. Father Kinsella stood in the hallway in a well-tailored tweed suit and hat, a small briefcase in his hand, his eyes fixed on Bill’s, and he wasn’t smiling.

  ‘You,’ Bill said, plainly shocked. He kept his composure and retrieved his towel, wrapping it around his waist. Father Kinsella walked in and closed the door.

  ‘Just a wild guess, but by any chance were you expecting someone else?’ the priest said.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Bill said angrily as he took his shirt off the bed and pulled it on.

  ‘It makes me sad that you’re not happy to see me, Bill me lad.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be home.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to come here. No one is.’

  ‘Things don’t always stay the same way, do they, Bill?’

  Bill pulled on a pair of trousers and discarded the towel, already fearing dark reasons for Kinsella’s arrival at his home.

  ‘I was worried about you,’ Father Kinsella said. ‘There’s been no secure way to get hold of you since the Paris thing. You never made any effort to contact me, so I had to come and make sure everything was okay.’

  ‘You were the one who said I would always be kept isolated.’

  ‘I’m just a harmless priest from Boston, remember? And we’re old friends.’