by James Flynn
44.
Seona stared blankly into the mirror. She sat at the guest room dressing table, wrapped in a thick white dressing gown. The room was far more like what she was expecting from a mock-chateau. A soft light from two small chandeliers filled the room; the red velvet curtains were drawn. The person staring back at her was completely alien; she was amazed at the difference in her reflection.
Luke had taken her to a chemist in the nearest village using Aubert’s beaten Range Rover; he went round the shop throwing items into a basket. He bought hair dye, highlight toner, scissors, shampoo, a multipack of tissues and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. When they returned to Aubert’s place, Seona’s worst fears were confirmed: Luke wanted her to cut and dye her hair.
She had put up a spirited defence, claiming that it was ridiculous; she didn’t want to lose her beloved hair. But Luke had been insistent, claiming they wouldn’t last five minutes in London unless she altered her look. Reluctantly, and with him looking over her, they had subtly changed her hair colour and style. Two things had amazed her; the first was how much time and care Luke had taken over getting the right colour and cut; and the second was how subtle the colour change and style had been. She had just assumed that there would be a crazy new colour, like black or purple and the style would be something insane like a short sharp bob. In fact, it had been far less dramatic, or as Luke had said to her: The key is not living in the extremes. We have to get a colour and style that makes you invisible in a crowd. The biggest mistake is to go to the extreme. It would stop people recognising you but draw a whole new range of subconscious attention.
She had been left with a light brown colour and a shoulder-length cut. Luke had then started on physicality; he told her she was always to wear at least three items of clothing over the top of each other to change her body shape. He had told her: If surveillance is watching us from a distance or scanning a crowd all of this will make a difference.
Luke had left her to sleep hours ago and she had only managed sporadic bursts of proper rest. In the space of two days her whole world had been turned upside down; nothing felt the same anymore. The world suddenly felt so flimsy, as though it could all disappear at any moment. Her life had always been so untouchable, no barriers, no obstacles. It now all felt so pathetic; she knew that in essence her life had been one big hiding act, always avoiding reality. Reality – that word now had new meaning; she had seen a reality that would never leave her. She had been amazed at the tender way in which Luke had handled her since they had arrived at Aubert’s. It was an inescapable truth that she did feel protected by him, he made her feel safe. Not for the first time that day she wondered what he was doing, wanting to be near him.
Her eyes strayed from the mirror as she disappeared into thought. After several minutes her brain began to register what she was looking at; her eyes had rested on the skirting board running around behind the dressing table. Running on top of the skirting board was a wire that had been pinned neatly into place. Seona followed the wire as it went behind the brass-trimmed wardrobe. She stood and walked over to the wardrobe; she hadn’t explored that side of the room as Alice had left all the clothes on the bed. There was a small walnut table covered with a pristine white tablecloth, on top of which was a small writing pad and an ivory-coloured telephone. Luke must have missed it.
Seona wrestled with her thoughts, and shot a glance back at the door. Luke had stressed to her the dangers of letting people know where they were. I should call the police. She hesitated, Luke’s words rang in her head: We trust no one, no authorities, no friends … no one. Seona reached for the receiver, keeping her eyes fixed on the door, the numbers were on a classic-style twist and pull. She put the receiver to her ear: there was a tone. She couldn’t resist the urge to end the nightmare. She had no idea who to call, there were very few numbers she knew off by heart and the numbers blurred in the panic.
Then her mind rested on someone, in fact, the perfect person: Uncle Peter. She knew he would know exactly what to do; he would know who to contact to help her … Luke’s words rattled around her head. Did she want to drag her Uncle Peter into the dangerous mess? No, she couldn’t. There was only one number her mind would focus on. But it was Saturday; would anyone be in the office? She began dialling the number, the twist mechanism cranked with each pull.
There was a ringing on the line. Seona’s hand trembled.
Hello, Exlit Energy. Natasha speaking.
Seona almost collapsed when she heard Natasha’s voice; she thanked God that Natasha was a workaholic and was always in on weekends. “Natasha, Natasha, it’s me ... Seona …” she kept her voice to a whisper.
Oh my God, Seona! Where … where the hell are you? Are you ok? What’s happening? Are you ok? My God ...”
Seona didn’t have long. “Natasha, listen, listen, I am fine, I am in England …”
“England ... England? But it’s all over the news ... They said you were kidnapped in New York, my God, Seona, are you sure you’re ok? Where are you?”
“Natasha, listen to me. I was kidnapped, but I am now back in England. I am ok ...” Seona fought back the croak in her voice. “Natasha, have you heard from my father?”
“No, no. Haven’t heard a word. We thought he was over in Russia sorting some new pipeline deal, but … oh God, oh God ... Seona, are they hurting you? I will call the police, just tell me where you are!”
“No, no. Don’t phone the police, I am not being hurt. I think they just want money. Natasha, you need to keep trying to get hold of my father. I will call you again tomorrow, but do not call anyone else.” Seona paused. “If you don’t hear from me by the end of the day tomorrow then you can call the police and tell them I am being moved to London. I have to go.”
“No, Seona, wait, wait! Is there anything that …”
Seona placed the receiver back onto the cradle. She crossed to the bed and curled up in the dressing gown. It had taken a lot of energy to sound calm. Why didn’t I just phone the police? In her heart she knew why she hadn’t immediately taken the opportunity to call the police; it was because she found herself trusting Luke, trusting that he – despite being the one who snatched her from safety – was now the only one that could get her back to it.
45.
The nightmare had put an end to Luke’s sleep; he was now down in Aubert’s kitchen swigging cold, filtered water. He decided he needed something stronger and walked over to retrieve the metallic kettle; dipping it under the tap he returned it and flicked it on. The digital oven clock read 5.30 p.m. and he had managed to gain enough hours’ sleep to feel rested. His training had taught him the way to function on little sleep. Many people believed that sleep was a physical need, but a large proportion was based around mental capacity; the mind was a muscle that could be trained to function with little sleep. However, no sleep was fatal.
Luke could hear Aubert approaching from the main hallway long before he appeared, his flip-flops slapping on the treated stone flooring. He now wore three-quarter-length green khaki trousers, an open-necked white shirt, and was sucking a familiar Gitane Brune.
“Bonjour!” Aubert crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Grolsch lager. “All rested?” He stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the sink.
Luke nodded.
“So, do you have some clear thinking about what your next move is?” Aubert asked.
“Some. As I said, London is the starting point, but then it’s in the lap of the gods.” Luke grabbed a mug from a cupboard and jammed a spoon into some granulated coffee, heaping it into the mug. “Thank you for the cash.” Aubert had helpfully supplied money for the makeover equipment.
Aubert stood looking out into the cloud-studded sky. “You know the main thing I miss about France? The weather. Oh Temple, you should see the summer evenings in Cap Ferrat, simply stunning. And here? Well, you get this.”
Aubert took a swig of lager. “I spoke with some associates of mine.” He pre-empted Luke’s thoughts. “Please r
elax, they are very discreet associates. I asked about Prussias Latvik because I have heard nothing on the grapevine as you say. I only met him a couple of times.” He took another swig. “They found nothing particularly outside the norm. He is getting a lot of flack at the moment from his Russian shareholders with regard to a new merger that he is planning, but it is small-time. They did however mention one thing that was rather interesting; Prussias Latvik is a very close personal friend to Sir Peter Villier, which is no secret. However, my associate claimed that recently Prussias had made the decision to pull all his interests and operations out of the UK.”
Luke poured the boiling water and stirred the coffee granules as he listened.
Aubert continued, “He wants to relocate back to Russia and run things from there. Now, all this may seem of little interest, but for one crucial point: my associate happened to say that he is not only withdrawing corporate activity, but he has been giving hundreds of millions of pounds in covert accounts to fund anti-terror and intelligence operations for years. And guess what?”
Luke sipped the hot coffee. “He is taking all his funding with him.”
“Oui.” Aubert finished the beer in one final swig.
Luke ran through the connotations involved in what Aubert’s associate had said. They were all negative. Such an obvious connection between Prussias and the intelligence community could not be ignored, even more so because he was a close friend of Sir Peter Villier. In a previous life Luke had heard several rumours that echoed around the walls of GCHQ about Sir Peter’s almost pathological pursuit of the complete eradication of terrorism. Apparently, on a daily basis he would ring through to senior officers at GCHQ and demand full printed reports and interceptions.
Luke couldn’t escape the nagging thought that all of the dots seemed to be connecting, and they were drawing a clear picture of intelligence service involvement. This also went a long way to explaining how Bobby and Razor knew several details about him.
“Follow me,” Aubert instructed Luke.
They walked out onto the rear patio; the back lawn stretched for about a hundred metres until it hit the tree line. Aubert pointed at the trees. “A warm protection, I find.”
Luke didn’t respond. Often, what people thought of as an obstacle to keep others out could be very quickly turned into something that actually trapped them in.
Aubert led Luke to a side entrance in what used to be the old barn and punched in a security code to unlock a plain-looking metal door. The door slid rapidly sideways. It was pitch black beyond. Aubert stepped in and Luke followed. The air was musty and close; the stench of motor oil and grease was potent. Aubert flicked a switch and spotlights in the ceiling lit the room. The room was only small, a perfect square, big enough to fit ten people comfortably. The walls were all soundproofed and there were work benches stretching around all four walls, stacked with ultra-modern tools.
Aubert grinned as he watched Luke take in the room. “Every man must have his own space.”
There were no other exits apart from the door they had entered through; it was very much Aubert’s personal room. On the workbench stretching along the wall to the left of the entrance was a large blanket that appeared to be covering up several items. Aubert wasted no time; he uncovered the blanket to reveal some serious hardware, all stripped and laid out meticulously.
First up there was a Heckler and Koch MP5, a tried and tested sub-machine gun, favoured by Special Forces worldwide. Luke had encountered it many times, it was reliable and effective with a 9 mm calibre and three-round burst options, but the one laying in front of Luke was an MP5SD version, which meant it had a suppressor, and was used for certain stealth work.
Luke was impressed.
Next to the MP5 there was a stripped MK23 Colt Automatic 9 mm pistol. Aubert must have been doing some trading with the Americans because the MK23 was used almost exclusively by American Special Forces. It was a highly effective offensive weapon and Luke noted that Aubert had got the matching suppressor. The next items caused Luke to double-take; stacked on top of each other were five Claymore mines, a coil of detonator chord and five separate clackers. Claymores were deadly; they consisted of a 1.5 lb slab of plastic explosive packed behind 700 steel balls and were utterly lethal when detonated; the steel balls would tear through anything. To finish off the haul were several clip magazines for both weapons and a strong multi-use Bergen and dry sack to carry it all.
“This is a very impressive shopping list,” Luke commented.
“Well, what can I say? I am a resourceful man. It is all yours; all the serial numbers have been removed. I believe that is how you guys like it.” Aubert noted the look in Luke’s eyes. “Oh come on, do not look at me like that. You know I am a business man. This sort of work pays well, that is all there is to it.’’
Luke was already checking the parts, making sure they were oiled and working.
“In the Bergen there is several thousand pounds in used notes. Once you have checked it all, load it into the Range Rover. It’s now your car.” Aubert lit a cigarette.
Luke didn’t know what to say, it had been a long time since he had thanked anyone. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but the equipment in front of him would certainly help to support most courses of action.
“Thanks Aubert.”
“I like to see a fair fight. But listen to me, Temple, this is it. I have played my part. I have interests to protect; when you leave tomorrow I don’t want to see you again, ever! Understood?” Aubert was serious.
“Understood.” Luke replied.
“Good. Now sort this out quick. I want to eat.”
46.
Prussias’s wrists were now red raw, a mixture of scab and weeping wound. The South African man had been in several times that day to pour sugar water down his neck and stuff bread and meat into his mouth. He was chained back in his makeshift bedroom, which consisted of a rusted metal bed frame, a thin stained mattress and a plastic pot next to the bed for use as a toilet. There were no windows or lights in the room, and time had lost all meaning. Prussias couldn’t even guess at what day it was, let alone the time of day. All he knew was that it felt as if it had been an eternity. The squat South African torturer had been his only contact with the outside world.
Prussias had given up pleading and bargaining with the man. He had offered vast sums of money for his safety and that of his daughter. The South African only laughed at the offers, and literally said nothing when Prussias begged for news on Seona. The thought of her being hurt had been his most painful torture. For many hours, possibly days, he had called out her name aimlessly, hoping in vain that she would be being held in a cell within earshot of his. All he ever heard back were his own echoes.
What have I brought upon us? All he ever wanted was to give his family the life he never had; he didn’t want them to go without anything, he wanted them to be able to enjoy life to the full. His wife’s memory was so vivid in the endless darkness he found himself talking to her, seeking forgiveness for putting her beloved daughter in this position. Seona … he had given so much to ensuring her protection, all he ever wanted was for her to be able to live without fear. He knew he had never given her enough father and daughter time but he had provided. That was unarguable. As for father and daughter time, would he ever now have the chance to put that right ...?
47.
“Wow that was actually good!” Seona scraped the last remnants of salmon off her plate.
“Thanks, you seem surprised.” Luke put his plate on the floor.
They were sat on separate sofas in the lounge. It was dark outside and the long draping curtains were drawn. Aubert had proclaimed a couple of hours ago that he was going out for the night to attend to business; after much suspicion from Luke he had admitted that business was in fact a lady called Grace and she was expecting him. Luke had no choice but to trust him. Aubert had given his staff the rest of the weekend off, giving Luke and Seona more privacy, although his main motivation was to contain knowle
dge of his involvement. He had sworn to Luke that he trusted his staff with his life.
“Who knew those hands did anything other than killing?”
Luke ignored the remark. “It was only a bit of salmon and vegetable pasta.” Luke had put more thought into the meal than he let on, they needed complex carbohydrates and minerals for slow, steady energy release.
“Well, whatever it was, it was nice … thank you.” Seona had briefly forgotten her situation as she had eaten dinner; the lounge was comfortable and cosy.
Luke had checked all the weapons and equipment and stashed them in the boot of the Range Rover. Having learnt from many operations, he was taking no chances; he had borrowed some strong adhesive tape and strapped extra magazines to the sides of the pistol and the MP5SD sub-machine gun. The reason for doing this was to allow a fast change of magazine, it was no good being caught in a fire fight and having to fumble around in bags and pockets for a fresh magazine. Seconds could be the difference between life and death. Although it marginally unbalanced the weapons, they were designed for close-quarter combat so accurate fire wouldn’t be an issue. Had it been a finely calibrated rifle or long-distance weapon then it would have been different.
Not for the first time Luke stole a glance at Seona. Her new look hadn’t altered her beauty; her porcelain skin still seemed to reflect the light. As the day had worn on Luke couldn’t deny that he found himself drawn to her.
“How are you feeling?” Luke guessed it was a stupid question.
“Considering … not bad. So we move again tomorrow?”
“Yes, we’ll wait until dark and head down toward London.”
Luke had decided they would park up at the end of an Underground line and head into London via train, leaving the equipment in the boot. He was considering Cockfosters. It would be impossible to carry that sort of weaponry through the capital, too many variables; the main one being the public. Everyone was far more observant these days.