Dead Edge

by Jack Ford

  Granger whipped round to stare at Rosedale. ‘I don’t mind if you follow him too. And you, Maddie. You want to go? Because right now I’d be happy to see none of you again. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much you point the finger at Cooper, you both played a part in it too. You went along with it. Behind my back. Giving me some bull about not wanting to do the job, about flights being delayed.’

  Maddie nodded in agreement. ‘You’re right, we did. And if you really want us to go, we will, Granger, but you haven’t answered Tom’s question. What was so sensitive about Ismet’s job?’

  Raging to almost the point of combustion, Granger snarled. ‘This is all down to you, Cooper. Always wanting to stir up things which aren’t even there to mix, and now you’ve got Maddison joining in the madness.’

  ‘And me.’ Rosedale said.

  Granger eyeballed him hard. ‘Who are you all of a sudden, Goddamn Fletcher Christian?’

  Calmly, Rosedale replied, ‘I’m just someone who’d be interested in hearing what you have to say.’

  Cooper said, ‘What are you hiding, Granger? Why won’t you answer?’

  ‘I’m not hiding anything. The fact is there’s simply nothing to answer.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s odd there was a boy on board?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Ismet explained to both of us how the situation is along that coast. You only have to turn on the TV and every news channel carries the story of migrants trying to board ships and stowaway.’

  ‘Come on, Granger, the guy had a stealth boat.’

  ‘I don’t care. You hear that? I don’t care if he had the Goddamn Flintmobile to ship his stuff. The fact is that’s his business. Not yours. Not mine.’

  ‘But it is. It’s all of our business if he’s doing something he shouldn’t.’

  ‘Like what? Come on, Cooper. What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I do know in my gut it feels all wrong. Maybe I should do some digging on this guy.’

  ‘You do no such thing. No-one here is going to do any digging. You got that? This is my company, and you follow my rules. So you leave well alone. Everything we do is based on confidentiality. Privacy and discretion are paramount for sustaining the reputation of Onyx. And let me tell you something: good reputations are hard to come by, but I guess you wouldn’t know about that. So you digging about in affairs of my clients is a non-starter. It just isn’t going to happen. Now, I’ve got a phone call to make and when I come back here in ten minutes, I want you gone.’

  Granger turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Cooper, Maddie and Rosedale in the large, airy office. Not saying anything. Not looking at each other.

  It was Cooper who broke the silence. ‘I appreciate what you guys did. Having my back with Granger. Thank you.’

  Rosedale said, ‘Don’t think this changes anything, Thomas. Not one Goddamn thing.’

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  USA

  46

  N3g2 h4

  It was quiet. Real quiet. But not the kind of quiet Cooper liked to relax in. It was the uncomfortable kind. The seat shifting kind. The kind which made every ticking clock seem louder. And the kind that had him brushing a fleck of dirt off his pants when there wasn’t any dirt to be had.

  With tight smiles, Beau and Woods sat on the couch in the private sitting room opposite Cooper, like some kind of tag team. Both raising their eyebrows. Both nodding their heads. Staring hypnotically like the snake in The Jungle Book, using mesmeric eyes to encourage him to be the first one to break.

  Wouldn’t do it. Goddamn it, he wouldn’t do it. Not this time.

  ‘This is nice.’ Damn it. He broke.

  Woods said, ‘Yep.’

  ‘Though I have to tell you, I’ve been at livelier wakes. What’s going on?’ Cooper said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Trying to get a conversation out of Beau, Cooper turned to him. ‘So how’s your day been? How’s monkhood? Is that even a word?’

  ‘Same as it always is. Which isn’t a bad thing. There’s something strangely reassuring about predictability.’

  ‘You never tire of the quiet life, Beau?’ Cooper asked.

  ‘You never tire of asking me that?’

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘But to answer your question, again. No, I had too many years in the Navy. Too many tours of duty. But don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to have served my country and I have absolutely no regrets.’

  A dark accusatory tone. A sudden anger. Cooper said, ‘None?’

  Understanding exactly what his nephew was getting at, Beau kept his tenor sunny, smiled. ‘Not really, I’m where I should be. It’s not where I should always have been, but it feels right and that’s all I could ask for.’

  Draining the bottom of his cup and continuing to be mildly impressed – much to Teddy’s disgust – with Joan’s nettle tea, Woods remarked, ‘It’s just good to see you, Coop. And of course, Jackson loves you coming by. He misses you. Always appreciate you dropping in.’

  Beau nodded in agreement. ‘You shouldn’t leave it so long, last time I saw you… ’ He trailed off, realizing what he was about to say maybe wasn’t the most sensible, the most tactful of things to come out with given the circumstances.

  ‘Oh you mean when you left me in the jailhouse to have an extra think. That last time.’

  Stern faced, tight lipped, Beau nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  There was that silence again. Damn it, it was pointless even trying; he’d break first anyway. ‘Have you had any more letters, John?’ Cooper said.

  Woods looked at Cooper, a strange expression passing over his face. A guarded stare and a closed reply. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Cooper, rather disconcerted by John’s reaction, shrugged. ‘Conversation. Concern. Take your pick.’

  ‘Concern?’

  Cooper opened his hands. Darted his eyes from Woods to Beau. And Beau to Woods.

  ‘Yeah. Problem?’ Cooper asked.

  Not wanting any more tension, Beau muttered to his nephew, ‘Leave it, Coop.’

  Cooper looked at them intently. ‘I’m missing something here, aren’t I?’

  Silence. Strained and uneasy. But this time, Cooper really wasn’t going to say anything first. Instead he tried to work out what the problem was. The letters to John, albeit via Beau at the monastery, had started early last year. Anonymous letters. Saying they knew. Knew about the accident eight years ago. Knew what really happened on the yacht that day. But they couldn’t. No-one could. The only people privy to such information were Jackson, John and Beau… That was it. All sworn to secrecy. The pact.

  Contrary to what they’d told the authorities at the time of the accident, and unlike the rest of the world had been led to believe, it hadn’t actually been him who’d sailed the boat into dangerous waters. It’d been Jackson, who’d been high on life and alcohol. Though he didn’t blame Jackson, he blamed himself because he should’ve known better.

  He’d been the one in the Navy’s Special Task Force, helping to set up an anti-piracy directive in the area. Him. Not Jackson. And, after all it was because of him that Ellie and Jackson were there. They’d flown out to visit whilst he was based in Lamu, and the three of them had rented a yacht, sailing it up the Kenyan coast. Anchoring and having a picnic in the heat of the midday sun, before he and Ellie had taken a nap below decks. And when he’d woken up, he’d seen the shadows, heard the lapping waves, and he’d known they were in trouble.

  Whilst they’d been asleep, Jackson had sailed the yacht into pirate-heavy waters. On top of which he’d been drinking. Heavily. But Jackson had been young and foolish and hadn’t realized what he’d done. What he was sailing them into. But Cooper had known, hell had he just, and he’d radioed in for help. To the ship he was serving on. To his Uncle Beau. His Captain.

  After the accident, the authorities needed to know what had happened. And right then, right there he’d made a decision, telling John – who’d also flown out to see him – that he w
as going to take responsibility. There hadn’t been any doubt in his own mind that he was doing the right thing, because, after all, Ellie was missing – to the authorities, missing presumed dead. So they wanted answers. And if they’d known that Jackson had been at the wheel, drunk in charge of a vessel, they’d have hauled his ass into prison. A Kenyan prison. And Jackson couldn’t have coped with that. And Cooper couldn’t have coped with sending Jackson there.

  So the official report stated it’d been an accident, caused and exacerbated by the pirate attack, with the vessel being sailed by him, an experienced Navy Lieutenant with an exemplary record. In other words, no repercussions, with no-one needing to know the truth.

  That was the pact. And John had gone along with it. Uncomfortable to begin with, but knowing it was the best choice for his son, Jackson… and for his political career.

  At the time of the accident, John had been Governor of Illinois, so the incident had became newsworthy. John, had done television interviews, and with them came an outpouring of public sympathy and support. Well wishers across America were rooting for Jackson to pull through after the horrific neurological injuries. It had been close – not many people survive a gunshot to the head – but ultimately he’d got through. Survived – even if he was eventually left with trauma-based depression. But America had been behind him. And although it hadn’t been intentional, the public support had certainly helped John secure his party’s nomination for presidential candidate.

  Then on election day the supporters came in their tens of millions. Strangers who somehow felt an infinity with John, having gone through the journey of Jackson’s recovery with him, put their check in the box by John’s name… John James Woods. The People’s President.

  And over time the four of them had put the truth away, locked, chained and tightly sealed, until some of them started to believe the lies themselves…

  Until last year that was when the first of the letters came. Telling John that they knew. They knew it hadn’t been Jackson sailing the yacht that day.

  Then another one had come, telling him he should do the honorable thing and step down as President. And if he didn’t. They – whoever they were – would make damn sure he did.

  So yes, Cooper wanted to know if there’d been more letters. And he thought it was damn obvious why. He cared. Not because he was worried he’d get into trouble, hell, he couldn’t give less of a damn if he tried. No, it was John, and it was Jackson he cared about.

  ‘What’s the big deal about me asking?’

  Woods said, ‘How about we change the subject, Coop?’

  ‘I don’t get it, John? Beau? Has something else happened? You got more letters?’

  As tight as he could without actually keeping his mouth shut, Woods replied, ‘Can we just change the subject?’

  Cooper pulled a face. ‘Fine… How’s Jackson?’

  ‘He’s good, but then you should know that, seeing as you speak to him most nights.’

  ‘I do, but that doesn’t mean he always tells me how it really is. He hides his depression.’

  With an exasperated sigh, Woods snapped, ‘Coop, let’s cut the crap.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Woods sat forward. A habit he had when he wanted to emphasize his point. ‘I spoke to Granger.’

  Dog-like, the back of his neck seemed to bristle with hairs he didn’t even know he had. He snarled, ‘And?’

  ‘And, he told me exactly what had happened in Turkey.’

  ‘About the boy?’

  ‘No… Yes, but more about what you did.’

  ‘What I did?’

  ‘The pills. The ship.’

  Cooper stood up, walking across to the window. Didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. He stared out at his favorite view from the White House; across the south lawn to the Ellipse. With his back turned to John, he spoke slowly. ‘Don’t give me any lectures. I’ve heard them all before.’

  ‘Shame you didn’t bother listening.’

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve told you, stay out of my business.’

  ‘Granger and I go right back, so it is my business.’

  ‘Not when you’re trying to tell me what to do. You got that?’ Cooper said.

  Angry, snapping, Beau joined the conversation. ‘You damn well listen to your father when he’s speaking to you.’

  Cooper whipped round to look at them both. ‘Don’t you Goddamn dare use that emotive crap on me.’

  Woods tried and failed not to sound hurt. ‘I’m sorry that it’s such a pain in the ass to be my son.’

  Cooper stared at John. Hard. ‘Don’t give me that, I hate it because it’s just another one of your secrets. But hey, that’s us all over. Secrets and lies. And before you think it, no, I’m not for a second suggesting we tell Jackson. Because God knows he carries enough on his shoulders without this. I can manage to be his brother and love him as I do whether he knows or not.’

  ‘I don’t know where you get your coldness from, Coop. Your mom was the sweetest…’

  Blood-red anger filled Cooper. ‘You leave her out of it. And now we’ve finished playing happy families, I’d like to see Jackson.’

  Woods, steaming now, said, ‘You listen to what I have to say. I’m not going to give you a lecture on the perils of self-medication, but you know how I feel. And God knows we all went through it last year with you going crazy, and Jackson taking an overdose, so no, I’m not looking for that kind of year again.’

  ‘I’m glad we got that sorted out.’

  ‘Don’t be so damn flippant, Coop. But I’ll cut straight to the point. I need you to stay away.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This job. Leave well alone. So any ideas you have about digging around. Don’t. You understand?’

  Just as mad, just as angry as Woods, Cooper looked amazed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I spoke to Granger.’

  ‘You’re certainly his puppet, aren’t you?’

  ‘I had a chat with him, yes… But it was me who instigated it. These people who you’re dealing with. It’s… ’ Woods trailed off.

  Standing nose to nose. Six-foot-three to six-foot-three, Cooper asked with contemptuous curiosity, ‘It’s what, John? Because now – now – I’m real curious.’

  A pulse throbbed in Woods’ jaw. ‘Just don’t push it like you do everything else.’

  ‘What’s it to you…? Come on. Is this about Ismet? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘I’m just telling you to leave it. I told Granger the same. It’s not personal.’

  ‘And if I don’t, John?’

  ‘Coop, I’m warning you. This is bigger than you.’

  ‘Warning me? Seriously? Is that a threat, John?’

  With his temper almost blinding him, his finger poking Cooper’s chest, Woods spat his reply. ‘Take it how you will, Coop. But if you don’t stay away, let’s just say you might regret it. Do you understand me?’

  Pushing past John, Cooper headed towards the door. ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Cooper! I’m warning you! Stay away!’

  COLORADO, USA

  47

  Nd3 Ra4

  With the television on mute and his feet up on the Colorado blue spruce table he’d made last year with Levi, Cooper pulled a face as he knocked back the bottle of bourbon. He rarely touched the stuff, usually left it on the shelf in the pantry just waiting for moments like this. Moments like today. Moments like earlier. Moments like the past few weeks.

  He stared at the TV, looking through rather than at the images flashing up on the screen, whilst unsteadily reaching along the couch to grab the newly acquired blister pack of OxyContin. Quickly popping them out. Shaking them around on his hand.

  Looked down. Looked up. Looked around. Seeing the map of Africa with pins and strings and felt-tip markings depicting all the places he’d gone, partly for Onyx jobs and partly in the crazy-ass hope of maybe finding Ellie alive… if she had, as he’d once thought, b
een kidnapped by the Somalian pirates, rather than drowned. But that was then. All hope now was lost. Dumbed or numbed down. But it still haunted him. In his dreams. In every waking hour and in the whispering wind as he heard her call his name.

  He smiled as he looked at the photo of Cora, which sat pride of place on the windowsill. Beautiful, clever Cora. That was the day he’d flown her and Maddie across to Nevada and, much to Cora’s delight, he’d taken part in the Reno Rodeo. Coming last, but coming first in his daughter’s eyes. He glanced at the clay pot she’d made at pre-school for him, which looked nothing like a pot at all. And then he looked back down at the pills in his hand. Feeling that burn as he spoke out loud.

  ‘Hell no. Hell no. No you don’t. You don’t take me.’

  With a quick, hard, determined throw, Cooper flung them across the room, scattering them over the wooden floor, and followed it up by hurling the bourbon against the wall. To hit. To shatter. To slide down. Leaving a trail of golden whiskey behind.

  ‘Damn you, John!’

  Wiping his face and feeling the spikes of his stubble scratching against his palm, he rushed into the kitchen. Scrambling up onto one of the chairs and bringing down a box from on top of the whitewashed cabinet.

  Cooper threw off the lid and inside were dozens of small plastic bags. His collecting bags. The ones he began to obsessively amass eight years ago. Things from investigations. Things from Cora. From Maddie. Things Jackson had given him. Neatly in place. Collected and held. Keeping everything safe. Keeping everything in its place so nothing got lost. So nothing could go missing, ever again.

  From the bottom of the box he dragged out a bag full of leaflets. Hurriedly pulled one out. Reading it. Turning it over, before rushing to the phone.

  Punched in a number.

  Waited.

  A click.

  A voice.

  ‘This is the twenty-four hour drug helpline, I’m sorry there’s no-one here at the moment but… ’

  Slammed down the phone. Ran his eyes down the leaflet again.

  Punched in a number.

  … Again.

  And waited… Again.

  ‘Hello, this is the Colorado drug helpline, I’m sorry there’s no-one here… ’