2079- Beyond the Blue

by Florence Watson

  ‘Hold on.’ She says suddenly letting go of my hand. ‘I forgot my case. I’d like to change if that’s okay?’

  She looks down at me with an evocative smile. I assume she’s brought a flattering garment to wear to dinner, for my benefit. Hopefully one that reveals her neck.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I say, sliding back past her suggestively.

  There’s a sweet floral scent as the door to the cabin slides open.

  ‘My goodness Inigo, this is stunning!’ She exclaims.

  I allow her to lead into the room then put our luggage down beside the wardrobe. This is the biggest of the three cabins and follows the curve of the boat starboard. There are three large portholes, but the glass is presently darkened so only reflects the light in the room. It’s been a while since I was on the yacht long enough to make use of the beds - in particular the queen sized one in this master cabin. It’s oval and central, with two handmade cabinets fitted on either side. Like the rest of the yacht, everything is fashioned out of hardwood. The sheets are ivory colour silk and perfectly smooth like a layer of cream over the bed. There’s a bottle of champagne in a silver cooler on the dresser as I’d requested and on each of the pillows, a scattering of mauve rose petals.

  ‘This is pretty much how it was when the boat was built.’ I remark, watching her closely as she takes it all in. ‘Though the champagne and petals are a very recent addition.’

  ‘It’s delightful.’ She says, chuckling girlishly and turning to face me. ‘Is it all for me?’ She asks, looking back at the petals again.

  I shrug, reluctantly confessing my guilt. I have to admit the Bugs did a good job of scattering the petals. I was expecting something more mathematically precise, but the display is seemingly as random as if I’d done it myself. I’ve never ordered a room to be decorated for the intention of seducing a woman before, and it’s highly unlikely that I ever will again. Conventional romantic gestures are not my style. There’s no way of knowing if she’s really impressed by it, but I guess it’s irrelevant. The standard lovey-dovey offerings appear to have had the desired effect.

  ‘You are charming.’ She says, reaching up and wrapping her arms around my neck.

  I wrap my arms around her waist then gently guide her further into the room. I find her eyes, then press my lips against hers. I’m now acutely aware that time is getting on, having glanced at the clock on my eye as the cabin door opened. The kissing continues at a moderate pace but before long, I’m gently urging her to lie on the bed. Suddenly she pulls away and says: ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’ I reply, in my best attempt at a bedroom voice.

  ‘We haven’t even left the port Inigo!’ She replies with a chuckle.

  I put my lips to her ear; take in her perfume, then whisper: ‘I can’t resist you Heather.’

  I feel her relax in my arms and the kissing starts again. Though things appear to be moving forward nicely (and thanks to her scent I have Jessica in my head making the experience more bearable) she’s still reluctant to sit or fall back onto the bed.

  ‘Slow down.’ She says between my hungry kisses, and I realise that in my hurry to get access to her neck and get this over and done with, I’m coming across as pushy. Or inexperienced. Neither is good so I pull away, stand back, then begin undoing my shirt buttons. She folds her arms and stands watching with a naughty glint in her eye.

  ‘We should change for dinner.’ I say, slowly continuing to reveal my chest. ‘You didn’t happen to bring a cocktail dress?’

  ‘As it happens, I did.’ She replies, with an air of satisfaction.

  ‘Can I help you get into it?’

  She smiles then crosses her arms and in an instant, whips off the woollen obstacle, revealing a black satin bra. My eyes are immediately drawn to the lines of the lingerie that flatter her breasts and incredible shoulders. But the sight of her semi-dressed is a fleeting aside, and I remember that this martial arts expert could put me down in the blink of eye if I don’t stay focused.

  ‘You might need to help me with the rest.’ She says, in a tantalising manner.

  I step forward and the kissing begins again. This time slower and more intimate. She slides her hands into my open shirt. Adrenaline kicks in as the sound of her breathing and my own nervous, paced intakes of breath fill my ears - and I realise that it’s now or never. Thinking quickly, I move my hands to her hips then gently turn her around to face the wall. I undo the top button of her trousers. My right hand then slides back and falls to my pocket, whilst my left hand finds her trouser zip. I retrieve the vial of serum then return my right hand to her hip. I caress her neck with my lips. She leans her head to the side in response, before letting out a small murmur of pleasure. With the vial tucked into my palm, I glide one finger teasingly along the slacked waistband of her trousers, to her lower back. My hand then slowly rises, lightly following the line of her spine with my knuckles, and my thumb on the button, ready to press when I reach the nape of her neck. But before I can make sense of what’s happening, she grabs my wrist, spins me around and suddenly I’m in an arm lock. She kicks my feet apart; I almost lose my balance. I feel the burn in my distorted shoulder as she tugs upwards from my wrist.

  ‘Give it to me!’ She says angrily from behind and in a voice I don’t recognise.

  My grip on the vial tightens, despite the pain. I have a slight height advantage but no means of escaping her crippling hold. I have only one option: abruptly I throw myself backwards and at the same time, plunge the end of the tube into her body, somewhere in her chest. We fall back together on the bed. I land on top of her, crushing my own arm in process, but instantly my wrist is released. I stumble getting up, then turn and look down at the agent's body. Her eyes are shut and she’s lying with her arms by her sides. I take a few seconds to calm my breathing and compose myself, then check the time on my eye. As I do, I hear the engine start and feel the boat demagnetise and pull away from the dock. I did it, I succeeded. I quickly do up my shirt buttons then rearrange the body; hurriedly lifting the legs up onto the bed and putting the arms straight. Her chest moves gently up and down so I’m assured she’s not dead. The injection hasn’t left marks it seems. I scan the bed for the empty dispenser but I can’t see it. I lift her jumper, shake it out then check the area where I’m standing. It must have rolled off the bed somewhere. It doesn’t matter. And it’ll be obvious what happened when she wakes up. I lift her arm a little off the bed. It’s heavy and lifeless. She’s out for the count.

  ‘Lina.’ I call, running up the stairs three at a time.

  ‘Yes Master Inigo?’

  ‘I’d like to make an adjustment to the course.’ I say, pressing the black button to initiate the manual controls. I tap in the coordinates then allow Lina to take over again.

  ‘Very well Master.’ She says, after processing the new instruction. ‘On course to France, diverting to and stopping at Beachy Head.’

  Chapter 11

  Lina drops anchor 200 metres from the lighthouse at Beachy Head Cliffs. I expect Starla to land in the water somewhere between the lighthouse and the yacht. I ask Lina to turn out the lights inside so I can see out onto the water, but to leave on the ones along the beam so that Hero can find the boat. I’ve been pacing the lower deck since the engine died; looking up occasionally at the cliffs and the water, searching for a small vessel or flying object in the sky. This is one of the darkest spots on the south coast and there are no stars due to cloud cover. But the white glow from the lighthouse will guide Starla to the small boat - provided he’s out there. Assuming he’s made it. The beacon’s main beam is fixed in position, emanating far into the distance beyond the yacht, but it ought to be enough. Thankfully the wind has dropped so Starla’s descent should be a smooth glide to the water. That is of course, if she got as far as the cliffs. Or even out of London.

  Once again, I agonise over the possibility that one or both of them has been caught. If so, this is where it ends - for all of us. I could get away with just Hero I suppose, i
f he makes it and Starla doesn’t. But we couldn’t turn up in Italy without Adam's daughter. The plan needs all three of us to work. The course of the rest of my life will be determined in the next few minutes. I can’t think of a more pivotal moment before this.

  I try to take my mind off it by going through the plan. I committed to memory the instructions Hero gave me. I know it off by heart but it goes round and round in my head as I pace back and forth. Within seconds there’s a small flash of light from below the cliffs. I dash to the side and peer out. Then another flash. A signal. I look up to see a dark object in the distance, swooping down towards the water. I follow as it comes in to land, roughly where I saw the flashlight. It then disappears into the water but I don’t hear the splash. It’s too far away and the sound of the waves slapping the sides of the yacht drowns out any other noises.

  I hold my breath, listening for the sound of the boat cutting through the water, knowing that the motor will be silent. A minute or so passes, then I remember that Hero must deactivate Starla’s Chip. I’m not sure how long it should take. Then at last, I see a small dark vessel heading for the yacht. I descend the docking steps three at a time and arrive just as they do. In the dim evening light, I glimpse the wing pack on Starla’s back - already folded away. Hero then steps forward, blocking my view of her. The black, carbon rib inflatable boat bumps against the side of the yacht. He widens his stance for balance then throws me a rope. I catch it, then pull hard until the boat is as steady as it can be, before wrapping it around one of the metal bar handle bars of the yacht. Starla edges past him and reaches up for my hand. I grab her wrist. She wraps her fingers around mine then steps aboard the Lina Bo.

  ‘All clear?’ Asks Hero, stepping heavily onto the deck after her.

  ‘Job done.’ I reply.

  He turns and takes the rope, then hauls the rib from the water and onto the deck. It immediately starts to deflate. Starla stands back as if under instruction, then pulls down the hood of her dry suit. I open the door for her then look back over my shoulder to see the boat reduced to small package. ‘I’ll get the engine started.’ I call to Hero.

  We’re travelling at full speed, equivalent to around one hundred miles per hour. We'll be at Le Havre in just under forty minutes, which means we’ll leave the yacht in around thirty. I’m now sitting on the white leather couch in the cockpit with three hot drinks prepared, waiting for the stowaways to emerge from their cabins. Hero needs to recover after disabling Starla’s Chip. And I doubt he’s had much sleep in the last seventy-two hours so it’s likely that he’s taking a power nap before the next stage of the journey. I tap out a rhythm on the glossy table top whilst watching the steam rise from the cups. I assume Starla drinks decaffeinated, black tea like the rest of the country. If not, I can pour it away and make whatever she’d prefer. Running through a mental list of beverages I could offer her instead is a refreshingly mundane distraction. My anxiety could reach critical levels if I allow myself to fully realise how far we’re in over our heads. All things considered, there's a strong chance that we’re not being chased. The police first have to work out that Starla jumped from the cliff top. They must then find a body. The search could take hours, given that there isn’t actually a body to recover and they’re unlikely to abandon the scene without one. But given her recent history, Miles will be involved as soon as they’re alerted to her flat-lining. They’ll attempt to contact Heather; realising that it’s not a coincidence that I borrowed the yacht this weekend. They will then check my location and track the boat’s route, which will confirm our getaway plan. They’ll also work out that the plan would have been impossible without an exceptional soldier. But the yacht isn’t being pursued right now. There are no lights on the water or helicopters above. In six minutes, we’ll be clear of British waters - I’ve been watching the time. The further we get, the more chance we have of making it.

  I’m pretty sure I remember seeing orange and elderflower on the drinks list, if Starla doesn’t want this tea. It would make sense; it’s my mother's favourite. Or perhaps it’s lemon that she drinks these days? They could be questioning her right now. Don’t think about it, it’s not helpful. I think it is lemon. I should have paid more attention. It’s the little things...

  I look up suddenly to see Starla at the top of the stairs. She’s still in the black dry suit, but with a thick woollen jumper overtop that looks far too big for her. Her hair is dry but silky and a little shorter than in the pictures. But it’s still mousy coloured and kinked at the ends. The photographs didn’t do her justice. Neither do my memories. Everything I know about this young woman defies her soft, plain exterior. In the flesh, she exudes strength and tenacity. It’s in her eyes; in the way she holds herself. I stand as she walks towards me and in a moment of absolute clarity, the false reality I’ve been living with for weeks, crumbles and falls away like the walls of a cell. The contents of the diary merge with the present and I realise that anything I’d ever wanted until now, I’d never wanted as much as I want to be with her.

  ‘Hello Starla…’ I say, opening my arms in readiness to greet her.

  I don’t see the slap coming. It knocks me slightly off balance. I stand straight again and try not to look startled or in pain. That must be her shooting arm in netball.

  ‘You lied to me.’ she says, vehemently.

  Despite the sting in my left cheek, the sound of her voice sends a wave of excitement through my body. She makes me feel alive. I’m certain now that she always did.

  ‘Yes, I lied to you.’ I say, in complete submission. ‘It was the only way to make you see what was happening.’ Then perhaps a little too optimistically: ‘But now you’re on your way to Italy to be reunited with your father who no longer has dementia and is, as it turns out, quite well off. So it all worked out.’

  ‘Worked out?’ She repeats, seeming to question my sanity. ‘It’s only a matter of time before agents come after us. And if by some miracle we actually make it to Italy, we’ll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives!’

  ‘Okay firstly, every minute that goes by, our chances of getting away significantly improve. Secondly, the situation in Italy is only temporary. As soon as we’ve found a way to expose the corruption and hold the government to account, we’ll head back home to be welcomed by the British public with open arms.’

  ‘Are you really this arrogant?’ She asks, staring hard at me.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand…’ I begin, wondering how she could possibly mistake positive thinking for immodesty.

  ‘I risked my life going into that Health Farm for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t for me, it was for everyone. It was... Anyway, we had a deal.’

  ‘Yes, I agreed to go undercover in exchange for you reopening my mother’s case.’ She says, folding her arms. ‘But it was a trick! Those numbers weren’t a code!’

  In hindsight, perhaps it was foolish not to consider giving her an edited version of the diary. But it seems neither Hero nor myself at the time of planning for the worst case scenario, had factored in the possibility that Starla might call my actions into question - again. I now recall how stubborn she is and realise for a second time that I’m going to have to explain myself.

  ‘You agreed to take the position. Nobody made you do it.’

  ‘You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse!’

  ‘You could have refused.’ I reply sternly. ‘But you chose to act out of self interest. Isn’t that what the Manual says you should do?’

  ‘Don’t you dare twist this! You knew it was dangerous! I didn’t! How could you do that to me? To anybody?’

  ‘I tried to tell you what was happening to LOSERs at Greenlees, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘You could have tried harder!’ She yells, frustrated.

  ‘How?’ I ask, also raising my voice. ‘You were completely blind!’ I notice that she’s shaking. I start forward, but anticipating my attempt to comfort her, she backs away.

  ‘I thought m
y father was dead!’ She says, trying to smother the trembling by folding her arms tight across her chest. I grieved for him!’

  ‘I know.’ I whisper.

  ‘I’ve felt so alone these past few weeks. But I knew it wasn’t only because I’d lost Dad. It was as if something else was missing; like another part of my life had vanished. I couldn’t explain it.’ She looks up at me suddenly with an unsettled look in her eyes. ‘I started dating Giles.’

  ‘You mean Miles.’

  ‘Yes! It’s the same person. The psychopath who tried to kill me was my new supervisor at Holloway Health Farm!’

  ‘Our lives have followed remarkably similar paths.’

  'Are you serious?’

  ‘Well Hero must have told you about Heather who was sent to watch me? She's currently under sedation in the master cabin.’

  ‘You have no idea, do you?’ She says, staring at me in disbelief. ‘The agent assigned to ‘date’ you meant nothing to you. I’d actually started to believe that Giles -or Miles - and I were…’ She turns away, horrified by her own thoughts and feelings. Perhaps even her actions.

  ‘Look Starla…’

  ‘No! This is all your fault!’ She snaps.

  ‘But you must see that much of what happened after you learned the truth was out of my control. I was CIA’d too.’

  ‘Well none of it would have happened at all if you hadn’t coerced me into taking a position as a Health Worker!’

  ‘Fine.’ I throw my hands up as in defeat, then sit heavily down on the couch. ‘You just keep hurling the same accusation and I’ll keep reminding you that you had a choice…’

  ‘You used me. I was just a means to an end.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ I reply solemnly.

  ‘Admit it Jo. I was disposable.’ She says, folding her arms tighter across her chest.