by Chris Ryan
She glanced towards the window. ‘We’re still waiting for a full analysis –’
‘But you’ve got an idea,’ interrupted Jed.
‘There are theories all over the place about what’s happening in Iraq,’ said Laura. ‘It’s impossible to keep track of them all.’
‘Try,’ said Jed firmly. ‘If I get confused, we’ll draw a diagram.’
She leant closer to him, and he could feel her hand brushing against the inside of his jeans. ‘I like you, Jed,’ she whispered, moving on to his lap. Before he realised what was happening, he was kissing her. Her mouth was full, and her lips hard, like rubber. He could taste the pasta on her breath, and the seafood on her tongue. The kiss tasted salty and acid, yet supple and exciting all the same. For a brief moment, Jed hesitated, wondering if he was doing the right thing: he’d seen the kind of trouble some men had got into by sleeping with their colleagues, and although he and Sarah might be going through one of their breaks, she was still just about his girlfriend. But the doubts drained out of him as he could feel Laura’s hot breath against the skin of his chest, and feel her hands roaming down the muscles on his back. I’ve never been able to think straight with a woman in my arms, he reminded himself. No point trying to learn now.
He wrapped his arms tight around her back squeezing her close to him. They were still sitting on the chair, but it was rocking backwards, and in seconds they had fallen down on to the carpet, both of them laughing. Jed was lying on top of her, his lips running down the side of her body. Her skin was smooth, with just a pale tan, and her muscles were toned and hard. He pushed her bra up over her neck, running his tongue around her nipples, then slipped his hand down between her legs. She groaned softly, a small, throaty noise somewhere between a cough and a sigh. ‘Keep going,’ she muttered. ‘Keep going.’
Jed didn’t need any encouragement; he guessed she was trying to avoid answering his question, but that could wait. Her hands were already reaching up for the buckle on his belt. Her legs parted, wrapping themselves up around his back, and she pushed herself upwards towards him. ‘Take me,’ she said. ‘Take me right now.’
Twenty minutes later, she lay sweaty and calm in his arms, her blonde hair draped across his chest, silent and exhausted. Jed could feel the carpet against the skin on his back. There was a graze down his left ribcage where she had scratched him while they were making love. Beats another evening in the mess, he thought to himself. And it beats sending text messages to Sarah that she never replies to.
‘I’d better go,’ said Jed, looking around for where she had tossed his clothes.
‘Stay,’ said Laura.
Jed paused. He hadn’t taken her for the romantic type. It was hard to imagine she wanted him cluttering up the bathroom in the morning. ‘It’s OK,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve got a place at the barracks. I can kip there.’
‘Stay,’ she repeated.
‘I’m not on leave.’
‘Stay,’ said Laura, a firmer tone to her voice this time. ‘I might want to fuck you again.’
He looked across at her and smiled. ‘So answer my question,’ he said. ‘What the hell was I taking pictures of in Baghdad?’
‘I already told you,’ said Laura, her tone suddenly hardening. ‘You’ll find out later.’
Laura looked straight through him as Jed stepped into the room. She was still wearing the same clothes he had seen her put on that morning – black skirt, white blouse, a string of pearls, two diamond earrings, and black lace underwear he could still feel the taste of in his mouth – but her expression had changed completely. From flirty and fun, she had become stern and businesslike: her face, he was starting to realise, was a mask she could change as easily as other women changed their perfume.
‘Not this bed-wetter again,’ snapped Muir. ‘Hasn’t the Regiment got any decent blokes in it? I thought they were meant to be tough.’
‘They are,’ said Wragg sharply.
‘Well, we haven’t got the shit to put in our next dossier, have we?’ snarled Muir. ‘And that’s because the bloody pansy boys haven’t been able to go in and get it yet.’
Jed took a deep breath and composed himself. The call had come through on his mobile an hour ago from Laura. He was needed back at the Firm. When he’d asked what it was about, she’d clammed right up. Just get in a cab, she’d told him. Be here in an hour.
One of these days, mate, thought Jed, glancing fiercely at Muir, I’ll show you some real violence to put in your dodgy dossiers.
He looked around the room. Wragg was sitting next to Laura, with Mike Weston on his other side. Next to him sat the silent American, his mouth still shut, but with his Blackberry switched on. There was no sign of Miles Frith. At home with his mum, perhaps, wondered Jed. They were all looking straight towards him.
‘We’ve analysed the information you brought back from Iraq,’ said Weston. ‘And it was important. Very important.’ He paused, scratching a finger through his grey beard. ‘But we need more data to be sure of what exactly the Iraqis are doing in there.’
Wragg looked at Jed. ‘We need a small group of men to go inside and find out what’s happening in those labs.’
Jed shrugged. ‘That’s what the Regiment is there for,’ he said flatly. ‘Tell them what you want, and they’ll pick the men for the mission.’ He smiled thinly. ‘We’re all on the payroll.’
‘There’s a twist,’ said Laura.
‘It’s got to be off the fucking books,’ snapped Muir.
‘Off the books?’
‘That’s right, laddie,’ said Muir. ‘We’ve got a vote in Parliament on whether to go to war with Iraq in less than a month’s time. We need to know what’s in the lab before then. And we need to make sure that no one could possibly think the British government is taking a peek.’ A sour chuckle started in his throat. ‘After all, people might think we’d already decided to go to war with Iraq and were just looking around for an excuse.’
Jed could see Wragg casting a distasteful look at Muir. The golden rule of the Firm – that you never said what you really meant – had just been broken. There would be payback for that one day.
‘We need you to lead a group of four men to go into that lab,’ said Laura. ‘You’ll have full backup and support from the Regiment. But officially you’ll be on leave, freelancing. Anything goes wrong, and we won’t be able to help you.’
Jed looked at her closely. Maybe that’s why she fucked me last night. Just so I’d know what it felt like when she did it again the next day.
‘If I’m freelancing, then I guess I have some choice in the matter,’ said Jed. ‘I can decide whether I take the mission or not.’
‘Christ, we don’t need any of this barrack-room shop-steward bollocks,’ snapped Muir. ‘You’ll be showing us your union card soon.’
‘I thought you were a member of the Labour Party,’ said Jed. ‘Or are they not interested in the workers any more?’
Muir doodled another pair of breasts on his notepad, but remained silent.
‘Do you have a problem with the mission?’ said Wragg.
‘I’m a soldier,’ said Jed. ‘I signed up to fight for my country, and I don’t mind laying down my life for it, although I’d rather not if I can help it. But I’m not the Whips Office of the sodding Labour Party. If they’ve got problems justifying this war to their backbenchers, that’s their problem.’
A silence fell over the room. The air was cold with anger. Jed could feel the raw fury in the five pairs of eyes trained upon him. They were shocked but also contemptuous. Well, it’s your own fault, he thought. You wanted to recruit smarter guys into the Regiment. No point in being surprised if they turn out to be able to think for themselves.
‘Obviously it’s up to you whether you take the mission or not,’ said Wragg coldly. ‘Because it’s off the books, we can’t force you. Still, if you choose not to, I’ll have no choice but to recommend you be RTU’d.’
There was no need for him to spell out the acronym. Jed k
new what it meant. RTU stood for ‘returned to unit’: it meant being sent back to the unit you’d left to join the SAS. Within the Regiment, there was no more punishing disgrace. It stripped you of every last shred of dignity and self-respect. The verdict it delivered on your abilities could be summed up in four brutal, unforgiving words. You weren’t good enough.
‘Maybe I couldn’t give a toss,’ snapped Jed.
Mike Weston looked at him. ‘I hear what you saying,’ he said softly. ‘But whatever you might think of the way this war is being presented, what’s going on in that lab is important.’
‘Then tell me what it is.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You go in there, and tell me what it is.’
Jed slammed his fist on the table. ‘And how the hell can I look for it when you won’t even tell me what the fuck it is.’
‘You don’t need to know,’ said Muir, glaring straight at him. ‘That kind of information is above your pay grade.’
‘If you don’t trust the men on the ground, then the whole operation is fucked from day one,’ said Jed, glaring back.
‘There’s only one person who’s fucked in this room, laddie,’ said Muir. ‘And it’s the bloody pansy boy with the beard.’
Jed remained silent. They couldn’t make him go, he knew that. But they could humiliate him if he didn’t. Maybe Weston was right. Maybe there really was something important inside that lab. But they wouldn’t know unless somebody went and took a look.
‘The mission will be ready to start in three days, Jed,’ said Laura. ‘I’ve already talked to Hereford, and your leave is extended until then. I’ll expect to see you there in sixty-four hours. If you’re not there, well, that’s your choice.’
Jed stood up, nodded at Wragg and walked towards the door. The meeting room was on the first floor, and he walked quickly down the single flight of stairs. He stepped from the building and straight out into the south London scuzz of Vauxhall. It was a miserable morning. Rain was beating down on the streets, and a cold wind was blowing in off the Thames. Hell, I might as well be in Iraq, he reflected bitterly. At least I could work on my tan.
He looked at the headline screaming from the Standard billboards: labour rebels stand firm over Iraq. Jesus, muttered Jed. It’s tearing the country apart. Maybe the sooner we get on with the shooting the better. Get it finished and move on.
He walked over the bridge, then turned right and started heading along the Embankment. His mind was buzzing. He knew it had been dicey questioning whether he should take the mission. Still, it was his choice. Once you went off the books, the risks quadrupled. You couldn’t call on any backup. You couldn’t expect any help if you were in a jam. And if anything went wrong you’d be thrown out like yesterday’s garbage.
He fished out his Motorola V20 from his pocket, and pressed Sarah’s number.
Where the hell are you? It’s been nearly four days now since I’ve heard from you.
Lana was wearing just her nightie when she opened the door. Jed could hear Dido playing on the hi-fi, and he could smell cocoa on the cooker. A girl’s night in with the telly, he thought. She’s probably got a tub of Häagen-Dazs already open.
‘I was just wondering if Sarah was around?’ said Jed apologetically.
‘Christ,’ said Lana, ‘it’s after eleven at night.’
Jed stepped into the flat. He was wearing jeans and a suede bomber jacket, and had a black kitbag slung on his shoulder. He’d had two beers on the train up to Cambridge, and plenty of time to think. He’d probably take the mission. He had no choice really. But he wanted to speak to Sarah first. To hear what she thought.
‘I haven’t been able to get hold of Sarah,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see if she was OK.’
She was watching Ally McBeal on one of the satellite rerun channels, but the volume was so low it was impossible to hear much of what was being said. Ally seemed to be worrying about her job. I know how you feel, thought Jed. Add in a few Ruperts and some semi-automatic machine guns, and we’d be in the same boat.
‘Her dad’s already been here today,’ said Lana.
‘Nick? Jesus, what’s he doing here?’
‘Same as you,’ said Lana. ‘Looking for Sarah.’
Jed sighed. ‘He’s not still here, is he?’
Lana smiled and shook her head. She knew all about the argument that had rumbled through years between Nick and Jed. Jed and Sarah had started dating when they were both fifteen: they’d been in the same care home for three months after her mother died, and after Jed’s own father had been sent to jail for the sixth and, as it turned out, final time. They only lived twenty miles apart, in villages on either side of Hereford, and they kept up the relationship in the on-and-off way teenagers do. The same at Cambridge during the three years Jed had been doing his degree. But he’d always kept as far away from Nick as possible. The guy had never liked him, not from the first moment he laid eyes on him. Maybe that was why I joined the Regiment, Jed sometimes reflected. To try and impress the old bugger, make him see I was a man to be reckoned with. Well, it sure as hell never worked.
‘I don’t suppose he asked if she was with me,’ said Jed.
‘Funnily enough, no,’ said Lana.
‘What’s happened to her?’
Lana shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Has she been drinking?’
‘No worse than usual.’
Jed walked through to the bedroom. He could smell her the instant he opened the door. It was not just her perfume, but her clothes, her books and the scented candles she liked to keep beside her bed. ‘You might as well kip here for the night,’ said Lana. ‘It’s not as if Sarah would mind you being in her bed.’
Jed sat down on the edge of the bed. From the sitting room, he could hear the sound of Ally McBeal being turned up. More boyfriend problems. He got up and put his kitbag down in the corner, closing the door behind him. He glanced down at the desk, but could see nothing of interest. Sarah travelled light through life: unlike just about every other woman he had ever known, she had none of the clutter that most girls carted around with them. There were no chequebook stubs to look at. No bank statements, or maps. If she had planned where she was going, she hadn’t left any traces behind.
This doesn’t feel right, he told himself, as he took off his sweatshirt and lay back on the familiar white sheets.
Where the hell is she?
FOUR
Lana paused as she opened the door. In the background, there was a smell of fresh coffee, and the sound of music playing on the hi-fi. ‘Any word from her?’ said Nick.
It was just after nine in the morning. Nick had been up since seven, and had already taken himself for a run along the river: as his feet smashed into the pristine grass along the banks, he had been trying to make sense of what he’d learnt about Sarah in the past twenty-four hours. He knew nine o’clock was early to be calling on a student, but sod it, he had told himself just before knocking. I need to find out what might have happened to her.
‘No,’ said Lana, still holding the door no more than ajar.
Nick was about to step inside, but she seemed to be barring his way. ‘I thought I’d check her room,’ he said. ‘See if there are any clues.’
‘Maybe later,’ said Lana defensively.
Nick was still thinking about the hundred thousand pounds he’d seen in their joint bank account. He knew there were lots of different ways a person could make that kind of money quickly. The trouble was, almost none of them were legal. The sooner he found her the better. There might not be much time.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Nick gruffly. ‘I need to check it right now.’
He stepped forward. Nick was a big man, with an imposing physical presence. His hair was turning grey but there was still plenty of it. He measured six foot two, and his chest was fifty inches, thick and strong like a barrel. His arms were solid as oak trees, and rippled with muscles, and there was not so much as an ounce of fat on him. Lana was a slim girl, only about
five foot four, and as he moved forward he just brushed her aside like a feather floating past him.
‘You should …’
She was speaking, but Nick wasn’t listening. He turned the knob on the door to Sarah’s room, pushing it open. Then he paused. There was a man lying on her bed. For a brief second, he wondered if he might have come into the wrong room. Maybe this was Lana’s boyfriend. Then he noticed Sarah’s stuff – there was even a picture of him tucked into the mirror on the desk. And he recognised Jed. Even lying down, with his back to him. I’ve known and hated that boy for a decade. I’d spot his ugly hide anywhere.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he shouted.
Jed snapped awake. He swung over and looked up suddenly, as if he’d just heard the sound of gunfire. Regiment training, thought Nick. A man had to be awake, alert and ready for battle within just a fraction of a second. Sometimes his life would depend on it.
‘Fuck, it’s you,’ he muttered.
‘I want to know what the hell you’re doing in my daughter’s bed,’ snarled Nick.
‘Trying to get some kip,’ snapped Jed. ‘I’m alone, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Good to see everyone’s getting along so well,’ said Lana. ‘How about a nice cup of coffee? Maybe then we can all calm down.’
Nick followed her to the kitchen. He took the cup from her, stirred in two sugars and drank half of it in one gulp. From the shower, he could hear a blast of noise as Jed washed. ‘He’s not so bad, you know,’ said Lana, looking up at Nick. ‘He really cares about Sarah. I keep trying to tell her how much that should mean to her, but I think she’s so used to it, she just treats it like the weather, something that is always there.’
‘He’s a soldier,’ said Nick firmly. ‘Army life isn’t right for Sarah.’
Jed walked into the room. He took the coffee Lana offered him, cradling it between his two thick, strong palms. ‘So what exactly are you doing here?’ said Nick sourly.
‘Same as you, apparently: looking for Sarah.’
‘Why aren’t you with your unit? Or has it all got a bit hot for you now that there might be an actual war.’