by Susan Lewis
‘But you don’t want to be, do you? You’d much rather be over there with Tom, and who can blame you? No-one in their right mind would want to be stuck here with me, least of all you …’
‘Stop putting words in my mouth!’ Michelle shouted. ‘Now I don’t want to hear any more. I’m jet-lagged, homesick – yes, homesick and missing Tom, for which I will not apologize, so I’m going to get my suitcase, say goodnight and go up to bed. With any luck we’ll both be in better moods in the morning.’
As she stormed out of the back door Katie stood where she was, smarting and hurting, and detesting her own behaviour to a point where she could actually howl with shame. However, her pride wasn’t about to allow any kind of climb-down, so letting the dishwater run out of the sink, she dried her hands and before Michelle came back she took herself off up the stairs to bed.
Chapter Four
TOM AND JOSH Shine, a short, thin man in his early sixties, were seated either side of the coffee table in Tom’s hotel room, going over the documents Josh had sent in the package. Two were different maps of the same location, the other three were mainly lists of names, some of which were of people or political groups, while others detailed various types of arms and explosives. Virtually everything was written in Punjabi or Arabic.
‘It seems pretty clear what it is,’ Josh was saying, his long, narrow face appearing pinched and tired as they pored over the documents that bore no proof of origin, or even a suggestion of where they might have come from. ‘It’s still going to need a good translator, but I’m guessing the names refer to sleeper cells and their locations, while the map has got to be the target area for a terrorist hit.’
Tom had studied it all very closely over the past thirty-six hours, so he knew he could be on to a major story here. However, he wasn’t going to get too excited yet, for Pakistan’s bazaars and madrasas – Islamic schools – were rife with plots, and too many of his colleagues had shelled out small fortunes for information that ended up leading them straight down a dead end. ‘Where did you actually get this?’ he asked.
Josh’s eyes were impenetrable as he said, ‘That’s about the most prudent question you could ask, and the answer is, it came to me in the bag from Washington, with your name on it.’
Tom was taken aback. ‘But if it’s genuine this is a plot with some huge potential, which I’m guessing the CIA is on to or you wouldn’t be sitting here, so why give it to me?’
Josh reached into his inside pocket, drew out a folded sheet of paper and handed it over.
It was an email dated two days ago from a dot-gov address and headed ‘Making the Link’. It consisted mainly of web-site hotlinks with three short lines at the bottom that read
P2OG
Package arriving tomorrow.
Pass to Tom Chambers.
Tom looked up. ‘Who’s it from?’ he asked.
‘I tried replying to get more information,’ Josh answered, ‘but my message just comes back undeliverable.’
‘It’s a government address though.’
Josh nodded.
Unable to work out whether he knew more than he was telling, Tom looked at the email again. ‘Have you tried accessing any of these sites?’
‘I didn’t want to alert anyone at the embassy.’
Tom was slightly incredulous. ‘If you’re right about it being Pakistani intelligence who emptied my apartment, then we could assume it was someone at the US Embassy who tipped them off,’ he pointed out.
Josh didn’t argue.
‘What about P2OG? What does it mean?’
‘I’m guessing those web sites will answer that.’
Tom put the email aside and returned to the handwritten lists. At the top of one was a date, several months hence. ‘If this is the date of the planned attack,’ he said, ‘then it’s of major significance.’
Josh nodded agreement. ‘Just prior to the next presidential election,’ he said.
‘So someone in Washington’s planning to use this to their advantage in some way,’ Tom commented, as his eyes travelled on down the list. ‘Hell, even without a full translation,’ he said, ‘I can tell you that some of these names belong to Jaish el-Mohammed.’
‘Which is probably the most extreme Islamist group operating in this country,’ Josh expounded. ‘Do your contacts go that deep?’
Tom fixed him with a coldly penetrating stare. ‘Even if they did, I’d need a lot more than this before I’d start messing with those guys.’
Josh didn’t argue.
‘I want to pull Farukh Hassan in on this,’ Tom said, referring to a Pakistani journalist whom both he and Josh knew well.
Josh nodded. ‘A wise decision.’
They both looked round as someone knocked on the door.
‘Who is it?’ Tom shouted.
‘You order coffee?’
Tom’s eyes went to Josh. A second later they were stuffing the documents back in the envelope.
‘No, no coffee,’ Tom called out.
They heard a room-service trolley rattle away.
‘Call Farukh now, get him over here,’ Josh said, dabbing the sweat from his neck. ‘And tell him to take a good look round before he comes in.’
After switching on the TV to drown his voice, Tom made the call and turned back to Josh. ‘If this information really has come from a Washington insider – and for the moment I won’t dispute that – then I’d like to know how reliable they are.’
‘I wish I could tell you,’ Josh responded. ‘But I don’t know who sent the package or the email, I’m just doing as I was requested, and passing it on to you.’
Tom’s expression was grim as his gaze returned to the package. ‘You know what this is starting to look like?’ he said. ‘An inside job on the US government. The CIA, or Defense Intelligence, or someone, presumably including the White House, has got knowledge of a possible terrorist attack, which for some reason they’re not acting on, or making public, presumably because they can see some future use for it, either by letting it happen or choosing their own time to block it. However, someone else in Washington’s trying to get news of it out there now, someone who clearly doesn’t want to be identified as the source.’
‘It doesn’t have to be someone in Washington,’ Josh responded. ‘It could be someone in London.’
Tom’s eyes narrowed. ‘But this here came in the bag from Washington,’ he reminded him.
‘The maps are pinpointing a British location,’ Josh stated, ‘and I don’t see anyone in Washington holding this back from their best buddies, do you?’
Tom merely continued to stare at the maps. What this current administration would and wouldn’t do had long since ceased to inhabit an area of moral certitude for him.
‘If someone in London does know about this plot,’ Josh continued, ‘and say we’re right about it being used as some kind of leverage in the presidential elections …’
‘But how?’ Tom interrupted.
Josh shrugged. ‘This is all surmise,’ he said. ‘I’m just running with the theory that someone in London might want this exposed, and is working with a contact in Washington to do it. Whichever way, I’d say the goal is to undermine the current administration.’
Since there were no grounds for arguing with that, Tom got up and started to pace. With so little to go on it would be easy to let the imagination run riot and come up with the biggest story of his life here, but just as easy would be to get it spectacularly wrong and end up as one very dead victim of some extremist jihad cell. So if he did go any further with this – and he knew already it wasn’t in him to resist it – he must never lose sight of the fact that he was almost certainly being used in some deadly political game, or that he was an American in a deeply hostile land.
‘Which is why you should leave Pakistan now,’ Farukh told him, after he’d arrived and Tom had brought him up to speed with it all. ‘It is impossible for you to penetrate any of these organisations to the level that’s needed, and even if you could, if th
e Americans want this hushed up for some reason, it’ll make no difference who they use to stop you. Jaish el-Mohammed or Pakistani Intelligence, or their own undercover operatives, the result will be the same.’
Having half expected this response, Tom looked at Josh Shine.
‘I’ve got nothing to add to that,’ Josh told him.
It was a sobering thought that could easily daunt a lesser man, and Tom had to admit, he was taking some pause.
‘While you make up your mind,’ Farukh said, ‘we could at least have a look at some of these web sites to find out what P2OG actually means, because it’s probably some kind of key.’
As Farukh unpacked his laptop Tom picked up the maps and looked them over again. ‘There has to be some kind of British involvement here,’ he said, thinking of Michelle’s experience at Heathrow. ‘The question is, do they have the whole picture, or are they just being used by the Americans in ways they know nothing about?’
‘A quick answer to that is, it wouldn’t be the first time,’ Josh said. ‘But no matter what the Americans have got going down, experience has taught me never to underestimate the Brits.’
Tom cocked an eyebrow, and after a moment or two a slow smile began to curve his lips.
Michelle jumped at the sound of a gunshot as it ricocheted across the fields. It took only a second to remember where she was, and that there was no need to dive for cover, or rush to the aid of someone who might be hurt, but nevertheless her heart was already pounding.
Ignoring it, she continued clearing weeds from a flower bed, while attempting to listen to the portable radio she’d perched on the edge of the lawn. When in England, like Katie, she generally tuned to Radio 4, but right now she was applying herself to a local pop station in an effort to learn a little about Molly’s world. She might be doing better were she able to stop her mind drifting to Tom, wondering what he was doing now, and hoping there wasn’t a sinister reason behind his failure to call in the last few days. From the little he’d told her on the phone, it would be easy to start tormenting herself with all kinds of imagined horrors that weren’t even close to the truth, so she had to stop putting herself through it, and try to stay focused on why she was here.
Almost immediately her heart sank, for it had been three days now and neither Katie nor Molly, who was clearly taking a lead from her mother, had yet shown any signs of welcoming her. Not that there had been any repeats of the horrible explosion the night she’d arrived, but her efforts to make friends since had mostly met with a stony resistance, and even the gifts she’d brought had been treated with a cursory disdain.
‘I’m not wearing any of that crap,’ she’d heard Molly remark scathingly to her mother, as they’d taken the jewels upstairs. ‘It’s gross.’
‘It’s all right, you don’t have to,’ Katie had responded.
‘And you can’t wear those earrings. You’d look like a tart.’
‘Ssh, she doesn’t have much of an idea what we like here,’ Katie said quietly, ‘so just put it away in your bedroom and hope she forgets all about it.’
It wasn’t so much the ingratitude, or even condescension, that Michelle was finding difficult, it was more the way they were shutting her out. She really had come here to help, but she was almost starting to regret it now, and if it carried on much longer like this the temptation to take the next plane back to her own world might just turn itself into a ticket.
However, she was hopeful of some kind of breakthrough in the next hour or so, for Katie was inside now, composing an article for the New Statesman, which, apparently, was the first commission she’d been able to take up in months. From the way she’d responded when the call had come earlier, there was no doubt the request had been a much-needed boost for her morale.
‘And there was me thinking I’d been written off as dead already,’ she’d laughed after putting the phone down to the editor, and she’d looked so delighted to be remembered that Michelle had instantly forgiven her for the jewels, and wanted to hug her. Instead she’d offered to take over walking the dog and tidying up the garden so that Katie could work in peace for the rest of the morning.
The church clock hadn’t long chimed midday when Katie emerged from the kitchen and took a deep, restorative breath of the Indian summer air. ‘You know, I’m feeling on quite a high,’ she confessed, coming across the lawn to join Michelle. ‘Concocting a few thousand words for the New Statesman beats the hell out of writing a pain diary, which is about all I’m ever called upon to produce these days.’
Michelle sat back on her heels, shielding her eyes as she looked up at her. There was a flush of colour in Katie’s cheeks and a lightness about her that had been missing until now, which just went to prove, Michelle thought, how important it was to feel needed. ‘Is it very bad?’ she asked.
Katie seemed baffled. ‘Oh, the pain,’ she said. ‘No, no! All under control.’
Realizing she didn’t want to discuss it, Michelle said, ‘So what did you write about?’
Katie’s smile turned wry. ‘Would you believe, the pros and cons of preaching teenage abstinence?’ she replied. ‘It’s proving pretty effective in the States, apparently, but as I’m generally suspicious of anything that comes from the religious right, which includes most of the current US policies, I’m reserving judgement and calling for a public debate here. Parents, teachers, children, unmarried mothers etc.’
‘Sounds a good idea. What about Molly? Have you talked to her about sex at all?’
Katie sighed. ‘Not recently,’ she answered, perching on the arm of a wooden bench, ‘she insists she knows all about it, which I’m sure she does, because God knows she’s surrounded by enough of it, at school, on TV, in the teen magazines, on the Internet, and as far as I can make out half her friends are already doing it. In fact, I’m trying to decide whether or not to give her some condoms, because the last thing we need is another ghastly disease in the house, or, heaven forbid, a baby.’
‘Does she actually have a boyfriend?’
‘Not that I’ve been told about, but she’s so keen to be a part of Allison Fortescue-Bond’s crowd these days that I can’t help thinking there’s a boy involved somewhere. That’s usually when we go off the rails, isn’t it? And they’re all in such a raging hurry to divest themselves of their innocence these days … I suppose we were too, though I was eighteen before I went all the way, and if I remember correctly you were about that age too.’
Michelle nodded. ‘Nineteen, actually,’ she said, ‘and I’d been going out with Clive for about a year by then. God it was awful. I hated the first time, didn’t you?’
Katie grimaced. ‘I don’t even want to think about it,’ she responded. ‘As I recall it was all lily-white thighs, goose-bumps and grunts in the back of an old Morris.’
Michelle laughed and groaned. ‘Oh the romance of it,’ she said, her mind drifting back to the many embarrassments and mistakes she’d endured over the years. Then, encouraged by how they’d finally managed to pass a few minutes without having it all collapse in a heap of old grudges and new fears, she tugged off her gloves and followed Katie inside.
‘So, no more calls from Tom,’ Katie commented, as Michelle began washing her hands.
Wishing she hadn’t sounded quite so pleased about it, Michelle said, ‘He’ll be caught up in the story he’s working on.’
Katie sniffed and nodded and unhooked a couple of mugs from the overhead beam. ‘Still, you must feel a bit miffed that he hasn’t made any contact at all since the other night, if your romance is so new.’
‘Concerned more than miffed,’ Michelle corrected. ‘But I have to get used to the idea that I’m here now, and that he’s going to carry on with his work, the way he always has.’
Katie dropped two tea bags into the mugs. ‘So he’s not planning to come and visit?’ she said, going for the milk.
‘Actually, he wants to, but I’ve no idea when it might be.’
A silence followed in which Michelle wondered what had ha
ppened to stir up the tension again, and Katie wished she could stop being snippy and just tell Michelle that she was sorry for the other night, and for coming between her and Tom, and for all the other injustices she’d done her over the years, but for some reason the words were stuck in her throat. Maybe she was just too much of a bitter and twisted old stick to be able to admit she was wrong, or maybe she was still too angry with Michelle for having a love life and a whole history of adventures with Tom when they’d had the freedom to be themselves and do the kinds of things Katie had only ever dreamt of. Whatever it was, she had to get her feelings under control, because being like this certainly wasn’t going to change anything for her now, nor was it going to make life bearable while they were all living under the same roof.
‘Can I read the article?’ Michelle asked, genuinely interested, though using it as another attempt to be friendly.
Katie was about to answer when the sound of someone running across the garden made them both turn round.
‘Mum! Mum!’ Molly cried, swinging round the door. ‘I forgot my phone this morning, like major crisis, and my thingy’s started, so I’ve had to come home.’
‘There’s a new packet in the bathroom cabinet,’ Katie told her, ‘and don’t throw the wrappers down the toilet.’
‘Nag, nag, nag nag,’ Molly muttered, running up the stairs.
Katie shot Michelle a glance. ‘Well there’s a relief,’ she commented quietly. ‘She’s still irregular and I’m paranoid, not a soothing combination.’ Then with a smile, ‘I thought I was long past the days of waiting for a period, now here I am again. My own, if you’re interested, have stopped altogether. Hysterectomy, instant menopause and chemotherapy. It’s been a lot of fun around here these last few months.’ Her eyes moved back to Michelle. ‘It might even account for how edgy I’ve been with you, women in my hormonal condition aren’t known for rational behaviour.’
More than willing to accept the olive branch, Michelle smiled and said, ‘I probably haven’t helped, so let’s just put it behind us, shall we, and have that cup of tea.’