by Susan Lewis
The police cars were on him in seconds, forcing him on to the hard shoulder, and pulling up alongside, in front and behind.
‘Tom, my friend,’ he muttered as he wound the window down, ‘you’re a lucky man. And it looks as though I’m a popular one,’ he added, as he watched his rusty old heap being surrounded by fluorescent jackets and chequer-band caps.
‘David Penwright?’ an important-looking flat cap demanded.
‘That’s me,’ Dave responded. ‘Is everything all right? I wasn’t breaking the limit, was I?’
‘Step out of the car please,’ the flat cap responded, clearly not amused.
Obediently Dave struggled with the handle, then shouldered open the door and clambered out on to the tarmac. The noise was almost deafening as the traffic thundered by, though several motorists were slowing up now to catch a glimpse of what was going on. No gore and guts over here, Dave was thinking, or not yet anyway. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, as two officers began inspecting the inside of his Renault, whilst another opened the back. ‘I haven’t got any drugs.’
‘We’ve received information that you’re assisting a suspected criminal in avoiding arrest,’ the flat cap told him. He glanced down at his notes. ‘Thomas Chambers. US citizen.’ He looked at Dave, clearly waiting for an answer.
‘If you’re talking about my mate Tom, who I was giving a lift to,’ he said, ‘then you’re out of luck. I just dropped him off. But he’s no criminal, not Tom …’
‘Where did you drop him?’
Dave shrugged. ‘Back there, at the services.’
Immediately another officer began speaking into his radio. ‘Suspect thought to be at Exeter services,’ he said, spreading the word.
‘Where was he going from there?’ the flat cap asked Dave.
Dave pulled a face. ‘He didn’t say. He just wanted a lift down that far, which I was happy to do, you know, give the old girl a bit of a run, she don’t get out much …’
‘Did anyone meet him? Did he hire a car? Take a taxi?’
‘I think he just went in to have a cup of tea,’ Dave answered.
‘Or to wait for someone?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is he got out of the old girl here, and gave her a friendly slap on the roof as I drove off. I didn’t want to stop the engine, see, in case I had trouble starting it again.’ That much at least was true, but he didn’t have to tell them the rest of it, that Tom’s lift was already waiting when they got there, pulled up in front of Burger King, as arranged, or that it was a top-of-the-line S class Merc that had got his juices flowing, and the old girl’s dander up, the way she’d coughed and spluttered as they’d lurched back down the slip road to start the journey home.
No, Tom was long gone by now, zooming off to only he knew where, with only he knew who, because Dave certainly didn’t. Nor did he want to. His part was over now. He’d just given a lift to a friend of a friend, and being the obliging fellow that he was, he hadn’t even accepted any money for gas, as his mate Tom had called it.
Chapter Twenty
TWO DAYS HAD now passed since Tom’s escape. There had been no word since he’d left Katie’s, though Chris had confirmed he’d flown him into Brittany the next day with no mishap, so if all had gone to plan from there, Elliot was expecting to find him at Jean-Jacques’ farmhouse, deep in the heart of Burgundy.
It was a dull, wet afternoon as Elliot drove his rental car through the vaguely familiar French countryside, heading towards the secluded hamlet that nestled cosily in the bowl of the valley, seeming as forgotten as the sprawling empty fields surrounding it. It was far from the beaten track and comprised no more than five eighteenth-century dwellings, each belonging to Parisians who only used them at weekends and for holidays. It was also virtually impossible to approach without being seen, for there was only this one road through, or the mountain pathways which, at this time of year, were almost totally exposed.
As Elliot began the gentle descent, passing sodden, spiky hedgerows and golden trees, he was thinking about Katie and Michelle’s certainty that the efforts to silence Tom were, in themselves, confirming the existence of the P2OG. And he wasn’t arguing with that – however, it still wasn’t providing that vital link between the P2OG and Tom’s evidence of a Pakistan-based terrorist plot. Katie and Michelle were now examining both versions of the 21 Project in minute detail, while Laurie worked alongside them, making preliminary plans for a webcast in case they started running into problems about getting the story into print. Elliot foresaw several, for the reach of American power wasn’t something he ever underestimated, and there wasn’t much doubt, in this case, that they had all their guns loaded.
Slowing up to go over a cattle grid, he glanced in his rear-view mirror and saw the road stretching emptily behind. It had been like that virtually the entire way from Mâcon where he’d stopped to pick up a few supplies, so by now he was fairly confident he hadn’t been followed. However, as he approached the tiny hamlet he was starting to become uneasy, for the place appeared as still and silent as a grave. Not a person, nor a creature in sight.
As he pulled into the driveway that ran along the side of Jean-Jacques’ rambling stone farmhouse, he looked carefully over the creeper-covered frontage for any signs of life inside. Every one of the white-painted shutters was closed, and a handful of mail was jutting from the front door letter-box. This wasn’t looking good. He edged the car further forward, then noticed the front end of another car, tucked away around the back of the house. Hoping it was Tom’s rental, rather than a recent acquisition Jean-Jacques had forgotten to mention, he stopped the engine, and stepped out on to the drive just as the kitchen door swung open.
‘At last,’ Tom grinned, coming out to greet him. ‘Thought you’d never get here.’
‘I was beginning to think you hadn’t made it,’ Elliot commented, shaking his hand. ‘You can open the shutters, you know.’
‘I have at the back, I thought I’d leave the front the way it is. So tell me what’s been happening. How did it go for Michelle and Katie after I left? Are they OK?’
‘They’re fine,’ Elliot assured him, returning to his car to start unloading as he filled Tom in on all that had happened.
‘So what’s on this tape that Laurie has?’ Tom asked, when he’d finished.
‘I’ve got it with me, so I’ll play it to you,’ Elliot replied. As he stepped into the large, low-ceilinged kitchen, with its heavy oak beams and flagstone floor, he was mindful of the couple of occasions he and Laurie had spent here and hopeful they would be repeated. Sunlight suddenly streamed in through the French windows, and taking it as a good omen, he kicked the door closed and readily accepted Tom’s offer of wine.
A few minutes later they were seated either side of the pine table, laptops, printouts, newspaper cuttings and various other documents to hand, as they ate and drank and listened to the sound recording Laurie had made of Fellowes’s visit.
By the time it finished Tom’s face was taut with concern. ‘We have to go to print before they catch up with me,’ he said. ‘If we don’t, they’re going to use this bullshit to try and nail me. While you might have the truth to set me free, with all the prejudice and fear they’re stirring up over there, just the mention of me being in the training camps and dressing like a Pakistani, never mind all the stuff they found in my apartment, will be enough to make my stay in a federal prison a lot longer than I’d be comfortable with.’
‘We should be able to pull it together by the end of the week,’ Elliot told him. ‘Katie and Michelle are taking those documents apart and Laurie’s going to be feeding selected highlights of their findings through an email system we set up before I left. It means they’ll be coming via several people we know we can trust, which won’t make it the speediest contact, but it should work, at least for a few days.’ As he finished he was carrying his laptop to the phone jack that was beside a big oak buffet, and after making sure a Web connection was under way, he turned back. ‘The big dea
l now,’ he said, ‘is getting the right editors on board. Max and Nick are already on it, so we should have some news in the next couple of days. What progress are you making with story structure?’
Tom was looking at his own screen while sipping a glass of wine. ‘Not bad,’ he answered. ‘I’ve copied what I’ve got so far on to a CD so you can upload and we can work it together. Obviously we’ll lead with the plot itself – I think we should take the stand that it’s a set-up, even though we don’t know that for certain – then we need to follow up with how the information got to me, who it came from, who it implicates and what’s been happening since. All the in-depth stuff on the 21 Project, P2OG, neo-conservatism and what it actually means, as well as backgrounds on the major players, their current positions, what policies they’ve influenced in the past, their goals for the future, etc., will come after.’
As he listened Elliot was waiting for Laurie’s first emails to start downloading. There were several, but as nothing was flagged urgent, he knew they hadn’t uncovered anything sensational yet. ‘Why don’t I take the in-depth,’ he said, starting to tap out a message letting her know he’d arrived and that Tom was here too, ‘while you focus on the upfront.’
Tom was distracted by the early changes he was already making.
‘There’s a message here for you, marked personal,’ Elliot told him.
It was a moment before Tom fully registered, then realizing it had to be from Michelle, he went to join Elliot at his computer. As he opened the email, Elliot walked back to the table to pick up his wine.
Just to say I love you, we’re all
fine and remember, there’s one more
of us to think about now, so stay
safe. M.
Tom’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile as he recalled the moment they’d stood together in the bathroom, watching a little blue line appear inside a plastic wand. If ever he needed a reason to stay safe, that was it.
‘Everything OK?’ Elliot asked.
Tom nodded. ‘No-one else from the press got hold of what happened on Sunday?’ he asked, disconnecting and carrying the computer back to the table.
Elliot shook his head. ‘So far it’s still ours. Incidentally, did Chris tell you about the tip-off? Who it came from?’
Tom nodded. ‘Yeah, and I agree with him, American she might be, but she’s got to be at the British end, because whoever she is, she knew he was the person to contact and she managed it so fast.’
Elliot was looking thoughtful. ‘So who’s whispering in her ear?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Christopher Malton? Michael Dalby, or someone we don’t even know about?’
‘I don’t reckon it’s something we should pursue,’ Tom responded. ‘They obviously don’t want their cover blown, and it’s only important that the information bears out, which it did.’
Elliot nodded agreement. ‘Though if it does all start turning nasty, let’s hope at least one of them steps forward to save your tender skin, because any hospitality provided by the federal government could be an experience some might consider worse than death.’
Tom grimaced at the thought of what the inside of a prison would be like for someone branded a traitor and terrorist. ‘I wouldn’t count on an eleventh-hour rescue,’ he said. ‘So let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘This is making horrible reading,’ Michelle murmured as she scrolled slowly down the computer screen. ‘All this abuse of power, and holding people without charge, is starting to make me very nervous about Tom’s chances of being able to stand up against them.’
Laurie glanced up from where she was kneeling on the sitting-room floor, surrounded by the 21 Project printouts. ‘Make sure you save the link so we can send it over,’ she said, going back to the pages she was currently comparing.
After pasting the web-site address into the email they were compiling for Tom and Elliot, Michelle sat back and glanced at the clock. ‘I think I’ll pop up and check on Katie,’ she said. ‘Do you need to go online, or shall I disconnect?’
‘Keep it going for the moment,’ Laurie said. ‘There are a few leads here I’d like to follow up. Is there anything from Elliot or Tom yet today?’
‘Not yet,’ Michelle answered, getting up and stretching out her limbs. ‘They’re probably still going through everything we sent yesterday,’ and stifling a yawn she looked out at the dark, drizzly afternoon, and wondered what it was like in Burgundy now. Thinking of Tom brought a lightness to her heart, in spite of how worried she was, though it soon turned to impatience for this all to be over so that they could be together and start their new life.
Finding Katie’s bedroom door slightly ajar, she popped her head round and saw that Katie was lying on her side, facing the other way, with one hand resting on Trotty and a foot poking free of the sheet. Since she was obviously still asleep Michelle crept quietly to the bed, and seeing how peaceful she looked, stooped to kiss her gently on the cheek before tiptoeing out again.
‘Still out for the count,’ she told Laurie, going back downstairs. ‘I’ll leave her for another half an hour, then take her some tea.’
Laurie looked up from the computer. ‘Did she have another bad night?’ she asked.
Michelle nodded and sighed. ‘She’s still worrying about Molly, and how withdrawn she’s been these last few days. Well, you’ve seen her coming in from school and going straight to her room, hardly speaking to anyone. She doesn’t have a computer now, so heaven only knows what she’s doing up there, because we haven’t heard much music either. We’re not even sure what she’s eating, because she’s not having much here.’ As she finished she looked up at the sound of Katie’s footsteps on the stairs.
‘Do I detect some slacking?’ Katie demanded, as she reached the bottom. ‘Honestly, the minute my back’s turned …’
‘You were fast asleep a minute ago,’ Michelle told her.
‘Ah yes, until someone clodhoppered in and gave me a bloody great snog on the cheek,’ Katie retorted.
Michelle laughed. ‘Must have been Prince Charming, having chopped his way through all those thorns of yours,’ she told her. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do you want something to eat?’
‘A loaf of toast and three dozen eggs should do it,’ Katie responded, going to read over Laurie’s shoulder. ‘So, how many nails do we have for the neo-con coffin now?’ she wanted to know.
‘Still not enough,’ Laurie responded. ‘As we stand, they’ll still be able to claw their way out, but it’s definitely getting tighter. I’ve just finished compiling another email to send over, which is now on its way. Here, take a look, it’ll bring you up to speed.’
As she started to get up, Katie pressed her gently back down. ‘How about talking me through it,’ she suggested. ‘I’m starting to see double with all this reading.’
‘Of course,’ Laurie responded, and immediately began updating her on the findings of the past two hours, until she realized Katie wasn’t really paying attention.
‘Are you OK?’ Michelle asked, watching Katie half-heartedly buttering some toast while gazing out of the window.
Katie looked round. ‘Yes, of course,’ she declared. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘You just seem a little distracted.’
Katie looked down at what she was doing, then after a protracted sigh, she began shaking her head. ‘I keep asking myself what difference all this makes,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know it’s important, that we have to get to the truth, and I want to, but …’ She stopped and stared blindly down at her toast. ‘It matters, I’m not saying it doesn’t,’ she continued, ‘but it’s so huge and complex and my life here is so small and short now …’ Again she trailed off.
Michelle said softly, ‘I know you’re thinking about Molly, and it’s all right. No-one would expect anything else, so please don’t start feeling guilty that you’re not putting this first.’
Katie nodded and returned her eyes to the window. Whether she’d fully registered Michelle’s words was hard to tel
l, but as she responded it was clear she was preoccupied with Molly. ‘You know, I think I’d have preferred it if she’d gone ballistic over having her computer taken,’ she said. ‘It would have been more like her. Now, I just don’t know what’s got into her. Is it the boyfriend? Is it the way Tom took off so suddenly? Is it because he’s marrying Michelle?’ She looked at Laurie. ‘Did Michelle tell you, I think she had her eye on Tom for me?’
Laurie shook her head.
Katie rolled her eyes in a show of exasperation, but Laurie could see how upset she was underneath. ‘She’s probably got all sorts of confusions roiling around in that head of hers,’ Katie went on, ‘who doesn’t at that age – actually any age – but it’s bothering me that she won’t tell us anything about this boy.’
‘Then maybe we should try other ways of finding out something about him,’ Michelle suggested.
Katie’s expression assumed some irony as she turned back to Laurie. ‘More background checks,’ she said wryly. ‘Just what we need with all this lot to get through.’ Then to Michelle, ‘Have you mentioned anything to Laurie about what we discussed last night?’
‘Not yet,’ Michelle answered.
‘We thought,’ Katie said to Laurie, ‘well, Michelle thought, that it might be a good idea for her to go away for a night or two, to give Molly and me a chance to talk.’
‘I think they need some space,’ Michelle added. ‘Me being here is adding a pressure that Molly clearly isn’t coping with, so I thought perhaps you and I could carry on with this in London.’
‘Of course,’ Laurie responded without a moment’s hesitation.
Michelle looked at Katie.
Katie’s eyes were still on Laurie. ‘When were you thinking of leaving?’ she asked.
‘Tonight, or tomorrow,’ Laurie answered. ‘Actually, probably tonight, because the list of people I need to speak to is growing longer by the minute, and as far as I know we’re still working to a Saturday deadline.’