“I heard about that. You didn’t come out of that well.”
She blinks, and shakes her head, then leans across the table. There’s fire in her eyes as she defends herself.
“I was hardcore, Corporal. Hardcore.” She’s thumping her finger against her chest, just below the first button of her blouse. She’s only drunk half her beer, but it seems that Corporal Smith has a low tolerance for alcohol. Useful to know.
“I fixed up my own bullet wound, and I got all the other kids rescued.” She nods. “I deserve a medal for that.”
She’s making this too easy. I can’t resist pushing her again.
I pull a face. “I guess if being a target and losing two more recruits gets you a medal, I agree.”
I sit back and watch the insult land.
“Hey! Hey!” She shouts, one hand gripping her beer glass. “You weren’t there. Don’t look at me like that.” Her voice drops, so I have to lean in to hear her. “You weren’t there.”
I’m losing her. I’ve pushed her too far.
Time to calm her down. I hold up my hands.
“No, OK. I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t. You don’t get to comment.” But the fight has worn off. She’s hunched over her drink, sulking.
“Sure,” I say, and she nods.
I take a drink and look out at the bar. The crowd is getting louder, and there are more people jammed in to the small space.
“So what about you?” She asks, the trace of a smile on her lips. “What did you do to deserve Brigadier Lee?”
I shrug, and smile, and I’m sure I see colour shading her cheeks. “Just lucky, I guess.”
She stares at me, eyes wide, almost choking on her beer. “Lucky?”
And I remember how much she doesn’t know.
I swirl my drink, watching the amber liquid as it catches the light. Time to reel her in.
“Access to Top Secret information? Making footage for PIN? Front row seat at prisoner interrogations – what more could a Corporal want?”
I flash her a grin, and this time I can see her blush darkening. I know she wants information. She wants in on the Top Secret, important stuff, and I need to make her think she can get it from me.
But instead she shrugs. “I guess.” Not the answer I was expecting. “It seems like a lot to put up with to get all that.”
“He’s not all bad.” I’m shaking my head and defending Lee before I realise she’s pushed me to react.
“He’s a snake!” She sounds outraged. She sounds hurt. “He tortures people for fun.”
Not for the first time, I wonder what Lee did to her when they worked together at Makepeace Farm. Whatever it was, she hasn’t forgiven him.
“That’s unfair,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
“If you say so.”
“Yeah.”
This is going nowhere. We’re winding each other up, and not in a good way.
Time to change the subject. Time to try something less personal.
“So how are you finding London?” She looks up from her drink. “I mean – it must be different from Camp Bishop.”
She stares at me, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.
“It’s different,” she says, eventually. “Everything is bigger. Louder.” She waves a hand at the bar. “And what we do means something.”
“No recruits?”
“No recruits.” She nods. “Actual, real work. I feel as if I can make a difference here. Track down some terrorists. Keep people safe. Keep the bombers away so this lot,” she points at the people around us, “can carry on as normal.”
I watch her face as she makes her speech, and I smile when I realise she means every word. She really is new to all this.
“That’s idealistic, don’t you think?”
She leans across the table, the front of her blouse gaping. “That’s my job, David,” she says, anger in her voice.
So much for controlling the conversation. She’s fighting me, and I’m enjoying pushing her.
I might as well keep pushing.
“I thought your job was keeping Bracken on his feet.”
She sits back as if I’ve thrown a punch, but she doesn’t stop fighting. She’s a warrior, and she’s not going to let me win.
“Bracken’s not the one doing the work. I am.” Her eyes flash with anger, and she leans towards me as she speaks. “I’m tracking terrorists and finding their weak spots. That’s what I do, every day. I’m on the trail of my missing recruits. If I find them, I find whoever’s protecting them, and we have a target for Lee and Bracken and the Terrorism Committee to take down.” She sits back, arms folded. “That’s what I’m doing. That’s what my job is.”
It’s a rousing speech. I feel as if I should give her a round of applause. She has no idea that none of it is true.
I flash her a smile. “Looking for a promotion, are we?”
She smiles back, holding my gaze, and takes a sip of her beer. “Always.”
She thinks she and I are playing the same game. That we’re both fighting terrorists and trying to make a better world.
Time to hint at the things she doesn’t know. Let’s see if Ketty Smith will beg for information, and let’s see what she’s willing to do to make me talk.
I blink away a vision of her curves against my sheets, and put my drink on the table. I need to concentrate.
“Watch out, Ketty,” I say, looking into her eyes. “There’s more going on here than you know.”
She shakes her head, and falls directly into my trap.
“So what don’t I know?”
This is where I seal the deal. This is what brings her home with me.
I shake my head. “I can’t talk about it. Not here.”
She leans across the table again, the top of her blouse falling away from her skin.
“Really?” The anger is back in her voice. I force myself to meet her eyes. “You’re going to drop that nugget of information, and then you’re not going to tell me?”
I shrug, and I see her fists, tightening. “I can’t. But keep your ear to the ground, Ketty. Be careful. And keep an eye on Bracken.”
She’s listening, just as she did at Belmarsh. She wants to know what I know.
At Bracken’s name, she rolls her eyes. “When do I not keep an eye on Bracken?”
“I’m serious,” I say, quietly enough to make her lean across the table again. “There are concerns that he won’t handle what’s coming.”
She sits back. Her voice is cold. “What’s coming, David?”
I’ve got her attention. She’s hooked. I finish my drink, and wait for her to beg. She leans towards me and meets my eyes, raising her voice. “What’s coming?”
This is it. She’s in my hands. I raise a finger to my lips and shake my head, smiling.
I’m going to make her work for my information.
“I think we’re done here. You and me,” I say, pointing between us. “Just … keep your eyes open. Don’t go down with Bracken.”
She’s furious. One hand grips her glass, and the other is a fist on the table in the front of her. Her face is a darkening shade of pink.
I stand up, taking my coat from my chair.
“Walk you home?” Plenty of time to ask questions, and tempt her with more information. Time to change the plan, and walk back to mine instead.
She slams her beer onto the table, pushes back her chair and picks up her coat.
“No, thanks,” she says, and there’s nothing friendly about her voice. “I can look after myself.”
And she turns away, pushing into the crowd and out of the door, alone.
I failed. I pushed her too hard. I showed up her ignorance.
I screwed up.
It’s a moment before I move. I pull on my jacket, and start elbowing my way slowly to the door.
I can’t believe she walked away. I can’t believe I lost her. Curves, scars, and attitude. Predator and prey.
I can’t believe I’m walkin
g home alone.
Confessions
I know it’s a mistake to call Penny, but I do it anyway. One of her housemates picks up, and shouts until she comes to the phone.
“David?” She sounds sleepy.
“Penny. Did I wake you?”
“No. Maybe.” She yawns. “I thought you were busy.”
“Meeting ended early, so I’m home alone. Fancy joining me?”
“Sure,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “It’s late, though. I’ll call a taxi.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
*****
I’m regretting everything as soon as my alarm sounds. I have half an hour until Lee’s driver picks me up, and between Ketty Smith and Private Penny, I’ve only had a couple of hours sleep. Penny stirs, but stays sleeping as I drag myself out of bed and into an ice-cold shower. I might have woken her with my call last night, but by the time I met her taxi outside the flat, held the door for her and paid the driver, she was made up, dressed up, and ready to fall into my bed.
I didn’t bother asking questions. Lee wants me to focus on Smith – he’s moved on from mail-room gossip, and so have I. I just wanted proof that I didn’t have to sleep alone. I wanted someone to come running when I called – not an upstart Corporal who refused to take the bait.
But Penny isn’t Smith, and no amount of her enthusiasm can make up for last night’s failure.
Or the fact that I’m spending this morning at Belmarsh, with Smith, Bracken, and Lee.
I’m groaning as I switch off the water and reach for my towel.
*****
Lee glances up from his folder of paperwork as I slide into the back seat beside him. A breakfast of coffee and painkillers hasn’t helped my mood, and I’m making an effort to be cheerful.
“No Smith this morning?” He asks, as if he’s asking the time.
I shake my head.
“Prefers to love you and leave you, does she?” He raises an eyebrow. “So what did you get out of her? Anything we can use?”
He watches as I swallow a yawn. “Gave you a run for your money?” He flashes me a cold smile. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
He’s waiting for my answer. He wants to know what she told me.
I need to focus. He doesn’t know what happened, and I don’t want to tell him.
I don’t need to. A smug smile spreads across his face. “It didn’t happen, did it, Corporal?” I shrug, my face turning pink. “She turned you down?”
I take a long breath. “Yes, Sir.”
Lee laughs, once, and shakes his head. “Katrina Smith is immune to your charms? The girl from the RTS wasn’t impressed by the attentions of the legendary Corporal Conrad?”
“Apparently.” I run a hand over my hair, willing myself to laugh with him, but the sound is hollow and forced.
I wish I could crawl back to bed, with or without Penny. I wish I could pretend that last night didn’t happen.
“Not good enough, Corporal,” he says, and his voice is edged with steel. “Try harder.”
And he turns back to his paperwork.
*****
This morning is not the time to try harder with Smith, so I treat her as if she’s an important stranger. Polite, formal, and distant – and I’m relieved when she returns the favour.
We’re watching Lee and Bracken interrogate Sheena Richards – daughter of William – who had the misfortune of being picked up in the Makepeace Farm raid. Bracken didn’t take many prisoners that night, but she was one of them. And she’s about to find out what we have planned for her.
Her first mistake is talking back to Lee. She’s accusing him of involvement in the raid – of using illegal chemical weapons, and dragging her out of the farmhouse in the middle of the night. She’s calm but confident, and Lee lets her talk. Before long, she’s demanding a lawyer.
I smile. There are no lawyers for the prisoners in these cells.
She sounds much too assertive. I nudge the sound recording level down, glancing across at Smith. “Talkative, isn’t she?”
Smith ignores me, and stares through the glass as Sheena mocks her interrogators, spelling out all the reasons why the Home Forces won’t allow her legal representation.
I like this woman. She’s on borrowed time – she’s only here as a bargaining chip for Lee to use with her father – but she’s talking as if she’s the one in control. It’s a shame she’s chosen the wrong side. She’d be an asset to the Home Forces.
“You were there,” she says, pointing at Bracken. “Tell me – what bomb-making equipment did you find at the house? What terrorist plots did you unearth? What is it that makes me so dangerous that I have to be locked away?”
She’s right, of course. They didn’t find anything at the farm. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have evidence. I’m smiling as Lee pulls a stack of photos from his folder and lays them out on the table.
Smith is watching, a thoughtful look on her face. I can’t resist explaining what we’ve done.
“Bomb-making equipment, maps, diagrams.” My smile widens. “There’s even one of a missile launcher in the barn. Lee brought it all in for the raid. Made sure we got photos.” I watch the prisoner as she reacts to the images. “She’s going to love this.”
The interrogation continues. Sheena keeps talking, telling Lee – and the camera – that everything in the photos was faked. She guesses what she’s being charged with, and reminds us that she’s innocent.
Smith ignores my comments.
But we’re both on the edge of our seats when Lee puts the photo of Sheena’s father on the table. His orange jumpsuit and handcuffs match hers, and in the picture he’s sitting where she’s sitting.
From her reaction, she didn’t know he’d been caught. That my team dragged him out of a ditch as he waited to ambush a supply convoy on the same night Bracken moved on Makepeace Farm.
Lee follows the photo of William with a photo of the girl they picked up with Sheena at the farm. Jumpsuit, handcuffs, prison guards.
He has her attention, and he’s enjoying playing with her. I watch as she falls from educated, confident opponent to defeated daughter between one breath and the next. Lee calmly reclaims the power in the room, and there’s nothing left for her challenge.
Smith and I watch as she slumps in her chair, her confidence drained. There’s an energy in the observation room – something sparking between us – as Lee explains his plans.
We’re both enjoying this.
If William wants to protect his daughter, he’ll cooperate with Lee and Bracken. If he doesn’t help, she meets her firing squad on live TV, and there’s nothing she can do to change his mind. It doesn’t matter what choice he makes – we’ll get a contact in a rebel organisation that’s been operating outside our influence, or we’ll get two high-profile executions. Either outcome is a win for the Home Forces, and Lee makes it clear that it’s up to William to decide how this ends.
When I glance at Smith, she’s smiling.
The prisoner is in tears when Lee ends the interrogation. So much for standing up to the brigadier. I switch off the recording equipment, and follow Smith out to the waiting room. She’s put a coffee in Bracken’s hand and poured one for herself by the time I join her, and we watch together as the guards bring Sheena and her father face to face in the waiting room.
It looks like an accident – one of them heading back to the cells, and the other being brought out for questioning, but I know Lee planned this. He’s betting that seeing Sheena is all William will need to convince him to help us – but I’ve worked with William, and he’s a fighter. He’s tough, he’s rude, and he doesn’t respond to threats.
I can’t resist dragging Smith into the drama.
“Twenty pounds says he lets her die to protect the resistance.” I keep my voice down as we head back to the observation room. If I’m right, then she’ll owe me, and we can negotiate how she pays me back. If I’m wrong, it’s an investment. Let her think she has som
e power.
She doesn’t speak, and I’ve given up on a response. We’re sitting down with the cameras ready to roll before she answers.
“Twenty pounds says he gives up without a fight.”
She’s smiling again. She’s enjoying this as much as I am.
And she’s right. William caves immediately. He’s ours, and Sheena is safe for now.
I owe Corporal Smith twenty pounds. She’ll need to give me some attention if she wants to collect.
*****
We sit and watch Lee run rings around Margaret Watson, Sheena’s young friend from Makepeace Farm. She’s refusing to answer his questions, but that isn’t the point of today’s interrogation. He’s going to enjoy breaking the silent girl, and this is Round One. He threatens her with execution, and Enhanced Interrogation, and her reaction is to ignore him, and smile. She’s good looking, even in the prison jumpsuit – long dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile like the Mona Lisa when Lee shows her photos of our missing recruits, and her reaction confirms their presence at the farm. It’s the first time she’s spoken on camera since she arrived at Belmarsh, but she still hasn’t answered Lee’s questions. I know she won’t be smiling forever. Her life is in his hands, and I know he’s already looking forward to Round Two.
“What’s Enhanced Interrogation?”
I’m switching off the recording equipment when Smith decides to break the ice between us. I should tell her. I should be gracious, but I haven’t forgiven her for last night. I don’t think she’s earned my help.
“You really are fresh from the countryside, aren’t you?” I say, trying to hide a smile.
She answers me with a cat-and-mouse glare. She’s used to dealing with teenagers, and she’s used to having fear on her side.
It’s effective.
“I’m here to do a job,” she says, as if she’s addressing a class of recruits. “And I can’t do my job if I don’t have all the facts.” She narrows her eyes, inspecting my face. She’s good at this – I’m starting to feel sympathy for the kids at Camp Bishop. “Are you going to answer my question? Or do I have to wait until you feel like telling me?”
Balancing Act Page 5