Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  And I like having that much control. I like having girls who can’t complain when I don’t return their calls.

  But I think I like this more.

  Someone who’ll throw punches with me. Someone who listens to what I say, and then throws it back at me. Someone smart, who’ll catch me out and hold me to account – and isn’t afraid if I return the favour.

  It’s a challenge. It’s dangerous.

  It’s all part of the game, and if she wants to play, then so do I.

  *****

  I’m ready to fall into bed when I get home from the office. Two nights of broken sleep have put grey shadows under my eyes and a dull ache in my skull. If I’m serious about Ketty Smith, I need to be awake. I need to be rested and ready for whatever she throws my way.

  It’s exciting, not knowing what she’ll do next – what rules she’ll break, what she’ll need from me. How long she’ll make me wait to see the scars I drew on her knee.

  I imagine the torn and puckered skin, rough under my fingertips. The mark of the bullets I put in her path. My scars, on her body. Apple and mint.

  Penny’s milk-white softness is forgotten. This is what I want.

  There’s a health food shop ready meal in the fridge and I make myself heat it up, yawning as I set the microwave timer. I sit on the sofa with the meal on a tray, and switch on PIN.

  There’s nothing interesting in the headlines – nothing I don’t know already – and I’m about to change the channel when there’s an update from Belmarsh. Bex Ellman’s mother, handcuffed to a table, bruises on her face, her wheelchair obvious behind her.

  And Ketty, waiting for her to speak.

  I drop the remote, and wait.

  I don’t know what Smith asked, but the answer is perfect. She made the right call, bringing Elizabeth to Belmarsh, and she knows how to give her prisoner the space to get herself into trouble. If she’s aiming to use Elizabeth to get to Bex, the bruising and the black eye will definitely help.

  I’m smiling as I listen to her speech, and Ketty lets her talk. I’m waiting for the soundbite – the moment Elizabeth steps over the line.

  “Do you know what a mother would do for her daughter?” She asks, clearly angry. “Do you have any idea?”

  Ketty shrugs, and Elizabeth leans further across the table. “You’re looking at it,” she says.

  She’s keeping our attention on her, instead of on her daughter. She’s admitting to aiding and abetting a known terrorist. I think that sounded like a confession, and so does the newsreader as the feed switches back to the studio.

  I have to make myself breathe.

  I’ve just watched Ketty Smith hand another prisoner to a firing squad.

  It’s a reminder of how dangerous she is. How dangerous it will be, finding out her secrets.

  I need to raise my game.

  Search

  The universe hands me a gift, the following morning. Internet Surveillance has tracked a post from a computer in Edinburgh, and it’s come from one of Ketty’s missing recruits.

  You can’t catch us here. We’re safe. Scotland forever! And a photo, cross-referenced with the RTS records. Jake Taylor, Camp Bishop – Missing – Wanted.

  I’m shaking my head as I read.

  The Face of the Resistance and her friends have made it out of the UK. I have no idea how – it shouldn’t be possible – but the tracking is confirmed.

  If Ketty thought she was in trouble when she lost Ellman at the nursing home, she’s about to find out what trouble really means. Her recruits have left the country, and Jake’s right – we can’t touch them there.

  Lee sends me downstairs with the printout to share the good news.

  “Good morning, Corporal Smith!” I’m enjoying myself already. It’s amazing what a difference ten hours of sleep makes.

  She hangs up her phone, and smiles back, ready to fight her corner. “Corporal Conrad. Colonel Bracken isn’t in yet. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t move. I stand in front of her desk, grinning down at her. I know something she doesn’t, and I’m about to ruin her day. I have all the power here, and it feels good.

  “What is it?” She sits forward in her chair. “What’s happened?” She’s lost her smile.

  I place the printout carefully in front of her on the desk. She gives it a quick glance, but she doesn’t have my clearances to access the computer system. She doesn’t know what she’s looking at.

  “What’s this?”

  My grin grows wider. Lee’s been needling her about Ellman and her friends for weeks, and I’m about to tell her just how lost they are.

  “We’ve found your recruits,” I say, still smiling.

  She looks again at the printout. Registers the face on the image.

  Reads the message.

  “It’s an Internet post,” I say. “Jake Taylor put it on a chat site.” I point to the location details. “They’re in Edinburgh.”

  Her shoulders are tense as she stares at the sheet of paper. I watch as the colour drains from her face.

  “Thank you, Corporal,” she says, glancing up at me. She’s back in control, and she’s ready to fight this. “I’ll take it from here.”

  *****

  Lydia catches me as I’m heading back to my desk, coffee in hand.

  “Careful, David,” she says, her fingers brushing my elbow. I raise an eyebrow as she checks up and down the corridor, making sure we’re alone.

  “What …?” But she doesn’t let me finish.

  “Bracken’s girl,” she says, quietly, and watches my face for a reaction. I try not to smile, and she catches me.

  “See? You’re in trouble.” She shakes her head and gives me a long stare. “You’re falling for her, aren’t you?”

  All kinds of denials are forming in my mind, but I can’t work out what to say. Lydia has me stuttering in the corridor, and I know my face is reddening under her gaze.

  “Thought so.” She nods. “Was Penny right? Have you been shagging the babysitter?” There’s a mischievous look in her eyes.

  I shake my head, and she laughs.

  “Oh, this is worse. You haven’t managed to tempt her into bed, you’ve kept Lee waiting for her secrets, and the delectable Penny had no reason to dump you?” She puts a hand on my arm, her face serious. “David. This isn’t like you. Get out while you can.”

  I shrug. “I can’t. Lee …” I don’t need to say any more.

  She steps closer, and whispers in my ear. “She’s going to ruin you.”

  She’s walking away before I can respond.

  *****

  Another day, another screw-up from Smith. Another hour of listening to Lee shouting.

  Lee tasked her with finding the safe house the recruits were using before they escaped to Scotland, and when she found the address, he sent in troops.

  And found nothing. Empty flats. No evidence of a local resistance cell beyond a CCTV camera on the stairs. A few prisoners from the shop on the ground floor, including a Scottish citizen with a work permit, but no one with any links to the recruits.

  She’s let him down again, and he’s out for blood.

  When he’s finished shouting at me, he calls Smith and Bracken to his office and shouts at them. When Ketty leaves, she marches across my office and into the corridor without a glance in my direction.

  It’s half an hour before she’s back, today’s flash drive for PIN in her hand.

  “Something special for the news tonight, Corporal?”

  She gives me a smug smile. “As always.”

  I should leave her alone. I should pretend I couldn’t hear Lee shouting at her through the closed door of his office. But I spent an hour listening to Lee this morning – keeping the heat away from Smith – and I’d like some payback.

  I take the flash drive, and watch as I turn it over and over in my hand.

  “It’s a shame about the safe house, Ketty.” I’m trying to keep a straight face. I don’t want t
o laugh – I want this to hurt. I want a reaction. “That could have been your saving grace. Something to show for all the work you’ve put in, tracking down the recruits?”

  I look up at her, waiting.

  She smiles. “I don’t think I’m done with this. Do you? I think there’s more here to find.” She’s fighting again. Defending her mistakes. “I think we can still track the cell, and find out who was in charge of looking after our runaways.”

  She’s relentless. She still thinks she can pull something good out of this.

  I shrug, matching her smile. “I’ll pass this on to Lee. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the show tonight.”

  As she walks away, I can’t help thinking about Lydia. Her advice to get out. Her opinion of Ketty.

  And she might be right, but as my office door swings shut I realise – I don’t want to get out.

  Ketty Smith is unstoppable. She fails, she falls, and she stands right back up again. She stands tall, and challenges everyone to make space for her. She demands respect, and she doesn’t stop fighting.

  Lydia’s right. She attracts drama. She throws herself into her job and she refuses to let go. She’s driven, she’s focused, she’s dangerous.

  She’s a challenge. And I’m enjoying the ride.

  PART TWO: EMMA

  Corporal David Conrad

  Whitstable, December

  Jen

  Tankerton beach is cold and windswept, and I’m glad I’m wearing the down jacket I bought yesterday in Canterbury. Brigadier Lee’s budget for this job is generous, and warm clothes are definitely on the list of things I can splash out on. The holiday cottage I’m hiding out in isn’t luxurious, but it’s warm and dry and has everything I need. A TV, a tiny kitchen, a hot shower, a double bed. Nothing to make the local resistance cell suspect that I’m not one of them.

  There are a few dog-walkers braving the chill as I make my way along Marine Crescent to the beach huts, but no one looks twice at me. I’m bundled against the cold – walking boots, gloves, and the red beanie hat I’ve told Jen I’ll be wearing. I take a seat on the bench next to the skate park and wait for her to find me.

  It feels strange, being out of uniform. I couldn’t bring anything with me that links me to the Home Forces. We can’t risk the cell finding out who I am, so it’s jeans, T-shirts, and fleece jackets while I’m in Whitstable. I’ve skipped a haircut and resisted the temptation to make myself regulation smart. My hair is deliberately tousled under the knitted hat, and I’m getting used to the new fabric walking boots with their bright flashes of colour at the edges of the soles. There’s a fake ID in my wallet, and a debit card in the same fake name.

  This is important. I have a month to train the local cell, and then I’ll run the rest of the job by phone, as usual. I need to be here in person. I need to check out the team, and make sure they’re ready to place bombs for us. To build relationships and trust, so when the time comes they’ll do exactly what we want them to do. It’s a game-changing target, and we need to get the details right.

  “David?”

  A tall young woman is standing behind the bench, one hand on the seat back, watching me. She’s wearing the purple fleece and matching bobble hat I’m expecting to see, and she looks nervous. She’s making sure the bench is between us.

  “Jen?” She nods.

  I stand up, holding out my arms. Follow my lead, I told her on the phone. People need to think we know each other.

  She steps round the bench and gives me an awkward hug before stepping back and waiting for me to take a seat. She sits next to me, perched on the edge of the bench, her gloved hands pressed between her knees.

  “Relax,” I say, sitting back, one arm resting on the seat back behind her. “Pretend I’m an old friend.”

  She nods and shuffles backwards, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Jen,” I say, catching her eye. “I’m not going to eat you. I’m here to help.”

  “Yes,” she says. “OK. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for meeting me. Do you have the code?”

  She gives me her half of the password, and I give her mine. She nods, and gives me a tight smile. “So what’s the news? Are we in?”

  I’m sure I see colour in her cheeks when I smile back. “We’d like to work with you. We have something in mind, and we’ll make sure you get everything you need to make it happen.”

  “We get to fight back?”

  I nod, still smiling. “You get to fight back.”

  She’s definitely blushing as she meets my eyes and thanks me again.

  Another resistance fighter, ready to do anything I tell her.

  I’m going to enjoy this.

  *****

  We talk for an hour, walking along the deserted seafront into Whitstable and back. By the time we make it to her car I have an invitation to dinner with the rest of the group, and the promise of a lift tomorrow evening. As she gives me another awkward hug, I catch the eye of a man walking up the path from the beach. He hunches his shoulders and tugs his jacket over his face as he hurries past, glancing back at me as Jen climbs into the car.

  If he’s a member of the resistance cell, he needs more training. But if he’s been watching us on our walk, that means they’re taking precautions, and they already understand the risks.

  Good. They’ll be easier to train, and easier to control, if they don’t make stupid mistakes.

  I push my hands into my jacket pockets and head back to the cottage to warm up, already planning my next move with Jen.

  Team

  Kieran’s house is on a quiet road at the edge of Canterbury. It’s his face I saw on the seafront, checking up on me and Jen. He’s a recent graduate with a job in IT, and the rest of the group are friends from university. Jen and Said are studying engineering, and the rest are on government-priority courses. Sports science, leisure management, agriculture. Anything to keep people occupied, fed, and entertained. They’re young, bright, and idealistic – perfect recruits for the Terrorism Committee. Let them think they’re fighting the Home Forces – that they’re making history – and they’ll do anything we ask.

  Over chilli and beer we talk politics. I sit back and let them say things that would get them arrested if the wrong people overheard. Things I can use if I decide they can’t handle the bombing. When they ask about me, I give them a few vague answers and smile a lot. I stick to the surname on my fake ID, and tell them as little as possible while turning their questions back on them.

  It’s easy. They love to talk.

  And I get to watch. Work out which of them to get close to. I need someone to side with me if there’s any hint of disagreement – someone I can use to steer the others.

  One of the girls, to make this more fun.

  Jen is still nervous, in spite of our conversation on the seafront. Her dark hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a half-zip fleece and walking trousers. I try not to laugh when I notice her socks are covered in cartoon cats. She’s renting Kieran’s spare room, so she’s the hostess, mothering the group and offering me drinks and second helpings while the others make themselves at home. She’s kind, but guarded. It’s going to be hard to get under her skin.

  I look around the table. If I’m going to take one of these girls to bed, Saanvi would be my first choice. She’s cover-shot beautiful – a heart-shaped face with dark skin and black hair in a pixie cut – but she’s taken. There’s a glittering ring on her finger, and she and Andrew can’t keep their hands off each other. We need stability in the group if we’re going to make this work, so I can’t risk coming between them. Emma is blonde and temptingly athletic – Lycra leggings and a long-sleeved running top show off her figure – but she ignores me all the way through the meal.

  I wouldn’t score any points with Lee if I broke up the cell – his local contacts have been working on Jen and Kieran for months, and we don’t have time to find a new team or a new target. I need to stick with the person who trusts me already.

  Jen
blushes when I offer to help with the washing up, and she asks me about my day as we load the dishwasher. By the time we’re done, she’s told me all about hers, and I’ve told her almost nothing.

  She’s getting comfortable with me. Perfect.

  When we join the others in the living room, the conversation moves on. They’ve welcomed me into their group, and now it’s my turn to reveal the help I’m here to give.

  “So what have you got for us, David?” Saanvi calls from her perch on the arm of Andrew’s chair.

  I sit forward on the sofa, elbows resting on my knees, and wait until they’re all watching me.

  “It’s big,” I say, looking round at their hopeful faces. “We need engineers and IT specialists, and a group large enough to make sure all the arrangements are made.”

  “Said and Jen are the engineers.” Kieran nods to his friends, “And I’m the IT guy. The others …” he waves a hand in introduction “… they’re all willing to help, and willing to learn.”

  I nod. “That’s good. That’s important.” I look down at my hands, and make them wait. I need to make sure they’re ready for what we’re asking them to do.

  “What do you know about the resistance?” I ask, looking up. They shrug, glancing at each other.

  “They’re setting the bombs?” Said suggests. “Showing the Home Forces that they don’t hold all the power?” I smother a smile. At least he believes what we want him to believe.

  “They put up the posters – the Face of the Resistance stuff.” I nod at Pete’s comment – he’s right. The Opposition In Exile has been sending posters to resistance groups all over the UK. Bex Ellman, the Face of the Resistance, standing in front of a fluttering flag. Inspiring stuff. As soon as the Home Forces take them down, someone else puts more up in their place. We can’t keep up with their campaign – but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Let people have their hope. Let groups like this reach out to offer their skills.