Balancing Act
Page 11
If this was any other girl, in any other place, I’d have walked out a week ago. But I need to keep her with me. I need her on my side.
I need to tolerate the drama. I’m looking forward to leaving, and never looking back.
One more night.
I’ve booked a restaurant – the most expensive I can find. Lee is paying, and I need to make Emma feel special before I disappear on a train and shut her out of my life. Jen’s right – Emma needs something from me before I walk away. I need to keep the group committed, and it’s worth the price of a meal to make her feel important. To make sure she doesn’t feel used.
I’ve even bought a new outfit – smart shoes, trousers, a dark grey shirt and a tie. I need to make an impression.
*****
Emma meets me at seven. Jen drops her off a street away from the restaurant, and I’m waiting, ready to take her hand and charm her with expensive wine and fine dining.
But I’m not ready for the woman who steps out of the car.
Her hair is loose, framing her face. She’s wearing makeup – eyeliner that turns her eyes sky blue, lipstick that accentuates her features. And her dress? Long, black, and fitted, over strappy sandals with impossible heels.
I’m breathless. I didn’t know she could look like this.
I offer her my arm, and we walk together towards the Cathedral, and our final evening together.
*****
The restaurant is an old, timber-framed building with exposed beams and tasteful lighting. The wine is amazing, and we sit through seven courses of the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten. We taste each other’s choices, order more wine, and by the time I’m paying the eye-watering bill the Cathedral bells are ringing out eleven o’clock.
Emma looks stunning. As we step outside, her cheeks are flushed from the wine. She’s reapplied her lipstick, and when she looks at me I feel … light-headed. Appreciated. Lucky.
“Taxi?” I ask, and she nods, taking my arm again as we walk over the cobbled pavements towards the taxi rank.
It’s a ten-minute walk. We sway along tiny, narrow streets and through the shopping centre, Emma’s fingers clasped tight around my arm as she walks in her heels. We make our way past the jewellery shops and trinkets in the Marlowe Arcade, and by the time we reach the square on the far side, I know I’m going to tell her.
I know I shouldn’t, but the wine and the food, and that dress …
I stop, and turn her to face me. Over her shoulder I can see the stone pillars of a storefront, so I walk her gently backwards until she’s leaning against the facade. My hands frame her face as I lean in to kiss her scarlet lips, my body pressed against hers. She gasps, and kisses me, her eyes closed.
There’s no one else here. We’re alone, in the dark, her arms tight across the back of my neck.
I break away from the kiss and slip my hands round her waist. She bites her lip, pulling me close. I follow the line of her jaw, breathe slowly into her ear. My heart is a hammer, ringing against my ribs.
“It’s here,” I whisper. “This is it. This is your target.”
Her body stiffens in my arms. She lifts her head and I can feel her breath on my neck.
“You’re serious?” She murmurs, and I nod. “Here?”
“The shops. The square.”
“David,” she says, and takes my face in her hands. “Thank you.”
And she kisses me again.
*****
The taxi ride is too long, and by the time we reach the cottage we can’t keep ourselves apart. I pay the driver, and the front door is barely closed before she’s fumbling with the knot in my tie, and turning so I can trace the zip of her dress over the lines of her back. She stumbles in her heels, so I pick her up and carry her to the bed, my eyes never leaving hers as I run my fingers across the buckles of her shoes and drop them, one and then the other, to the floor.
There are no tears, and no power-plays. It feels as if someone else is in control – as if we’re creating something together.
As if we’re caught up in a force of nature. An earthquake. A wildfire.
When we sleep, it’s in each other’s arms, for the first time since we met.
*****
She doesn’t come to the station in the morning. She calls Jen for a lift, and while we wait we clear out the cottage – empty the bins, check the cupboards, our hands meeting in accidental touches that feel electric. When we’re done she gives me a final kiss in the empty hall.
“Goodbye, David,” she says, one hand against my cheek, and then she’s gone. The door closes behind her, and I’m on my own. She’s taken her drama, and she’s left me behind. I hear the car door closing in the street. The sound of the engine as Jen drives her away.
I’m free.
It’s a half-hour walk to the station. My ticket is for Birmingham New Street, in case anyone checks, but I’ll be getting off in London. Lee’s sending a car to meet me and take me home. He wants me ready for work in the morning.
I’m half way to Victoria Station, watching the landscape change, when I remember what happened last night. The kiss, the information. The target.
My hands are shaking, and I feel as if there’s no air in the carriage.
There’s nothing I can do.
That connection, last night? That feeling? I have to hope she feels it, too. That she won’t use a moment of passion against me.
I convince myself that it doesn’t matter. The group is ready. We’ve worked hard to prepare for the mission, and they’ve done everything I’ve asked them to do. A couple more weeks and they’d have the target anyway. This way Emma gets to feel as if she’s in control.
I shouldn’t have told her, but it won’t change anything.
No one else needs to know.
Compromise
When my alarm sounds in the morning, I reach across the bed, and it’s a moment before I remember where I am.
Home. London. Alone.
My face in the bathroom mirror is grey. I fitted in a haircut last night, so at least I’m regulation smart again, but the hollows under my eyes betray my lack of sleep.
Canterbury is done. The team doesn’t need me any more. Emma doesn’t need me.
I don’t need her. I have bigger problems to deal with.
*****
Lee is furious when I arrive at the office – on time, with my boots polished and my uniform neat, for the first time in a month. There’s no greeting when I walk in. No gentle return to work. He’s shouting before I’ve crossed the room.
“He’s on the committee, Corporal. On the committee.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He can’t get through a day without drinking himself stupid, and Franks puts him on the committee.” He hammers his fist on the desk. “He can’t handle his job as it is. There’s no way he can be trusted with committee business.”
“No, Sir.” I stand in front of his desk, ready to listen as he shouts his frustration at me.
“Sit down,” he snaps, picking up a pile of papers and moving it to the edge of his desk. “Good to have you back, by the way.”
I blink, and take a seat. I’ve never heard him say that to anyone – he must have missed me.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He taps his finger on the desk between us, then points at my chest. “You, and Katrina Smith.”
I nod, carefully, letting him talk.
“You are going to compromise that girl.”
“Sir?”
He waves a hand at me. “You know what to do, Corporal. You’ve done it often enough.” The sneer on his face is a mask for his anger. “I’m sure you’ve been compromising some poor girl in Whitstable for the last four weeks.”
I bite back a smile, thinking about Emma. About earthquakes and wildfire. Imagining Ketty in Emma’s dress – lipstick, eyeliner, and heels.
My knees feel like water. I’m glad I’m sitting down.
I can feel my cheeks burning.
“Corporal Smith,” I say, keepi
ng my voice steady. “Yes, Sir.”
“I want you weaponised. I want you on constant lookout for a way to trip her up. I want her in your bed, and I want her spilling Bracken’s secrets.” He gives me a cold stare. “Whatever it is you do to these girls – she’s your target. Understood?”
I nod, willing the colour from my face. “Understood, Sir.”
So much for my freedom.
*****
I’m tired. The switch back from Canterbury to the office feels like whiplash, and I keep catching myself thinking about Emma, or Jen, or Kieran. About what I need to teach them next. About keeping Emma on my side.
It’s exhausting – the constant realisation that I’m done with them all. A couple of phone calls, and the mission will be complete. And then it’s surveillance, or prison vans, based on their success or failure.
I really have to stop caring.
There’s a Terrorism Committee meeting this morning – Bracken’s first – and I walk upstairs to the conference room with Lee.
“I’ll give you a moment,” he says, as we turn the corner into the corridor. I’m about to ask him what he means when I notice Ketty, sitting at the runner’s desk outside the meeting. “Assistant to the lowest-ranking officer,” he mutters as we walk towards her. “Sitting target.” And he walks past her, into the conference room.
I haven’t seen Ketty Smith in a month. Last time I saw her, she was defending the empty safe house. Fighting back, from losing her recruits and whoever is sheltering them. Standing tall, even when Lee tried to tear her down. Fighting me, when I mocked her failure.
And here she is. Smart, efficient, ready to take on whatever the committee throws at her.
Blonde, blue eyes, freckles, attitude. I take a breath, then walk up to her desk and sit on the edge, turning to face her.
“So,” I say, flashing her a wide smile. “Any progress with catching your recruits?”
The look she gives me could strip paint. I think she might roll her eyes.
“You mean apart from putting Elizabeth Ellman and Margaret Watson on PIN every night?” I can hear the anger in her voice. It feels good to provoke someone, after a month of diplomacy. I pick up the pen she’s been using, and turn it over and over in my hands.
“Apart from that,” I say, smothering a laugh.
“You don’t think that will work?” She sounds surprised, as if this is the best strategy she can think of. She’s making this too easy.
“I think your recruits are on a jolly holiday in Scotland, and I think you can’t get to them,” I say, enjoying the freedom to provoke her. To needle this woman without the fear that she’ll walk away.
Hoping she’ll fight back.
“Plus PIN doesn’t air in Scotland.” I throw her pen in the air and catch it, smiling.
And she’s fighting. Defending herself. Walking into my trap.
“No,” she says, clearly forcing herself to stay calm. “But they have ways of reaching international audiences.” I bite down on a laugh. “If Bex Ellman and Dan Pearce can get to a PIN feed, they’ll be watching.”
“The website?” I give her a smirk. “That’s hardly the same as watching the news. They get to pick and choose what they look at. You can’t force them to watch anything.” She crosses her arms and glares at me.
“You think we have to force them to watch coverage of their own families? Their friends?”
I shrug. “Maybe the OIE is blocking it. Maybe they don’t have access.”
“And maybe they’re watching every night in case we give one of our prisoners some new bruises.”
I stop turning the pen over in my hands. She might be right.
“Maybe,” I say, putting the pen back on her desk. I think about the clip of her prisoner on PIN. Bex’s mother, confessing to all her crimes. “And I understand using Elizabeth Ellman. Bex must be going crazy, wondering what you’re going to do to her next.”
The smile on her face reminds me of Lee. The wolf, ready to kill.
“That’s the point, Corporal,” she says. “Keep them wondering. Keep them frightened.”
“But Margaret?” I shrug. “What’s she adding to the equation?”
Her smile widens. “School friend of Bex and Dan? Best buddies, right until the RTS recruiters showed up? Come on. Wouldn’t you be watching?”
“I guess,” I say, with another shrug. She’s putting too much faith in these kids and their loyalties.
She settles back in her chair, looking up at me, a smug smile on her face.
“Margaret adds several things,” she says. “We show Bex and Dan what we can do to them. We don’t let them forget who holds the power here. And we make them think twice before they do anything to act against us.”
“OK,” I say, looking for the fault in her argument. “But you can do that with Elizabeth.”
“True.” She nods. “But that’s mainly for Bex. What Margaret gives us is Dan.”
I blink, trying to figure out what she’s telling me. “How do you figure that?”
That cat-and-mouse smile again, creeping across her face.
“Haven’t you watched her interrogation footage?”
“Yes, but …” I’m trying to follow her train of thought.
“Watch it again,” she says, grinning. “When she’s looking at the wanted posters? Take a look at which poster she’s most interested in.”
I think about the footage. Lee’s frustration when Margaret wouldn’t talk. Her fingers, brushing the photo on the table.
Dan. She’s making a connection between her prisoner, and Bex’s best friend.
“So you think – Margaret and Dan?”
“I do.” The smugness is radiating from her. She must have evidence for this. She’s convincing me.
“So we’ve got Bex’s mother and Dan’s girlfriend?” She nods, still grinning. “And we’re putting them both on TV?”
I’m grinning now. This is good. This is … powerful. She has leverage over our two most wanted recruits, and she’s happy to use it.
“I think that’s a useful connection,” she says, meeting my gaze. “Don’t you?”
“Can’t hurt.” I shrug, but I’m impressed. She spotted something in the footage that I’d missed, and she’s already using it to control the OIE.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her.
Lee calls me into the meeting, and I’m sorry to leave her behind.
Access
“Where’s Bracken?” Ketty looks up from her coffee, surprised by the question.
“Early meeting. He’ll be along in time for Elizabeth’s session.” And she takes a sip of her drink, as if there’s nothing strange about her being here in Belmarsh without him. I can’t figure out how she’s walked in here without a superior officer. With all my Terrorism Committee privileges, even I can’t do that.
What have I missed, while I’ve been away?
“If Bracken’s not here, who let you in? Lee?” The brigadier headed upstairs to find a couple of prison guards just before Ketty arrived. He’s trying to set up an unscheduled session with William Richards. Ketty must have met him in the corridor – he must have opened the door for her.
She shakes her head, and she’s smiling. She’s enjoying my discomfort.
She knows something I don’t.
“Did Bracken call ahead?” She shakes her head again, still smiling, but this isn’t a joke. If she can show up in the cells without permission, what else is going on?
“You can’t have an access card.” I’m thinking aloud, now. “There’s no way …”
Her smile widens, and she watches my face as she unbuttons the breast pocket of her fatigues and pulls out a plain white credit-card sized pass.
“No way!” I’ve reacted before I can stop myself, and the look on her face is beyond smug. Victorious.
Someone gave her access. Someone wants Corporal Smith down here, with the prisoners, unsupervised.
I can feel my pulse, kicking. Ice on the back of my neck.
She shrugs, and slips the card back in her pocket. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand.
“You know I don’t have one of those,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
“Really?” She sounds utterly unconcerned as she picks up her coffee. My mind is racing, and I want her to see what I see. I want answers, but she’s not listening.
I’m on my feet, stepping towards her. “Seriously, Ketty. Who gave you the access card?”
Her smile drops away. She places her coffee carefully on the table behind her and stands up straight.
“What’s the problem here, David?” Her voice is cold, and she’s tilting her chin up. Standing up to me, the way she stands up to Lee.
And I wonder – is this the brigadier, playing with me? Is he working with Ketty again? I’m not sure I want to know, but I can’t help myself.
“Does Lee know?”
She nods. “He does now. He saw me using it.”
“So it wasn’t Lee.” I don’t know whether to be relieved, or terrified. I understand Lee’s power games. I could handle this, from him.
Who else has the authority? I put my coffee down on the table and run both hands through my hair, thinking.
I have to ask. “Who is messing with us, Ketty?”
She looks at me as if I’m a misbehaving recruit. As if the answer is obvious.
“Franks gave it to me,” she says, and my heart thunders in my chest. “Weeks ago. Major General Franks wanted to give me access to Elizabeth Ellman and Margaret Watson.” She picks up her coffee, and leans back against the table, watching me. “Is that OK with you, Corporal?” She sounds impatient. As if I’ve overstepped a boundary.
I shake my head. She really doesn’t get it.
“Franks is using you, Ketty. She’s using you to get to Lee.”
She stares at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Lee runs the Terrorism Committee so Franks doesn’t have to.”