“You’ve been listening?” Mattie asked, impressed.
“Almost constantly,” she nodded, gaining confidence. “They’re looking for her.”
“They said that?”
“Not by name, but I’m sure you can understand that they speak in a certain way when they want her brought in. Something like talking about an impudent child and there’s a bit of desperation edging the voice,” she said. “I heard them say they were bringing her in, so I watched the gate.”
“And?” Toby pressed.
“They had a bag over her head, but it didn’t fool me. Too small, too well-dressed, too squeaky a voice when she screamed for help.” She smiled, like an eight-year-old who got their seven times table right.
Toby wasn’t convinced. “Well. Why are you telling us this? Why didn’t you let us raid the base and get captured?”
Her smile faded and she looked towards the police station. “I need you both alive.”
“What are you talking about?” Mattie said.
She turned back to them, taking a deep breath. “I want to come back with you to the Ackerson base.”
Toby bleated out a laugh and walked off a few paces before returning to the steps. “You and your kind are dangerous. I’m still in agony because of your friends. And you drugged up Alex.”
“She was fine. I didn’t touch her.”
“Why should we trust you? I bet you’re even lying about Alex not being in Central. You’re just trying to save your own skin,” Toby growled.
“I can show you my bloody equipment! I know exactly what’s been happening over the last three days.” She pointed back into the house. “I’ve got kit in there that you can take back to your base. There’s food too. I can pay my way in.”
Toby shook his head.
Desperately she said, “I’ve got nobody. There’s nobody left. They’re all dead.”
“Not my problem,” Toby said.
“Toby?” Mattie said.
Toby put his hands up. “Mattie, this woman is an Erikssen.”
“Not anymore,” she said.
“You cannot wake up one morning and decide that the murderous impulses have stopped and you should join a passive group like the Ackersons. You’re an Erikssen and nothing more,” Toby said.
She shrugged. “I just need sanctuary for a couple of nights, maybe a week. I can’t stay here any longer. I’m tired of running.”
Something at the end of the street caught Toby’s eye. “I can understand that. Not wanting to run anymore.”
“Can we help her find a safehouse for a while?” Mattie asked.
Toby kept watching the movement at the end of the street. “They’re in short supply right now, Matt. We’ve got to keep those we’ve got under our hats.”
“I can tell you what the police know about Alex,” Penny said.
Toby didn’t respond.
Penny said. “I can give you Erikssen intel in exchange for letting me join your base.”
“Like what?” Toby asked distractedly.
“I’ll take you to a sniper location overlooking the Square,” she promised.
“We can’t leave her here,” Mattie insisted.
Toby looked at Mattie carefully. “Remember your cop training - she is a dangerous activist. We can leave her, but... let’s consider this back at base. Don’t get ahead of yourself, missy. You’ll show us the sniper site you promised, then we’ll re-evaluate the situation.”
“Thanks,” she said shortly.
“It’s the right decision,” Mattie insisted.
She turned back to her door, digging in her pocket for her keys. “Just help me get the kit together.”
“Leave it,” Toby insisted.
“It’s expensive stuff! When you see it, you’ll want to take it with us,” she said.
Toby pointed back down the street. “Time is up. They’re coming.”
30 - The Daughter
There was that familiar thud and click of the front door. Mr Simons was home. He smiled as he took off his coat.
“Miss Bates.” He turned in her direction, seemingly looking down the corridor at her silhouette near the dining room door. “I recognise the sound of your shoes.”
“That’s nice,” she replied, slightly on edge.
He straightened up his shirt and turned to the sitting room. “Could you bring in a pot of tea? I’m expecting guests, so three extra cups.”
“Is it police?” She asked before she could stop herself.
His face creased. “No, police don’t tend to come here. Three of my managers are coming to report.” He paused. “Just get the tea, please.”
Alex waited for him to disappear into the sitting room, then the panic set in. Skipping into the kitchen, she looked around wildly. Should she leave? Staying here was a stupid idea. That little cafe brat was convincing, but now was a good time to reconsider. The visitors wouldn’t be blind. One of them might grab for her.
The cook was watching her from laundry doorway. Mrs Roberts turned slowly and slipped back into the shadows. Alex rubbed her hands over her face. She had to leave.
“Mrs Roberts?” She called. “Can we open the back door, please? I need some fresh air.”
The cook shuffled back into the room, took Alex gently by the shoulders and coaxed her into her seat at the table. So gentle. Thick, wrinkled hands floated over Alex’s hair. So kind. So unexpected.
The cook gave her a folded, freshly pressed cotton headscarf. It may have been commonplace to wear these when Mrs Roberts was starting out, but that vintage revival look was long out of fashion now. The cook reached for something hidden in her bulging apron pockets. The rustling of paper - a scrap of newspaper unfolded on the table. Alex was on the front page. There was a whole front page covered in photographs of captured illegals. The cook pointed to the photo of Alex.
Alex was pinned in. The cook didn’t move.
“That’s not me.”
Mrs Roberts pursed her lips disapprovingly. She picked up the headscarf from the table and offered it again to Alex.
“That is not a disguise,” Alex hissed a laugh through her teeth. “I should never have come.”
The cook slowly bent forward, as she would to a scared foal, wrapping the scarf across Alex’s forehead, tucking straggling black hairs underneath its opaque pure white mask. She tied the knot underneath Alex’s tightly held bun, then tucked the scarf’s tail in under the knot.
Then, holding a finger up to indicate for Alex to wait, the cook went to a drawer on the other side of the kitchen and pulled something out hurriedly. Next thing, Alex had a pair of thick plastic tortoiseshell glasses on that slightly blurred her vision. The prescription couldn’t be that strong, but strong enough to make her a little queasy.
The cook looked pleased with herself.
“This is ridiculous.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “That’s not going to fool anyone.”
The cook waved at her dismissively, then pushed her out of the way to put the kettle on.
“Why are you helping me?” Alex asked.
The cook shrugged as she clicked the kettle down on its stand, then came back face to face with her. She patted Alex on the head, like a child. Alex smirked nervously. Then the cook pushed Alex towards the cup cupboard.
“You’re going to get me caught,” Alex complained.
The cook shook her head and smiled comradely.
Alex sighed, pulled a tray out from under the sideboard and paused with her hand on the cupboard handle. “Ok, let’s make a deal.” The cook looked at her with amusement. “I’ll go out there, take them their tea etcetera. You’ll unlock that door. Then if they recognise me I can run out here and escape.”
The cook cocked her head to the side, then shrugged in submission.
Alex took the cups and the teapot out of the cupboard and arranged them on the tray. While the spoons of loose tea went into the pot and the milk in a jug, Alex asked herself why she was trusting these people. Toby told her on the way to Dayna’s house
that she had to learn to trust people and trust in her own judgment. She had done that with the waitress in the cafe, now she was trusting a mute cook to guard her secret and a blind man not to hand her to the police.
What if she answered the door and a cop stood on the other side? She’d be dead before she got halfway down the corridor to the kitchen. Toby wanted her to trust her own judgment and right now her gut was telling her to run as hard and fast as she could. She had nowhere to run to. All the old bases were dangerous now that her father had blabbed. Even her contacts were suspect. Her most trusted contacts would be stupid to keep her around. She was worth good money.
The kettle was whistling. Alex tugged off the blurry glasses and took the kettle off the boil. The tea was ready, but the guests weren’t here yet. She picked up the tray. Take the tray in early and she’d never have to meet the managers. Mrs Roberts opened the door to let her pass. Hurry in, drop off the tray and get back to the kitchen. She could keep her eyes to the ground and play the meek little house mouse when she answered the door. She’d slipped past the cops at a cordon with that trick.
She paused at the office door. Why was it always locked? What was he hiding? She shook her head, mocking herself. He worked in the energy trade. That was a gold mine of secrets for any activist. Thankfully for Mr Simons the Ackersons had no interest in depleting the energy market. The Ackersons liked having electricity at their beck and call. Alex moved on, letting her curiosity ebb.
The tray nearly slipped from her fingers at a noise from the front door. A scratching noise of a key in the lock. The click of the door catching on the broken draught excluder and the whoomph of the air whizzing through the gap, equalising the air pressure and bringing in the cold. Two thick-built men came through the door.
The leader, bald-headed with dense brown eyebrows, locked eyes with her. He scanned her up and down, the curl of a satisfied smile appeared. He stood there in his rough black workmen’s trousers, his white t-shirt and wool-lined denim jacket. His partner behind him wore similar casual wear. It made Alex think of lads going to help someone move a piece of furniture rather than someone coming to meet their boss. Not that Mr Simons would know what they were wearing.
Alex forced herself not to step backwards.
The leader nodded to her and moved on into the sitting room. Alex heard him greet Mr Simons. Warm, chuckling, friendly.
“Hey.” The second guy smiled at Alex. “Let me take that in.” He pointed at the tray.
Alex gave a watery smile back. “Thanks.”
The guy let out a sighing laugh. “Sorry, did we scare you? You’re new here, right?”
Alex pursed her lips. “Yeah, I started two days ago.”
“My name’s Charlie. The guy in there is my boss, Frank Taylor.” He glanced into the room beyond. “Your boss gave us a key. We come here a lot.”
“Right,” Alex said, then regretted how curtly it came out. “Um, yes, Mr Simons said his managers were coming. I hadn’t thought.”
Charlie’s brilliant and easy smile was dazzling, and yet it put Alex on edge.
“Charlie!” A call came from the sitting room. “Stop chatting up the help and get in here.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Nice,” he whispered. Then he stepped backwards toward the sitting room. “Stick around. I’m sure we’ll see you again soon.”
The outside door stood open. Taking a deep breath Alex looked at it speculatively. Should she just step through it and disappear down the street? This was the kind of street that could have a police guard pacing along it, but there hadn’t been one when she arrived here. Then again, the managers hadn’t recognised her. Her cover could be safe. Or maybe next time whoever had key access to the house would be a cop.
She approached the door, still not sure whether to walk into the sunlight or close the world out for a few more days. Her hand lifted to touch the cold metal of the lock then rubbing her fingers over the warm pine, the contrast disconnecting her from the decision for just another second.
The door swung inwards, connecting with her shoulder. Tripping through the door, a man tumbled into her, rough hands spun her around. His shoulder towered at her head height, clumsily connecting until the movement stopped with her suspended in his arms. When he regained his footing, he pulled her into his chest to keep her upright.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry, Miss,” his brow was furrowed, his chest heaving from running.
Heart racing, panic rising and ebbing at the same time, Alex pushed him away and straightened up. He brushed her down consolingly, making her heart race faster.
“I’m fine. Thanks,” she said.
He was scanning her body. He wasn’t flirting like Charlie had been. This guy was weighing her up, like he was trying to judge whether she was the wolf or the lamb. Then the look was gone.
“Ok,” he said. “I am sorry. I was running a late.”
“Running late. Yeah, I got that,” she said, with emphasised sarcasm.
He rushed back to the front door, pushed it to, took a key from his pocket and deadlocked the door. He nodded to her and disappeared into the sitting room, closing that door behind him. Was it strange that he had locked the door himself, not trusting her to do it?
She could still run. There must be a key in the dresser next to the door. All she had to do was take the key from one of the drawers, put it in the lock and... she turned away. Walked back to the kitchen. She was safe, for now.
The door to the kitchen swung shut. This was the first time that Mrs Roberts seemed anxious. Alex checked the back door.
“You didn’t unlock it,” she said, accusingly.
The cook shrugged.
“Do you have a key to the back door?” Alex asked.
The cook shook her head.
Alex felt a ripple of frustration and puffed it out. “So what, you’d just let me be caught?”
The cook shook her head cryptically.
“Whatever,” Alex said. She wasn’t going to get much sense out of this woman. “What do they even manage? He said they were his managers, but they look more like his muscle. I thought they’d be skinny geeky site managers for energy generators, but they don’t look like the brains of the bunch.”
What reaction had she expected from the cook? Nothing came. A coy smile was all.
The cook pointed at Alex then curled her finger towards herself, summoning her to follow. Poking at her headscarf, Alex followed reluctantly into the laundry room. “You’re insane.”
The cook didn’t turn around. Somehow Alex found herself spending the next half an hour sorting through dirty laundry, emptying and filling two rattly old machines. If there wasn’t the pomp and ceremony of having to line the tables with new cloths for every meal, and having to freshen the spare sheets regularly, the household would barely need two loads of washing a week.
Then the sitting room bell rang. It was her job to answer the bells. The cook wasn’t about to take it. What if they’d been discussing her?
The bell rang again. She steeled herself, brushed herself down and straightened up her headscarf. If she didn’t go now she would be risking her cover. She should’ve left half an hour ago, before she was missed.
Alex entered the sitting room. Only Mr Simons was there.
“Sir, how can I help you?” She asked, relieved.
He looked irritated. “You took your time.”
“Sorry, I was in the laundry. The machines were running.” She could feel her cheeks colouring. “Let me get you some fresh tea.”
“Coffee.” Mr Simons stood up, steadying himself against his chair. “I’ll be in my study.”
What had she done? Why was he being so short with her? All her nerves were on edge. She cleared up the teacups, only one had been used. How long had those guys stayed?
Too many questions, this place was wearing her down. Sneaking a look into the office on her way past, Mr Simons was dialling a number on his phone. Alex hesitated for a moment, just out of sight, but then kept walking and inel
egantly deposited the tray on the kitchen table.
Lifting her hand up to run it over her hair, Alex felt the rough cotton on her forehead. She laughed and pulled the scarf from her head, tidying back the loose hairs behind her ears.
With coffee in hand, Alex stalled on the edge of the study door. Mr Simons was still on the phone inside. His words were muffled. He was telling someone to get something ready. Something about securing the site.
“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Maybe a couple of days before it all kicks off. One of Taylor’s lackies thinks time is pressing.” There was a pause. “Yes, I’m upset. It must be done right.”
Simons stopped suddenly, interrupted by a rapid beeping noise. “Damn it.” He paused. “Yes, I heard it. Just get it ready, fast.”
The phone rattled down onto its mount.
Alex peeped around the door. He was resting his forehead heavily in his palms. What was he thinking about?
“Miss Bates.” He didn’t move, but Alex jumped backwards and straightened up. “I know where every single book on that shelf lives. I know the creak of every floorboard in my house. I know the smell of coffee coming from the hallway. I know the sound of your shoes.”
He’d heard her, or smelt her, or something like that. She stepped into the room.
Her master lifted his head and beckoned her to sit opposite him in a small desk chair. She did as she was told and set the coffee down on the table between them.
“Your coffee,” she said meekly.
His scowl twitched. “Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough with you, Miss Bates? Do you understand the sensitivity of my work? Maybe you think my business is amusing?”
“No, sir. I understand it’s important,” she said.
“Everyday energy generators across the city are on high alert against terrorist attacks. My job is to make sure that this city has ample supply of energy to keep it running. That’s not just making sure that the poor crying babies have nightlights in their houses. We have to make sure the industries, factories and hospitals operate on a twenty-four seven basis. We need energy even to power the water pumps. Without it we would all die. Did you know that?” His voice was edged with something she hadn’t heard before.
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