“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “Now you’ve got twice the load to carry.”
“We’ll share it out the rest of the way.” He glanced at her before moving back to the front of the line. “To be honest, I thought we’d be carrying it a lot sooner.”
She couldn’t help thinking the intensity of this exercise was designed to humiliate her. Her companions appeared to share that opinion and over several days made it clear they didn’t approve. They challenged her stamina in more ways than one and were far from gentle, but they were careful not to push her over the edge. Maybe it was out of kindness, but she thought it more likely that these battle-tested men were terrified of being stuck in the wilderness with a woman unraveling in hysterics. Kate had held up her end of the bargain, getting through each day by inventing color palettes in her head and then naming them—Christmas in Las Vegas, Campfire Nights, Bakery Case. She gave way to emotion only twice, and even then only after dark, when it could be smothered against her sleeping bag.
“Nearly there,” Milbank said. “Get ready.”
She pressed herself lower on the rain-soaked ground and put an eye to the scope, praying for it all to be over before her queasy stomach became a more active problem.
“Here we go. Clear shot. Take it.” As her finger curled and flexed around the trigger he repeated the command. “As in, now. Take the shot.” Getting no response he snapped around and hissed in exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, Chatham. Take the fucking shot.”
The rifle exploded and Kate absorbed the recoil with a grunt. Ahead she saw an eruption of mud and grass as the bullet tore into the ground, and ten yards in front of that the hare lifted its head and sprinted out of sight, without a glance in their direction.
Clearly disgusted, Milbank pushed himself into a sitting position and glared at her. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yes, I guess I did.” Kate sat up and pulled at the collar of her jacket, diverting the stream of water flowing down her spine.
“You’re meant to take these exercises seriously, you know—preparation against the day when you might be out in a place like this living off your wits. That animal could represent the difference between surviving and starving to death.”
“Believe me, I take them seriously.” Kate offered him the rifle. “But, they’re still exercises and I’m not starving, although I’m beginning to think I might die of hypothermia. Can we have a lesson on preparing against that?”
“Sure.” Milbank smirked. “One pointer is to get the bloody rain poncho on before you’re soaking wet.” He offered a hand to pull her up, which she accepted without shame. “Let’s get breakfast. You may not be starving, but I am.”
It had stopped raining when they reached the campsite, but the men were not preparing breakfast. They appeared to be on edge. Their number had grown by one: a middle-aged officer who appeared to outrank everyone had arrived in an all-terrain vehicle. He approached Milbank with a casual salute, and a curt nod at Kate.
“I need a word in private, Milbank. New orders coming through.”
They walked a short distance away for a huddled conversation while the rest of them silently watched. Milbank appeared to be resisting the new orders, until his superior officer lost patience and poked a finger at him, ending the argument. Kate looked to the rest of the team for explanation, but they avoided eye contact, with her as well as each other.
“Chatham.” Milbank looked startled by the volume of his own voice. “Get over here,” he added more quietly, waving her over. As she reached them, the new arrival turned on his heel and began walking back to the campsite.
“I guess this is where we say good-bye,” Milbank said. “A transport helo is going to land here in ten minutes to pick you up.”
“Why?” The Lance Corporal’s obvious discomfort made Kate nervous. “Where are they taking me?”
“Sorry, I’m not at liberty to—” his eyes widened and in that same moment she felt an arm circle her neck and press against her windpipe. A test of her training, she thought. Alarming, but also extremely irritating. Kate recalled the tactics she’d learned to counter this line of attack and swiftly put them to use. She threw all her weight to the right and slammed a fist back into the groin of the man at her back. Gasping, his grip loosened as he doubled over in pain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he panted. “Milbank, help me bring her down.”
“For God’s sake, sir, isn’t there some other—”
“I said bring her the fuck down! Now!”
His shout rang in Kate’s ear, matching her own as Milbank grabbed her and dragged her to the ground. The terror started when they blindfolded her, and then she heard the sound she could never forget—the long ragged rip of the tape they would use to cover her mouth. She’d been here before. It was happening again. The thought moved her panic to a level she could no longer control. Screaming, Kate thrashed on the ground while the two men struggled to hold her still. A pair of hands, and then a third, pinned her arm down. She felt the pinch of a needle—then nothing more.
7
When she finally stirred, Conor released his breath. He’d been holding it for uneven intervals during the last two hours, trying to hear hers. He remained quiet as Kate surfaced, watching her blink and struggle to focus.
“Your head?” he asked when she turned it and winced. She nodded, carefully. “They drugged you. I’m going to murder somebody for that.”
“Where are we? What’s going on?” She was groggy and sounded frightened.
“It’s okay. We’re in a barn—an abandoned one, I’d say—about an hour’s drive from London. I couldn’t tell which direction. Are you saying no one told you? It’s a right stupid one, but I suppose you’d call it the spy’s version of a final exam.”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Yours or mine?”
“Maybe both. I’m not sure it matters.”
Kate seemed to register that he was sitting five feet away and had not come forward to snatch her into his arms. Conor leaned to one side, showing her the handcuffs behind his back. “They’re looped around a chain that’s padlocked to this post.”
She moved over to him, crossing the floor on her knees. The barn was an ancient wreck and they were up in its loft, imprisoned behind a wall of square bales of hay. Conor’s “captors” had stacked them, almost to the ceiling. Gray with age, they gave off a stale, sour odor. The single window, high up in the wall above them, had no glass, and a cold breeze wafted in, along with the weak morning sunlight.
Kate sat back on her heels next to him. “How long have we been here?”
“Me, since last night,” Conor said. “You were supposed to get here straight after me. I was going mental until they brought you two hours ago. They must have bolloxed the timing.”
“Are you sure this was MI6?”
“Positive. Sure I knew the two who came for me. I met them in the bar at the Fort last year. They showed up yesterday while I was rehearsing in London—at Wigmore Hall.”
Conor was still irritated at their arrival. The rehearsal had been nearly finished, but he’d waited a long time to stand on the stage of Wigmore Hall. He didn’t appreciate having that interrupted by a pair of goms from Vauxhall Cross.
“The cover story was they needed me for a meeting. After they loaded me into the back of a van and slapped a laundry bag over my head they let me know it was an exercise. I also knew one of the fellows who brought you here. He flies a helicopter for VIPs between London and the Fort. He said you were already knocked out when they picked you up. Away out in feckin’ Herefordshire. Why bring you there and then give you the needle? What did they tell you was—Kate? What’s the matter, are you sick?”
She’d curled forward, hugging herself. “I thought it was happening again. They held me down, blindfolded me, and I heard the tape.” Her shoulders began trembling. “I thought it was real. I thought it was real.”
“Oh, Jesus.” He bent to kiss her head. “It’s all right, love. You’re okay. A Th
iarna, déan trócaire.” Lord, have mercy. The whispered prayer helped him swallow a rage so intense it nauseated him.
For a long time Kate sobbed, compressed in a tight ball of tension, her face against his chest. He didn’t try to stop her. She’d been through so much—threats, betrayals, and dangers a lot worse than the present situation in fact. She’d faced them with a courage Conor couldn’t begin to understand or duplicate. Now, when MI6 with its bullshit games had shaken loose a demon, his hands were literally tied behind his back. In desperation, he pulled at the handcuffs until his wrists were numb, but in the end it was his voice that finally reached her. Since he’d begun in Irish he carried on with it, murmuring bits of old songs with his cheek on her head. Gradually, she grew quiet, and they sat together in silence.
“I think that had been coming for a while,” Kate said at last.
“Yeah, I think so too.”
“Not the best timing though. I’m not doing very well on my test.”
“Stop. There’s such a thing as taking courage too far. You don’t have to be brave about everything.”
She put her arms around his waist and he felt her relax. He thought she’d fallen asleep, but after a few minutes she reached up to kiss his neck.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“No.” Kate sat up and looked down at herself. “I mean, I haven’t had a bath in four days. I’m filthy.”
“So dirty it’s impressive,” Conor agreed. “You’ll turn the water black, so you will.” He smiled. “If you’re feeling better, maybe we could work on getting me out of these bloody handcuffs. How did you get on with your lock-picking class?”
“Not too bad, actually. I see they left my backpack. I’ll bet I can find something that will work.”
Her face brightened and Conor’s heart lifted. He sometimes thought it should frighten him, the discovery that he could love someone so much, but he had a lot of things to be scared of—this didn’t need to be one of them.
Using the hook and straight steel pin on an army knife, Kate got busy. While she worked, sitting cross-legged on the floor behind him, she described the details of her training at Fort Monckton and the grueling bivouac experience in Brecon Beacons. Conor was incredulous that she’d been sent out with the Increment. It was beyond the limits of her training brief as he’d understood it. He couldn’t believe someone at the Fort would sanction it, let alone have the leverage to get the paramilitary unit’s agreement.
He twisted around. “Did your training coordinator sign off on this?”
“I assume so. Try not to move around so much,” Kate said, her voice distracted. She’d been able to spring the padlock after only a few minutes, but the handcuffs were giving her more trouble. “We didn’t have much conversation about it—or about anything else, for that matter. I don’t think she likes her job very much. Or maybe she just didn’t like me.”
“Your training coordinator was a woman?” He had a sudden intuition he didn’t want to indulge, but did anyway. “What was her name?”
“Joanna Patch. Do you know her?”
“I do, yeah. She was my weapons instructor. How’s it going back there?”
Conor knew how to evade, divert, and flat-out lie. He’d had practice and was good at it. The skill gave him no pride, but he used it now without compunction. He didn’t intend to lie to Kate, but doubted there was any way to characterize a one-night stand that wouldn’t make him sound like an asshole. He’d tell the truth. He’d just rather not be shackled while delivering it.
Kate continued tinkering with the handcuffs. “Oh, I see what I’m doing wrong. I think I’ve almost got it.” Carefully, she moved his hands off her knee and scooted around to his side. Conor turned to look at her.
“What happened? I thought you were nearly there.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
He sighed and dropped his head. “This isn’t fair.”
“You’re right—it isn’t. I’ll look forward to hearing all about it another time.” With a teasing smile she pecked him on the cheek. “Now, give me a hug. You’re free.”
Surprised, Conor pulled and one of his hands slipped from its cuff. Hissing from the pain in his stiffened muscles, he brought his arms forward and around her. Without leaving his embrace, Kate began working on the remaining cuff and popped it open a minute later. After she’d massaged his shoulders back to mobility, they tackled the bales, opening up a path of escape. Dust rose from the hay as they worked, and before they were done the loft was thick with it. Kate waved at the tiny particles floating in a beam of sunlight.
“This can’t be good for your lungs. No wonder your doctor doesn’t want you working in the barn.”
“I’d like to think I keep ours a bit cleaner than this.” Conor kicked aside the last bale and walked through the opening. Sweeping aside more loose hay, he lifted up the trap door. “At least they left us the ladder. Let’s hope there’s a car waiting outside, too.”
The lower floor of the barn was darker than expected, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw the row of windows on each side of its long end had been sealed with cement. What the hell did that mean, he wondered uneasily. He paused on the ladder and as Kate started down he put a hand on her back.
“Wait a minute.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Sshhh.” He stood motionless on the ladder, listening. He heard the faint drone of voices and then, also distant, a sharper, unmistakable series of clicks. “Shit. Go back up. Fast.”
Pushing Kate ahead of him, Conor scrambled up behind her as an explosion of gunfire pounded against the wall.
When they reached the top of the ladder, Conor grabbed Kate around the waist. Roughly pulling her into the farthest corner of the loft, he pushed her down and dropped to the floor himself. Lying on top of her, he braced his elbows on either side of her head. Below them the bullets slammed into the barn, tearing through the wood, ricocheting off the cemented windows. It went on for a few minutes, then there was a pause before it erupted again.
“This isn’t part of the exercise, is it?” Kate said.
“Strafing us with live fire? It can’t be. I don’t know what this is.” Pressed against her so hard he could feel her racing pulse, Conor listened as the barrage again stopped and then resumed, always concentrated on the lower wall. When it repeated a third time, he understood the pattern. “Most of the bullets are hitting cement. They’re not shooting at us; it’s target practice—with assault rifles, by the sound of it. Whoever it is, I’m guessing they don’t even know we’re here.”
Kate wriggled beneath him. “Does that mean it’s safe to get up?”
“No. We don’t know how good they are.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry.” Conor adjusted his position to take some of his weight off her.
A minute later, a poorly aimed shot came up through the floor and exited through the roof, validating his caution. During the next pause, he rolled away and jumped to his feet, telling Kate to stay put. Running across the loft and back through the opening they’d created, he jumped up to grab the windowsill and brought himself closer to the opening with a chin-up. There was nothing to see from this angle, but he yelled as loud as he could. From her corner, Kate was shouting too, but a few seconds later the firing resumed and Conor dropped down to take cover, calling for her to do the same.
“They’re probably wearing ear plugs,” he said, crossing back during the next break. “I guess we’ll have to wait it out.”
Following a few more volleys, the firing shifted elsewhere towards other targets. They remained huddled in place. After a while a longer silence gave way to the wail of a police siren, growing in volume as it got closer. It ended abruptly. A few minutes later they heard a car pulling up, and then the crash of something heavy against the door below them.
“McBride, are you in there?” The voice—loud, guttural, and carrying its habitual hint of irritation—was entirely familiar.
<
br /> “Bloody hell.” Conor offered a hand to pull Kate up from the floor. “Of all the people I’d want to rescue me, he’s dead last on the list.” Descending the ladder, he turned to face their champion.
“Ah, there you are, McBride. Warmer work than you expected, eh?” Lawrence Shelton’s blunt, square-jawed face creased in a sarcastic grin. “Shit your knickers up there, did you?”
Conor waited for Kate to join him before speaking. “Kate, this is Special Branch Officer Lawrence Shelton, Scotland Yard’s liaison to MI6. He … ehm, helped Frank with my recruitment.”
This euphemistic recasting of his limited but memorable interactions with the surly, short-tempered officer appeared to amuse Shelton, but his arrogant bravado evaporated when Kate came forward with a warm smile, her hand extended.
“Officer Shelton, I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”
“Pleasure, M’um.” Shelton took her hand, rubbing at the back of his neck with his other hand while his face turned crimson.
“Christ, what a cock-up.” Frank stood silhouetted against the bright light in the doorway, then walked briskly over to join them. “You’re both all right though?”
“Sure, Frank. We’re both grand.” Jaw clenched, Conor approached him, shaking off Kate’s grip on his arm. “But we’re after being shelled by assault rifles for forty-five minutes, so you’ll understand we’re a bit jumpy.”
“Of course.” Frank eyed him warily.
“Did you sign off on this exercise?”
“I did, but—”
Frank’s reflexes were above average, but not fast enough to avoid the blow completely. Conor’s fist landed hard, catching the edge of his mouth. He stumbled but recovered quickly as Shelton brought Conor down and dug a knee into his back.
“Oh let him up, Lawrence.” Frank put a handkerchief to his mouth, dabbing at the blood already staining the lapel of his immaculate suit. “I didn’t entirely deserve it, but I suppose I am ultimately responsible. I’m happy to explain, but may we first leave this ghastly barn? I imagine you’re both hungry and thirsty, and the police cadets who’ve been ‘shelling’ you are eager to make amends by sharing their lunch.”
The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3 Page 71