by T. M. Parris
“You know, university hasn’t made you any less pompous.”
He was typically unconcerned. “It happens to be true.”
“Can you order a beer with maths?”
“So that’s what you’ll be doing going round the world? Guzzling beer?”
“Maybe.”
“What else?”
Rose reached for the hip flask. “Something important. Something that matters. Something interesting. More interesting than Surrey suburban bleugh.” She necked the vodka.
“Hey! Leave some for me!”
She handed it over, wiping her mouth. “Sorry, not much left.”
“Great.” He shook the bottle. “You could be a diplomat. That’s important.”
“I’m not very diplomatic.”
“I think there’s more to it than that. Hey! You could be a spy! Go on special missions to defeat wealthy megalomaniacs who want to blow up cities in peculiar ways.”
“You’ve read too many comics, James.”
“It would certainly be interesting! You’d be good at that. I’d be happy for you to rescue me from certain death, if it came to it.”
She made a show of thinking about it. “All right. It does sound cool. I’ll be a spy. You make a fortune doing internet something-or-other, and I’ll save civilisation as we know it.”
“And to think that to everyone here we’re just two ordinary Surrey teenagers. Pah! What do they know?”
“You’re sounding drunk, James. You’ll have to learn how to hold your liquor if you’re going to get anywhere in the world.”
“Never!” He belched. “You’re a bottle a day girl, I suppose, even with your tender years.”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I were.”
He sat up, red-faced with the sun and the booze, and stuck his hand out.
“Shake on it!”
She raised her head off the grass. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Come on. Shake on it.”
“Shake on what?”
“On not being ordinary. Whatever we do, not ordinary.”
“All right. Agreed. Not ordinary.”
They shook.
The train was in full pelt now, driving through thick forest towards distant icy peaks. She hadn’t realised how mountainous Japan was; they went from cutting to bridge back to cutting again, concrete banks and huge spans of steel betraying the massive engineering costs of infrastructure projects like this railway line. It bothered her that James had remembered that conversation and she hadn’t. It meant more to him than it did to her. He had such a jovial, easy-going manner. Had he been using it all this time to hide a hurt?
Having finally remembered, her first emotion was panic; she’d never recall the date. How on earth did James? But then she thought back to earlier in the day in the overheating garden, Dad in a sun hat complaining: Now the Socialists are in, we’ll be stocking up on candles again. Power cuts, inflation, all our money gone in taxes, this country’s gone mad. Of course; there’d been a change of government, a Labour landslide victory. This was easy then. That election was the 1st of May, 1997. She recalled being put out she was still too young to vote. So this family event, whatever it was, must have been a Saturday shortly after that. It couldn’t be May 3rd, since 03051997, according to that wonderful thing the internet, wasn’t a prime number. But 10051997 was.
James, what a mind. Definitely not ordinary.
At the town she got a taxi and eventually conveyed to the driver the name of the village. The taxi dropped her at a crossroads by some shops. It was some way from Amy’s coordinates but she walked the rest, snow crunching underfoot. She was glad of the thick quilted jacket she’d brought with her, partly because of the cold but also because she could put up the hood and from a passing vehicle it wouldn’t be obvious she was foreign. A foreigner would be more of a talking point in these parts, she imagined. The jacket also had pockets hidden deep within its generous padding in which she’d secreted some tools of the trade: lock-picking kit, torch, lightweight monocular and even a few poppers. She had to be prepared for anything.
Approaching the coordinates – she had the map on her phone – she skirted round, finding some tree cover on the lower slopes around the back. She could see the row of houses and two old-looking cars parked out front. Old enough to hotwire, if their security hadn’t been upgraded. Would they have bothered upgrading? Who’d be fool enough to hotwire a mafia car?
The situation was not ideal. It was mid-afternoon but if she waited for darkness she’d be overtaken by Rapp. Everything showed up against snow, and it left footprints. No gun. Two cars’ worth of mobsters and she had no idea who else was inside. She crouched, rubbing her hands to stay warm.
This was going to be tricky.
Chapter 27
It didn’t make a lot of sense, James knew, to stand at the front window and stare out, as if that in itself might summon some kind of rescue team. But he did seem to be the only person who had any expectation of something like that. A good thing, of course, and besides, if anyone had any suspicions, they wouldn’t all still be here. Clearly he’d persuaded them that he was some kind of blundering incompetent. Amazing how easy it was. Even now you might have thought someone would consider it odd that he kept gazing out of the window. But no, they probably just assumed he was staring into space for no reason, or becoming fond of the scenery.
They could be right about the incompetence. He’d had too much time on his hands, that was the problem. Enough time to invent some ridiculous puzzle that only a geek like him would understand, and which relied on Rose remembering a rather inconsequential conversation they’d had some years earlier. It was only because they’d talked about spying that he’d settled on it. How touchy was she, really? If she were, she might remember it. But that would only work if he were right about her in the first place. But then, the whole thing would only work if he were right about her in the first place. Oh, stop going round in circles, James! What he wouldn’t give for something to read.
The sleek black vintage BMWs looked particularly elegant set against the snow, as if posing for an advertisement feature. Strange, they weren’t the most practical cars for these conditions, or indeed any conditions, but maybe that was the point. Like a peacock’s tail feathers, they said that gangsters were tough enough to defy even loss of traction and ice, they were that powerful. What utter drivel was going through his head. He’d hoped to get used to the cold but he hadn’t. At least they’d let him sleep on the futon again. And the slow starvation was affecting his brain. He kept thinking about bread and butter pudding and custard. Then telling himself not to. Bread and butter pudding and custard belonged in a different universe right now. His stomach rumbled. Enough, James!
Something moved and caught his eye. But he didn’t see what it was. Something to do with the cars. He stared, barely breathing. What was it? Probably nothing. No, there it was again! The passenger door on the car furthest away was slowly opening. But no one was there! No one he could see, anyway. It was definitely moving, though. He watched the frame angle away from the car and stop. And then, slowly, it closed again, but not quite. It was slightly ajar, he thought. Still he couldn’t see anyone. The other car was parked in front of it, shielding it partly from view. What did this mean? Part of a stealth mission, or was he just going mad? He didn’t dare move but was desperate to know if anyone else had seen. He pictured all the goons lined up behind his shoulders watching. Should he turn round and check, or would that draw attention to himself? What to do? His heart was pumping like a piston engine.
He risked a casual look round the room behind him. The three youngsters all appeared to be asleep, sitting or lying in various poses. An incredible capacity they had for dropping off whenever they pleased. One of the guards sat on a hard-backed chair with his arms folded staring at the ceiling. No one paid the slightest attention to what James was doing. Nothing new there. But don’t complain, James – that’s exactly what you want right now! He turned back to the
window, feeling the tension in his shoulders. Something was going to happen, but what? Gunfire, grenades, a helicopter, sirens and squad cars? Right now everything seemed terribly, terribly quiet.
Wait! The door was opening again. Don’t look round, James, and don’t be too intense. Just stay exactly how you are. Once again, a slow opening, a pause, a slow closing with the door left just ajar. Then nothing, except, a few seconds later, in the small gap between the front car and the building line, a figure passed, too quick to recognise. There and then gone. Every muscle in James’ body was tensed. Surely someone would notice. But there wasn’t a sound. Then, in the silence, a heavy click came from the front door. He let his gaze drift round the room. Unbelievably, no one had heard.
He turned back to the window and blinked. The white space between the house and the car was occupied by a figure in a dark padded jacket, looking straight at him, a finger at her lips. It was Rose! Good God, he was right after all and here she was! It was all he could do not to wave frantically, but clearly she’d already seen him and he got the message of course: keep a lid on it! They’d barely exchanged looks before she turned and disappeared. Well, all he could do was wait and follow instructions. Strange, he wasn’t expecting to see Rose in the flesh. He had the idea that her people had folk to do this kind of thing for them, and that she’d be off somewhere giving instructions. But what did he know?
He half-turned into the room and looked down at himself. He should be ready for a quick getaway. But here was a thing; in these parts it was a big deal to take your shoes off indoors. He looked down at a pair of old and somewhat crusty brown socks. Was he going to be called upon to dash about through the snow in his stockinged feet? He’d really rather not; he quite liked the number of toes he currently had. Would it be noticeable if he slid off into the hallway and retrieved his shoes from the cluster by the front door? Yes, was the answer. Decidedly so. None of them had worn shoes since they got there. Even the thugs took their boots off for the tatami mats. Damn! Well, maybe Rose’s contingent would have a plan for this. They were professionals after all.
His shoe worry was brought to a sudden end by the eruption of an extraordinary popping sound from the kitchen. The Japanese sleepers awoke, their heads jerking up as if some master puppeteer had yanked all their strings at once. The guard ran to the kitchen, knocking his chair over in the process. A door slammed, then came a kind of ripping sound and a volley of shouting. Something was giving off a lot of smoke. The thugs in the kitchen were hammering on the door.
Rose appeared in the doorway.
“Get out,” she said. He’d never seen her look like this – sinewy, fast, on fire.
“Through there?” He pointed behind her.
“No! Through the front door! I picked the lock. The door’s open. Get in the car!”
A hammering on the stairs. One of the guards was coming down.
“Now, James!” Rose turned and some kind of altercation with the guard resulted in a yelp and something heavy landing on the stairs. Well, he should obey orders. But when he turned, Mirai was directly in front of the door, holding an arm out towards him.
“No, James.” Her hand was shaking, but her gaze was straight. “You must not. You must stay.”
“Now, Mirai. This really won’t do.”
“Push her out of the way,” said Rose.
“Mirai, we really do have to get past.” But she wouldn’t budge. The two boys were hovering on either side, rather, it had to be said, like a triptych, two angels ranking the evangelist, or whatever.
“James! Knock her out of the way! We have no time!”
The kitchen door gave way with a crunch and the burliest of the guards ran into the room. Rose stepped up and her foot came out, then a hand or two, heavens, it all happened so fast but this huge man was on the floor and his sister, his little sister, was standing over him.
“Move, James!” she shouted. James realised all four of them were gazing with their mouths open. “Get out of the door! I can take one at a time but not all at once!”
The other guards were coming into the room. James turned and made some effort to reach for the door, hoping the girl would sense his innate determination.
“Mirai, really, I can’t be staying here, I have family to think of, you know.”
“We too,” she said, and her hand was as steady now as her eyes.
The room was full of men. Rose lashed out at one of them, who staggered into the wall, but two others were behind him and they grabbed her on either side. Now the one from the stairs was up again and headed directly for James, placing himself firmly in front of the door.
Someone gasped for air; one of the others had punched Rose in the stomach.
“I say! Is that really necessary?” said James, and ended up getting a similar punch himself. Goodness, these people knew how to hurt. One of the guards spoke harshly. Mirai interpreted.
“They want to know who else is coming.”
“Nobody,” said Rose, from where she was kneeling on the floor. “It was just me. I came myself.”
The men seemed sceptical. So was James, he had to admit. The thugs briefly discussed the matter and one of them produced heavy duty duct tape. Poor old Rose got her hands tied behind her. Then it turned out poor old James got the same treatment. They were pushed onto the floor and the Japanese ordered to sit while the men moved in and out talking to each other, and on their phones.
James couldn’t even bear to look at Mirai. He shuffled closer to Rose. “Looks like they’re going to move us, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t say anything but he recognised the fury in her face.
“Is it really true there’s no backup? I’d have thought you’d have some kind of crew, you know.”
“I was getting you out before the backup arrived.” That made no sense but Rose carried on before he could query it. “All you had to do was get through the door, James! There was a clear exit. The car was hotwired ready to go. You even got a warning. We just had to move quickly and we’d have been away. But no, you had to stop and play the gentleman.”
“I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”
“This woman is the reason you’re here! She was part of a blackmail plot to entrap you! You just needed to give her a shove, that’s all.”
“Well, look, this kind of thing may be second nature to you, Rose, but all this fisticuffs is not in my nature. And anyway…” There was no anyway. He just wasn’t ready to back down. The scheme did seem very seat-of-the-pants, though. “They’d have come after us in the other car,” he finished lamely.
“I let the air out of the tyres.”
“Oh. That was clever.”
“Yes, it was pretty clever. The whole thing was, actually. But completely wasted, because you couldn’t manage to get yourself out of a doorway! For heaven’s sake, James! Have you any idea how much trouble you’re in, or what these people could do to you? To both of us, now! I took a massive risk coming here like this, and it would have worked, if only you had even the vaguest sense of urgency about you!”
“Right, well, I’m terribly sorry,” said James. “As I said, I’m not the expert in all this. But are there really no others coming at all?” He felt a little confused.
“Yes, there are others coming. But we’ll have gone by then and they won’t know where we are.”
“I see.” This all seemed like a bit of a disaster. “Wouldn’t it have been better to wait for them before—”
“Long story.” Rose cut him off.
“So what do we do now?”
“I’ve no idea. We’ll just have to think of something as we go along. But next time, do as you’re told, okay?”
He shrugged. “Well, okay.”
The men came in from outside. They’d discovered what Rose had done to the cars. As you’d expect, they weren’t the type of folk who’d take kindly to people messing about with their rides. He and Rose both got a kicking as the youngsters looked on silently. It would have been much worse if they w
eren’t in such a hurry to leave, but one of them came in with a curt order, he and Rose were pulled to their feet and they were all bundled into the back seats of the BMWs.
They drove off. James was squeezed in next to Rose, but she stared tight-lipped out of the window. He wasn’t sorry to see the last of that little house, but suspected where they were going might be even worse.
Chapter 28
Three hours on the dot after receiving the text from Rose, Fairchild alerted Zack, who alerted Rapp. She was certainly ready. Three vehicles were already loaded and the logistical planning was done in the vehicles en route. Satellite imagery showed a row of houses away from the rest of the village. Rapp had requested a live satellite feed, but it took two hours to kick in. So they were in the back of a jeep, Fairchild on one side of Rapp and Zack on the other, when the feed started. Fairchild hadn’t even put Zack in the loop; as instructed, he was going to point the finger entirely at Rose.
“Here we go,” said Rapp. The screen on her device flickered on and they got a bird’s eye view of a row of houses looking insubstantial at the foot of a sweep of mountains. Two cars outside. No movement. “How far are we?”
The navigator up front checked. “Forty-five minutes.”
“All right then. You just sit tight.” Rapp appeared to be talking to the screen. But they didn’t sit tight. Two heads appeared from the door of the house, dark figures against the snow.
“What’s this?” The tension in Rapp’s voice made everyone sit up. “You seeing this, Two?” She was talking to another of the jeeps.
“Yeah. A number of people are exiting the building.”
A steady stream, in fact. A pair, one of whom was stumbling and being held up by the other. Another similar pair. Then three people walking freely followed by another two.
“They’re on the move. All of them, by the look of it.”
