I stop pacing and sit next to her on my bed. She puts her arm round my shoulders.
“You’re right. It’s horrible. It’s a cruel, unfair thing to do to you. You have every right to be angry.”
“They put my Dad on TV. My Dad, who had nothing to do with any of this. He doesn’t deserve to be on every TV in the country. Not like that. Not in a hospital bed. All thin and sick and dying.” The anger turns to tears, and I’m sobbing into Charlie’s shoulder.
“I know, Bex. I know.” Her voice is gentle, but I can tell she doesn’t have answers for me. I want to forget the images from the news story. The photo of me from the wanted poster. The horrible, sentimental appeal to me to come home, before it’s too late. Pictures of my Dad, propped up on pillows, eyes closed.
“And it looks bad. It looks like he’s … like I don’t have much time.”
Charlie nods. “I think they’re telling the truth.”
I sit up. “About Dad, maybe. But not about letting me visit.”
She shakes her head, sadly. “I think you’re right.”
“What do I do?” My face crumples again, and I can’t stop crying.
She tightens her arm round my shoulders. “I don’t know. And I can’t tell you what to do. This is your call. No one can tell you not to go, but you need to understand what that means.”
“Caroline will tell me not to go.”
“Then we won’t tell Caroline.”
I push the tears from my face roughly with my hands. I’ve faced worse than this. I’ve been through worse, and I’ve got out alive.
“I want to go. I want to see him again. I want to say goodbye. But not like this. Not with everyone watching.”
Charlie shakes her head again. “It’s a trap, Bex. Don’t forget that this is all a trap, and you’re the prize. You, and everything you know about the resistance.”
“I won’t tell them anything!” I’m angry now. Why would I give up my friends? Why would I put anyone else’s life in danger? This is about me and my family.
She puts her hands on my shoulders, and gently turns me to face her.
“You won’t mean to, Bex. We all know that. But what about when they try to hurt you? What about when they threaten you, or threaten us, or bring your Dad into it again? Will you be able to keep quiet? And what about when you’re facing a firing squad? You won’t give us all up then, just to walk out alive?”
She pulls me into a hug, and I let her hold onto me while I fight the tears.
She’s right. I know she’s right. “This isn’t fair.”
She pulls back and looks me in the eye. “No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this. You got here by protecting your friends, and following your conscience, and everything you did was brave and justified and right. Never forget that. Never forget that you got Margie out of the camp, and you got all of us out of the bunker. If we can help you with this, we will. But you need to know what you’re walking into.”
“So I have to chose. See Dad, or protect the resistance.” Charlie nods, and I feel my anger flaring. I’m shouting again. “That’s too much. That’s too much that’s on me.”
“I know, Bex.”
“They’ve got my face. They’ve got my photo on that stupid poster. I’ve given them that.”
“You’re the face of their resistance. So they won’t be happy if you end up on TV in an orange jumpsuit.”
I feel sick. If that’s the choice I have to make, then I won’t see Dad again. Too much depends on us staying safe and staying hidden. But if there’s a way for me to get to him, and get away safely – I have to use it. I can’t let anyone take this from me.
“I’m their front-line doll.” Charlie bows her head. She knows how I feel about this. “They get to dictate my movements. It doesn’t matter how many times I escape – someone else still decides what I do. Were I go, where I live, who I see.”
“I know it feels that way, but this is all to keep you safe. To keep all of us safe.”
“And to beat the government. I know. And that’s what I want.” I close my eyes and try to see clearly through my anger. “But I also want to be me. I don’t want to lose myself to their cause. I want to be more than a front-line doll. And I want to see my Dad.”
“I know. And I understand.” She puts her hand on my arm. “We’re here for you, Bex.”
“Yeah. Thank you. I know you’re looking out for me.” I shake my head, tears filling my eyes. “It’s just that it’s not enough. You can’t protect me from this.”
“No. But we can help you, if that’s what you want.”
I nod. I can’t think about putting everyone here in danger, but I can’t imagine not seeing Dad again. This isn’t the gatehouse guard, or some stranger on an execution platform. This is different. This is my family.
“Get some sleep. Talk to me about it in the morning. I’ll swap my shift so I’m here for breakfast.” She takes my face in her hands and brushes the tears away.
“OK. Thanks, Charlie.”
I crawl into bed as she leaves. I’m sure I’ll be awake all night, thinking this through, but I’m out almost as soon as I lie down.
*****
I wake early, already knowing what my decision will be.
I get up, get dressed, and head to the kitchen. Charlie is waiting, leaning against the worksurface, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She watches me walk into the room, looks me in the eye, and nods.
“You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m going.”
She sits down at the table and waves me to the chair on the other side.
“We can’t let you go by yourself. You can’t do this on your own. We need a plan.” She thinks for a moment. “I think your driving skills might be needed sooner than we thought.”
Insult
Ketty
“That’s good work, Corporal Smith.”
Brigadier Lee settles back into his chair in front of Bracken’s desk, a page of notes in front of him from my report. Bracken can’t hide his proud smile, and neither can I.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“And you’re sure about the background on Margaret, and the Richards woman?”
I nod. “I am, Sir. It makes sense.”
It also explains why none of them will talk. No one wants to incriminate the people they care about.
“We’ll take this to the interrogators. See what progress we can make.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lifts another sheet of paper from the table in front of him.
“And what about this Ellman situation? Has anything happened there yet?”
“No, Sir, but we’re expecting Recruit Ellman to show up in the next few days. I think she’ll try to stay away, but I’m sure she’ll come eventually. And we’ve offered her safe passage, so that should help to persuade her.”
“Not that we have any intention of letting her walk away.”
I shake my head, smiling. “No, Sir.”
“The soldiers are in place?”
“Yes, Sir. Guards on the nursing home entrance, and constant patrols of the grounds. We’re ready for her.”
He nods. “Good, good.” He pauses, and gives me one of his piercing stares. “And you, Ketty? How are you? How’s the knee?”
My smile fades.
You know exactly how my knee is. Broken and twisted and you could be helping, but you won’t.
I grit my teeth. Bracken shifts awkwardly in his chair.
“Good, thank you, Sir. Still improving.”
Still limping. Still on painkillers. Still hoping for another Brigadier Lee miracle package.
I give him an insincere smile, and he matches it.
No hope there, then.
He watches me for a moment too long, and then waves a hand at Bracken. “The Colonel and I have things to discuss. Thank you for your time, Corporal Smith. Keep me posted on the nursing home stake-out.” There’s a sneer in his voice as he dismisses me.
*****
I pull the gun from its holster on my belt. I load my target and my gun, and spend a moment with my eyes closed, controlling my breathing.
Focus, Ketty. Nothing else matters. Fire the gun, hit the target.
I open my eyes and raise my weapon. The target hangs at the end of the range, a silhouette waiting for my actions.
I push everything else from my mind, and line up the sights.
Aim, and fire. Aim, and fire.
I channel all my frustration into the bullet, and let it rip into my target.
Stay calm. Stay focused. Do your job.
Every bullet pierces the silhouette. Every shot is a hit. I’m calm as I aim my gun.
I can’t control the pain in my knee, and I can’t force Brigadier Lee to save me again. But I can shoot. I can defend myself. I can use my skills.
I can survive.
Iron fists and steel toe caps.
The target comes back to me, shredded.
*****
“I’m not putting up with this any longer. I’m not going to let him mock me any more.”
I meet Bracken in his office first thing in the morning, and I’m angrier with Brigadier Lee now than I was last night. I’ve had a chance to think about what he said.
“He thinks this whole nursing home plan is a joke. He thinks he knows Ellman better than I do. He thinks we won’t get anything out of it.” Bracken puts his head in his hands. “He’s laughing at me, Sir. This is all a joke to him. All of it.”
Bracken doesn’t move. He’s heard enough of my anger at the brigadier to know it’s best to let me shout it out. We both know Lee’s not going to send me another PowerGel, even though he knows what sort of pain I’m living with. And now he’s laughing at my plan to catch him a terrorist.
“He thinks the bunker was my fault. He thinks everything that failed at Makepeace was my fault. And he won’t trust me again, until I prove I can do what he wants.” I stand up and pace the room. Bracken sits back in his chair and glances at the filing cabinet where he hides his whisky, but he doesn’t get up. He catches me watching him.
“Are you done, Corporal? Are you finished for today?”
I sink back into the chair. My knee is aching, and I shouldn’t be walking on it. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
He leans forward, elbows on the desk.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, deliberately. “Be angry.” I look up at him, and he must see the confusion on my face. “It’s fine to be angry, Ketty. It’s perfectly understandable, with everything that’s happened. But what are you going to do about it?”
I shake my head. I’m not sure what he’s getting at.
“You don’t like Lee’s attitude?” I shake my head. “Then change it. Do something about it. Prove him wrong.”
“Sir?”
“You think the nursing home trap is going to work? Put your back into it. Make it work. Make Lee see what you can do.”
Are you telling me to get involved? To lie in wait for her myself?
I think it through. If Ellman turns up, if we catch her, that all happens without me. I’m hundreds of miles away in Bracken’s outer office. Lee doesn’t have to give me any credit at all. It was Bracken who sold him the plan, and it will be the soldiers on the ground who make the arrest. Lee can shut me out of my own plan, and carry on ignoring me.
I need to be there. I need to make this happen.
I smile at Bracken.
“I think it’s time I had a chat with Bex Ellman’s mother.”
Delivery
Bex
Neesh drives us down the next day, in a car borrowed from a friend. She bought a map of Stockport, and we realised they didn’t need to teach me to drive – they just needed to teach me to mind the traffic, turn left, and stop. Charlie and Neesh have been over the basics with me for hours. We’ve been out on the road again, Neesh waiting for my instructions, and I’ve stopped and started the car more times than I can count. On my own in the car I can drive for a short distance, and I can pull up and stop without stalling. My hands shake and I’m terrified, but I can do it. That’s all I’ll need, if everything goes to plan. We’re all hoping it’s going to be enough.
Charlie leaves us in the car, and goes to wait near the rendezvous point, a baseball cap pulled down low and a scarf round her neck to hide her face. Neesh drives me to a car park two streets away from the nursing home, and gets out without cutting the engine, holding the driver’s door open for me. I take a deep breath, step out, and walk round the car. Neesh gives me a hug, and grabs the parcel and the clipboard from the boot while I’m getting in and fastening my seatbelt. She drops them on the passenger seat, and reaches across the car to put her hand on my arm.
“You can do this, Bex. You can make it in and out. Just be quick, and stick to the plan.”
I grip the steering wheel, willing my hands to stop shaking. I lean over to take a final look at my face in the rear-view mirror. The long, black wig streaked with purple. The contact lenses that make my eyes a muddy shade of green. The heavy-rimmed glasses and the peaked baseball cap pulled low over my forehead. The weight I’ve lost, that makes my face look pinched and thin. The dark circles under my eyes.
I nod.
“Sure. Sure.”
She closes the door, and comes round to my side of the car. I open the window, staring straight ahead and pushing the fear away.
“Just like we practised. Watch the traffic. Be careful. In and out. I’ll move the car, and see you at the meeting point.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Neesh.”
This has to work. We don’t have a Plan B. This is it – I’m going to see Dad. And I’m terrified.
I close the window, plant my feet on the pedals, release the handbrake, and concentrate on driving the car.
*****
Left out of the car park. Left onto a main road. I’m lucky – the traffic is light, so I’m not dodging cars and buses on this short drive. I drive slowly, keeping the car in the middle of the lane, and then turn left into the nursing home driveway. I nearly bottle out when I see the troop carrier parked outside, and the two soldiers guarding the door, but I clench my teeth and turn in, looking as confident as I can. Those troops are here for me.
I pull the car into a space near the road. I remember the handbrake. I ease my feet from the pedals, and I switch off the engine. I take the keys from the ignition, and drop them out of sight under the seat.
I’ve done it. I’ve got myself this far. This is happening.
There’s no going back now – not without making the soldiers suspicious.
One more deep breath, then I pick up the clipboard and step out of the car. I walk round to the passenger door and grab the parcel, feeling the eyes of the guards on me with every move I make. I need to slow my breathing. I need to be able to talk.
I put the parcel on the roof, blocking their view of my face. My hands are shaking. My knees are shaking. I need to start believing in my own disguise. I close the door, closing my eyes for a moment and willing myself to smile. I pick up the parcel, and walk confidently towards the entrance, clipboard in hand.
“Delivery?” Asks one of the guards. I do my best to look surprised.
“Yes. I just need to drop it off and get a signature.”
“ID, please,” says the other guard, making it clear that this isn’t a request. I unclip the ID badge from the clipboard and hand it over. It’s genuine – Neesh had a friend at the delivery company make it up for us. It should stand up to a security check. The only lie is the fake employee name.
The guard stares at the grainy photo, and at me. I keep my chin angled down so the peak of the cap shields my face. I’m wearing the wig loose to match the photo, and the dark hair
falls forward, to hide any familiar features he might recognise. This is the first failure point. If I fail here, I’m going to London in handcuffs, and everyone I care about will watch me face a firing squad on live TV.
He takes an age, checking the photo. I try not to panic. My grip tightens on the clipboard as I wait.
“Who’s it for?” He nods towards the parcel. I make a show of reading the label. There’s no name on it, and it’s addressed to a random room number.
“Room 68,” I say, with an apologetic shrug.
The guards exchange a glance, and the first guard shrugs. The second guard hands me my badge, and I stuff it into my pocket.
“Go on. Don’t take too long.” And he opens the door for me.
I step into the porch and wave at the young woman on the reception desk, who presses a button to release the second set of doors. I turn and push one open with my hip, then walk in, trying to keep my feet on the ground. I’m past the guards, and I feel as if I might float away. I glance around as I walk. The entrance hall is just as I remember it – patterned carpet, fresh flowers on the tables, security doors to other parts of the building.
I step up to the desk. Second failure point. It would be easy for the receptionist to call for help, if she suspected anything.
“Hi,” she says brightly. “Delivery?” She already has a pen in her hand, ready to sign for the parcel. I pretend to consult my clipboard.
“I’m sorry, but this needs to go to the recipient. Some sort of insurance issue? I can’t take a signature from anyone else.” I shrug, apologetically.
“OK,” she says, putting the pen down. “That’s unusual. Let me check that with the supervisor.” She reaches for the phone.
I lean over the desk, before she can pick up the receiver. “Sorry,” I say, as casually as I can, “would you mind if I used your toilet?” I jerk a thumb at the car. “You know what it’s like, driving round all day.” I give her a reassuring smile.
She looks at me, appraisingly. I do my best to look embarrassed.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 47
