by Kevin Brooks
There were two other men in the car. I didn’t recognise the one in the passenger seat, but the driver was the man with the shaved head who’d called himself Owen Smith. The man who’d come to the office and told Courtney that he was from an insurance company.
I heard raised voices then, people shouting, people running . . . the CIA agents.
The man in the car smiled at me and said, ‘I’d say you’ve got about four seconds left to make up your mind, Travis. Get in the car and get some answers, or stay here and take your chances with the CIA. It’s up to you.’ He glanced over my shoulder. ‘Two seconds . . .’
I stared at him, my mind racing.
There was no way I was getting into the car. I wasn’t that stupid. The last thing I’d ever do was get into a car full of rogue security agents, one of whom had violated my parents’ funeral, while another had already lied to me about who he was and what he was doing. I mean, how dumb would I have to be to even think about getting into a car with people like that?
I sensed rather than heard the movement behind me, and as Gough made a grab for me, looping his arm round my neck, I spun away from him, breaking his grip, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d thrown myself into the back of the car.
It took off like a rocket, flinging me against the back of the seat, and for the next thirty seconds or so, everything went crazy.
The BMW accelerated up through the gears, the powerful engine screaming, and then almost immediately the driver hit the brakes and the car skidded to a stop again. The force of the sudden braking sent me flying forward, and as I half-rolled and half-slid into the back of the passenger seat, I heard two muffled bangs in quick succession – bang! bang! – like the explosive crack of fireworks. The sound seemed to come from the passenger seat, but as I wriggled around and tried to sit up to see what was happening, Shaved Head slammed the BMW into reverse, looked over his shoulder, and started reversing up the street at top speed. The sudden movement threw me off balance again and I fell back down to the floor. With the car still reversing, I twisted round, got hold of an arm rest, and pulled myself up onto the back seat. This time, when Shaved Head hit the brakes, I managed to stay upright.
And this time I could see what was happening.
We’d stopped right next to the CIA’s Range Rover, and the man in the passenger seat of the BMW was leaning out of the window with a pistol in his hand. He aimed the gun at the Range Rover and quickly shot out both offside tyres – bang! bang!
‘OK,’ the gunman said, leaning back in and winding up the window. ‘Let’s go.’
Shaved Head swung the BMW round, mounting the pavement and knocking over a wheelie bin, then he put his foot down and we sped off down the street.
35
‘Are you all right?’ the grey-eyed man asked me.
Up close, I could see that he was older than I’d first thought. His stony face was lined with wrinkles, his grey hair was peppered with white. Although at first sight he seemed kind of tired and worn out, there was something about him, something indefinable, that simply exuded power and confidence. He was the type of man, I guessed, who was always in control and never needed to raise his voice to get anything done.
‘Travis?’ he said calmly. ‘Are you OK?’
I nodded, glancing out of the car window at the passing fields and hedges. We were heading out of Kell Cross into the surrounding countryside.
‘Where are we going?’ I said.
‘That’s up to you,’ Grey Eyes said. ‘All you have to do is say the word and we’ll drop you off wherever you want.’ He smiled. ‘Within reason, of course. I mean, if you asked to go back to the house in Kell Cross, I’d probably have to say no. But anywhere else – your grandparents’ house, the office in North Walk . . . like I said, it’s entirely up to you.’
‘What if I don’t want to go anywhere?’
He shrugged. ‘We could just drive around for a while, enjoy the scenery, have a little chat about things.’
‘What things?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
I glanced at my watch. It was 7.55 a.m. Nan and Grandad usually get up around eight, eight thirty. So if I went home right now, I might just get in without them knowing I’d been anywhere. I looked around at the three men in the car. Shaved Head, the gunman, Grey Eyes. Was I safe with them? If it had just been Shaved Head and the gunman, I would have said no. I wouldn’t trust those two to tell me the right time. But Grey Eyes was different. I was pretty sure that he was just as ruthless and dangerous as the other two, if not more so, but my instincts told me that underneath it all he was essentially a good and decent man.
The question was – could I trust my own instincts?
Should I take a risk in the hope that I might get some answers?
Or should I just go home?
Of course, there was always the possibility that Grey Eyes was lying through his teeth, and that he had no intention of taking me wherever I wanted to go. I looked at him, remembering Mum’s advice about judging people by their appearance. Was I misjudging him? Was the decency that I thought I could see in him just a carefully crafted disguise?
‘I’ll talk to you on one condition,’ I said to him.
‘And what’s that?’
‘You tell me what you were doing at my parents’ funeral. Agreed?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
His name, he told me, was Winston – which I didn’t believe for one second – and the reason he gave for being at the funeral was pretty much what I’d expected.
‘We were aware of your parents’ investigation into Bashir Kamal,’ he explained, ‘and we wanted to find out if anyone else knew about it. If they did, there was a chance they might show up at the funeral.’
‘So you just turned up with a hidden camera and filmed everything.’
He looked at me. ‘You spotted the camera?’
‘Yeah,’ I said coldly. ‘I spotted the camera.’
Winston sighed. ‘You must think I’m very hardhearted.’
‘I try not to think about you at all,’ I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. ‘Did you see anyone interesting at the funeral?’
He shook his head. ‘As far as we can tell, there was no one there who shouldn’t have been there.’
‘Apart from you.’
He didn’t respond to that.
I said, ‘Who did you think might turn up?’
‘That’s a good question.’
‘Are you going to answer it?’
‘Do you need me to?’
I didn’t say anything, I just looked at him, waiting for him to go on.
After a few moments, he nodded slowly and said, ‘There are, as you know, a number of organisations who have an interest in the whereabouts of Mr Kamal.’ He paused for a moment, gazing casually out of the window, then carried on. ‘We know who most of these organisations are, and we’re reasonably certain why they’re looking for Bashir, and what they plan to do if they find him. But it’s quite possible there are other interested parties out there who we don’t know anything about, and who may well pose an even greater risk to Mr Kamal.’
‘Who’s “we”?’ I asked him.
‘I’m sorry?’ he said, pretending to be puzzled.
‘You keep saying “we this” and “we that”, as if you represent some kind of official authority, but you haven’t shown me any ID or credentials or anything.’
Winston looked thoughtfully at me. I didn’t really expect him to tell me anything about Omega, but if I hadn’t asked him he probably would have guessed that I hadn’t asked him because I already knew about Omega. And I didn’t want him to know that. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want him to know. But as Dad once told me, you don’t show all your cards unless you have to. It’s always a good idea to keep your opponent guessing.
‘Let me ask you something,’ Winston said. ‘Would it make you feel any safer if I showed you some ID?’
I shrugged. ‘Not necessarily.�
��
‘Did the people at your house just now show you their credentials?’
‘Well, yeah . . . they told me they were CIA agents, and they showed me their ID cards.’
‘Did that make you think you could trust them?’
‘No.’
‘So despite seeing their ID, you still ran away from them.’
‘Of course I ran away from them. They broke into my house and aimed a gun at me. What was I supposed to do? Offer them a cup of tea?’
Winston smiled. ‘Would you have run away from them if they hadn’t aimed a gun at you?’
‘What’s your point?’
‘My point,’ he said, ‘is that it doesn’t make any difference who anyone works for. MI5, MI6, the CIA, the FBI . . . they’re all fundamentally the same. Their only real concern is for themselves. Just because someone can show you a badge or a government ID card, that’s no guarantee of anything. It’s certainly no guarantee of trust, is it?’
‘If you say so.’
‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I’m not MI5 or MI6 or CIA . . . I don’t have any credentials. But you’re sitting here talking to me, aren’t you?’
‘That doesn’t mean I trust you.’
He laughed quietly. ‘Of course it doesn’t. But you don’t trust the CIA either, do you?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with trust. I just don’t like people who break into my house and search through my stuff.’ I looked at him, studying him carefully to gauge his reaction. ‘I don’t like people who ransack my parents’ office either.’
Winston just stared at me, his face giving nothing away.
I said, ‘So you’re not going to tell me who you work for?’
‘It’s not important,’ he replied simply. ‘All you need to know is that our only concern, the only thing we care about it, is the safety and well-being of this country and its people.’ He leaned towards me, looking me straight in the eye. ‘I can’t prove that to you. I can’t make you believe me. You’ll have to take my word for it.’ He paused, looking even deeper into my eyes. ‘We’re the good guys, Travis. We do what’s right.’
‘No matter what it takes?’ I said quietly, staring back at him.
He didn’t answer me, he just carried on looking blankly into my eyes, as if my words meant nothing to him. But I’m pretty sure I saw his left eyebrow twitch. I held his gaze for a few more moments, then turned away and looked out of the window.
We were still out in the countryside, but we weren’t driving away from Kell Cross any more. We’d circled around and were heading back towards Barton through the little villages and winding roads on the north side of town.
‘What’s your interest in Bashir?’ I said, turning back to Winston.
He smiled at me again. ‘What’s yours?’
‘I asked first.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, nodding slowly, as if he was thinking about something. ‘Although, in a sense, I’ve already answered your question. Mr Kamal is a British citizen. Our only concern is to defend and protect British citizens.’ Winston shrugged. ‘What else can I tell you?’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Do you?’
We just looked at each other in silence then, both of us wondering what the other one knew. We both had our secrets, and we both knew it.
‘So,’ Winston said nonchalantly, ‘are you going to tell me why you’re looking for Mr Kamal?’
‘My mum and dad were hired to find him,’ I said. ‘They died while they were working on the case.’ I paused, taking a breath to steady myself. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and went on. ‘I’m just trying to finish off what they couldn’t, that’s all.’
‘There’s never anything meaningful one can say about the sudden death of a loved one,’ Winston said, a look of genuine sympathy in his eyes. ‘Not in my experience anyway. Words are never enough. Especially the words of a stranger. But I do know how it feels, Travis. Believe me. I know what you’re going through.’ He paused, staring into the distance. ‘I lost both my parents at an early age. I was ten when they died, a little younger than you, but the circumstances weren’t that dissimilar. They were driving at night, their car came off the road . . .’
‘Your parents died in a car crash?’
He nodded. ‘It was a slightly more understandable accident than your parents’ . . . if “understandable” is the right word. They didn’t just spin off the road and hit a tree for no apparent reason, they crashed because my father had been drinking. He was drunk. It was his fault, no question about it.’ Winston looked at me. ‘But having someone to blame doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t change anything. And it certainly doesn’t make you feel any better.’
There was no hint of pretence to him as he told me all this, nothing to suggest that he was making things up. But while I was fairly sure that he wasn’t actually lying to me, I couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right. It was the kind of feeling that nags away in the back of your mind, telling you that you’ve missed something, something really important, but no matter how hard you concentrate, you just can’t get hold of it.
I started going over what he’d said to me, replaying his words in my mind – It was a slightly more understandable accident than your parents’ . . . if “understandable” is the right word – but that was as far as I got before Winston began talking again, and I was forced to turn my attention back to him.
‘Listen, Travis,’ he said earnestly. ‘I admire what you’re doing, I really do. And I totally understand why you’re doing it. You want to finish the job your parents started. That’s very commendable.’
‘I’m so glad you think so,’ I said sarcastically. ‘I mean, your approval really means a lot to me.’
‘OK,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘I probably deserve that.’
‘And now you’re going to tell me to stop looking for Bashir, I suppose?’
‘Not exactly, no.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? You either are or you aren’t. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway, because there’s no way I’m going to stop—’
‘Twenty-four hours.’
‘What?’
‘All I’m asking is that you put your investigation on hold for the next twenty-four hours. After that, you can carry on looking into things however you see fit, and you have my word that you won’t see or hear from us again.’
All I could do while he was telling me this was sit there staring at him, pretending to listen to what he was saying, but the truth was that I could barely hear anything above the shouting and whooping in my head – Twenty-four hours! TWENTY-FOUR HOURS! I knew it! I KNEW it! Tomorrow IS the last day!
Forcing myself to stay calm, I said to Winston, ‘What’s so important about the next twenty-four hours?’
‘I can’t go into any more details, I’m afraid. All I can say is that if you don’t comply with our request, you’ll not only be putting Mr Kamal at some risk, you could also be putting yourself in danger.’
‘Is that a threat?’
He sighed. ‘I know you don’t think very much of me, but I can assure you that I wouldn’t stoop so low as to threaten you. All I’m trying to do is—’
My mobile rang then.
I took it out of my pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Grandad. My heart missed a couple of beats.
‘You’d better answer it,’ Winston said. ‘He’ll be worried.’
I looked at him, wondering how he knew . . .
‘Go on,’ he said, nodding at the still-ringing phone in my hand. ‘It’s not fair to keep him waiting.’
I didn’t want to answer it, but I knew Winston was right.
I braced myself, then hit the answer button and put the phone to my ear.
36
‘Hey, Grandad,’ I said into the phone. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry—’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked quickly.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
I heard him let out
a sigh of relief. Then, almost immediately, his anger kicked in. ‘Where the hell are you, Travis? We’ve been worried sick.’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ll explain everything when I get back.’
‘You’re damn right you will. And when you’ve finished, I’ll explain a few things to you.’ He sighed heavily again. ‘I trusted you, Travis. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I should have known better—’
‘I’m not a child, Grandad,’ I said angrily.
‘So why are you acting like one?’ he snapped.
‘That’s not fair—’
‘Do you think it’s fair to promise me you’ll stay at home and then go sneaking off without so much as a word?’
‘Well, no—’
‘Do you think it’s fair to put your nan and me through hell again?’
His words cut into me like an icicle through my heart, and for a moment I was too stunned to speak. I lowered the phone to my lap and stared blindly at nothing. I was too hurt to speak. I didn’t know why. Was he right? Was I really that thoughtless? And why was I so angry? Was I angry at myself for treating Nan and Grandad so badly? Was I angry at Grandad for making me realise how thoughtless I was? Or was I angry at him for simply reminding me of the hell we’d all been through?
It was too much to think about.
It was all too much.
‘Travis?’ I could hear Grandad saying. ‘Are you still there? Travis?’
I slowly raised the phone to my ear.
‘Can you hear me?’ Grandad was saying. ‘Travis? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Grandad,’ I muttered. ‘I can hear you.’
‘Listen, Trav, I’m sorry, OK? I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. It was just . . . well, you know—’
‘I have to go, Grandad,’ I said emptily. ‘I’ll be home soon. I’ll see you later, OK?’
‘Hold on, Travis,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t hang up—’
I hit the end key and turned off the phone.
As I put my mobile away and gazed blankly out of the window, I saw that we were approaching the North Road roundabout. My head felt drained and empty, and all I could do for a moment was watch the traffic streaming across the roundabout . . . cars and vans, lorries and buses, great lumps of coloured metal glinting in the morning sun . . .
