“You got a name?” Adams asked. He waited as the sergeant put his cup down and fished in his pocket for his notebook. A few seconds later, Holmes had found the page he wanted.
“We have,” the police officer replied. “Toshiko. Katayama Toshiko.”
78
Lizzie leaned back on the sun lounger with a satisfied grin on her face. In the clear blue sea fifty or so yards in front of her, past the bright white sand, Obi and Jack were messing about and splashing each other. Divya was on the sun lounger next to Lizzie, and in the one beyond that was Isobel. It was a mild spring day in Sierra Leone, but hot enough to be a heatwave back in the United Kingdom.
“This is the life, isn’t it?” Divya said, turning to Lizzie and smiling from underneath her enormous sunglasses.
“It’s not too bad, is it?” Lizzie replied. Over Divya’s shoulder, she saw Isobel nodding in agreement.
They were sitting in the Fabulous Resort, a holiday complex near York Village on the west coast about an hour due south of Freetown. Jojo had dropped them off earlier that day, managing to cram the entire team into the SUV. They had been squashed in like sardines and laughed all the way to the beach. At least Jack’s stomach hadn’t complained about the journey.
“Where did Claire and Charlotte go?” Isobel asked Lizzie and Divya.
“I think they went for a walk along the beach,” Divya replied. “I’m going to go to the bar and get some drinks. Does anyone want anything, or will I just get a selection for all of us?”
“Get a selection, Divya,” Lizzie replied. “Do you want some money?”
“Nah, I’ve got it covered,” Divya said as she got to her feet. “It’s hardly London prices, is it?” With a laugh, she skipped off over the sand to the low complex of yellow buildings behind them. Amongst the small chalets was a small shack with a single fridge and a barman who had seemed delighted to see them when they arrived earlier. Lizzie wasn’t surprised. They were the only people in the entire resort.
“How’re you getting on, Lizzie?” Isobel said, looking over Divya’s sun lounger at her. “We’ve not really spoken much, have we?”
“I’m all good, Isobel,” Lizzie replied. “How are you enjoying your birthday weekend?”
“This is fantastic. Pure paradise, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is,” Lizzie replied. If you had the money to enjoy it, it certainly was. But Lizzie couldn’t help but wonder how many of the locals could afford somewhere like this for a holiday. “Jojo’s said he’s going to get some palm wine for us for this evening.”
“Yes, I heard him talking about that.” Isobel grimaced. “It doesn’t sound particularly appealing, does it?”
“When in Rome and all that,” Lizzie replied with a smile. In the distance, she could see two figures walking back down the beat toward them. “Is that Claire and Charlotte?”
Isobel looked up and followed Lizzie’s eyes.
“Looks like it.”
The two figures were walking about a metre apart. When they got to about a hundred metres away, they stopped walking and turned to face each other, deep in conversation.
“I hope the two of them are okay,” Isobel said. “I think they had a bit of an argument last night.” Lizzie looked carefully at Isobel. Did she know about the two women?
“How do you mean?” Lizzie asked, cautiously.
“Oh, come on, Lizzie,” Isobel replied with a laugh. “It’s as plain as the nose on Claire’s face.”
“Charlotte told me they were trying to be discrete.”
“They weren’t doing very well. I don’t know if the others have picked up on it, but you and I both have.” Isobel had a knowing look on her face.
As they watched, Claire took a couple of steps forward as if to hug Charlotte, but the older woman gently pushed her away before turning to walk back toward the road.
“Oh dear,” Isobel said with a sigh. Claire was just watching Charlotte walking through the sand. “I think I’ll go for a swim before she gets back. She might want to talk to someone her own age.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”
Lizzie looked over her shoulder to see Divya chatting with the barman. Whatever story she was telling him, the young man was finding it hysterical, and she could hear the two of them laughing. A few moments later, Claire walked up to join Lizzie. She sat on Divya’s sun lounger and turned to face Lizzie.
“You okay, Claire?” Lizzie asked, knowing from the look on her face that she wasn’t.
“Not really,” Claire replied with a wan smile. “That’ll be that, then.”
“I’m sorry, Claire.” Lizzie meant what she said. They hadn’t got off to the best start, her and Claire, but that didn’t matter anymore. Lizzie waited to see if Claire wanted to say anything else. It took her a few moments, but eventually she did.
“She’s going back to the United Kingdom tomorrow,” Claire told Lizzie. “Probably not coming back over here for a couple of months.”
“Oh, okay.” Lizzie hid her sense of relief at the news.
“She said that they’d got all the samples they needed now, and that it was time for us both to move on. Fun while it lasted, that’s what she said.”
“Was it?” Lizzie asked a moment later, but before Claire could reply, Divya returned with the drinks. She had a thin plastic bag full of cans in her hand.
“They’re not very cold, I’m afraid,” Divya said as she pushed the bag into the shade underneath Isobel’s sun lounger. “Are you okay, Claire? You look sad?”
“I’m fine, Divya,” Claire said, waving a hand dismissively at her. “Absolutely fine.” Lizzie watched as she stood up and adjusted the fabric of her swimsuit. “Who’s up for a swim?”
Lizzie got to her feet, checking her own swimsuit was as it should be. Claire was lithe and athletic, and while Lizzie certainly wasn’t fat, she felt self-conscious. By contrast, Divya didn’t seem to care at all.
“Let’s have a race,” Claire said, an artificial smile on her face. “Last one there has to neck a glass of palm wine this evening.”
“That’ll be me then,” Divya groaned. Then she darted off towards the sea.
“Hey,” Claire called after her. “That’s cheating.” Then she looked at Lizzie with a mischievous smile. “Ready?”
“Go!” Lizzie said, and the two of them set off after Divya. As they passed her, Divya managed to trip Claire up and she fell into the sand with a shriek. Lizzie turned to see Divya running as quickly as she could across the sand while behind her Claire was laughing as she got to her feet.
Lizzie reached the sea and waded in to her thighs. Then, hoping that her swimsuit would make her as fast as the adverts claimed, she took a deep breath and dived into the clear blue water..
79
Waterfield sat glumly in the leather-backed booth as he waited for Arthurton to return from the bar with a beer for them both. He was in the Old Shades, a Victorian pub in Whitehall that was four stories high with a Dutch gable roof and sandwiched between a tourist shop and an office block. The top floor was reserved for people who worked in the area. Not just anyone, but a very select segment of employees who need to be able to meet and have a drink out of the curious eyes of tourists or the press.
“Here you go, Waterfield,” Arthurton said as he put a pint of stout in front of him.
“What the hell is that?” Waterfield replied, eyeing the dark drink suspiciously. “I asked for a beer.”
“It’s London stout,” Arthurton said, sniffing his pint glass. “Cappuccino, dark chocolate, and burnt toast on the nose.” He took a sip. “Roasted malt and coffee coming through on the taste.”
“You talk some real crap sometimes, Arthurton,” Waterfield said as he took a sip of his own drink. It wasn’t as bad as it looked.
“As do you, Waterfield. Cheers.”
The two men clinked glasses, and Arthurton sat down opposite Waterfield. Other than a couple of minor politicians in the other corner, who were busy ducking and diving about something, they w
ere alone.
“Any news?” Waterfield asked the Home Secretary.
“Nada,” Arthurton replied. “Your boy’s good. He’s managed to disappear from the face of the planet.”
“He’s not my boy,” Waterfield said with a glare at his friend. “I wouldn’t recognise him if I walked past him in Sainsbury’s, nor he me.”
“I wish he would nip to Sainsbury’s,” Arthurton said. “Might increase our chances of actually finding the man. The PM’s furious.”
“The PM was born furious,” Waterfield replied. “He was probably barking orders at the midwife before she’d even cut the cord.”
“Hunter definitely set the fire. That much we do know. There was a petrol can in the boot of his car with his prints on it, and residue that matched the accelerant used in the house.”
“But why would he do that?” Waterfield asked. It was more of a rhetorical question, but Arthurton answered it anyway.
“To send a message.”
“To whom?”
“To everyone. To the immigrants to let them know they’re not welcome. To people like him to tell them to rise up and fight for their country. The white version of it, anyway. The normal sort of nonsensical rhetoric from the far right.”
Waterfield was about to reply when there was a commotion at the top of the stairs. They both looked up to see a young man in a suit arguing with the bouncer who was guarding the entrance to the top floor.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Arthurton said with a sigh. “That’s Morris, one of my staffers.” The bouncer looked over at them with an enquiring expression, and Arthurton raised a hand and beckoned to him to let the man know the new arrival could proceed.
When Morris arrived, he was breathless. He sat down heavily in the seat between the two men and took a couple of deep breaths.
“Sorry, I ran all the way from Millbank.”
Waterfield did some calculations in his head. The head office of MI5, known as Millbank, was just over a mile away, but Morris looked as if he had just run the London Marathon. Perhaps, Waterfield thought, the man would benefit from some more time in the gym?
Arthurton nodded at his phone, which was sitting on the table in front of them.
“You could have called, Morris,” he said to the staffer. “These things are surprisingly effective these days.”
“Not for this one, boss,” Morris replied. From the look on Arthurton’s face, he didn’t like the form of address, but he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t do to lose face.
“So, what’s the emergency?” Arthurton asked. Waterfield noticed he didn’t ask the man if he wanted a drink. Morris looked around before replying, as if to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.
“I was in the command centre in Millbank when a call came in from the local police in Norfolk. They’d been sent some stuff about a place in Norwich. Some sort of research institute.”
“And?” Arthurton took a sip of his stout and licked away the white moustache it left on his top lip.
“There was a lot of stuff about viruses in it. Nothing that anyone could understand.” Morris took a few more deep breaths. “They sent it to Porton Down for their cone heads to have a look at.”
“Morris, just get to the fucking point, would you,” Arthurton barked. “I’m trying to have a quiet pint.”
“Bioterrorism, boss. There’s a credible bioterrorism plot in the United Kingdom. They’re still going through the data, but Porton Down is very excited.”
Waterfield frowned. For the scientists at Porton Down, a not very secret research laboratory in Wiltshire, to be excited it must be bad. They dealt with some of the most lethal viruses and diseases on a daily basis. Looking at Arthurton, he shared Waterfield’s concern.
“Who sent the material?” Arthurton asked.
“A PhD student from the University of East Anglia,” Morris replied.
“How did they get it?”
“Still trying to find out, boss.”
The phone on the table in front of them started to vibrate with an incoming call. A few seconds later, just as Arthurton was reaching for it, Waterfield’s own phone started buzzing in his pocket. Arthurton paused, his hand halfway toward his phone, and both men looked at each other.
“Best we finish our drinks, Waterfield,” Arthurton said with a sigh. “Looks like we’re going to the briefing rooms again.”
80
Charlotte looked out over the balustrade at the lights of Kissy Town beneath her. Far out over the water, there was a thunderstorm. It was too far away for her to hear the rumbles of thunder, but every few seconds lightning lit up the storm clouds. On the opposite side of the sky to the storm was a half-moon, which cast an eerie glow over the entire roof.
She thought back over the latest developments and her earlier conversation with George. Things were drawing to a close, and she was sad to an extent that she would never see the Ascalon Institute again. But if they achieved their goal, then they would go down in history as heroes.
If it was up to her, they would just proceed directly to the last phase. There wasn’t any need, in her opinion, to complete the third study. Sure, it would be interesting from a scientific perspective, but it wasn’t really required. The research supported their success during the second study, but George was the boss, and seeing as he was bankrolling the entire venture, she couldn’t disagree with him.
Charlotte heard a metallic noise behind her, and she turned to see what it was. To her delight, it was Lizzie making her way from the staircase across the roof toward her. Charlotte watched as she picked her way carefully over the piping that was strewn across the roof, the moon behind her. Lizzie was wearing a light, summery dress that reached to her knees. Charlotte smiled in anticipation at the thought of sliding it off her shoulders and letting it float to the floor.
“Hey, Lizzie,” Charlotte said. To Charlotte’s surprise, Lizzie jumped and started to backtrack. She tripped on a pipe and stumbled, knocking into the water container on top of the air conditioning unit.
“Jesus wept, Charlotte,” Lizzie said, laughing and putting her hand on her sternum. “You frightened the shit out of me. I didn’t see you in the dark.”
“Sorry,” Charlotte said with a frown. “Did you not know I was up here?”
“No,” Lizzie replied. “I saw the flashes of lightning out of my window, so thought I’d come up here to see if I could get some photos.”
Perhaps, Charlotte thought, Lizzie was just saying that to avoid any embarrassment. Claire had been a bit like that at the start.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Charlotte said, watching Lizzie as she made her way over the pipes to join her.
“That’s okay,” Lizzie replied, her face partially lit up for a split second by a distant flash. “Did you come up to watch the storm as well?”
“Kind of,” Charlotte replied. “That, and to have a smoke.”
“Gotcha,” Lizzie said, turning to watch the storm. Charlotte looked at her silhouetted profile in the moonlight. She really was an attractive woman and must have known that Charlotte was on the roof. Lizzie was making no effort at all to photograph the storm with her phone.
“Are you not taking any pictures, then?” Charlotte asked, taking a small step toward Lizzie.
“It’s too far away,” Lizzie replied, not noticing Charlotte’s movement. Or if she did, she made no effort to move away. “Do you think it’s coming this way?”
“It looks that way, yes,” Charlotte said, inching slightly closer. “I’m pleased you’re up here with me, Lizzie,” she said. “I was hoping you might come up and join me.” Lizzie turned to look at her, a half-smile on her face.
“Why?” Lizzie asked. Charlotte decided to ignore the question and ask one of her own.
“Have you thought about our conversation the other night?”
“I have, yes,” Lizzie replied after a few seconds. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can,” Charlotte said with a reassuring smile.
“Ask away.”
“What is it exactly that you want from me?”
Charlotte paused, wondering how best to answer. There were several possibilities, but it was important to choose the right one. What would Lizzie want her to say?
“I don’t want anything from you, Lizzie,” Charlotte said, hoping the relative darkness would hide the lie. “I want to give you something.”
“What?”
“Pleasure.”
“You want to give me pleasure? Why?”
Charlotte took another small step toward Lizzie. They were now so close that she could easily reach out and take Lizzie’s hands in hers, but she saw Lizzie stiffen slightly at the movement.
“Why?” Charlotte said. “Because I don’t think you’ve ever known it. Not properly.”
“How do you know that, Charlotte?” Lizzie asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.
“I just know, Lizzie. It’s obvious from the look in your eyes. I can also tell how much you want to experience something new. Something wonderful.”
“But what about Claire?” Lizzie asked, taking a small step backward and turning to look out over the water.
“Claire and I are no longer together.”
“I know,” Lizzie replied. “She’s very upset about it.”
Charlotte sighed, frustrated that they were having this dance. She didn’t want to talk to Lizzie about Claire. She wanted to talk to Lizzie about Lizzie.
“She may be, but she’ll bounce back. She’s young.”
“Don’t you feel bad about what you did to her, though?”
“She was a willing participant, if I remember correctly,” Charlotte said, feeling her temper rise. She took a deep breath to push it back down.
“Okay,” Lizzie said. Her half-smile was back. “So Claire’s completely out of the picture then?”
“Yes. She’s nothing more than a silly little girl who will hop from bed to bed, no matter whose it is, until she finds someone who needs her.” Charlotte bit her lip before she said anything else she regretted. She probably shouldn’t have said that.
Enemy Within: A heart-wrenching medical mystery (British Military Thriller Series Book 3) Page 30
