We drove for another couple of hours before we hit the first bustling town I’d seen in a long time. Cars were everywhere, people milled around, some with shopping, some sat in cafes, but I went back to looking at the shops. Shops selling normal delicacies. Being here and seeing this was like showing me electricity for the first time, maddeningly amazing, but also a stark reminder of just how remote I’d been and how truly dark ages the places I’d been holed up in had been.
“I’m going to park under the hotel and check us in. Do you think you can wait in the car this time?”
“Depends. Anyone going to jump out on us with guns?” I tried to joke.
“It’s Russia. Anything’s possible. And while you may be able to handle killing without blinking, I can’t.”
I held my hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll be a good girl and wait here for you.”
Just to be sure that I wouldn’t be tempted or spotted by anyone, he parked in the farthest corner under a section where the lights were barely more than candle powered. Harry climbed out of the car and went to the boot. He pulled out a holdall and swung it onto his shoulder. Before walking off, he walked to my side of the car and smiled at me before doing a crazy salute. “Bye.”
I laughed. “Weirdo. Hurry up.”
I watched him walk away until I could no longer see him.
The silence hit me first. The cooling fans of the engine had been running and it was quiet when they quit overrunning. The cars I could see parked behind us were all a blend of different makes, with being old and rusty the only thing they had in common.
Two hours had passed and Harry still hadn’t returned. The longer he took, the worse my gut felt.
Something was wrong, and if I sat here for much longer, I was going to be a sitting duck if he’d given me up.
I opened the door slowly, the car roof light flickering on making me jump a little as my eyes had become used to the darkness of the corner I was in. Climbing out, I stooped down by the side of the car and pressed the door closed gently so it wouldn’t bang. Getting on my hands and knees, I put my head to the floor and scanned around me looking for signs of life, signs of people hiding. I waited for a few minutes to see if anyone emerged from the shadows or from behind the big concrete pillars stopping the building above us from collapsing down.
Nothing.
I started the search of the car, making sure I pocketed the weapons first. I also grabbed the press IDs Harry had left in the car. If anyone came for me, I needed a plausible excuse until I could figure something else out. The back seat of the car had been loaded with whisky and cartons of cigarettes. That supply had rapidly diminished as we’d bribed our way across the country. There was nothing to be had there. Popping open the trunk, I moved useless stuff from one side to the other. An old coat, a tire iron, a pair of gym trainers in a sports bag and the shovel we’d used to bury the toy soldiers.
Nothing.
In a last-ditch attempt, I pulled up the trunk cover to check where the spare wheel was, only the spare wheel was missing. In its place was a brown envelope with the letter ‘P’ on it.
I tore it open, and out fell a plastic card—a room key—with a compliment slip. On the slip in scrawled writing were the words, ‘Room 232. Use the back stairs.”
Tipping the trainers out of the bag, I scooped up some of the whisky and cigarettes, grabbed the key card and shut the boot.
Cautiously, I moved to the opposite corner of the underground car park, following the pictures on the walls. The words were all a jumble as Russian was not my strong point at all. A box with a red light on it stood proud on the wall next to a door in front of me. I pulled the key card from my pants pocket and flashed it across the front. When the light went from red to green, I let go of the air I’d held inside me. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I progressed through the door, up the stone stairs, pausing at every corner, making sure I could get to my gun if I needed it. At the second floor, I did exactly the same and proceeded carefully when the electronic door lock granted me access.
The fire escape had delivered me straight to the hallway of rooms, and with some planning, I understood that there were no cameras anywhere so far. Walking on carpet felt strange, but it kept my footfall quiet as I listened out for other sounds.
At room 232, I put my ear against the door and heard absolutely nothing as I pulled the gun from my waistband. I flashed the key card again and stealthily lowered the door handle, pushing the door just enough to put the barrel of the gun into the opening. If anything moved, it was going to find itself full of lead straight away.
Again, nothing happened. There was no one there. I glanced to the desk that all hotel rooms had. There was a small bag on top of it. Ignoring it for a moment, I walked past it to check the wardrobe, under the bed, behind the curtains, and in the en-suite bathroom, all the while with my gun ready.
I was alone.
Rushing back to the bag, I unzipped it. Inside was a pile of what looked like Sterling British notes, and a credit card laid on top of some clothes. There was also a passport, ready made with my picture, and a plane ticket. The plane ticket was a one way ticket from St. Petersburg to Glasgow, Scotland in the UK, via Amsterdam. There was also an address on a piece of paper for a place called Pitlochry.
Start again. It’s yours.
The note said.
What was mine?
As I rummaged around for more, I felt something fall to the side in the bag.
Car keys.
The keys to the car Harry and I had used. He’d left them for me and taken off.
Harry had completed his part in my escape; now I was on my own.
Chapter Five
Penny
6 Months Later
Codename Agent : Poppy officially died when I boarded the flight to the UK six months ago.
My new passport said Penny Gaumond, the correct first name, but a fake surname. I would never think of that name again. It was pointless. The picture was of a person I had once been, the girl who had willingly looked into a camera lens before she became a black ops operative and then an undercover ISIS bride. I thought about that now, those actual words, and it was like I saw a movie at some point in the past, and remembered it vividly in my memories, even though none of it seemed real, at times I could believe it happened to someone else and wasn’t my life.
“Mornin’, lassie.” I smiled at Vinnie as he walked past me with his pet dog, Bullet. He was a rotund old fellow who I barely understood at the best of times. And I had no idea what ‘lassie’ meant; I did remember there being a show when I was younger about a long-haired dog called Lassie. Still, it took me a while to figure out that they weren’t calling me a dog.
I carried on walking down the lane from the cabin where I lived, a cross between a mountain lodge and a house that I somehow now owned. I shook that thought off, too, and did what I did most mornings—went for fresh air.
When I got off the flight in Glasgow, I realized just how out of my depth I was. I’d been out of normal society for so long that the hustle and bustle had me on edge. The only comfort was that I didn’t really understand the locals. Even though they spoke English, the dialect and accent made it a challenge to get to grips with, and it felt just like my previous life. In the very beginning I didn’t understand what they were saying either.
The cab driver talked and talked, and I nodded in what I hoped were the appropriate places, and stumbled epically and stalled when he asked me where I’d been, or whether I was here on holiday. I soon realized that my fare was a big deal for him, and he wanted to make sure I felt accommodated. Turned out, the airport in Glasgow was nearly three hours from my destination of Pitlochry, so I would probably be his one fare for the day. It was the first time I’d come to a foreign land without a legend. I usually had the luxury of creating one. This time the only thing I had was a passport with a name.
“I’ve been travelling.” It was the easiest thing I could come up with.
“Yeah? Anywhere nic
e?”
“America. Dubai. Uh... South America.”
“You sound American.”
“No, Canadian.” Another lie I’d stolen from my passport.
The cab driver smiled and looked at me in his rear view. “Well, weather can get Baltic up here.”
That sounded like code for you’re going to need more winter clothes.
As we progressed, the scenery turned more lush and green, a big contrast to the lowlands of the desert I’d been used to. The driver carried on chatting, using words like ‘wee,’ ‘greetin’, and ‘doon’. I had zero clue what he was talking about, but I assumed I’d figure it out… if I decided to stay.
“Salmon?” His voice interrupted me. “Yer like salmon? Lots of it in these parts.”
“Yes,” I replied, not remembering the last time I’d eaten a meal that was fish based rather than lamb or goat.
He turned the car and we drove down the side of a river. It was fast flowing and looked clean. The bridge we’d just gone over had a few cars parked to the side and I could see red and yellow kayaks in the distance on the water.
“Not far now, wee lassie.”
He weaved round roads that were laced with tight switchback corners and continued his conversation with the satellite navigation as much as me. As I followed the route on the little screen, I could see the mileage decrease as we got closer. “It should be just around this corner.”
The navigation system told him to go right. “That can’t be...” Before he could finish, he drove up a track that showed cars travelled down here infrequently. The groove where wheels had been was losing the fight with nature trying to take it back, the hedgerow either side overgrown. Above us, the trees had merged together to give a makeshift archway, blocking out a good chunk of the daylight.
“It’s a wee bit remote. You sure on the address?”
I didn’t respond as he broke through the trees and we were presented with two decent-sized mountain cabins that needed some tender loving care and repair. “Would you mind waiting here while I just have a look around?”
I didn’t want the guy to drive off and leave me stuck in the middle of nowhere. I’d survive and find my way out if I had to, but if I didn’t need to then that would be better.
“Sure.”
I climbed out and the moisture in the air hit me immediately. This wasn’t the aridness I was used to. Most of my time in the Middle East had felt like putting your head in a hot oven and then throwing a handful of sand at your face—hot as hell and gritty. Sand always got in all the places it shouldn’t. It was the ultimate stealth environment. The wind rustled the trees as I walked through the overgrowth and headed for the back of the property, only walking up to a window and peering in when I was out of sight. I didn’t want him to know that I was as much a stranger to this place as he was. I tried the door of the first cabin; it was locked. This wasn’t giving me the warm and fuzzy feeling of a welcome home, but if I needed to, I’d get rid of the cab driver and break into the place.
I walked to the second one and saw that although this one had a little more furniture, it was still sparse. Outside the kitchen, I found the courage to test the door handle and it opened with a creak, and the smell of wooden furniture, oiled and locked in rooms without ventilation tickled my nose.
This was mine?
I spotted a set of keys on the kitchen countertop and grabbed them before walking through the middle of the cabin and back out the front door.
“Oh, there you are. Was about to come lookin’ for ya, lassie.”
“No need. I’ll just grab my bag. How much do I owe you?”
“One seventy.”
I had no idea whether that was a good deal or not, but I did know that I had more than that stuffed in the money belt I’d bought at the airport. I paid the man and waved him goodbye as he reversed his car back down the green leafy entrance and then listened as his car engine got farther and farther away.
I turned back to the lodge and smiled.
This was mine.
Someone, a fairy godmother, a crazy Russian, or a bald American assassin had set me up with a home. I just hoped the neighbors never turned up. I wanted solitude and if I didn’t get it then they’d best be friendly. There were plenty of places to dispose of bodies around here.
I hunted around outside, switched on the electricity and gas supply, turned on the water and then walked around the house, pulling dust sheets off the old furniture. There were a couple of chairs in front of an old log fireplace. A dining room table in the room next to the kitchen and a bed in one of the rooms upstairs. With no mattress or sheets, I’d be spending the night on the chairs.
My survival training kicked in almost immediately as I went back outside to check the content of the outbuildings. There were two. In one were all of the essentials for living out in the wild: axes, gasoline, basic tools that were old and rusty, ropes and garden equipment that looked suitable if you were Amish and about to manually plough a field with your wife and trusty horse. The next building contained a lifesaver, a small car under yet another dustsheet. It was tiny and would be perfect for getting back and to down those lanes. If I didn’t discover any keys, I’d hot wire it and have done; either way, it would still be mine. There was another dustsheet tucked into the corner. When I pulled that up there was a motorcycle underneath. It looked like a tourer capable of going off road, and was caked and crusted in dry dirt. There were some boxed paniers attached to the side and it looked perfect for exploring this scenic country.
Covering it up, I headed back to the first outbuilding, picked up the axe and wandered around the grounds looking for some wood I could chop up. If my taxi driver was to be believed, it was going to get cold tonight and a fire would save me from becoming hypothermic. My body still expected the world to operate at the other extreme end of the temperature scale.
I trudged through the overgrowth, looking at trunks then up at the branches above them. Anything already on the ground looked too wet and I’d never get that going. Finding something suitable, I flexed my arms, picked up the axe and enjoyed everything about the activity. Physical exertion, the sounded of the axe hitting the wood and breaking the silence around me, and then the creaking of the trunk as it succumbed to its fate. When it tumbled to the ground, I resisted shouting ‘timber!’ like a little kid playing in the woods, and chopped the felled tree into logs that I carried back to the porch on the front of the house.
When I searched the kitchen, I again found the bare essentials: one pan, one tin mug and not a lot else, apart from a whole load of dust, dead spiders and old newspapers that I’d use to get the fire going.
Then it hit me—matches! Dammit. Without a flint or some way of lighting a fire, I’d have no heat tonight.
There was nothing else for it. I grabbed my credit card and went next door to the other lodge. Slipping the card along the lock on the back door, I wiggled it, praying I didn’t snap the card in two, until it clicked and opened. This was a place that had seen a lot more life than my place. Quickly, I headed to the living room, found more furniture, a lot more than mine under old sheeting, but more importantly, matches by the fireplace. As I headed back through the kitchen, I took a chance and scoured the cupboards. There I found an unopened tin of coffee granules, some tinned fruit and some cutlery.
Thank you, neighbor!
Back in my lodge, I got the fire going and sat down to my feast in front of it. The flames roared as I thought about how I’d been gifted a second chance. How I was free and as long as I kept myself in check, I could grow my days out, just like this. Relying on no one but myself.
Before I fell asleep, I wandered upstairs, found I had enough hot water to soak in a tub and watched the clouds through the window beside the tub. As the sun went down and the moon rose up high, I saw the reflection on the water in the distance. It was beautiful. I had a view worth looking at. There was open water and there was no one to stop me looking at it. No one would be coming to get me in the night to servic
e a group of men who wanted nothing more than to remind me of my place in the world. As the water grew cooler, I pulled the plug out and as it swirled down the plug hole, I decided that would be the last time I’d think of my past in Afghanistan.
Codename : Agent Poppy was dead.
That time in my life was over and I couldn’t rebuild if I was constantly making comparisons with the past. I wouldn’t regret anything I’d done. I’d build my life, knowing that there were far worse things than being alone in a lodge in the middle of Scotland.
Over the next month, I used the credit card—having no clue or care who was picking up the bill—to kit my lodge out and make it a home. When it stopped working, I’d cut it into a million pieces and find a job somewhere. I tamed the grounds closest to the house, deciding I liked the safety of the overgrowth. It gave me natural coverage from the outside world and the road at the end of the archway, but I did make sure to cut enough so I could see the rivers and the lake—or loch as the locals called them—from my bedroom as well as the bathroom.
I splurged on a cell phone and iPad, making sure to get multiple pre-paid SIM cards, so I could change and discard them when I wanted. Old habits really did die hard. As keen as I was to start afresh and forget the past, it didn’t make any sense to discard my training altogether. Ultimately, I was supposed to be dead for real, and I needed to make sure there was no trail back to me. Ever.
Using my breaking and entering skills became a more frequent occurrence. I convinced myself that I was borrowing stuff while I was keeping an eye on the empty place next door. I found the keys to the little car in a drawer, but made sure to put them back after every time I ‘borrowed’ it.
Daily, I walked down the river, up and down the hills, and into the little town of Pitlochry for fresh food. It kept my fitness up, but I also found that people around here were sociable, sometimes pathologically so, and going into town stopped them venturing out here to find me. I wanted my sanctuary to stay that way, a sanctuary just for me.
Wild Poppy Page 4
