by Tom Marcus
‘Perfect.’
She’d found a corner table by the window. The way the sun was streaming in, it felt like another lifetime when I’d pulled her off the bridge. Or a bad dream.
She smiled, that sad half-smile I was beginning to recognize, and took a sip of her cappuccino.
‘Gosh, I certainly wasn’t expecting to be sitting here this morning.’
‘No? Where were you expecting to be?’
Fuck. Stupid question. My head wasn’t working properly yet.
‘Well, at the bottom of the river, I suppose. Or floating gently downstream, with my hair all around me, like Ophelia.’ She sighed. ‘Probably not very realistic. More likely I’d be on a slab in some morgue, I suppose, being sliced open so they can take all my organs out.’ She made a face. ‘Yuck. Why do they always weigh them? I’ve always wanted to know that. What bloody difference does it make? Lucy Jane Pargeter, dead as a doornail, but here’s the good news: her kidneys are a perfect size seven.’
I smiled. ‘So how does it feel – to be alive? Not on a slab having your organs weighed.’
She looked thoughtful. ‘Better, in one way.’ A shadow seemed to pass over her face. ‘Worse in another.’
I nodded. That pretty much summed it up.
She looked at me. ‘So how did you . . . do it? Try to do it, I mean.’
I frowned. ‘I don’t know if I . . .’
‘Look, it’s all right, I’m not asking for tips. But if you don’t want to talk about it . . .’
‘No, it’s OK.’ I took a gulp of coffee. ‘I . . . tied a rope to a lamp post, put the other end round my neck and then drove straight at a wall.’
She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. That’s . . .’
I shrugged. ‘The end result’s the same, however you do it.’
‘I suppose. Why didn’t you go through with it?’
‘My wife stopped me.’
‘Your wife?’ She looked puzzled.
‘She was dead at the time. That was why I wanted to end things, you know? But she persuaded me to carry on, told me there was a reason to go on living. At least, I could hear her voice in my head, like.’
She nodded. ‘And do you hear her voice now? Does she still speak to you?’
‘Yeah. Every now and then. When I’m least expecting it. I . . . see her as well. And my boy. He doesn’t say much, though. He’s only little.’
She put her hands to her face. Her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I handed her a napkin. ‘It’s OK. You know, I’ve never told anyone that.’
‘Can I ask what she said to you? The reason for going on living, I mean.’
I took another gulp of coffee and wiped my mouth with a napkin, trying to buy myself some time. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, either.
‘To help people, I suppose.’
‘Like you’re helping me?’
‘Something like that.’
‘My God, how many people have you stopped from jumping off bridges?’
I smiled. ‘You’re the first, actually. I mostly try and help people in . . . other ways.’
Other ways that sometimes involve killing them, I thought. I needed to try and steer the conversation in another direction.
‘Sorry, I haven’t eaten for a while. I need to get some sugar in my system or I’m going to crash. I’m going to get a bun or something. Do you want anything?’
‘No. Thank you. Caffeine’s all I need.’
I went to the counter and grabbed a Danish pastry oozing carbs. But I knew how she was feeling. Eating means living. When you want to die, it just seems wrong. You need the caffeine, though, so you don’t go to sleep. Then you won’t dream.
I brought my breakfast back and sat down. I took a bite and felt the glucose hitting my bloodstream. That was better. She waited patiently while I finished it off.
‘So, I was going to tell you about me, wasn’t I?’
I brushed crumbs off the front of my T-shirt. ‘If you still want to.’
She closed her eyes and took a breath. I could see this wasn’t going to be easy for her.
‘I’m a teacher. Was a teacher. God, I don’t know. It feels like my life’s been cancelled out, even though I’m still here. Does that make sense?’
‘Sure. It’s like you’ve said goodbye to everything. But you haven’t gone.’
She nodded. ‘Including saying goodbye to yourself. In a way it feels as if I did die. Like I’m not the same person any more.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘One of the living dead. A zombie.’ She glanced at her reflection in the window and brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘I’m sure that’s what I look like, anyway.’
‘I know what you mean – I mean about feeling like a zombie.’
‘Not about looking like one?’ There was a smile hovering at the corner of her lips.
I looked away, feeling awkward. ‘No.’
She picked up a packet of sugar from the bowl on the table and started turning it over in her fingers. ‘Would you like another coffee?’
‘Sure. My shout. What are you having?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
I went to the counter. I didn’t really want another coffee either. But I figured she needed a couple of minutes to herself, to work up the nerve for the next bit of the conversation. This was going to be the hard bit, when she told me what had ripped the heart out of her and made life seem not worth living. I took as long as I could, pretending to search in my pockets for the right change before giving up and paying with a card. The woman in front of me was waiting for a takeaway. She was wearing a blue dress with yellow flowers, and a fragment of the dream came back to me.
Organ music. A funeral – no, a wedding. Daisy’s? I looked down at the front of my shirt, expecting to see blood.
When I got back to our table, Lucy was blowing her nose. I could tell she’d been crying.
‘You OK?’
She nodded. That half-smile again. ‘For a zombie.’
I waited. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then it all came out in a rush.
‘They died in a car crash. I can’t say their names. I’m sorry. We were going to Cornwall. His uncle had a cottage. We’d stayed before. It was lovely – perfect for the kids. I . . . stayed at home. I was going to take the train the morning after. I had all this admin to do for the school. I wanted to get it done, out of the way, so it wouldn’t be on my mind and we could really enjoy the holiday. They were going to go crabbing. Janey said she was going to catch a big one for me.’
Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hands. Her body heaved with great, wracking, silent sobs. I reached out a hand, then left it hanging in mid-air, feeling useless. Gradually her breathing returned to normal and the tears tailed off. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose again.
‘Is everybody looking?’ she asked.
I shrugged. ‘Fuck them.’
She nodded. She kept her eyes closed, trying to still the whirlwind of emotions she’d just unleashed.
After a while she said, ‘How did you go on? I mean, get up every day afterwards?’
‘Like I say, Sarah told me I had a job to do.’
She sniffed. ‘I suppose I do, too. I mean, teaching is helping people. Making a difference. But I just couldn’t do it now, I mean teaching other people’s kids. So what do you do?’
‘You mean work?’
‘Yes.’
I paused. ‘Security.’
‘What, like a security guard?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated.’
‘It sounds very mysterious.’
‘Not really. Sometimes I stop bad people from doing bad things. That’s all. If I’m lucky.’
She put her hands on the table, so her fingers were almost touching mine. She had blood under a couple of her nails.
‘Thank you.’
I felt there was something else I should say, something th
at would stop her getting sucked back into that black hole of despair. But I knew it would sound hollow. The best I could do was share my experiences, the story of a fellow member of the undead, and hope she found her own path, the way I had mine.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Look, I’m going to go now. But maybe we could meet up again?’
Despite myself, I felt a little jolt of electricity, as if I’d just touched a live wire. ‘Sure. I mean, yes, that would be good.’
She stood up and swung her bag onto her shoulder. She turned to go, then looked back with a smile.
‘Remember, I’ve got your number now.’
22
I took my place at the round conference table, hoping I didn’t look as ragged as I felt. I kept replaying bits of my conversation with Lucy in my head, and then underneath was the dream, just odd fragments, nothing that I could really get a hold on: more a vague feeling of menace. It was like treading water, knowing there were sharks circling somewhere in the murky depths beneath you.
Luckily for me, if I looked bad, Ryan looked even worse. He was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes, and looked as if he was wearing the same baggy blue golf shirt as yesterday. There was a mug of steaming black coffee in front of him but he hadn’t touched it.
Alan looked a tad better; at least he’d showered and changed, but his complexion was still sweaty and grey. Another troubled night, I reckoned. He was spooning sugar into his tea like there was no tomorrow.
Even Alex, who prided herself on always being ready for action, looked a little bit the worse for wear. But I knew it wasn’t about being physically or mentally tired; it was the frustration of feeling like we’d hit a brick wall.
Mrs Allenby, on the other hand, looked fresh as a daisy, dressed in a crisp navy-blue suit with a cream silk blouse, her notepad and gold pencil placed neatly on the table in front of her. As usual, I wondered if she knew something we didn’t.
As soon as I’d taken my seat, she called the meeting to order.
‘Good morning, everybody. Before we proceed, I think it might be helpful to summarize the current situation regarding Viktor Shlovsky. So far, we have uncovered no evidence of covert communication with a third party capable of executing a terror incident or campaign. That does not, unfortunately, rule out the possibility that such communication is ongoing, merely that we have been unable to detect it. Blindeye’s resources are, in that regard, limited.’
She glanced at me over the top of her glasses. Was I just being paranoid, or did she mean me? I clenched my fists, my instinctive distrust of office-bound pen-pushers starting to bubble up.
‘We have no choice, however,’ she continued, ‘but to proceed on the basis that we have been looking in the wrong direction, and that the link we are seeking to establish is somewhere in our peripheral vision. In that regard, Mr Woodburn has suggested that the target of our surveillance should now be Shlovsky’s deputy head of security. While I agree that this is the only logical way forward, I would also remind you all that this is something of a last throw of the dice.’
She looked round the table, making eye contact with each of us in turn.
‘I would also remind you that the stakes could not be any higher. We do not know the scale of what is being planned, but we can assume it is intended to cause significant disruption, and that means significant numbers of dead or injured. We do not want the blood of those innocent people on our hands.’
She paused, letting that all sink in. I couldn’t help wondering if it was more of a threat than a warning. If we failed now, that would be the end of Blindeye. And then what would happen to us? We’d be loose ends. And she’d already said she didn’t like those. No doubt her former boss, the DG, didn’t like them either.
Find the link or we’re fucked, I thought. A last throw of the dice all right.
Mrs Allenby turned to Ryan. ‘I believe we now know who our target is.’
So that’s what he’d been doing all night.
‘Yes,’ Ryan said. ‘A slightly laborious process, I’m afraid. If he’d been regular army – even Special Forces – it would have been a lot easier. But it turns out he’s a former military intelligence officer, so there were a few more firewalls to negotiate. He’d been hidden away quite well, in fact.’
‘That’s unusual,’ I said. ‘Russian oligarchs tend to be like everyone else when it comes to security: they want ex-SAS or Spetsnaz if they can get them. Paras at a pinch. But military intelligence? Isn’t that overdoing it a bit?’
‘Maybe it’s a status thing,’ Alex said. ‘So he looks impressive when he’s hobnobbing with his oligarch mates.’
‘Does he have a name?’ Mrs Allenby asked.
‘Assuming it’s his real one,’ Ryan said. ‘Major Douglas Weston.’
‘And how long has he been working for Shlovsky?’ I asked.
‘We don’t know,’ Ryan said. ‘Honourable discharge five years ago. After that, he’s been off the radar.’
‘Why Shlovsky?’ I persisted. ‘What’s the connection?’
‘Maybe through Titov, somehow?’ Alex suggested. ‘Maybe he got passed over for promotion and his Russian oppo persuaded him to move over to the dark side.’
I nodded. ‘The pay’s got to be better. Or it could just be he holds a grudge. People have betrayed their country for less.’
‘All of that is beside the point at this moment,’ Mrs Allenby cut in. ‘What we need to know is if he can lead us to the terrorists. And that means one more trip to our observation point, I’m afraid.’
I felt a fluttering in my guts. I was glad to have an excuse to go back to the house. After the dream, there were things I wanted to ask Daisy. But I was also nervous about what I’d find there. Maybe one of those sharks would decide to break the surface.
‘Hopefully it will be a quick in and out job,’ Mrs Allenby continued. ‘Just long enough to install a remote video camera so we can see if Weston goes AWOL again.’
‘And if he does?’ Alex asked.
‘Then you and Logan follow.’
It was gone 2 a.m. when I finally got to the boarded-up window. I knew we needed to get that camera in there ASAP: if Weston made his move before we were set up, that could be our one chance down the tubes. But still, I wasn’t going to hurry. I wanted to make sure no one else had been in the house since my last visit. As I loosened the bolts on the metal plate, all seemed to be in order. I hoisted myself in and re-secured it, then swept my torch over the floor, looking for fresh footprints in the dust.
Nothing.
When I got to the room, the first thing I did was open the shutters and set up the camera, making sure it was focused on the driveway. I switched it on and waited for Alan’s text, confirming the connection was live. Thirty seconds later the ping told me we were in business.
Only then did I turn and look for Daisy.
She was where I’d left her, still slumped in the corner, a bag of bones slowly turning into dust.
What the hell had I been expecting? That she’d shifted to a more comfortable position? That she’d done something new with her hair? Not for the first time, I wondered if I was entirely sane.
But then, if it meant no longer seeing Sarah and Joseph, sanity was overrated. I’d stick with being nuts.
Now that I’d set up the camera and checked it was working, I had no reason to stick around. Alex would already be waiting in the car a hundred metres or so down the road in a little turn-off. And if Weston appeared on Alan’s screen now and I wasn’t there, she’d fucking kill me. But I decided to take that chance.
I sat down with my back against the wall just a few feet from Daisy. She must have been so used to having the place to herself, I didn’t want to crowd her. But I wanted to be close enough to feel it, if there was anything she wanted to tell me.
‘I had a dream last night, Daisy. And you were in it.’
I thought I’d try that for starters, see if it got a reaction. I paused, then went on.
‘I
can only remember bits now. But it was a wedding. You’ve never been married, have you, Daisy?’
I’d propped the torch up on my daysack so the beam wasn’t aimed right at her. I didn’t want her to think this was an interrogation. I shuffled a bit closer so I could see her properly. Did a shadow pass over her face?
‘Anyway, Viktor Shlovsky was there. He was giving you away, in fact. And the bridegroom, you probably don’t know him—’
I didn’t get any further.
The room was suddenly filled with a piercing, high-pitched sound, except that it wasn’t really a sound, even though it was making my head hurt; it was more like a terrible, silent scream that went on and on until I couldn’t bear it any more.
I don’t know how long I sat there with my hands clamped over my ears. After a while, the screaming in my head died down to a sort of buzzing, like white noise, and the pain just became a dull ache. I opened my eyes and saw something glinting on the floor.
I crawled forward on my hands and knees. How had I never noticed this before? It was wedged into a crack between the floorboards by Daisy’s feet. I fished a coin out of my pocket and waggled it around until it popped out onto the floor, a dull gold in the torchlight. I picked it up. It was a cufflink. I turned it over in my fingers. On one side was some sort of engraving but it was too grimy to make out. I spat on it and gave it a rub on my shirt, then looked again.
A grinning skull, complete with crossbones, looked back.
23
Alex gave me a sideways look as I got in the car. ‘You took your time.’
‘Yeah, sorry. It took me a while to get the camera set up right. Alan always makes things sound a doddle, you know what he’s like.’
The truth was, I’d needed a few minutes to myself after I’d exited the house and secured the window again, just standing in the undergrowth, listening to the night sounds, waiting until my heart rate calmed down a bit. My skin still felt clammy, like I had a fever, sweating and freezing at the same time. I wiped a drop of sweat out of my eyes, hoping Alex would think it was just the physical effort of getting in and out of the house.
‘Well, it seems to be working all right now.’
