Night School - Endgame

by C. J. Daugherty

  ‘Of course. I was going to get some coffee anyway. Rachel?’ She glanced back at her girlfriend. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  Her head still lowered, Rachel just shrugged.

  ‘Well.’ Nicole flashed a sympathetic smile to both of them and left the room. The door closed behind her soundlessly.

  Allie walked over to where Rachel stood staring blindly at the old book of yellowed maps. A teardrop fell onto the page in front of her.

  ‘Rach,’ Allie said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Rachel’s head jerked up. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ she said. ‘Why on earth are you sorry? I’m the one who kept things secret.’ She stifled a sob. ‘I’m the one…’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Allie said gently, ‘because I have been such a self-absorbed arsehole, I didn’t notice this huge thing happening in your life. I was too busy worrying about my own stupid love life to see you were dealing with things, too. Really important things. I’m sorry because I’m such a crap friend. You deserve so much better. I seriously do not understand why you hang out with me.’

  Rachel shook her head hard, her jaw set.

  ‘No, Allie. Stop it. I’m the crap one. I kept trying to tell you about me and Nicole… but I just… bottled it. I don’t know why.’ She brushed the tears from her cheeks with the side of one hand. ‘I was just scared, I guess.’

  ‘Scared of what?’

  Rachel held up her hands. ‘Scared it would change our friendship. Scared you wouldn’t feel the same way about me. I kept thinking maybe everything would be different if you knew. Like… What if I hugged you and you… I don’t know. Pulled away.’ She took a sobbing breath. ‘I didn’t want anything to change with us.’

  Allie’s throat tightened with unshed tears. She didn’t know how to reply to this. How to tell Rachel that she should never be afraid of losing her. She didn’t care who else Rachel loved as long as she still loved her. As long as they were still friends.

  Lost for words, she let her actions speak for her. She walked around the table and, grabbing Rachel by the arms, pulled her into a fierce hug.

  ‘I want you to hug me forever,’ she said, crying now, too. ‘And I want you to trust that I will always hug you back. Because I swear I will. I swear it.’

  Her face buried in Allie’s hair, Rachel clung to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she kept saying. ‘I’m sorry.’

  This time Allie did know what to say. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

  Dom pulled a stack of printed photos from her file folder and handed one to Isabelle, who sat at her desk, and another to Allie.

  ‘Meet Owen Moran, thirty-one years old,’ Dom said. ‘Number Nine.’

  Allie stared at the photo. It showed the baby-faced man from the fence – the one who held up a hand to warn her. The picture was grainy – it looked as if it had been taken from far away and then zoomed in. But it was definitely him.

  ‘I took that photo this morning.’ Raj’s voice emerged from the phone on Isabelle’s desk. ‘I’ve been following him since last night. Dom, tell them what we know.’

  Dom typed something into the laptop propped on her knee. ‘He was born at Liverpool General Hospital. Lived in Liverpool until he was six years old, at which point his parents divorced and his mother moved to London, where she worked as a waitress and part-time carer. His father does not appear to be part of his life after that. Mum remarried when Owen was ten, to a James Smith, long-distance lorry driver.’ She glanced up at Isabelle; her glasses glittered. ‘It was a bad move. They had a tough relationship. James has a criminal record longer than we have time to read – GBH, public drunkenness… you get the picture. Police were called to their flat many times for domestic disturbances.’ She scanned the screen on her laptop. ‘They divorced when Owen was sixteen.’

  Allie suppressed a shudder – what a horrible childhood.

  Dom continued at a brisk pace. ‘Owen scored well on his GCSEs, but left school at seventeen to join the Army Infantry Division. When he was nineteen he served his first mission in Iraq. He was there off and on for two years before he transferred to Afghanistan. Served with honour for two more years in Helmand Province. Numerous commendations for bravery.’

  Pausing, she handed Allie and Isabelle another photo. It had been taken against the backdrop of a lush green field. Moran was opening the door of a car. He wore the plain black gear of Nathaniel’s guards. He appeared to be looking directly at the photographer.

  ‘Raj took this yesterday afternoon at St John’s Fields.’

  As she stared at the photo, Allie covered her lips with her fingertips.

  The man’s light brown hair was kept short and neat, the well-groomed stubble on his cheeks was probably there to make him look more mature – or tougher.

  Her gaze was arrested by his expression. His hazel eyes held a look of bitter disillusionment so striking it took her breath away. It wasn’t just in his eyes, but in the set of his shoulders, in his posture. He exuded cynicism and anger.

  ‘While he was in the military, one incident in particular stands out.’ Dom tilted her screen to see it better. ‘His unit was pinned down by enemy gunfire. Moran’s commanding officer was hit and killed, and his second in command badly injured. Moran took over leadership of the unit, rescuing two wounded men, risking his own life many times, until an air unit arrived to get them out of there.’ She glanced up. ‘He was the last one in the helicopter. Received a medal for bravery. Then left the service.’

  Isabelle nodded briskly. ‘Since then?’

  ‘Nothing striking,’ Dom said. ‘No criminal record. Married at twenty-six, divorced at thirty. One child, a girl…’ She glanced at her screen. ‘Annabelle; five years old. The mother has custody. Career history not so great – he had a few jobs but never held them for long. Mostly security work. Applied to be a police officer but his application was rejected for suspected mental issues – PTSD, apparently.’ She leaned back in her seat. ‘He started working for Nathaniel eight months ago.’

  Allie thought about what Christopher had told her.

  ‘Does he have debts?’

  Dom shot her a surprised look. ‘Loads. Couple of years ago he got behind on his child support and rent. Racked up big credit card debts. A loan was turned over to a collection agency. Within the last year, though, he’s started paying everything off. All of a sudden, he’s a model citizen.’

  Allie suppressed a relieved sigh. So far her brother hadn’t been wrong once.

  ‘Thank you, Dom,’ Isabelle said. She leaned closer to her phone. ‘Raj, what’s the plan?’

  His voice emerged tinny but clear from the phone’s small speakers. ‘Moran eats every meal at a pub called the Chequers. It’s not far from St John’s Fields at the edge of Diffenhall. Your basic village joint, nothing fancy. None of the other guards join him, he likes to eat alone. I suggest this is where we catch him.’

  Dom typed something into her computer then turned it so Allie and Isabelle could see it. ‘This is the place.’

  Allie leaned forward to see the image. It was a traditional looking old inn at the edge of a country road. Vines grew up the walls and over the roof.

  ‘Last night he had dinner there before six o’clock. I suspect he goes early because he likes it empty. Here’s the plan: I’ll place six of my guards in there, sitting two to a table. Allie will remain with a separate team outside until Moran enters the establishment. Once he’s inside, I will contact her team by radio. Allie…’ She sat up straight. ‘… you are to walk in and go directly to his table. How you handle this moment is up to you. I suggest you quickly introduce yourself, using your real name and identity, and do not ask permission to sit. Take control of the situation from the start. Isabelle can go through this with you.’

  His tone was the same cool, efficient one he used when briefing his guards.

  ‘You will have no more than two and possibly less than one minute to make your case,’ he continued. ‘You ne
ed to have your facts lined up and your offer ready. You must not hesitate. State your case and make your points and, only when you have done so, give him the opportunity to ask questions. I believe he will have quite a lot of questions under the circumstances.’ He took a breath. ‘So you must be ready with answers.’

  The sound of a car engine roaring by, momentarily drowned him out. He’d explained at the start of the call that he’d parked on a layby not far from the farmhouse. She waited until the noise faded.

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she assured him.

  She tried to sound confident, although nervousness had settled on her chest like a weight.

  Nine was a grownup. A veteran. He’d had a life so tough it made her own look like a cake walk by comparison. Why would he listen to some pampered teenager from a private boarding school?

  Why should he pay any attention to her at all?

  Somehow, she had to reach him. She had to make him listen. For Carter. For herself.

  For everyone.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Raj said after a long beat. ‘Because this is the only chance we get at this. Isabelle and I have both made it clear we’re worried about this plan. You’re in no condition to fight. If he takes against you, I will do all I can to help. But this is dangerous, Allie. There’s no way around that fact. Moran is a highly trained ex-soldier. He could kill you in an instant. I suggest, if you start to believe he’s going for you, you run.’

  Allie swallowed hard – the wound on her neck gave a twinge, as if to remind her it was there.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, her voice steady.

  Isabelle shook her head but didn’t argue with her.

  ‘Good,’ Raj said. ‘Now, let’s go over it again. From the beginning.’

  28

  The Chequers Inn sat at the edge of a village so tiny, it was really little more than a crossroads.

  The inn had to be very old, Allie thought, as she waited in the back seat of the SUV parked a short distance down the road. Its stone walls were pitted and worn with age. Its windows were tiny, as windows all used to be in the days before glass became plentiful and cheap. A flowering vine grew up one wall and over the top of the roof.

  Aside from the inn and a village green surrounded by a low, stone wall, there were only a few thatch-roofed houses, so picturesque and charming they might have been made of gingerbread.

  From there, the land sprawled out into farms, hedgerows and rolling hills.

  It was quiet. They’d been out here ten minutes, parked in the shade of an oak tree at the edge of the green, and not a single car had driven by since they arrived.

  In the front seat, Zelazny talked into his mobile phone. The driver sat next to him, eyes on his watch.

  They’d planned as much as they could. Now they had to wait.

  Raj was at St John’s Fields, waiting for Nine to leave. If he’d stuck to the same schedule as yesterday, he’d be here by now. But he hadn’t kept to that schedule, and now everyone was trying to decide what to do.

  Come on, Nine, Allie thought. Just show up.

  She bit nervously on the edge of her increasingly ragged thumbnail. If he didn’t come tonight, the whole plan was thrown into disarray. They had eight hours left on Nathaniel’s clock. Eight.

  At one in the morning, it would all be over.

  Nine had to show.

  Two escort vehicles were nearby – one a short distance behind them. Another some way ahead.

  They must have gone over the plan a hundred times throughout the day. Up to, and including, role-playing, with Dom playing Owen Moran, sitting at a table telling Allie to go to hell.

  Her opening lines, her polished answers to his inevitable questions, were drilled into her memory. They hadn’t left the school until Isabelle decided she was ready. The answers they’d worked on rolled off her tongue more easily than her own thoughts.

  Now she just needed someone to say them to.

  She glanced at her watch – it was twenty minutes to six. Maybe he wasn’t going to show at all.

  The driver glanced at Zelazny. ‘I’m stepping outside to keep watch. Just in case.’

  The history teacher gave a sharp nod. ‘Understood.’

  The driver stepped out, shutting the door behind him gently, as if he didn’t want to disturb the stillness. Allie stared through the car window at the picture-perfect village around them. It was so green and tiny. So tranquil. It didn’t seem possible such a place could exist.

  She could understand why a war veteran might come here every day to sit by himself and observe such peace.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Zelazny’s voice broke the silence as he turned in his seat to face her.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said.

  ‘You are,’ he assured her. ‘You keep a cool head when things get dangerous – that’ll see you through this.’

  Allie studied the back of his head curiously. There’d been a time when she loathed Zelazny. For a while, she’d even suspected he was Nathaniel’s spy.

  But things had changed. He’d fought relentlessly for her and Lucinda. He hated Nathaniel and everything he stood for. And he loved Cimmeria Academy the way some men love their country – with a kind of religious fervour.

  She didn’t doubt for a minute she could trust him completely. It meant a lot that he had faith in her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Time ticked by.

  It was so quiet that when Zelazny’s phone buzzed, they both jumped. Muttering to himself, he pushed the answer button.

  ‘Zelazny,’ he barked.

  He listened for a minute as the caller spoke. Allie held her breath; her heart thudded so loudly in her ears she was sure he’d hear it in the front seat.

  ‘Copy that.’ Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he turned to look at her.

  ‘Get ready. He’s on his way.’

  Allie’s hand shook as she pushed open the heavy wood door of the Chequers. She tried to keep her expression serenely disinterested. As if she came here every day at precisely this time.

  But her knees felt unsteady as she stepped inside.

  A wave of warmth and scent hit her – frying meat, spices. A rumble of conversation filled the air.

  It was just after six o’clock, and the dining room was half full.

  Normally she’d have noticed what a lovely old place it was – thick columns and a low, beamed ceiling, a gigantic fireplace on one wall, with iron cooking pots hung around it for decoration.

  But she was focused on a man sitting near the window, his light brown hair short and neat, just as it had been the other night.

  Nine was here. And he hadn’t seen her yet.

  A huge man in an apron bustled by carrying two plates.

  ‘Sit anywhere you like, luv,’ he said in a thick Hampshire accent. ‘I’ll be with you in a thrice.’

  Allie’s lips tried to form the words ‘Thank you’ but couldn’t quite manage it.

  Silently ordering her legs to work properly, she made her way across the stone floor towards Nine.

  He sat with a cup of tea in one hand, his eyes fixed on some green point outside.

  Music played quietly in the kitchen – interchangeable pop songs Allie barely knew after so long without access to a radio.

  At one table she recognised two of Raj’s guards, disguised, as she was, in jeans and unremarkable pullovers. Neither met her gaze.

  Raj himself sat at the back of the room, a pint on the table in front of him, newspaper spread out, apparently absorbed. But she knew he’d be watching everything.

  The thought was heartening, and she hurried her pace.

  Too soon she stood in front of Moran’s table, the words she’d memorised the night before circulating in her head as if on a loop. He hadn’t seen her yet – or was hoping she’d go away.

  ‘Mr Moran?’ Her voice was low but clear. Steady as a rock.

  His head turned slowly until he was looking at her, his hazel eyes tinged with disbelief.


  Her heart stuttered.

  He recognised her.

  When he spoke, though, he gave nothing away. ‘Do I know you?’

  The low, gravel voice was much more familiar than the face.

  ‘Kind of.’ Without waiting for an invitation, she slid into the seat across from him.

  Strike fast, Raj had said. Use honesty as your weapon.

  ‘My name is Allie Sheridan. Nathaniel would like you to kidnap me. I’m here to tell you why you shouldn’t.’

  ‘You must be joking.’ Moran’s face darkened. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

  ‘I’m not playing,’ Allie assured him. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  As she talked she watched him closely. He didn’t look happy to see her but he wasn’t lashing out, either. Mostly he appeared irritated.

  ‘We’re in a difficult position, Mr Moran,’ she said, words that were not her own rolling out with perfect smoothness. ‘You should know that most of the people in this room are here to protect me. I’ve told them I believe we can trust you. That you’re not like Nathaniel and Gabe. They think I’m wrong. They think you’ll do something to hurt me. I hope you’ll prove them wrong and just hear me out.’

  He shook his head, slowly lowering it to his hands. ‘Why does this kind of thing always happen to me?’

  Allie decided to ignore this.

  ‘I know you can’t be seen with me. But I need two minutes,’ she said. ‘Give me one hundred and twenty seconds to convince you. Then if you want to run to your car and report this to Nathaniel, you can. We’ll be gone before he gets here.’

  He let out a long sigh. For the first time since she’d sat down across from him, he met her gaze directly.

  ‘Please, kid. Give me some credit. If I wanted you to stay here you’d never leave.’

  The thin skin of ice on his voice sent a chill of fear down Allie’s spine.

  She tried not to show it. ‘Does that mean you’ll listen?’

  ‘First I want you to answer some questions for me.’ Rocking back on his chair, he crossed his arms, studying her with disconcerting intensity. ‘How did you find me? No, wait.’ He held up one hand before she could reply. ‘Why did you choose me in the first place? There are other guards you could have chosen to approach. I’m not exactly top of the pack.’