The Fear Within

by J. S. Law

  Captain Harrow-Brown might have been the polar opposite of everything Dan admired about Blackett. He was a tall, thin, slimy man who made Dan’s skin crawl if she thought too much about him. He reminded her of a spider furled up in his chair ready to expand outward, as though he would lengthen his long delicate limbs if he were to stand up and fully reveal himself. He was pale, looked like the typecast baddie in a children’s movie, with slicked-back black hair and pallid skin. He was, it was fair to say, Dan’s strongest detractor in the Special Investigation Branch, and unfortunately for Dan, he was also the head of Investigative and Intelligence and so her boss’s boss. One step higher than Harrow-Brown and you were into the military men who’d become bureaucrats, joined the executive, and transcended specialization. That was where Harrow-Brown would be headed in short order.

  Dan knew that he was changeable, adaptable, he was everything he needed to be to succeed in this world. He was a survivor who could catch the eye and leave his mark just as easily as he could slither along the floors of power, his mucus trail drying behind him and leaving no trace. He mixed effortlessly with both the military leaders and politicians; her foe was only going to grow in strength while her ally went out to pasture.

  Judging by Harrow-Brown’s look and tone, he’d not come to like her any better since they’d bumped heads shortly after she’d left the submarine HMS Tenacity.

  “I believe we can be honest in that I wasn’t enamored to hear that you’d returned to active duty,” he began, reaching for a file in front of him and just touching it, sliding it toward her, not so that she could read it, but just so she could see what it was.

  It was the report that had been written about her by the psychiatric assessment team at Catterick; Dan could see the crest on the front of the buff-colored folder.

  “And yet it seems that those who are reckoned to know, after a few months of talking to you, believed you ready to do so.”

  He left the folder alone and leaned back in his chair.

  Dan was still standing, had expected as much, and watched him touch the fingertips of each hand to the fingertips of the other, steepling his fingers and resting his chin against them.

  “And now, lo and behold, we meet again in another situation where your judgment has to be called into question. Where you’ve colluded again with our friends in the British media to further your celebrity.”

  “I can’t control what the press publish,” said Dan. “I never even spoke to the—”

  “The reports from the medical staff are clear, sir,” interrupted Roger, forcing his way into the conversation and cutting Dan off, but supporting her. “Had Lieutenant Lewis not gone in and attempted rescue, and had the situation ended in a standoff, the most likely outcome was that Evelyn Simmons would have died from her injuries. The medical—”

  “Thank you, Roger.” Harrow-Brown cut Blackett off. “I read the reports, too, and while I saw that, I also noted that it was not a firm conclusion, but a hypothesis that supported Lieutenant Lewis’s actions. The report also mentioned that Mrs. Simmons was further hurt in the ensuing struggle, that Master at Arms Granger was badly concussed and is recovering from a broken nose, among other injuries, and indeed, though some may say they were well deserved, our very own Lieutenant Lewis still bears the bruises from her encounter. So it was hardly what one might call a resounding success.”

  Roger made to speak again, but Harrow-Brown raised a hand and silenced him.

  “Indeed, if I may continue, Roger, I often lament the fact that we have only Lieutenant Lewis on our military police front line, only Lieutenant Lewis willing to venture into such dangerous places. Perhaps we should consider recruiting some more people? Perhaps we could train some of them up to deal with hostage situations, or have some specialists whose job it is to breach buildings and rescue those who are trapped within them.” He looked at Blackett. “What do you think, Roger? As the senior investigator for the Special Investigation Branch, do you think you could use such skills?”

  Roger just looked at Harrow-Brown, refusing to be drawn into his sarcasm, and Dan was again glad of his support.

  “Silence, Roger? I would have thought these would be useful men, though we can also seek help from our civilian counterparts if needs must, can we not?”

  Roger didn’t look at Dan, but she could tell from his profile, the way he was squaring himself toward Harrow-Brown, that he was getting angry at the needless sarcasm.

  Blackett was reddening. His proximity to retirement meant he would advance no further, had little to prove, and cared less and less for the bureaucracy and snobbery of Harrow-Brown, something he occasionally voiced to Dan when they were alone.

  Roger leaned forward.

  “She was on the ground. She was faced with a choice and she made a decision,” he said, his voice low.

  “The wrong decision,” said Harrow-Brown.

  “Not according to the reports from the first responders and medical teams at the University Hospital, Southampton,” said Roger.

  The two men looked at each other and Dan had the sense, for a while at least, that she’d been forgotten.

  “Indeed,” said Harrow-Brown, breaking the deadlock. “And yet while the reports will protect Lieutenant Lewis, they do not fully exonerate her. I have been given reason, once again, to question, to lose faith, in her decision making and her confidentiality concerning the press and media.”

  He looked back at Dan and tilted his head as though unsure what she was.

  “You are an honest person for your faults, are you not, Lieutenant Lewis?”

  Dan looked at him, clenching her jaw and refusing to reply.

  “Indeed, I believe that too much honesty has been a problem in your past, but will it be a problem in your future, I wonder? So answer me this. After you closed the Tenacity investigation and were ordered to move on and make no further inquiries into anything or anyone involved in that unfortunate series of events, have you, or have you not, been spending your own private time, inasmuch as a serving member of the British Armed Forces has such a thing, trying to track down Able Seaman Ryan Taylor?”

  The question hung in the air, and both men were looking at Dan.

  She watched Harrow-Brown carefully, thinking about her answer and about the young man who’d gone missing without a trace shortly after she’d escaped from the nuclear submarine HMS Tenacity. He was presumed to be on the run, presumed to have been part of the conspiracy that had been allowed to fester on board there, and yet Dan still believed him to be a key pivot in unlocking a larger conspiracy that she’d not yet been able to break. She had indeed been looking for him, had spent evenings and weekends researching his family history, trying to figure out where he might go or who he might run to, walking around areas he and his family had frequented throughout Taylor’s life, and showing pictures of him to people there, hoping for sightings; to date, she’d found nothing.

  “And what am I to understand by your silence, Lieutenant Lewis?” said Harrow-Brown.

  Dan looked at Blackett.

  He looked both angry and hopeful, maybe not in that order. He’d be hopeful that she hadn’t and already angry because he knew she probably had, though she hadn’t told him. It was something that was against his orders, against his advice, and against military protocol.

  “I have,” said Dan.

  Blackett turned away and slumped back in his chair.

  “Well, I appreciate your honesty on this occasion, Lieutenant Lewis,” said Harrow-Brown, smiling at her and then at Roger like a child proved right.

  “I’m a police officer in the Royal Navy,” said Dan, hating how sanctimonious it sounded. “I don’t believe that Tenacity could’ve been an isolated incident. The network required to move and process the quantity of narcotic that was found on Tenacity has to go beyond the sailors we know about. How could they distribute it and sell it? Finding Ryan Taylor is central to answering these questions.”

  Harrow-Brown smiled triumphantly and looked at Roger as
he gestured toward Dan. He said nothing, as though there were nothing to be said, as though his point were twice made.

  Roger was watching Dan now.

  She knew him well enough to see the waves building beneath the calm water.

  “And while I’m sure Commander Blackett will impose sanctions and court further discussion about your ‘off the record’ investigation, I’m also sent this.”

  Harrow-Brown raised a file and showed it first to Roger and then to Dan.

  The file bore the mark of the National Crime Agency, and Dan frowned.

  Roger hadn’t mentioned it when they’d met in a café a few hours beforehand, even as he’d told her, “Keep your mouth shut and your ears too, if it helps,” and cautioned her to say nothing, “absolutely nothing,” while she received her “bollocking from Sparrow-Frown,” one of the many names Blackett privately reserved for his boss.

  “We should discuss that separately, sir,” said Roger, and Dan detected a change in his voice, some stress, maybe, a weakening, as though he were asking Harrow-Brown to listen to what he was saying. “Once Lieutenant Lewis has left.”

  “No, Roger, not at all. Lieutenant Lewis must hear this.”

  As Harrow-Brown opened the folder, his eyes on the pages within, Roger looked at Dan, and again she couldn’t read his expression. It could have been an apology for something that was coming, or maybe a warning to keep her mouth shut awhile longer, but there was anger in it again, that was for certain.

  “So, we’re all security-cleared here, and I need to call upon your advice, Lieutenant Lewis. We have a request for assistance from the National Crime Agency, no less.”

  Dan felt her stomach flip.

  “They believe they’ve discovered evidence of a series of disappearances with a possible single offender, and it seems they’ve decided there may be a current or former link to the Armed Forces. They’ve asked for a liaison to support them. I can’t really say too much more about it, except that the target demographic seems to be women between the ages of twenty and forty-five and that they’ve found very little at all, except that these women are no longer where they should be.”

  Dan opened her mouth to speak, but this time it was Roger who raised a hand.

  “Sir,” he said, “I would very much appreciate it if we could discuss this in private.” He turned to Dan. “Danny, would you please wait outside?”

  “No, Roger, not at all. Standing before us at this very moment, we have the preeminent Armed Forces mind for cases such as this. Why would we eliminate Lieutenant Lewis from our discussion?”

  Roger turned toward Harrow-Brown and Dan again saw something pass between them. He’d always been a consummate professional, but lately, as his retirement neared, he seemed to be hastier in his decisions, more willing to stick his head above the parapets.

  “Sir,” said Blackett, the word a warning in its delivery.

  “Commander Blackett,” said Harrow-Brown, his voice casual, the use of Blackett’s rank reminding Roger of his subordinate position. Harrow-Brown’s eyes gleamed at Dan. “She will stay, and we will listen to her advice.”

  “I’d prefer to stay, please,” said Dan, looking from one to the other.

  “Good,” said Harrow-Brown. “So, with this small amount of knowledge in mind, I need to ask you this, Danny. Whom should we attach to this case? There are few candidates in your branch qualified to investigate loss of life, a skill set required for this type of investigation. Only two of you are left in the navy, eleven in the army, and three Royal Air Force, so the pool is shallow.”

  Dan reddened as she realized why Blackett hadn’t wanted her here.

  “Captain Kevin Sharpe from the army investigative team could be a good choice, don’t you think, Danny?” said Harrow-Brown, his use of her first name adding insult to the growing knowledge that he was going to block her appointment to this case. “He gained good experience working in the Iraq Historical Allegations Team, among other assignments. He’s an officer who has always shown excellent judgment.”

  “Sir,” she said, looking at Roger and then at Harrow-Brown, trying to compose herself. “I’m far and away the most experienced and qualified to support an investigation like this, and I’d be willing to do that.”

  Roger looked away, his head turning as his eyes fell to his lap.

  “Indeed,” said Harrow-Brown. “You would be eminently qualified, and I have a request here”—he brandished a letter—“that specifically asks for you, by name, but…” He paused and let his eyes run up and down her until Dan had to brace herself to prevent a shiver from crawling up her back. “Your judgment cannot be trusted, as we were only moments ago discussing. Furthermore, we aren’t able to trust your relationship with the media, a lesson we all learned the last time Commander Blackett saw fit to place you into a role like this one.”

  “That’s bullshit,” said Dan, remembering how the dissertations she’d written had been leaked to the press, that in them she’d stated that the man reckoned to be the United Kingdom’s most prolific serial killer, Christopher Hamilton, a serving lieutenant in the Special Investigation Branch, who’d twice been seconded as a liaison to the very investigation that was trying to hunt for him, had not worked alone. She’d hypothesized that he’d had help, she was certain of it, and when the national media got hold of that, the subsequent frenzy that another killer might still be out there, traveling around the world under the cover and protection of our Armed Forces, nearly ended her career and still haunted her now.

  Harrow-Brown threw his hands in the air in mock exasperation. “And here she proves our point. Foul language thrown at superiors and a disregard for the authority of this office.”

  Dan was clenching her fists now, her jaw tight, and she could feel rage trembling in her stomach.

  “You’d jeopardize an investigation to punish me,” said Dan—a statement, not a question.

  “Danny,” warned Roger.

  “Let her speak,” said Harrow-Brown, and Dan could tell from his tone that he was enjoying this, was hoping for a further reaction from her.

  Dan breathed deep, trying to control her emotion.

  “Sir,” she began, “I would respectfully ask that you consider me for this role. I’m experienced in this field and was central to the capture of Lieutenant Hamilton. I swear to you now, as I have done before, that I had no hand in leaking those dissertations to the press, which almost ruined my career. I’d take steps to ensure nothing like that happened again, and I have not engaged with the press or media at all concerning the Evelyn Simmons events. But, sir, if people are being hurt, and the NCA believe I may have something to offer, then it’s possible that we really could help.”

  He leaned back in his chair, looked at her for a few moments, and then clapped his hands several times, a snuffling laugh escaping from his lips.

  “Bravo, Danny, bravo,” he said. “I knew you’d eventually learn to control yourself, if you only had the right motivation, but I’m afraid my mind is made up.”

  “Then why include me in this at all?” asked Dan.

  “Several reasons, Lieutenant Lewis.” Harrow-Brown’s voice had regained its usually hard edge. “Because you will now know that there is a team of well-trained and trustworthy investigators around you, who have sound judgment, and, as such, you are not indispensable, as you currently seem to believe.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, his hands on his desk, as he watched her.

  “You will also know that you cannot continue to live off of, and be protected by, your single success, that you seem to drag around behind you, drawing it like a gun whenever you feel undervalued.”

  He stood up, raising himself to his full height and looking down his nose at Dan.

  “And finally, you will realize that in this branch and in this profession, we do not tolerate, or reward, those who do not conduct themselves as full and valued members of our team.”

  Dan stared at him, watching the vein on his head push against his pale, almos
t translucent skin as he forced the words out.

  “You will know that I have reached the end of my tether with you, and whilst this last debacle isn’t enough to allow me to dispense with your services, it does give me sufficient reason to consider whether you are the best face for this branch to present to our civilian counterparts when they ask me for help. I am utterly certain that you are not.”

  He stared at her, and Dan looked back at him.

  “Do you understand, Lieutenant Lewis?” he asked, his voice even.

  “Yes, sir,” said Dan, swallowing hard. “Are we finished?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Lewis, you very nearly are.”

  3

  Thursday, January 29

  Dan pulled into the communal parking area outside her house and killed the headlights. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she answered it immediately.

  “Lewis.”

  “Ah, also a Lewis here. Well, I was a Lewis, and like to think I do have many of the family traits, though I lack the stubborn pigheadedness of you and Dad, and I definitely got mum’s looks, social skills, and charm.”

  Dan laughed.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “So, you got some time for your wittier, prettier big sister?”

  Dan laughed again.

  “I’ll concede prettier, but not much. I just got home and Felicity’s coming any minute. What’s up?”

  “It’s okay. I just wanted to see how today went. Call me when you’ve got time for a proper chat, but soon, okay? I mean, like, tomorrow, or the day after for definite. I’ll send Dad to visit you for two weeks if it goes any longer. Or”—Charlie paused—“I’ll just mention to him that I called your home phone and a man answered. I’ll tell him it might be a boyfriend, but I couldn’t be sure…”