The Girl in the Mirror

by Philip J. Gould

  Nearing the end of his meal, a man George recognised stepped into the diner and crossed confidently towards him. He was a bit banged up but avoided too much attention by hiding the bandage (still wrapped around his head) beneath an Oxford University baseball cap, blue in colour with the university logo embroidered to the front. George was mopping up snotty egg yolk from his plate with a broken piece of bread. The man striding towards him had an A4 sized manila envelope and the way he walked indicated that he was packing a concealed weapon beneath his shirt.

  “George,” the newcomer greeted, taking one of the two empty seats opposite the dining man.

  “Dominic,” George acknowledged, talking between mouthfuls. “I’m guessing you’re not working for the corporation anymore on account of the exaggerated report of your death last night.” When the kids had all been tucked up in bed, George had searched the internet for information regarding his wife’s earlier accident. In little time he’d read that the media were reporting a two car collision in which the driver of a silver Mercedes had been killed. He recognised the number plate despite its mangled, warped and singed condition. Details regarding the occupant of the other car were not known, but George knew. She was being held hostage until he did whatever ill designed plan her captors were shortly to lay down on him.

  “What can I say? Reports of my demise were slightly exaggerated.”

  “Still... it’s good to see you didn’t go totally unscathed.” George had noticed the bandage and accompanying cuts and scratches to the newcomer’s face.

  The waiter who’d served George his meal appeared at the table and asked the newcomer if he could get him anything.

  “I think I’d like one of your premium shakes. The mint chocolate is…” Dominic looked George straight in the eyes, “… to die for,” he finished.

  The waiter smiled, wrote down the order and disappeared.

  “To tell you the truth George, I’ve grown weary of all the running around. It was beginning to feel a bit like a JJ Abrams TV show, or one of those things on HBO. I fancied a change. I’d heard the money is in going freelance,” he said with a smile. “But my new business venture takes a bit of financing.”

  “I guess you’ve not won the lottery, then?”

  “Alas, no… That brings us to you.”

  George finally finished his meal and laid his cutlery down on the centre of the plate, pushing it to the side.

  “Go on,” urged George. “Get it over with.”

  “Here.” Dominic handed the manila envelope across the table to George, who accepted it reluctantly and pulled open the flap that was loosely sealed. Inside the envelope was a brochure for the Masterpiece London Art & Antiques Fair.

  “What’s this?” George hadn’t known what to expect inside the envelope, but a brochure for an antiques fair was a complete surprise.

  “Open it up. I’ve bookmarked the page.”

  George flicked through the thin publication and stopped at a page upon which a post-it note had been stuck to highlight the article Dominic was drawing his attention to.

  George’s look initially was nonplussed, before it melted into one of amusement.

  “A diamond?”

  “Not just any diamond, George. The Whisper of Persia is one of the largest diamonds ever cut. 101.29-carats! Its value could set one up for two or three lifetimes.”

  “It’s very pretty.” George agreed. He handed the brochure back to Dominic just as the waiter returned with the former agent’s order. Dominic closed the brochure and pushed it to the side.

  As the waiter placed the premium shake down on the table, Dominic smiled gratefully, directing a “Thanks,” his way.

  “So, what’s this got to do with me?”

  Dominic drew a mouthful of mint chocolate milkshake through the straw and grinned.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I want you and your girl to steal it for me. You do that one thing for us; we’ll give you your precious Harriet back.”

  “What if I refuse?” George didn’t want to hear the answer, but Dominic gave it anyway.

  “Well, let’s just say, you won’t have a very long Christmas shopping list this year.”

  George snorted and shook his head incredulously. “All of this to steal a diamond. Why don’t we rob a bank while we’re at it!?” His voice was slightly raised drawing one or two heads to turn his way.

  “Shoosh, you fool!” Dominic growled. “I don’t think you understand that your wife is going to die if you don’t do this.”

  George couldn’t believe that his wife had been kidnapped for such a ridiculous reason. All along he’d been expecting that they were going to want to trade her for Sophie. Instead it was to draw her out, to use her in an elaborate scheme that reduced them to nothing more than common criminals.

  As the glares and interest from other restaurant patrons subsided, George sunk back into his chair, his demeanour relaxing as the gravity of what was being asked filtered in. After a long, uncomfortable moment of silence had passed, punctuated only by sucking and slurping sounds from Dominic who continued to drink his premium shake, George threw up his hands in surrender, and took a deep breath.

  “Okay. Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. When?”

  Dominic put down his milkshake and theatrically glanced at his wrist watch, a Seiko analogue, silver and gold bezel with matching strap; more a functional timepiece than a fashion statement.

  “Oh… Shall we say in two hours? Should be enough time for you to plan the heist and get Sophie onboard. I assume she isn’t far?”

  “She’s here,” George confirmed. “But two hours… that’s not enough time to plan this.”

  “Don’t cry George, I’ve got it covered. I’ve cased the place out already. I’ve been planning this a long time,” Dominic finished his milkshake. “Meet me at Chelsea Embankment Gardens at two-thirty; I will fill you in on the details then. Make sure you bring Sophie with you.” Dominic stood up, pulling out a black leather wallet from his trouser pocket. Opening it, he pulled a crisp twenty pound note out and dropped it to the table. “I’ll shout lunch. They can keep the change,” he said. “I’ll see you later.” Turning, he left George and walked out of the now buzzing restaurant that was Ed’s Easy Diner.

  George slid the brochure that Dominic had left from the opposite side of the table, and opened it up again to the page on which the Whisper of Persia was pictured. He studied the vivid yellow and brilliant cut diamond, wondering what it would feel like in his hands.

  Well, won’t have to wait long to find out, he thought, finishing what was left of the Iced Coffee Frappe.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Harriet

  Harriet was getting desperate. It had been almost a day since she’d been separated from Charlie. She wondered how he was getting on with his broken arm, wishing that she was there to comfort him. She sniffed back tears, berating herself and willing herself to ‘be strong’. If not for herself, for her children.

  It seemed like such a long while had passed since the previous morning when she was back at Willoughby Rising with her two sons and daughter, overlooking the North Sea and enjoying the splendid view afforded her from the hilltop. They had been safe, or so she had foolishly thought. With her son falling from the crab-apple tree her world had metaphorically shattered, almost like Charlie’s arm had.

  But who was she trying to kid? They’d never been safe, not in the truest meaning of the word. When she’d agreed in assisting George with his research, carrying the child through to birth, she had never dreamt of the pain and hardship that would soon follow. If truth be told, she wished she’d lost the damn thing. Life would have been far less complicated had Sophie never existed.

  A sudden electronic sound buzzed from the corner where the door was. Harriet allowed her thoughts to drift away, like smoke in a breeze. The doo
r opened and the smooth American with the male model looks reappeared.

  “I’d started to think you’d forgotten about me,” said Harriet, the emotion and fight from the previous day having departed.

  “No, no, Harriet. We’ve just been biding our time. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for the right moment to present you with this.” Brayden held out the ten-inch iPad to the woman and played the video.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “This… Harriet… is insurance. You see, if your husband fails to deliver his part of the bargain, not only will he never see YOU alive again… he won’t be burdened with having to look after your children any longer either.”

  On the tablet’s screen a video played showing an image of two kids running around in a garden that Harriet vaguely thought familiar, although the sound was turned down low, she could just make out the playful sounds of screaming and laughing children – her children – as they enjoyed a game of ‘it’ or some such pastime. Another – smaller – child sat on a patio chair almost out of camera shot, but Harriet could just make out the telltale sign of a bandaged arm elevated in a sling.

  “How…?”

  “How did we know to find them there? Well, we had a little help, Harriet, to be honest. But that’s by the by. The fact is we know that your children are at your father’s house, and we are watching them. Closely. Don’t worry. They are perfectly safe. For now.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Harriet pleaded, dejected. She continued to watch her children playing, oblivious to the intrusion posed by two men stationed in a silver van parked across the road, the video camera attached to a telescopic lens pointed into the garden.

  “Well, it’s one thing for your husband to carry out a robbery for the safe return of a loved one, but an entirely different ballgame altogether to give up something as precious as his beloved Sophie. One wonders whether he’d be willing to sacrifice one child for the lives of three.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No Harriet, we’re just following orders.” Brayden snatched back the iPad. “When the time comes, I hope I can trust you to help your husband make the right decision. For you AND your children’s sakes.” With that, the American turned and left the woman to absorb what he’d just said.

  Harriet felt terrible, fear grappling at her mind, tearing at her heart. She felt sick to her stomach, acid reflux gurgling just out of vomit reach but she retched all the same.

  Calming herself, Harriet took slow, deep breaths. Whilst trapped in this temporary prison, she was powerless to help her children. If she was going to survive she needed to think positively.

  Where was her husband? The GPS tracker strapped to her ankle would pinpoint her exact location. George would not forsake her. He had insisted the whole family wear such devices – despite all her vocal protestations – so why hadn’t he come to the rescue?

  Then a thought occurred to her. Well, actually two thoughts sprung to mind, one colliding with the other for greater prominence, both vying for overall attention. It was almost like she had a split conscience, one positive, and one negative. Like in a cartoon she imagined an angel whispering into one ear and the devil the other.

  Maybe George hasn’t come for you because he was not able. He was after all responsible for three young children in addition to Sophie.

  Thought number one sounded logical in her mind, and though she knew he wouldn’t want his wife to come to any harm, she knew that there was more at stake than just saving her.

  The other voice was less encouraging, an all but certain mood killer.

  Perhaps George has no plans on rescuing me because he is complicit to their plans. She considered this momentarily, and then it was gone – dismissed, the angel winning the contest. She knew how resourceful George had become, how determined he could be. He’d sheltered and protected them no matter how close their pursuers had been. For more than two years he had been their saviour. George would not forsake them. Not now… not ever.

  “But hurry up George, do something. We don’t have much time,” she whispered to herself, beginning to fear for her safety. It was just a matter of time, she knew, these men holding her captive would resort to other methods to get what they want, and George would not be giving up Sophie easily.

  Sophie Jennings wasn’t just a kid with a special talent; she was a weapon that would be more than useful in a world where wars were no longer fought by armies, but by civilians in everyday clothing using everyday things.

  The great war effort could do with a person with Sophie Jennings’ abilities. How the tide would turn if the enemy faced a similar obstacle to that of the civilised western world, that they were no longer able to see the soldiers of the west as they advanced and annihilated them mercilessly.

  Harriet had no doubts that Uncle Sam would do absolutely anything to get his hands on Sophie. With Sophie, the possibility of a burgeoning new army could be developed; an army that was not only stronger, would never get old and be near invincible; also, having the added benefit of being invisible.

  “I know you have your priorities George. Just don’t forget about me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sophie

  Shortly after 2:30 p.m. within the confines of the Chelsea Embankment Gardens, George wandered across to a memorial bench upon which Dominic was already seated looking casual as he watched the world go by, enjoying the midafternoon sun and hiding behind a pair of designer Aviator sunglasses and the same baseball cap he wore earlier at Ed’s Easy Diner. A folded newspaper lay to the side of him providing him with a more innocent look to any passerby who gave him a casual glance; just a guy out for a stroll, taking a rest to read his newspaper in the tranquillity of a small recreational facility, a temporary sojourn from the bustle of the city and the well sought houses and apartment blocks that enclosed it. The river Thames was within view just a look over the shoulder.

  “Where’s Sophie?” Dominic asked, watching a woman pushing a double buggy, a girl of seven or eight months in one chair, a boy of two in the other. “You know, she is integral to the plan…”

  “She’s here,” George cut in. He sat down next to the man. He still looked pretty banged up to any who bothered to inspect him closely.

  “Where is she?” Dominic demanded.

  “Around,” George replied, nonchalant. “But you won’t see her. Unless she wants you to.”

  Shortly before arriving, George had parked the Peugeot in a neighbouring street a corner away from the Royal Hospital Chelsea, within whose grounds the Masterpiece London Art & Antiques Fair was nearing the end of its annual exhibition. “Okay Sophie, do your thing,” he had said to the teenage girl, having briefed out the details of the task that Dominic had set out for them.

  “I’m not happy,” she had replied hawkishly before following it with a sigh.

  Within a moment he’d watched his daughter vanish before him, slowly at first, then absolutely as the change passed over her limbs, up her body and finally cloaked her face and head. It always amazed him to watch, reminding him of being the kid at a magic show. On arriving at the park, George had ordered her to keep her distance.

  “I was rather hoping to meet this ‘special’ child of yours, George.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint,” George grunted. Trust me, you don’t want to meet her, he thought, ominously. “Now, if you don’t mind let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Very well. Here,” Dominic handed George a floor plan of the exhibition. “The Whisper of Persia is being kept in a glass showcase at A-five on the plan. We will be entering the building via the London Gate on Royal Hospital Road.”

  “Okay.”

  “The glass case will be alarmed,” he continued, “and on sounding police will be on site within two minutes − standard response time. There are two guards hovering around close by and another half a do
zen loitering around the main corridors in various places, but these I assume will pose no problem for Sophie – after all, they won’t be able to see her.”

  “True.”

  “There are a number of other things worth stealing. That exhibit alone has a dozen items worth upwards of a million pounds each. Your girl is to just focus on the diamond – nothing else. I’m not a greedy man.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s not at all interested in stealing and is doing this with the most reluctance.”

  “Good. Also, I don’t want her to be cocky. She shouldn’t get involved with any of the guards if she can help it. There should be no fatalities. They are just doing their job after all.”

  “They won’t see her, so there’ll be no reason for any nastiness.”

  “Exactly. Your job is to ensure she gets it done. Here,” Dominic offered George his folded newspaper.

  “I don’t read the tabloids.”

  “It’s not the newspaper I’m giving you; it’s what’s hidden inside.”

  George took the newspaper and peeked to be certain. A folded knife was concealed within.

  “A knife? Isn’t that contradicting what you just said?”

  “Sure, but it’s also a glass breaker. Sophie might find it more useful than trying to break into the display case using her bare hands.”

  George closed the newspaper tightly around the carbon steel object. “Okay Dominic. When do we start?” he asked, nervously.

  “Now you’re keen!” Dominic laughed. “Under different circumstances we could’ve been friends.”

  “I doubt it,” George muttered under his breath.

  Ignoring him, Dominic went on: “I’ve judged it that the exhibition is at its busiest from three onwards. So, around now. It’s open until nine p.m. So I’ll let you take the lead here.”