by Lee Rowan
Yesterday they had gone out again, playing tourist at the Naval Museum, and seen a bit more than the average sightseer was privy to. They were the only audience for the 2:00 p.m. Battle of Trafalgar presentation, and just as the taped cannon started booming in the gun deck diorama, a doorway opened at one end of the exhibition chamber—an event not on the printed schedule. From within, a polite young Naval officer invited them behind the scenes and through a series of tunnels that took them somewhere under the old Naval Academy to a firing range where John learned that the automatic he’d been issued was accurate, and so was his aim.
It was even better to discover that he had no residual issues about firing the gun. He didn’t like the noise—never had—but just like riding a bicycle, the body memory was easy to access, and his hand-eye coordination was as good as it had ever been.
He also learned something that surprised him at first—though it made perfect sense. Kevin’s additional field experience had brought his skill up to and equal with John’s. In fact, given that Kev had actually been in life-or-death combat situations, he had experience under fire that John lacked. But instead of feeling competitive, as he might have years ago, John was pleased by the way the outcome of their practice seemed to boost Kevin’s self-confidence.
And he wasn’t just pleased in some abstract, self-sacrificing way. Kevin had been more his old self last night, romantic and playful. He’d hinted that the massage he’d refused the night before would be more than welcome, and John had the pleasure of working the tension out of every inch of his lover’s strong, sensual body. And then Kev had appropriated the oil and returned the favor with dividends, and, of course, things went considerably beyond a relaxing rubdown. They played, and slept, and played some more, finally stopping for a late supper and the beddy-bye call to their minders.
Then it was back to bed—but not to sleep. John didn’t know when they’d finally dropped off, but he’d bet any money Kevin had slept right on through after that, free of the death-dreams and nightmare fears. Sex might not be the answer to everything, but it certainly helped. If only they could stay here like this for a few days—close themselves away from the outside world, put it all in suspended animation, have a little time to pull themselves back together.
John hoped that the crisis, when it came, would be resolved thoroughly enough to allow Kevin to relax the tight control he had imposed on himself. It was really no surprise that Kevin had developed that trait—his father was pretty typical of the career military man, expecting his children, and especially his sons, to be good little soldiers and follow orders.
Kevin was smart; he had learned to adapt to that heavily structured life, but he was also introspective enough to realize that being gay set him outside his father’s definition of a real man. He had done his best to keep what was useful and discard the rest. Still…. Kevin might have consciously severed his father’s domineering authority after that interview before the hearing, but the habits of a lifetime didn’t change so easily.
Selfishly, John was grateful for Kevin’s self-control. He’d gone out once or twice with fools who behaved as though passion and recklessness were synonymous; he appreciated having a partner who was willing to deal with his own feelings. But at the same time, he didn’t want to see Kevin suppress everything until it blew out in nightmares—and while there were hypnotic suggestions he could make to counter that, he had his own integrity to consider. He couldn’t let himself slip into the seductive trap of manipulating Kevin “for his own good.” That would be disastrous for them and their relationship.
Moving very slowly so as not to wake his lover, he shifted so he had an arm around Kev, who mumbled something and burrowed closer. It was going on 9:00 a.m., and they’d have to be up and about by ten for the morning’s first phone call.
The alarm would go off in half an hour, anyway. They had an excursion planned for this afternoon, a trip to buy paint—another perfectly ordinary errand. Since neither of them was working a regular job at the moment, they wouldn’t have the usual home-to-work routine that a stalker might be able to learn. But in a new home, even small projects like painting a kitchen could require frequent excursions.
And the store’s being a little way out of town would be better for their purposes. The holiday crowds were already showing up in Portsmouth for Christmas events, and it would be too easy for their quarry to hide in a throng—as well as more dangerous to the civilians if Blackwell used them for cover. Better for everyone if they established a pattern that took them out onto open roads. If Blackwell was bent on using an SUV as a weapon, they’d be safer inside another vehicle, even Kevin’s little car.
But they didn’t have to face that for another half an hour. They had thirty minutes. For Kevin, it was a little more time to sleep; for John, time to lie here and enjoy the warmth of his body, the miracle of his breath, the beauty of his face. He had lived without all that for too long. He was going to appreciate every second he was given and pray that their time together would be measured in years rather than days.
TUESDAY NIGHT’S squall had blown itself out by Thursday morning, though the fair weather came with a drop in temperature. John could see his breath as they left the house through the back entrance. Kevin locked the french doors and fiddled with the remote that would disarm the garage alarms.
There were two separate garage alarms, one on the pedestrian door and the other on the lift-up hatch. Jones’s crew had gone so far as to install a motion sensor on the car itself; even James Bond would’ve been satisfied with the precautions. But John still held his breath until Kevin backed the little blue coupe out into the alley.
“Keep an eye out for the delivery van,” Kevin said as John climbed in. “That’s our drag car. We’ll be moving out behind a red Mini with a white top.”
“A Mini?”
“You’d prefer an Aston Martin with an ejector seat?” Kevin chuckled. “Johnny, the whole point of camouflage is presenting a face that nobody really sees.”
“You’re going to be insufferable,” John sighed. “I just knew it.” His grousing was only a joke, and they both knew it. He was relieved and happy to be out in the open once more, even with lowering clouds threatening rain and a chance of snow, even with the potential danger.
“There’s our nanny,” Kevin said, as the little red car scooted down the street just before they turned out into traffic. “Don’t forget, if another car gets close, check the driver’s face.”
“I know, I know.” He was already doing exactly that—looking at every pedestrian, every parked car. This simple trip was planned with military precision; the local police had been warned of an antiterrorist action being conducted in Portsmouth, and if there was trouble, they could count on as much assistance as they could hope for.
“Here’s our van,” he told Kevin. He couldn’t make out the driver, but as he squinted at the figure in the passenger seat, Sgt. Jones gave him a thumbs-up. “Papa Bear hard astern.”
“I’ve read that male bears kill their offspring,” Kevin said in a conversational tone.
“Well, you’ve said he’s a rough customer.”
Kevin chuckled. “I don’t really care if you want to paint the kitchen white,” he said unexpectedly.
John laughed. “I don’t really care if you want yellow—if you really do. My gran always said yellow walls hide kitchen grease.”
“My mother says yellow is good for the digestion.”
“What?”
“She had acupuncture for something or other and read that in a book on Chinese medicine. Apparently yellow is good for the stomach. Don’t ask me why.”
John assimilated this bit of information. He thought Kevin’s mother was a pretty sensible woman, but he didn’t know what to make of that. “How can she tell?”
“Haven’t a clue, Johnny. I can call her later if you’re really curious, but it doesn’t matter. We may as well just get the sample strips this time out. I was only thinking white does make sense since we don’t
know what sort of table we’ll get, and white’s neutral.” He laughed. “When did I get so damned domestic?”
“I know what you mean. My old place was very beige, wasn’t it? And I didn’t give a damn. Until you turned up, home was just a place to eat, sleep, and study. Now it’s everything.” He put a hand on Kevin’s leg, not wanting to distract him but needing the touch. “I’m glad you came back.”
“So am I. It was funny, though, now I think about it. Even before the mission went to hell, I was getting restless. Maybe it’s turning thirty—time to settle down, make a home for ourselves. Didn’t seem much point to it just for myself, but with you it really matters.”
The traffic picked up for a bit, so John turned his attention back to the other cars that passed them in the next lane. Three of them were driven by women, one by an older couple—midday in the middle of the week, that made sense and made his job as spotter a little easier.
They reached the DIY store without incident, and, after collecting enough paint samples to match anything in the Sistine Chapel, took a quick run through the rest of the store. In the lighting department they found a floor lamp that was both inoffensive and had a nice fat clearance markdown. There was a bit of kitchen furniture on offer, but John didn’t like the prices, and Kevin was certain his mother could direct them to a secondhand furniture shop that would have something better made and less expensive.
They could have lingered a lot longer—John spotted a computer station that had design software for remodeling work and thought they might make a model of Kevin’s proposed attic renovation—but they decided to take pity on the two commandos stuck lurking amongst the plumbing supplies one aisle over. Still trailing their escort, they went through the checkout and got the bulky package safely back to Kevin’s car. There was no fear that the vehicle had been tampered with, not with Jones and company in the van parked only a few spaces away.
A few minutes after they’d turned back onto the road, this time following the van and trailed by the Mini, Kevin’s mobile beeped. “You boys need groceries?” the Sergeant inquired.
“I don’t know. Kev, do we need groceries?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jones said. “Turn in at Sainsbury’s. There was a Mercedes pulled out a little too prompt behind you. I just want to make sure he keeps on going.”
Another quick stop, this time for groceries, restored the Sergeant’s peace of mind.
“Do you really think anyone would make a move this soon?” John asked after the second errand was accomplished.
“Not really.” Kevin paused to let a courier van pass before pulling out of the car park. “But I’m damned sure Blackwell isn’t going to send us an announcement. We can’t let our guard down for a minute.”
“I hope the bastard tries driving like an American and the police get him.”
“It doesn’t take that long to switch over,” Kevin said. “I’ve done some right-hand driving. It’s the left turns you have to watch.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of years ago. I was part of a team sent to do cross-training in Canada.”
“We could get married in Canada,” John said thoughtfully. “Might be fun to see Niagara Falls.”
“My mother would kill us. I know domestic partnership isn’t quite the same, but that’s how England would register a Canadian marriage, and Mum’s already been hinting that she wants to throw a party.”
John grinned. “I will not wear a long white dress.”
“Damn right you won’t,” Kevin agreed. “I’d say plain dark suits, but I’d love to see you in proper dress clothes, for once.”
“Let’s let your mother decide.” John was watching for traffic, trying to do his job, but the road was clear and quiet for the moment. “I don’t know how your father’s going to take all this, Kevin, but I love your mother.”
“It’s mutual,” Kevin said. “When I told her about the new place, I found out that she’d never quite forgiven me for letting you get away the first time. If we couldn’t get legal partnership, I think she’d just go ahead and adopt you. My sister’s all for it, too. You’ve got a family now, like it or not.”
“I like it a lot. I hope your brother can deal with it, when we break the news.”
“I don’t think he’ll care one way or another. When I came out, he said he would take my share of the women. And if he can’t handle it—well, I almost never see him except at Christmas. We’ll need to make plans for that, too. Presents for the kids—chocolates or wine will do for the adults.”
“I hope we’re through this mess by then,” John said. As they approached the deserted stretch of road where they’d rescued the kittens, he added, “You know, I miss the cats. I’m grateful your mum’s keeping them safe, but I really miss them.”
“So do I,” Kevin said.
“You’re joking.”
“No. It’s funny, I got used to them waking me up every morning. The house is too quiet without them. I didn’t think I’d miss the crazy little buggers, but I—oh, shit!” He started to brake. “Johnny, check in, see if Jones can tell what’s up.”
Two cars had apparently disputed the right-of-way and collided in the middle of the crossroad less than a mile ahead. The road was blocked both ahead and to the left. John snatched the mobile phone from the seat between them just as it beeped.
“Looks routine, boys,” the Sergeant said, “but I don’t see either driver, and one of ’em looks like the car that followed you. No, wait—there’s someone sitting beside the first car, left side of the road. I’m going around on the shoulder to the right. You follow me. There should be room if you go slow. Car two, if we get clear without interference, stop and offer assistance.”
John relayed the instructions and rolled his window down, wondering if they ought to call an ambulance. No, Jones had probably taken care of that, or the men in car two would. There was no need for him to complicate anything; this team knew what it was doing.
“Goddammit!” Jones roared in his ear.
John jumped, jerked around, and saw that the delivery van had attempted to pass around the wrecked cars and somehow got stuck. It was tilted at an angle that suggested one wheel had dropped into an unseen ditch. Accidental, or a deliberately concealed deadfall? “What’s going on?” John shouted, hearing a gunshot but unable to see where it was coming from.
“Trap! Turn right and drive on!”
His warning was unnecessary. As they got closer, the figure huddled beside the wrecked cars stood up with a gun in his hands and opened fire on the delivery van, joined by another gunman who’d apparently been hiding behind the second vehicle. The immobilized van was disgorging passengers, who took cover behind it and returned fire.
Kevin didn’t need to be told anything. He made the obvious decision and swerved down the open, right-hand turn of the road, drove on for about a quarter-mile, then pulled over, dragged two combat helmets out of the backseat, and thrust one at John. They both rolled down their windows and leaned out, trying to see what was going on.
“He said to keep going,” John shouted over the gunfire, though he would have done exactly what Kevin did.
Kevin shook his head. “No point. Six men in the van, two in the Mini. Unless there’s a concealed ambush, they’re outnumbered and outgunned.” As he took the mobile from John, the little red car made the same turn and pulled off about twenty yards behind them. Two men got out, armed with automatic rifles. One ran off toward the firefight, the other jogged over to John’s window.
“Yes,” Kevin was saying to Jones. “Right. I’ll call him now.” He punched another button, paused. “Colonel? Yes, at the intersection. I see two shooters, there may be a third. No, I can’t tell, no ID at this distance. Silver Mercedes, the other vehicle’s tan or gold. Can’t see enough to tell, it could be a Honda. Police and ambulance both, I think. And a wrecker to clear the cars from the right-of-way.”
John was listening to the odd, one-sided conversation beside him with one ear while bei
ng instructed by the soldier from the Mini that they should stay where they were until the situation was under control. He obeyed, mainly because he couldn’t very well open his door without knocking the man down.
“Yes,” Kevin said on his right. “Yes, sir.” He passed the phone to John, but leaned over to say, “Colonel for you, Washburn,” to the soldier outside.
“Thank you, sir.” Washburn took the instrument and moved a few feet back toward the battle, apparently relaying more specific information to his commanding officer.
“So it’s over, then?” John asked, as the gunfire behind them died back to a couple of sporadic bursts, then stopped altogether.
“So it seems.” Kevin was twisted in his seat, looking back toward the scene. He took John’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I hope so. But we won’t know for certain unless Blackwell’s in with that lot.”
“I’d wondered if he might be working with anyone else.” John felt very strange, almost dissociated. The neat manner in which they had been removed from the actual violence—in a way he was grateful for it, but in another way, it made the thing feel oddly unfinished.
“I don’t know how he’d recruit anyone for such a brainless stunt,” Kevin wondered. “Unless it was a total hoax—presenting himself as the government antiterrorist agent and making us out to be the villains.”
“Better that than a whole gang out to get us,” John said. The gunfire had ended; the acrid scent of cordite blew toward them on the chilly wind. But the same breeze was blowing the clouds apart, and the sudden winter sunshine was welcome.
Washburn came back and passed the phone to Kevin. “It’s Sgt. Jones, sir.”
“Thanks.” Kevin listened for a moment. “What do you mean, you can’t—yes, I can. I’ll be right there.”
“Now what?” John asked.
“I have to go check the casualties. Three shooters, all dead. Two of ours wounded.”
“Blackwell?”
“Jones isn’t sure. One of the casualties has a beard. It could be Blackwell—he fits the general description—but the Sergeant isn’t buying it. He wants me to take a look.” Kevin took the key out of the ignition and opened his door.
