Keep Calm

by Mike Binder

  “Yeah, yeah, go on back to sleep. I’m good. I was dreaming. Go on.”

  The baldy kept the gun cocked at the door while all three of the occupants of the room waited for what seemed like forever for an answer.

  “All right. Have a sweet rest of the night then.”

  They all waited and listened as the older man’s footsteps creaked up the hallway, the second bedroom door shut, the far-off bed bristling under his body’s weight as he burrowed back into his sheets.

  As the redhead stuffed the gag back into her mouth, she tried to bite him. She even got a nick off, but it was no use. He shoved it in deep; she had to fight too hard to breathe through her nose to worry about nipping him.

  The redhead lit another match. He smiled softly, almost warmly, and said nothing.

  Before long she felt him finding and then lifting up her nightgown, slowly traveling down her stomach, his stout clammy hands, scratching their way into and under her panties as he looked straight into her terrified eyes. When his deadened fingers found what they were looking for, they plunged deep into her, two of them, as far up as he could go without dropping the match and starting a fire.

  She wept, yet only because that’s all she could do. She didn’t dare put up a struggle or make so much as a sound. She knew on the next walk down the hall that her father would demand a talk, maybe some milk and another piece of cake. She knew it would be the last walk down the hall he’d ever take, so she didn’t struggle. She let the man’s grizzly fingers go wherever he needed them to go.

  Once sure he’d made a point, he pulled his hand out, gently straightened back her panties, settled her nightgown down. The baldy came over. The redhead stood up, let the baldy sit down in his place. He stared at her, just gazed into her eyes for the longest time with a grin. She knew he had something on his mind, this one, something more than to make a point.

  The flame went out on the redhead’s third match.

  The stocky little man walked back to the edge of the bed and handed the taller, balder one a large object. He nodded his head as if telling him to get on with it. As Steel’s eyes finally adjusted to the light coming in from the street, she saw that the object he was handed was a gas mask connected to a metal canister. He leaned down and put it against her face. She understood now that this was what she had felt on her mouth and across her nose earlier. This is how they had bound her so unaware. The lights outside dimmed for some reason; the room went as dark as a cave. The two men had still not said a single word. They never did. It was just their way. Words to Harris and Peet were a waste. Actions were all that ever mattered.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE WOKE, it was morning. The predawn light came streaming in through her window off Theobald’s Road. It was chicken-time early. She could hear her parents shuffling off and out the door on the way to the café, hear them discussing her night, a nightmare that she had had, her mother worrying about her as always. She looked down—her arms and legs were free. There wasn’t a trace of the tape on any of the bedposts.

  She was woozy, numb, and unsure of each movement she took. She needed to walk her body through each new function as if it were the first time. Sit up. Feet on the floor. Stand up. She wondered for a brief moment if maybe the entire thing had in fact been a nightmare, if it had even really happened?

  Three burnt matches were left carefully on the desk across from the bed, a gentle reminder of an event purposely staged to not easily be forgotten.

  * * *

  GEORGIA MET WITH Major Darling and the home secretary at six a.m. the next morning. It had been five days now since the bomb went off in the cupboard at the back of the White Room. The chancellor’s day was completely scheduled away, wall-to-wall meetings with urgent matters to tick off the list both at Treasury and in the prime minister’s diary—important business that couldn’t wait. On top of that, there had been a hostage situation in the middle of the night in Lebanon that had involved four British soldiers. Details were only dribbling in, but either way, it would be another crisis for her to deal with. The foreign secretary was due in half an hour with the latest report.

  Georgia’s pills were almost finished. She had been getting them from the back shelves of her father’s pharmacy up in Finchley. It would soon be time for Early to drive her up at the crack of dawn one morning and for her to go into the shop through the back to replenish her supply. She hated doing it this way. Of course she had access to the staff physicians at Downing Street, but she wasn’t the least bit interested in word getting out that she had gotten addicted to those lovely little pills of hers, not at the start of what would be a coming party struggle over leadership once it became obvious that Roland wasn’t coming back to Number 10. No, she chose to get her medicine on her own, in the only way she knew how.

  Meanwhile, Major Darling had news on Adam Tatum.

  “The fingerprints and dental records the FBI have offered are distinctly not a match for the body found in the back of the Tatums’ rented Ford. It appears the American may not be dead after all.”

  “Well, whose bleeding body is it, then?”

  “We aren’t sure yet, ma’am. This is all new and fluid. We’ll know soon. The point is, he’s out there, alive, which we feel is good news for us. I don’t see any way Tatum acted alone. We need to know who he’s involved with and why. Our best bet will be to find him safe, bring him in, and get him talking before the people who murdered whoever was under that tarp get to Tatum. The people that need to shut him down permanently.”

  Georgia agreed. She asked nonchalantly about Steel. She was told that the young inspector had taken a personal morning leave and that she’d be back this afternoon. Georgia expressed hope she’d be all right, quickly moving on to another subject, not wanting to give Darling or Burnlee any sense that Steel meant any more to the chancellor than any other civil servant or government helper who came in and went out of the offices all day at Downing Street.

  The truth is that Georgia had spent a good part of the night lying awake in her bed, wondering, ruminating, pondering over Steel. She wanted to see her again, talk to her: discuss the case, her life, her hobbies, her family, and of course her perfume. She desperately wanted to chitchat with the youthful Steel about her perfume. She could see in Steel’s eyes, when she had brought it up, a longing to have that kind of girl talk with Georgia, a similar urge.

  When Burnlee and Darling came into the den that morning without Steel, all motion left the room, like a sailboat that drops one of its mainsails and comes to an instant drift. Georgia sadly reminded herself that she had used Davina as a reason to get up and out of bed that morning, had once again dressed and made up almost purposely to see her. She wanted to stop this, this constant contemplation of the young inspector. It made no sense. She blamed it on the pills. The pills were clouding her judgment. She was sure of it. They had taken her, changed her.

  After the Burnlee/Darling meeting, Georgia had a quick meeting with the foreign secretary, Elena Dowl-Curtiss. The hostage standoff in Lebanon had been averted. A British soldier had been wounded, but all the others were safe and had been released. It was set to Alan Munroe to craft a statement, and Georgia had committed to put it before cameras in time for the evening telecasts. She thought it would be an advantage to have her going in front of the public on matters other than Roland’s condition, to get them used to seeing and hearing from her.

  * * *

  GEORGIA WAS CHAUFFEURED, at the center of a motorcade, down across the bridge and over to the hospital to see Lassiter at her lunch hour. He had been awake for a full twenty-four hours, and Kirsty and his doctors thought it would be all right for her to pop in quickly and show support. There was still a large, unruly contingent of press from around the world camped out on the curb of the hospital. Security was naturally as tight as Georgia had seen it anywhere in London since maybe the king’s coronation a few years earlier.

  Roland was groggy, wildly medicated but coherent now, and more or less able to speak. The doctors
wanted his visits limited to a very few and on a stopwatch always ticking, so he and Georgia had only a short time alone. He nodded when she came into the room and reached over for some water, his mouth too dry to speak. She saw him struggling with the cup and quickly leaned in to help. He was still shockingly handsome, even if he looked like he had aged twenty years in the last five days.

  “You poor thing, you’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”

  The words came out slowly from both of them, his from the pure physical labor, hers weighed down with a lifetime of emotion.

  “Now I know how you were feeling after the crash, Georgia.”

  “I know you suffered then, too. We were both in pain.” She smiled at him. “I’m counting on you to pull through.”

  He smiled back, his eyes going distant. Already the short conversation had tired him out.

  “It was an American? A nutter? That’s what Kirsty’s saying.”

  “We don’t fully know yet, Roland. The details are coming out. He came in on Heaton’s team. I don’t think there’s enough there yet to feel Heaton was anything other than a victim as well.”

  Roland took it all in. It was obvious that his thoughts were garbled, coming to him in static bursts. “He was there to sell his pensions package.”

  “Did he say anything to you, Roland, anything that would give one pause?”

  Roland took what felt like a decade to answer. Then finally formed a thought. “He told me to look over the binder before you did, told me to be sure to read the summary at the back carefully, before you got to me. I told him I would. I was curious. That’s why I went into the cupboard there. When it happened.”

  It was obviously too hard for him to replay the moment of the blast—too soon. His eyes watered up. Georgia’s did as well. This was an answer that said so much. Heaton had sent him to the cupboard, had caused him to feel the full force of the bomb. It was an awful indictment. Or was it? Perhaps Heaton would say he was just selling his pensions package.

  The doctors were back in the room, pushing Georgia politely now to move along. She gave Roland a sweet kiss and left, holding back her tears. He was too tired to even say good-bye and had drifted off by the time she left the room.

  * * *

  IN THE CAR on the way back over the bridge from the hospital, Georgia was told that Inspector Steel needed to see her. Apparently whatever personal matter she had in the morning was now straightened out and she had new information to share. Georgia okayed Early squeezing in a fast meeting. Once back at Downing Street, Georgia went up to her flat in 11 to straighten up, recomb her hair, and swallow one more quick little pill.

  Steel was dressed casually: a tight cashmere wool sweater and a pair of designer jeans, her hair nicely blown out. She was wearing the perfume again, even more this afternoon than the day before. Her eyes were dark today, though, Georgia thought, as if she hadn’t slept, or something had troubled her on a very personal level. It seemed as if recently she may also have been crying.

  Early brought in a tray with some tea. He left them in privacy, closing the door to the den. As soon as they were alone, Georgia couldn’t help but pry.

  “Is everything okay, Inspector? You seem like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders this morning.”

  Steel wanted to open up with the chancellor, to tell her about the incident at her home the night before, but she felt it wasn’t her place to burden her with her problems, even if Georgia was the one person she truly wanted to share it with, the only one whose shoulder she wanted to cry on.

  “No, no, thank you for asking. I’ve just had a rough night.”

  Georgia knew that there was more to the story, but she didn’t want to push. She walked over to the couch, not using her cane, sat down next to the inspector, and served her a cup of tea.

  “Madam Chancellor, I know that Major Darling has briefed you on the status of the American: that it wasn’t his body, that we’re actively looking at the details to figure out whose body it was in the Tatums’ rental car, and to find the present location of the Tatum family.”

  “The whole thing is becoming quite the mystery, isn’t it? There’s the assassination attempt, and now a murder.”

  Steel nodded as she sipped her tea. “It’s Heaton. Heaton, ma’am. He and his people are behind this. Major Darling and the home secretary will be cross with me for going to you this strongly on this. It’s not what they’ll want me to say. They wanted to have more answers, but I don’t need any more. I know without a doubt he’s right at the center of this.”

  Steel waited for Georgia to answer. She didn’t. She sat there on the couch, staring at Steel. She sensed somehow that this had become incredibly personal to the young officer, almost overnight. She moved closer, wanted to comfort her. She spoke quietly, confiding in Steel, thinking maybe that she would confide in her in return.

  “I spoke with the prime minister this morning. He’s conscious, just barely. He solved the riddle as to why he was in that cupboard when the bomb went off. David Heaton sent him in, looking for a dossier he was to read through ahead of me.”

  Steel took it all in and understood this to be Georgia agreeing with her on Heaton’s complicity.

  “It speaks darkly of Heaton. It scares me as well, Inspector. I’m sure he’ll have a story on the backside of it. I’m sure he’s prepared an ironclad version of his innocence, but it troubles me. It makes me wonder who else is involved. He’s a very, very well-connected man. This government is run sometimes by strings, strings pulled from the murky side of the shadows.”

  She and Steel sat there on the couch across from each other, trying hard not to telegraph or reveal the odd fascination or energy one was getting from the other. It was there, though, and it was then that a tear leaked, jumped, escaped, or was pushed out of the corner of Steel’s eye. It sailed slowly down the side of her face.

  The chancellor saw it at once. It took every ounce of will that she had not to catch it with her finger and softly wipe Steel’s cheek dry. She reached over for a tissue instead and handed it to the young woman.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry. I had a very hard night, ma’am.” Again, she said nothing. She didn’t want to unfold right there in the PM’s den. She didn’t think it right.

  Georgia would have none of it. She took Steel’s hand. It was warm, and soft as could be. Her thumb stroked the back of her palm, soothingly. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Davina. Please?”

  Steel closed her eyes and opened them again. She was ready to take the plunge and tell her story.

  “Two of Heaton’s men. They were in my bedroom last night. They came in the middle of the night.”

  Her words spilled out carefully. Georgia refused to let go of her hand. She wanted her to know it was all right to unburden herself.

  “They gassed me. They had my arms and legs bound. One of them … fondled me, more as a warning than a thrill, I would suppose. But it was vulgar, and the thing is, I can still feel his fingers there.” Georgia nodded. She understood.

  Steel had more. “They threatened my father’s life. The whole thing was a threat to me, to my parents, to our home.” She stiffened now. Georgia’s comfortable grip soothing her, she journeyed on from pain toward rage. Georgia could see her eyes go dark.

  “I had seen them earlier. I had words with Heaton at his building. I told him I wanted answers as to what he knew of the American’s past, of the incident here at Number 10. Of course, he claimed purity in the whole event, but he sensed I knew better. So he sent his in-house creeps to my home. To get inside of my head … inside of me.”

  Steel took a deeply bitter breath. She tried to soothe herself. Another tear fell. This time Georgia couldn’t correct herself, didn’t feel it necessary; she softly caressed the side of Steel’s cheek with her hand and looked deeply into her big brown eyes. Steel’s other hand clasped Georgia’s hand wrapped around the one in her lap. She let both of her hands float and flutter around the softness of Georgia’s satin skin.
/>   “Have you made a report?”

  “A rape report? Is that what you mean, ma’am? No. I can’t give them that satisfaction. They’ll duck it. I’ve seen what they can do. They can make it about me. They’ll use it to muddy the waters on any case we now need to bring about them. I won’t hand them that card.”

  “Have you discussed this with anyone else?” the chancellor asked warmly.

  “Only Edwina Wells, my superior at SO15. She gets it. I can trust her.” Georgia brushed away a piece of bangs that had fallen over Steel’s eye. She tried to be as calming as possible. Steel wanted to impress Georgia with her resolve.

  “I’ll take care of it. In time.” She started to tear up again. Georgia held her hands even tighter now.

  “It’s all right, love. We’ll figure this out. We’ll make sure a price is paid for this. I promise you, we will.”

  “We have to. We have to bring in the whole DGP. Get warrants. He needs to pay, Heaton. This is high treason. He has to swing for this. He needs to rot in a hole, this one.”

  “Yes. Yes, but we’ll do it right. He’s a very powerful man. He’s a game player. We’ll win with a calm head. We won’t be ramrodding this. We’ll take a breath and let the dust settle just a bit. There’s a bigger story here. There has to be. He’s too connected.”

  Steel nodded, looked down. Their two sets of hands were wrapped tightly now—four hands as one. Georgia was strong. Steel felt confident having a partner like this. What happened last night, what happened to the prime minister, to the country: a price must be paid. Someone had to pay.

  She wanted to lean forward and kiss Georgia, kiss her deeply. She wanted their lips entwined like their hands now were. She couldn’t even believe it had come to this—an undeniable attraction. How long could it be quelled? How could it not be anything other than a disaster? How could it not end in anything but shame and remorse?

  They both heard Early’s clumsy heels outside the den, stomping across the wooden floor into the office. Georgia could almost count the steps until he’d have his hands on the knob and then open the door to the den. They both wanted it to take so much longer than it would, neither wanting this moment to end. It did, though. Georgia politely pulled her hands free. She smiled and stroked Steel’s hair.