by Mike Binder
He was on the High Street, just leaving a Toni and Guy hair salon where he’d picked up a set of brushes for his sisters. His list was completed and he was going to meet some friends at the pizza place just on the other side of the overpass.
“Do you want to come to our place and watch a movie on my iPad? My dad and my brother are going to Brighton for the day. I’m sooooo bored.”
The world changed for the boy. The color of life lit up with a vivid brilliance he’d never seen it have. The wind had a beautiful brace to it. The cars seemed to motor along in a synchronized melody. He was taller, it seemed—taller, firmer. He didn’t feel the bumps and grinds on his face for the first time in a long while. This was how life was supposed to feel. His eyes teared up and his hands shook as he answered the text.
“Sure. I’d love to come over. What’s the address?”
* * *
ADAM HAD A long day ahead of him. It was a key day. Things had to work out or he would have no future. If today fizzled, all the days after would be more of this: more running, more hiding; more mildewed hotel rooms; more fear; more fright. And that was a best-case scenario. Today had to be successful.
He went and saw Beauregard McCalister at the Gloucester Studios. He waited for him to arrive, flagged his car at the gate, and hopped in alongside him. When Beau first saw Adam, he was relieved that he was alive, then was quickly perturbed that he had come back.
“I need help, Beau.”
“I told you I can’t be involved. You’re as hot as can be. Even with that shaved head and the goatee, you’re still gonna get picked out, and if it’s with me, I’m gonna pay for it.”
“I don’t have a choice. I need help. Do you understand? I need help. Tonight. I need one of your stages.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can have it all cleared out. Shut it down, send the guard home, but I need it. Tonight.” Beau looked over. He wasn’t one to turn away a friend, not one in this much need, but this was insanity, a borderline lunatic rant.
“I need that set of the prime minister’s office you have. I need it set up and lit on one of the stages. Build it, leave it lit. Walk away. That’s all I want.”
“The prime minister’s office? What in hell do you need that set for?”
“You said it was authentic. Detailed?”
“It is. It’s a beauty. You’d never know it from the real thing.”
“Good. Leave it up and lit. I need it tonight. I’ll never bother you again.” He and Beau locked eyes. Adam begged himself not to tear up. Beau saw it. It wasn’t an act. He was at the end of his rope.
“I’m innocent, Beau. I’m an innocent man. More important, my wife and my kids are innocent. I’m the only one looking out for them. I have no choice here. I’m in serious danger. We all are. They killed Gordon, Kate’s father. Murdered him in cold blood. I watched it happen. I can’t get it out of my head. This is a nightmare. I’m living in a nightmare. I have to end it.” They both sat there in silence while Beau took it all in.
“I’ll be back tonight. I need that set built and lit, Beau. I have to have it.”
He stepped out of the car and took the narrow walkway out to the street, turned up his collar, and hustled off. Beau clocked him in the rearview mirror. Once he was sure he was gone, he reached for his mobile and dialed. He took a deep breath, wasn’t the least bit happy about what he was going to do.
“Henry, it’s Beau. I need that prime minister’s office set built on stage three. Now. Need it lit and set up for tonight. It’s for a friend. It’s a private deal. They’ve got their own crew, their own security. Just set it up and give the late shift the night off. With pay … It’s for a friend, that’s all I can tell you, Henry.” There was a pause as the man on the other side questioned the order. Beau chuckled. “No, it’s not the Rolling Stones again. It’s not a music video. I’d tell you this time, I made you that promise. It’s someone big, but not them.”
* * *
IT WAS A chilly night in Croydon. It was just past eight p.m. on Saturday evening. The light from the nearly full moon filtered through the spotty fog, giving the street outside of the Early home a sleepy haze, as if it were much later. It had rained earlier; the streets were wet and shined vibrantly, the whole block for some reason smelled brand new tonight. Jack stood on the stoop overlooking his diminutive garden, having a smoke after a meal. It had been a nice day for Jack: no work. It was the first time in a long time. There was nothing scheduled, and “she” hadn’t called him in on one of her ludicrous quests. She left him alone for the first full day in maybe forever. These last few months had been holy hell. He was glad things were finally calming down.
He slept late. What a blessing. Until ten. He took his girls out for breakfast. He helped his wife by cleaning out the back shed and caught up on some reading. He wanted to spend some time with his son, but he had been out all day. He apparently had run errands for his mother in the morning, brought back the goods, and took off like a bat fleeing hell. He probably spent the day with his mates. Early had a memory of his own boyhood. He was glad that his son had missed out on all the pain he had had to go through. His kids would have a better life. That was nice.
So was his smoke. The misty air made it all better. The whole world was a gentle place tonight. It was the first time in weeks that he didn’t feel dark and dirty with a nagging secret.
After a few minutes, as his smoke warmed and then threatened to burn his fingers, he looked across the way. A man who had stood up from the bus bench—he’d seen him before—was walking over to him from across the street. Was he coming here? Who was this fellow? Something about him seemed familiar. He came closer, the bald man with the goatee. He was limping and had something in his hand, maybe a tablet of some kind. Was he coming here? Sure enough, he was. He came right to the front of the house and let himself into the little gate. He walked straight up.
“Hello, Jack. My name is Adam Tatum. It’s nice to see you. Again.”
Early froze. His arms and legs seized up; his blood stopped flowing. It was him. The American. In the flesh. What was he doing here? The entire world is looking for this one, and here he is, off my stoop. He couldn’t form words.
They just stared at each other for a beat. The American opened his iPad, pulled up a photo, and handed it over to Jack, who cautiously took it.
Jack’s face broke into an instant sweat. It was his son, little Ryan. It was a photo of him playing with a young lady, the American’s daughter. The two them were on the ground, playing a card game of some kind, forced to look up and smile. The girl was holding today’s edition of the Sun. It was clearly his Ryan. Tatum had planned for Jack to be speechless. He was prepared to do most of the talking, so he did.
“I have your boy, Jack. He’s happy, but I promise, he’s not safe. You’re going to do what I say. Beat for beat. You’re not going to call anyone, tell anyone, or do anything stupid because I promise you, Jack, I’m not someone who would take pity and let the kid go. I don’t have an emotional streak that bends that way. I’m basically a caged rat, Jack. You and your friends have seen to it that I have nothing to lose. If you trip me up, I’m going to kill this boy. Rest assured. I’ll put a knife through his heart. I’ll jam it straight in and I’ll twist it slow. I’ll stare right into his eyes as he dies. I’ll be the last face he sees. Do you understand?”
Early said nothing. He couldn’t move, form words, or process it all.
“Nod, Jack. Nod and tell me that you understand.” Early finally nodded. His entire body was now wet with sweat. How is he here, this man? How did he find me? Why me? I had the least to do with it all. He finally saw a way to words and spoke for the first time.
“I thought it was a fake bomb. It was only supposed to scare him. It was going to be a dud.”
“It wasn’t a dud, though, was it, Jack? It wasn’t fake bullets that killed four people either. My father-in-law, Richard Lyle, two cops. This is murder. Treason. You people have crossed a v
ery dark line.” He handed Jack a mobile phone, a cheap pay-as-you-go.
“It would be a shame if your son had to settle up for all this with his life. Take this phone. I’ll call you in an hour. Don’t say a word to anyone. You and I are spending the night together. As far as your wife and girls are concerned, you got called in to work. Got it? Nod again.” Early bobbed his head on demand, like a trained parlor act. Adam grunted back, turned, and limped away, down the road, the opposite way from the bus bench.
Early was suddenly whimpering. Adam could hear him from three doors away as he walked back to the rental car. That was good, he thought—he had taken something that Early couldn’t bear to lose. He normally would have felt bad about all of this, about taking an innocent boy and scaring his poor father to death, about showing his own family this type of behavior. They had changed all that, these people. They had made Adam a different blend of a man, the kind that didn’t feel bad anymore about any of it.
STEEL ■ 4
Steel had requested a private meeting with Georgia. She had been denied and was told it would be better with the PM’s schedule if she waited until the next SO15 meeting on the investigation that had been scheduled for Saturday morning. It was now Saturday evening. The meeting had been pushed back all day and now had been rescheduled for nine. She had tried to call Georgia several times. There was never any answer, and now this morning, when she tried again, a message thundered on that the number had been discontinued.
She had tried to drop in on her, which apparently was laughable. She was denied access at the security gate. She wanted to tell the security officer who she was—not who she was professionally, but about the private place she held in the PM’s heart. About the gentle kisses they had shared, the way they’d been affecting each other’s breathing patterns.
She wisely decided against it and left.
On Saturday night, when they did have the meeting, as she was led down to the Cabinet Room with Darling and the others, she took a minute to dodge left and sneak a craned head into Georgia’s office where she was sitting alone at her desk, reading.
“Can I grab a quick word?” Georgia looked up and saw Steel. She had forgotten how beautiful she was.
“Yes, of course, Davina. Come in. Come in.” Steel entered. Georgia got up and gave her a warm hug. She closed the door behind her. “I’d offer up a tea, but I gave my private the day off. I’ve driven him a bit too hard lately, I think. I’ve driven everybody a bit hard, what with nine p.m. Saturday night meetings and we’ve got these…” She was nervous, afraid to let a sentence come to a stop. Steel finally cut her off.
“I won’t need a tea. I’m sure they’ll have something in the Cabinet Room and I…” Georgia interrupted her now.
“I’m so sorry for everything, Davina. If I’ve done anything. I haven’t wanted to play with you, I promise. It’s been hard, these days, and the circus I’m ringleading doesn’t leave room for sneaking off. You understand, right?”
“Of course. Of course I do.”
“I think of you. A lot.” Steel smiled lightly, guardedly. She didn’t want to volley back with sentiment. She wanted to stay strong. Her heart hurt too much to kick it that way. They stared at each other. Georgia reached out and moved a lock of hair from Steel’s eye.
“I know, Georgia. I know.”
“You know what, sweetie?”
“I know you’re involved. You and others. I know it goes that high up.”
The room fell and stayed silent for the longest time. Steel stirred the stillness back to life.
“I’ll go in there now, give a rehash on where we are with the investigation, give the newest details that we have on where the American and his family are, and then you or someone in that room will pass it along, and before long they’ll all be dead, dead like the others—murdered to keep you all safe and cushy. Here. In this house.” She looked closely into Georgia’s face as she spoke. She wanted some clue as to her next move. None was revealed. Georgia had been a power player too long to reveal cards so easily.
“Davina, I’m sorry, but you’re off base. I’m painfully aware that I have crossed a line; a romantic involvement was … not smart, I’ll give you that, but to come up with a story like this…” She paused and tried to show Davina the way it would lay. It was going to be a bravura performance. This is what she wanted Davina to register. A masterful artificial tear ran down Georgia’s left cheek. “I understand if it’s gotten too personal, if it’s too much for you, clouded your thinking. I want you to know, I don’t blame you. I’ve toyed with your feelings. I had no right.”
Steel read between the words. Georgia would throw her against the rocks, destroy her credibility, her career. She knew it was an empty threat at best, but it still had the same wallop it would have had if it bore any honest weight to it. Once again a shock of quiet floated through the room. Neither of them was sure what the next set of words should be. Georgia finally looked at her watch.
“The sit-down is scheduled to start, love. Let’s not delay it.” She opened the door to the office and ushered Steel from the room. “I won’t be long. I’ll meet you down there.” Steel looked away, marched heavily down the hall. Georgia watched her go. She knew that it was now irretrievably over for her and young Steel. If she wasn’t extremely careful, the same could soon be said for her political career and maybe even her freedom.
* * *
THE MEETING WAS uneventful. Darling and his group waited in the Cabinet Room for a good twenty minutes for Georgia. She finally came in, calm, yet seemingly under the normal weight of running the business of the British people. Darling and Steel once again downloaded to the others where they were on finding Tatum, which was none too inspiring. The late-model Volvo was found in London in a parking lot of a public housing block near Wapping Gardens, just off the river. There was a dustup at the American embassy. They thought the family had been planning to go inside, but something stopped them at the last minute. There had been some shooting but no one was apprehended. The trail was cold after that, although there was some brewing evidence that the father-in-law had a cousin in Wales who had been working to get them off the island, over to Ireland, and then on to America. It was a quick meeting. Steel only spoke a bit. Darling did most of the reportage now. He was taking the reins as well as the lashing for how long this was taking to bring to conclusion.
Georgia again let it be known that she wanted to be kept close on any developments and then promptly shut the meeting down. It was Saturday night; she was aware that they all had private lives to attend to and apologized for all of the delay. As the room drained, she motioned for Darling to stay back. Once they were alone, she dropped her cool.
“Donald, we have a big problem. I’m going to need a personnel change on all this.”
“Of course, ma’am. Is it me?” he half joked.
“No. Good god, no. It’s Inspector Steel. I’m afraid we’re going to have to replace her. It’s gotten to a point where I think it’s too personal, too much for her. She’s too young, isn’t she?”
“I suppose she is young, but she’s a talent, ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying. I think it’s a mistake.”
Georgia volleyed right back, sure in her serve. “No, it’s not a mistake, Major. She’s a risk. We need to set her down immediately. Bring someone else in.” They stood face-to-face.
“I want it done straight off. She’s out. Very important.”
“Is there anything else, ma’am?”
“No, nothing else. Enjoy your Saturday—what’s left of it.” Darling collected his things and left the room. As he did, Georgia melted quietly away up the hall.
* * *
ONCE HE WAS gone from Downing Street, in his car headed back home to Richmond, Darling rang Steel on her mobile.
“Your trap worked. You were spot-on. She’s dead center on all this. It’s incredible. It’s horrible is what it is. I was hoping you were way off, but you weren’t.”
“I knew I was right, sir. How d
id she handle it?”
“You’re under her skin. Put it that way. She wants you off it immediately. Seems to me that you’ve somehow put the PM’s panties into quite the bunch.”
Steel nodded wistfully to herself. The good major general didn’t know the half of it.
TURNBULL ■ 5
They huddled quietly in the living room of Georgia’s flat at Number 11: Georgia, Heaton, and Burnlee. She was adamant that the call for a vote on this referendum had to wait. It was too damn soon, and things were in too precarious a state. She had put her foot down, called them over this late on a Saturday night to let them know she wasn’t in any place or shape to be pushed on this.
“We are not in the clear here. You both need to understand that. This has become a leviathan, a landmass of its own that we’re heading straight toward at a reckless speed. I’m begging you here. Not for us, not for our necks, but for the sake of country. This is a disaster. It could tear things apart at the fabric. I don’t need to spell this all out to you two.”
“What is it that’s got you so rattled, Georgia?” Heaton had his cool and calm voice on. He was trying to remain as unruffled as he could, hoping to make her see that her agitation was unfounded. “The way I see it, things are fine. Loose ends have been tied down. Roland is healing nicely, happy in his hospital bed and planning to go home to Belgravia in a week or so. The country’s moved on. A sudden referendum could be the sideshow it needs—a new story for the papers to lead with.”
“People suspect. We’re being watched. I have to warn you.” She addressed Burnlee now, hoping for some seasoned sanity to flow. He was quietly listening, assessing as usual. “We can’t thunder through, not now.”
Heaton pressed back. “Who suspects, Georgia? Who has you rattled?”
“I think Darling knows. At least he suspects that I’m somehow involved. He probably assumes you are as well, David. I’m not sure who else he thinks may be on board.”
