by Bill Kitson
‘I’m trying to contact the man who lives over there,’ Smith pointed to the house across the street. ‘It’s important I speak to him.’
Sonya knew an army officer when she saw one; she’d worked at the local garrison before she was married. It was there she’d met her husband. Now he’d been dead for months; the bitterness was as keen as on the day she got the news. And she knew how devastated Steve had been when Mel and his girls died. Now this character was snooping round. Why? She didn’t like the look of him, didn’t like the sound of his voice. It made every request a demand, every statement an order. ‘Like I said, who wants to know?’
‘I’m afraid that’s confidential. Do you know where he is?’
If I did, I wouldn’t tell you, she thought. ‘He’s gone away. He’s trying to recover from a bereavement.’
‘Yes, yes, I know all about that.’ The man waved a dismissive hand.
You callous bastard, Sonya thought.
‘Have you any idea where he’s gone?’
The baby was crying. Sonya could feel a damp patch on her arm. And the stranger was getting right up her nose. She remembered something Mel had told her. About a holiday disaster they’d had. After which Steve had vowed never to set foot in France again. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’
‘So?’
‘He’s gone to France for a couple of weeks. He went at the weekend. Or was it last week? I can’t quite remember exactly when. He said he couldn’t bear to be in the house any longer, so he was off to get right away.’
‘Did he go on his own? Or did you see anyone else at the house? A young woman? Late teens, long dark hair?’
‘You must be joking.’ There was no mistaking the anger in Sonya’s voice, and the look in her eyes was so hostile Smith actually backed away a pace. ‘The poor man’s wife and children died less than three months ago. And you come around insinuating he’s got some girl in tow. Off on a dirty weekend. What sort of animal do you take him for?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Smith didn’t sound very apologetic. ‘France, you said, any idea which part?’
‘He said something about hiring a car and touring round. Said he’d just point it down the road and see where he ended up.’
‘Would you do me a favour?’ Smith smiled ingratiatingly. Sonya felt vaguely sick. ‘If you see him, or hear from him, would you mind calling this number?’
Sonya took the proffered card. It had no name on it, no address, merely a telephone number. ‘Who do I ask for? I assume you do have a name?’
‘Smith,’ he told her reluctantly.
She nodded and watched him return to his car. After he drove off, she waited on the doorstep to make sure he didn’t return, then went inside. She was about to tear the card up, when she changed her mind. She found a piece of paper and a pencil and scribbled a short note. After she changed the baby’s nappy, she cradled her in the crook of her arm and opened the front door. She glanced up and down the street, before crossing the road to stuff the note through Steve’s letter box. When she was certain the street was empty of cars she returned home.
Jessica was bored. After their morning run and training session, Steve had made breakfast. Immediately afterwards he sat down on the couch and opened his laptop. She sat opposite him and watched for a while. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Eventually, she asked, ‘What are you doing?’
He looked up. ‘Apart from giving myself a headache and wishing I knew more about computer programming? I’m trying to find some software to decode those encrypted disks.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Do you know much about encryption?’
‘Quite a bit, yes.’ She smiled at the surprise on his face. ‘I’m studying programming. I was intending to do computer studies at university. That was until I became a burglar.’
He beckoned her over and turned the laptop towards her. ‘There you are. See what you make of that.’
She peered at the screen. After a few minutes she looked up. ‘You’re right; this isn’t going to be easy. The whole thing’s an alpha-numerical code, but you’ve probably already worked that out. It’s one where numbers have been substituted for letters and vice versa. They’re the hardest type to crack.’
‘So, we’re no further forward.’
‘I said it was difficult. I didn’t say it was impossible. Any code can be broken, given time. Let me have some paper and I’ll make a start.’
The task took three long, frustrating days of concentrated effort. It involved both of them, the laptop, and a seemingly endless supply of paper. When they finished, they had a series of numbers and letters arranged in columns. The tables that provided the answer to the encryption covered both sides of two A4 pages. ‘I had lots of theories for the reason behind my abduction,’ Jessica said, ‘ranging from rape downwards, but writing a software program and applying it to a code breaking exercise never entered my mind. Do you want to start converting the content of these files into English?’
Steve shook his head. ‘We need to go back to Helmsdale. With the computer and the lights on, the battery’s getting low. Apart from that I need to collect some new gas cylinders and top up the water.’
‘Is that why you’ve banned us from showering for the last three days?’
He nodded. ‘Thank goodness for that. I was beginning to think you were developing a fetish for sweaty girls.’
They pulled up outside the house late that evening. He told Jessica to stay in the van. ‘I’m going to check the house.’
He went inside and reappeared at the back door a couple of minutes later. After he looked round, he beckoned her inside. She scrambled out of the van, clutching the bag containing the files. She dived through the kitchen door. She wasn’t sure why, there was nobody in sight. It was something about his look that conveyed urgency. Or that something was wrong.
‘What’s matter?’ she asked as he closed the door.
He passed her a small piece of paper. ‘Steve’, she read. ‘I’d a bloke snooping round asking questions about you. Looked like a red cap to me. Said his name was Smith. Didn’t like him, or his attitude. Wanted me to ring him when I’d seen you or spoken to you. Are you in trouble? Sonya’.
When she’d finished reading, Jessica asked, ‘Who’s Sonya?’
‘She lives over the road. Her husband was killed on a tour a few months ago. She and Mel were mates.’
‘What does it mean? Who is this man Smith? Do you know him? Are you in some sort of trouble?’
He shook his head. ‘Apart from kidnapping, imprisonment, breaking and entering, criminal damage and being in possession of explosives, I can’t think of anything I’ve done wrong. But if this guy Smith is who I think he is, I’m in trouble: big trouble. Either I am, or he is,’ he added reflectively.
He looked up, saw her puzzled expression and explained. ‘I served with a Captain Smith.’ He told her about the failed mission.
‘It was the first time we’d taken MAD. It stands for Modified Amphetamine Dependency, or Mood Altering Drugs if you prefer it. They were the prototype of the performance enhancing drugs we’re taking now. The ones I stole from Helm Pharm laboratory. The ones your father is responsible for developing.’
‘What happened? On the mission?’
‘There was a hell of an argument. Smith ordered us to attack an insurgent controlled village. Four of us against over two hundred. One of the guys, Johnny, refused. They had a blazing row, but Smith was in command.
‘When I met up with Smith after it was over, he told me the insurgents had killed Johnny. He told me to cover him whilst he went to call down the rescue helicopter.
‘I came under fire from about half a dozen rebels. I shot a couple, including their headman. The rest took off.’ His face darkened with anger. ‘That’s when I heard the chopper do the same. Take off, I mean. The bastard didn’t even wait to see if I’d got away. At the time I thought it was cowardice, pure and simple. I should have known with Smith, nothing’s simple and certainly not pure. But I
soon learned the truth.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’d taken a round. Just a flesh wound, but it was bleeding a bit. I’d lost my kit in the firefight, so I went back to where Johnny was lying. I knew he’d got dressings in his pack. His body was in the middle of a ring of boulders. His wound was a through and through.’
‘What’s a through and through?’
‘The bullet went into his body and came out again. You can always tell where a bloke’s been shot. The entry wound’s small, about the size of the bullet. The exit wound’s a lot bigger, and far messier. Johnny was lying face up. I had to turn him over to get at his pack. That was when I saw he’d been shot in the back. As I turned him, my left hand was on his chest. This dropped into my palm.’
He placed a small lump of distorted metal on the table. ‘I couldn’t work out how two guys as smart as Johnny and Smith got outflanked. They’d never allow a bunch of insurgents to come up on them from behind. Then I looked at this and realized the horror of it. And knew that it wasn’t cowardice made Smith abandon me. You see, that casing comes from a British army rifle. The Taliban use nothing but Kalashnikovs. Smith shot Johnny in the back and left me to the tender mercies of the insurgents in case I started asking questions when I got back to base.’
‘Did you? Ask questions I mean?’
‘No, I didn’t. I suppose I should have, but I’d no proof. Apart from that bullet, and there’s nothing to say Smith fired it. I’d three days walking to think it through. By which time the drugs had worn off. So I decided to keep quiet.’
‘That really is horrible. I don’t think I can imagine anything more wicked.’
‘I’m not sure I can either,’ he agreed.
But that was because neither of them had read the encrypted disks.
‘What are we going to do?’
He looked at her, pleased by the word ‘we’. ‘One thing’s for certain, we can’t be seen here. First thing I’m going to do is move the van. There are some lock-up garages at the end of the street. I rent one. I’ll park up behind it, run an extension cable out and charge the batteries. Whilst I’m there I’ll replace the gas cylinders and put a couple more in. We might have to stay in the wilds for a while.’
‘What about the water?’
‘There’s a tap in the garage. I’ve a couple of containers I can use to top the tank up with. It’ll take an hour or so. I want you to stay here, out of sight whilst I’m away. That means no lights on.’
He reached into his pocket and took out the pistol. ‘This time it is loaded. That’s the safety catch. Make sure you leave it on, unless you have to fire it. When I get back, don’t open the door until you’re absolutely sure it’s me on the other side. And just because whoever’s there says they’re me, don’t believe them. Make sure and get proof.’
Jessica had become used to silence. She couldn’t believe an empty house could be capable of producing so many noises. The central heating gasped and gurgled, the immersion cylinder bubbled and spluttered and the fabric of the building produced more creaks and groans than an arthritic old man. To begin with, she found herself checking the luminous display on her watch every couple of minutes.
She forced herself to relax, to try different methods to distract her attention from the slow passage of time. She told herself Steve was a professional soldier. He wouldn’t put her in harm’s way. He knew what he was doing. Nobody could possibly guess she was inside this house. Except that it was his house. And Smith had been round looking for him. She forced herself to patrol the ground floor of the house, moving slowly from room to room, gun raised, ready to confront homicidal intruders capable of shooting people in the back. That served to increase the tension. It didn’t help that every other stride provoked the floorboards to provide a new sound to go with the rest.
She returned to the kitchen and sat back to try some deep breathing exercise. The chair creaked alarmingly. She found a position where she could relax without causing it to protest and waited. She glanced at her watch. Fifty-five minutes had passed. He should be back shortly. She hoped. Was it her imagination, or had she heard a sound outside. She listened, waited, heard it again. Someone coming up the path. A shadow passed across the window blind. Jessica raised the pistol. Her thumb felt for the safety catch.
There was a tapping sound on the glass panel of the door. ‘Jessica?’ She heard the voice. Was it Steve? ‘Jessica, it’s me, Steve.’
‘Prove it,’ she said, remembering his instructions. ‘Tell me something nobody else could know.’
Without a pause he said, ‘You’ve a mole on the underside of your right breast. And another on the left cheek of your backside.’
She unlocked the door. ‘Pervert,’ she muttered as she let him in. She saw the gleam of his teeth in the darkness and knew he was laughing at her.
‘How did you get on?’ Change the subject. Fast.
‘Water’s topped up. Battery’s on charge. And I’ve replaced the gas cylinders. Battery should have enough in it by morning.’
‘Do we stay here tonight? Or in the van?’
‘Neither,’ he said, to her surprise. ‘We’ve got work to do. The fact that Smith’s been snooping round makes it even more urgent. But we can’t do it here. The van’s too vulnerable as well, whilst it’s here. Give me a minute. I need to collect something. Then we’re going visiting.’
‘We can’t visit someone. Not at this hour of the night. People will be in bed, asleep. Normal people that is, not nutcases like you.’
‘There’s nothing abnormal about Sonya. She doesn’t sleep very well, she told me. And I’ve just passed her house. The lounge light’s on.’
‘And what’s she going to make of me? Turning up with you in the middle of the night, I mean? Won’t she think it a bit, well, you know?’
‘I’ll soon put her right. I’ll explain that I kidnapped you.’
‘You’re going to tell her that?’
‘I have to, can’t avoid it. Not if we’re going to convince her what we’re going to tell her isn’t a fairy story. Now, hang on there a couple of minutes.’
He disappeared, but was back in no time. ‘Bring the gun, and be ready to use it.’ He slipped the strap of the laptop case over his shoulder and let them out of the house. When they reached the front wall he held up a hand to detain her. He peered round the end of the building, looking both up and down the street. ‘Walk, don’t run,’ he told her. ‘And, arm in arm. Pretend we’re a courting couple.’
‘The things you have to do in the army,’ she muttered.
chapter thirteen
Smith’s visit had unsettled Sonya more than she’d have thought possible. Concern over Steve coupled with her continuing grief meant that for the past three nights she’d hardly slept a wink. She’d prowled the house throughout the early hours, unable to settle to anything. Hot baths, hot chocolate, camomile tea; nothing helped.
The knock was little more than a gentle tap, but in the silence it sounded thunderous. Sonya jumped; her heart racing. The shock was compounded by the knowledge that the knock was on the window, not the door. She crossed the lounge swiftly, before whoever was out there could knock again. She didn’t want the kids waking. She flung back the curtains, saw it was Steve and sighed with relief. He pointed towards the door and signalled to her to close the curtains. She nodded and hurried to let him in.
She unlocked the front door and opened it wide. ‘Steve, what’s going on?’ She started to ask, but the words died in her throat. Partly at the sight of the girl standing behind him, but mostly because of the gun.
‘Tell you inside,’ he brushed past her. The girl followed. Sonya closed the door, locked it and turned. The hallway was empty. She went into the lounge. Her visitors were standing in the middle of the room. Steve saw the tension in her face. ‘Relax, Sonya.’
‘What’s going on?’ She looked at Jessica. ‘Smith asked me if you had a girl with you. He even described her,’ she said slowly.
‘Did Smith te
ll you her name?’
‘No, just the description. Are you and her…? Is she your…?’
‘No, nothing like that. Sonya, this is Jessica North. I kidnapped her a couple of weeks ago.’
‘What! Did you say kidnapped?’
‘That’s right.’
Sonya looked from Steve to Jessica then back again. ‘This must seem a silly question. But if you kidnapped her, how come she’s carrying the gun?’
‘It isn’t a silly question,’ Jessica answered for him. ‘If Steve hadn’t kidnapped me, I’d have been dead by now. Just like my mother and brother. Murdered!’
Sonya shook her head, not in denial, but to try and make sense of what she’d heard. ‘Let’s sit down, try to relax,’ Steve told her. ‘I’ll explain what’s been happening.’ He looked across at Jessica and coughed gently. ‘I think Sonya might feel a little easier if you put that away.’ He pointed to the gun.
Jessica looked down. ‘Oops, sorry, force of habit.’ She stuffed the pistol into her coat pocket.
The story took almost an hour, not least because of the regular need to convince Sonya she hadn’t wandered into an episode of Spooks. It was the final piece of evidence that proved conclusive. Steve produced a photograph and passed it to her. ‘See if you recognize anyone on there.’
The image was of four men, pictured outside a camouflage tent in the desert. ‘That’s you, on the right,’ Sonya said immediately. She looked closely. ‘And that one, the one in the centre, that’s the bloke who came here. The one who called himself Smith.’
‘That’s probably the only thing he’s said in the last couple of years that isn’t a lie,’ Steve told her.
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘We need a safe house until morning. I left the van behind the lock-ups, charging the batteries. We can’t stay over the road for obvious reasons.’
‘I haven’t a bed spare, unless you take mine. I can doss down on the settee,’ Sonya offered.
Jessica went scarlet. Steve smiled. ‘I told you, it isn’t like that. What we need is a table to work at. We need to decipher the files I stole from the laboratory.’
