A Cursed Place

by Peter Hanington

  After Elizabeth had left, Fred went back to work. He’d been wrong about William Carver and that annoyed him. Carver wasn’t a major problem but nor was he a busted flush. More an inconvenience. Fred had the right people in all the right places to deal with him and his associates – people Fred could rely on. You needed to be able to rely on people and the only way you could do that was if you knew all about them. Secrecy equalled unpredictability. He glanced up from his screen and out across the glass-walled offices. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

  He typed in the password that allowed him complete access rights to Public Square data past and present. God Mode. An alert would notify Elizabeth that he’d looked at her file, but that wasn’t unusual. Fred liked to check her diary. She wouldn’t know why he was looking at it, or for what. On the other side of his screen he pulled up every piece of data he had on Jags – travel records, phone records, search history, Public Square … everything. A new piece of code he had would run across both files simultaneously – again and again and again. Until it found something it considered interesting – a coincidence, a common denominator, a clue. Fred sat back and let it run.

  63 Ringing True

  THE HEADLAND HOTEL, HONG KONG

  Viv was missing. The only people who knew it so far were Patrick, John Brandon and a handful of bosses back in London. The instruction from that end was not to push the panic button, not yet. They’d spoken to her parents, in part to check that she hadn’t been in touch, but also to reassure them that they were doing everything they could to find her. It had only been fourteen hours since she’d last been seen, Dan had said goodbye to her at the door to his room just shy of midnight as far as he remembered – she was heading in the direction of the lifts and her bedroom. Patrick had one of the hotel security guards open the door using a master key and found the bed still made and no sign either of her or any of her kit – phone, laptop or anything else that she’d had with her earlier in the evening. Dan suggested they check through the CCTV to see if she might have left the hotel for some reason, but it seemed she hadn’t, at least not by the front entrance and why would she use any other? The CCTV confirmed that she’d left Dan’s room at three minutes to twelve; it showed her in the lift and then walking into her own bedroom a few minutes later. After that, nothing. Patrick kept ringing her phone and leaving increasingly worried-sounding messages, despite the fact that her mobile was obviously switched off.

  ‘Where the hell are you Viv?’

  He tossed the phone onto the bed and paced his room. He reran the last conversation he’d had with her in his head – or as much of it as he could remember. He’d been checking he could keep hold of Brandon for the rest of the evening and apologising again for not being able to join her and Dan in his room. She’d interrupted him to say something odd about some new kit that had arrived and that he could go collect it. He had no clue what it was she was talking about and she’d hung up on him before he could get it straight. He remembered thinking that if it was a big deal then she’d call him back, he was busy. Now, however, it seemed significant, or potentially significant anyway. He retrieved the phone and scrolled down through his contacts until he came to Colorado Dan. The American picked up on the second ring.

  ‘Patrick. How you doin’?’

  ‘I’m okay. But still no news from this end. You?’

  ‘Me neither buddy. I’m sorry …’

  ‘Dan, were you in the room with her when I rang last night?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Yeah, I was in the room, but I wasn’t really tuned in. I was sending some copy back to the paper right around then, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Viv said something I didn’t really understand. Something about going to collect some kit. You don’t have any idea what she was talking about do you?’

  ‘No clue, sorry.’

  ‘Her voice sounded … odd.’

  ‘She was fine, she was having a good time. It could’ve been she was a little drunk? We were both pretty liquored up last night.’

  ‘Right. I see. Maybe that was it.’ Patrick paused. ‘… and you’re sure she didn’t leave anything in your room? Her phone, laptop, purse, nothing?’

  ‘Not a thing. You saw the CCTV, she took everything back to her room with her.’

  ‘Right.’

  64 Negative Treatment

  SANTIAGO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, CHILE

  Jags’ instructions were to pick the guy up from Santiago International and drive to Brochu together, but he was damned if he was going to hang about in arrivals with a board held up. He parked the Chevy on the top floor of the short stay car park and messaged to say where he was. He wound his window down and watched planes take off and land until he caught sight of a well-built young man in sunglasses, white T-shirt and camo pants who could only be looking for him. The fellow looked tall when Jags noticed him in the wing mirror and even taller by the time he reached the car.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m Nate … Nathan.’

  ‘You’re not sure?’

  The guy smiled. A real-looking smile, he was nervous.

  ‘Let’s go with Nathan.’

  ‘Right, glad we got that sorted. Do you want to get in, or do you want to run after the car while I drive?’ Nathan looked like he could run a good part of the way from here to Brochu without drawing sweat, but he decided to get in the car anyway, pushing his kitbag down into the footwell. Jags noticed that he’d placed it zip end up and not by accident. His own gun he’d moved from the glove compartment to the map holder on the driver’s side door. Nathan was a lefty from what Jags had seen so far and Jags was right-handed; this would leave him at a slight disadvantage. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to try to shoot each other straight away. ‘Where to?’

  ‘Er, Brochu I guess.’

  ‘You guess? I was told you were the man with the plan. That you were going to tell me what was going to happen.’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

  ‘Okay.’

  They drove in silence for a while, Nathan drinking in the scenery and trying to get the measure of the man sitting next to him.

  ‘You saw me back in Cupertino, I was taking a test. Maybe you remember?’

  ‘My memory’s not great.’

  Nathan smiled.

  ‘You saw me. And I saw you back.’

  Jags nodded. The kid was beginning to find his feet.

  ‘How did you do? In the test?’

  ‘Aced it. Aced all of it. Summa cum laude and all that crap.’ Jags nodded. If he had to guess he’d say this boy was a farm boy, Midwest like him and clever, like him. And itchy-footed.

  ‘So how come you quit the army?’

  Nathan sniffed. Jags had guessed right.

  ‘Other opportunities presented themselves. Like you I guess.’

  ‘Right decision so far?’

  ‘So far, great decision. Too many meatheads in the army, I’m not one of those.’

  ‘No …’ He glanced across at his passenger. ‘… I bet you’re not.’

  The road started to get steep, and Jags shifted down a gear. ‘Get us, shooting the breeze. We could probably talk all day, but you know what? I think I’d like you to tell me what the fuck the plan is now, Nathan. If you don’t mind.’

  The young man nodded.

  ‘We’re going to offer her a scholarship. Somewhere in the States, anywhere she likes. Get her out of the way.’

  He set it out at some length – memorised perhaps, as Jags could hear Fred’s voice in much of what he told him. Soledad would be given a fully funded scholarship to any American University she chose – Harvard, Yale, MIT, New York if she wanted to go to New York – her choice. The objective was to get her the hell away from Brochu, out of the country, until things were working the way the company wanted them to work. They could leave open the option for her to come back later and play a role. Public Square had provided this sort of opportunity many times before and the kids who took the
scholarships were often a lot more employable, more useful to the company after the scholarship than before. Jags listened carefully.

  ‘And the mother gets to keep her job here?’

  ‘We don’t give a shit about the mother.’

  ‘Okay. And if Soledad says no.’

  ‘We don’t think she will.’

  ‘Is that right? But if she does …?’

  The young man glanced around the car, scanning the dash and the sills above the windows. Jags shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry Nathan. This is a very old Chevy, the only thing listening to you in here, is me.’

  He nodded.

  ‘If it should come to that, then we’d be authorised to use negative treatment …’ He turned and looked at Jags. ‘… you understand?’

  ‘I understand what negative treatment means, yes. I just thought it was only Mossad who called it that.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘So let me get this straight, Nate – either she says yes to the scholarship, or else Fred wants us to kill her.’

  65 Letters

  STOCKWELL ROAD, LONDON

  Carver had bought a block of slow-release goldfish food, although it looked to him like it was releasing too much food, too fast. His fish couldn’t believe their luck.

  ‘Slow down you idiots, that has to last you a fortnight at least.’ He scooped the block of food back out with a wooden spoon – he’d drop it back in just before he left – and went to check his luggage one more time.

  Packing had taken longer than he thought it would. Most of yesterday evening, in fact, and much longer than it used to. He’d recovered his grab bag from behind the door, dusted it down and checked the contents. Unsurprisingly, the three sets of clothes that had been stuffed in there for over a year smelt a little musty, but he could live with that, he’d air them when he arrived. He’d checked that both passports were still in date and counted the money and he did the same again now. He had more euros and American dollars than he would need and not enough Hong Kong dollars, but he could sort that at the airport. His washbag contained everything that a washbag should, although the toothpaste had dried in the tube so he’d made a mental note to buy some of that at Heathrow too. Most importantly his recording equipment – the MiniDisc recorder and the Marantz – were in full working order. After checking them, he had wrapped them back up inside their yellow plastic bag along with the bit of kit that McCluskey had given him. What took the longest amount of time was deciding what he should wear to travel in, not something that he ever remembered having thought about before. He’d got quite attached to his brown corduroy jacket, but that seemed like the wrong choice, as did the brogues and briefcase. In the end he decided on his favourite pair of Farah trousers, black Doc Marten shoes and an old blue blazer that had gone a little glacé at the elbows, but was otherwise fine. It wasn’t until this morning, when he put these clothes on, that he realised this was exactly what he’d been wearing the day he returned home from Egypt – his last foreign assignment.

  He put the bag by the door and went to make himself a quick tea and a slice of buttered toast. He wanted to call McCluskey and find out whether she’d made it down to her sister’s yet. He suspected not, since her packing job was considerably more daunting than his. He checked the time. He’d have to call her from the airport, since more pressing now was the arrangement he’d made with Rebecca to meet at Paddington station. She wanted to give him a letter to take to Patrick and she’d arranged a later-than-usual start at her school in order to do it. Carver would meet her at the statue of the bear and then jump onto the Heathrow Express.

  Carver wondered what the station staff did with all the jars of marmalade that children and Japanese tourists left next to the Paddington statue. Most likely they’d have to bin them for health and safety reasons. It was a shame, there was a jar of perfectly good Dundee orange thick-cut with its seal still on. He moved to a nearby bench and sat down; Rebecca was late but the underground was horrible this morning and the trains to Heathrow left every fifteen minutes or so – he had time. He was about to use that time to call McCluskey, when he saw Rebecca frantically circling the statue. With her blond bob and wearing a red raincoat with a brown satchel on her back, she looked like a character from a children’s book herself. He waved, picked up his bag and walked over. She was apologising before he was even within earshot.

  ‘… and that change at King’s Cross is such a nightmare, I’d forgotten, I’m so sorry. I was absolutely certain that I’d missed you …’ Her forehead was damp with sweat and she looked pale.

  ‘It’s fine, I’ve got time. Are you all right? Do you want to sit down? I can go grab you a tea if you like?’

  She shook her head and pushed her hand back through her hair then glanced at her wet palm.

  ‘No, I’m fine. I mean I’m sure I look a fright, but I’m generally fine. Let me give you this letter and then you can run. I need to get off to school anyway.’ She unshouldered her bag, opened it and pulled out a long cream-coloured envelope. She’d written Patrick’s name on it in bright blue ink and underlined it. ‘Here it is …’ She held it briefly in both hands before passing it over. ‘… thank you so much for agreeing to take it.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ He stuck it in his inside pocket, next to his passport. ‘Have you thought about what I suggested? Moving in with a friend or your parents for a week or two?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes, I did. My mum and dad are back from holiday in a couple of days. I can go stay with them, if you think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Fine. Consider it done.’ She attempted a smile but it wouldn’t quite stick. ‘I hope you have a good trip William. Or a safe trip anyway. Say hello to Patrick for me, say …’ No words came. ‘… well maybe just give him the letter.’

  ‘I will.’

  The floor interested both of them equally. Neither seemed sure how best to bring the encounter to a close. Carver didn’t know whether he should try to give her a consoling hug? Or shake her hand? Or what? The moment passed – Rebecca put her satchel back on and, with a brief wave, turned and left. Carver watched until he lost sight of her among the crowds of commuters streaming back down into the underground. He picked up his bag and was about to head for the train when the jar of Dundee thick-cut caught his eye again. He reached down and picked it up. A tourist – French by the sound of her accent – was watching him and tutted.

  ‘What is it you are doing?’

  ‘I’m taking this marmalade.’

  ‘It is not yours.’

  ‘No, that’s true. But realistically …’ Carver pointed at Paddington’s stony countenance. ‘… he’s not going to eat it, is he?’ He stuck it in his blazer pocket and walked purposefully in the direction of his platform.

  66 The Good News

  BROCHU, CHILE, SOUTH AMERICA

  Soledad knew trouble when she saw it. As Jags and his fellow American pulled up outside the house she called her youngest brother in from out of the yard where he’d been playing keepy-uppy with a battered-looking leather football. She gave him a handful of change and sent him off in the direction of the shop. Jags overheard the instruction she gave him as she was zipping up his jacket.

  ‘Buy whatever you like, but don’t come back until you see that this car has gone.’

  With Claudio gone, she was alone in the house. She invited the two men into the front room and sat them down at the small dining table. She directed her attention at Jags only, scarcely acknowledging the other American’s presence.

  ‘I left you messages – after the ceremony – you ignored me.’

  ‘I was busy.’

  ‘Busy waiting for your bosses to tell you what you should do about me?’

  Jags smiled.

  ‘It was quite a performance Soledad, nobody who was at the unburying this year will forget it in a hurry.’

  ‘I called you because I wanted to explain.’

  ‘Explain? Or
apologise?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I have nothing to apologise for. I did what I did for a reason.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘By reminding everyone how bad things have been here in Brochu, people are more united than ever around the idea of changing the town.’ Nathan sighed heavily and Soledad shot him a look before resuming her conversation with Jags. ‘That one-page document you gave me said that Public Square wanted to take the people with you.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So now they’re with you.’ Jags nodded slowly. He had no doubt that Soledad had persuaded Brochu to back her. The problem was that the changes she imagined and the change that Public Square was offering were two very different things. She jutted her chin in Nathan’s direction while still addressing Jags. ‘And this man? What is this man here for?’

  ‘Ask him.’

  She looked at Nathan now, who to his credit managed to hold her stare.

  ‘Have you read my list of proposals for Brochu?’

  The young American nodded.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Yeah I took a look at that.’

  ‘Good. So what happens now? We negotiate?’

  ‘Negotiate? No, what we do is …’

  Jags interrupted.

  ‘This is Nathan, I picked him up from the airport in Santiago, he’s just flown in from California. He had some good news to give you and we thought we’d do that face to face.’

  ‘Good news?’

  ‘Yup. You remember how, when we first met, you told me you wanted to get your mother and brothers all set up so you could get away, see some new places?’

  Soledad nodded.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Well, it looks like we might be able to make that happen sooner rather than later.’

  Jags sold the offer of the scholarship as persuasively as he could. He did a better job than Nathan would have done – emphasising the fact that her mother would work, her family would be looked after, holding out the possibility of her returning with a bunch of qualifications and better able to help Brochu in the long term. He saw the occasional flicker of interest but no more than that. When he’d done, Soledad stood up from the table.