by Zoe Sharp
Despite this, we still failed. When Romundstad asked Major Gilby why, he was told it was because we’d obviously left our principal unguarded for long enough for him to be attacked in the first place. A real no-win situation.
I think I was finally beginning to learn.
***
Todd was back on his feet in time to eat, so it didn’t seem like I’d done him any lasting damage. It was clear I hadn’t made any friends in that direction though, and more than ever I regretted my instinctive violent reaction.
I found out just what a bad idea it was during the unarmed combat session that followed. Previously Blakemore had used O’Neill as his guinea pig, but when I saw the stocky phys instructor step into the gym in his place, I knew there was going to be trouble.
The thing that alarmed me most was the fact that there was nothing overt about the threat Todd exuded. There was no stare-out contest, no stamping of hooves in the dust, no throwing of salt into the ring. He didn’t even look at me. Not once.
But I could feel his enmity washing in like the cold draught from a broken window.
Blakemore had decided to teach us how to use extendible batons. In countries where we would not be allowed to carry firearms, he said, they were a viable alternative for disabling a would-be attacker.
In its collapsed form the baton was about eight inches long. It sat cold and heavy in my hand, the weight of the concealed end making it feel unbalanced.
Blakemore demonstrated the technique for opening it up, flicking his wrist so the two magnetically held inner sections telescoped out and locked into position with a solid click like the racking of a pump-action shotgun. Fully extended, the baton was just short of two feet in length and weighed four hundred and fifty grams, nearly a pound.
The sight of it was enough to push sweat out all along my hairline.
A year or so previously I’d had my left arm broken in two places by someone using a metal rod that seemed very similar to the baton. He’d been aiming for my face at the time and if he’d connected I probably wouldn’t be still around to tell the tale. My forearm still gave me gyp when the weather was cold and I could forecast rain with it more reliably than the Met Office.
Listening to the fizzing sound of the baton parting the air as Blakemore made a few exploratory swipes with it brought that memory rushing back in all its sharp and bitter glory. It made my bones tingle, sent a ripple sizzling across my skin.
Blakemore and Todd moved onto the crashmats and sprang at each other, sparring with the batons and a liberal dousing of testosterone. They clashed with great energy but to little effect. Like a couple of stage actors indulging in a sword fight designed to make the audience gasp, but not to put either in any real position of danger. It looked impressive, though.
When they were done they stepped apart, breathing hard. Blakemore had put enough effort into the display for the sweat to track down his temple and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He turned, caught my set face and grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we don’t expect you to practise on each other.”
He and Todd dragged out a line of weighted mannequins and strolled among us while we went through the drills of deploying the baton and striking the dummies across the head, chest, and neck.
Once we’d got the feel of it, Blakemore moved on to set attacks and defences. As he’d done before he formed us into two groups. Instinctively, I graduated towards his side, trying not to make it look too obvious that I’d made a conscious choice.
Just as casually, it seemed, the instructors deliberately changed places at the last minute so I ended up in Todd’s group anyway.
The first pass went fine. When I reached the front of the queue and stepped forwards onto the mat Todd walked me through the move without a hitch. I was to make a strike for him, which he would evade, and then I would counter, formal as a dance. He followed the same routine with everyone, and we lined up to go again.
It was only on the second pass that Todd deviated from the game. Instead of the move I was expecting he went for the hand holding the baton, grabbed and burrowed in with steel fingers, trying to force me to release my grip.
I’d taught my self-defence students more escapes from wrist-locks than just about anything else. I didn’t have to think about my response, it was knee-jerk and immediate.
I twisted so the baton lay low across the back of his hand, then reached across to grasp it with my left, jerking the hard edge of the baton down and into his wrist, just where the bones protruded. It was a surprisingly delicate area, vulnerable to force in just the right spot.
Todd stiffened in surprise as the baton dug in, and I let the pressure off right away. I’d no wish to antagonise the man any more than I had done already.
I should have known better.
As soon as I’d partially released him, Todd curled himself around my arm, tucked in to my body, and brought his elbow back, hard. I don’t know if it was luck, I don’t know if it was judgement, but the blow landed smack in the centre of my sternum.
The following few moments disappeared in a haze of pain. I don’t remember letting go of the baton. I don’t remember falling. My next recollection is staring up from the crashmats at a circle of faces above me. Blakemore’s was the closest, but I saw more curiosity written there than alarm.
I sat up, suppressing a groan that movement provoked, and the faces retreated a little way.
“Are you fit to continue, Miss Fox?” Blakemore asked. There was just a touch of challenge to his tone.
I looked past him to where Todd was lounging with his arm draped around one of the mannequins. In his hand he was swinging the baton he’d taken from me and his eyes met mine with a lazy arrogance. He’d made his point, I realised, shown me who was top dog. I would do well to remember it.
I nodded briefly to Blakemore, who condescended to give me a hand up. The other pupils were watching me with a bemused air, as though I was going out of my way to cause trouble for myself.
Somehow, I got through the remainder of the lesson. The pain in my chest subsided to a dull throbbing ache that only hurt if I tried to fill my lungs to full capacity. I wondered how much more of this I was willing to put up with, just to act as a balm to Sean’s guilty conscience.
Todd stopped me on the way out. “Feeling all right, are we?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, and was reminded of the way O’Neill had said the same thing to Blakemore after that first unarmed combat lesson. The standard lie.
He nodded, looked me up and down, then leaned in close to murmur a threat that was all the more dismaying for its totally unexpected nature. “Keep asking questions,” he said softly, “and next time you won’t get away so lightly.”
Shock kept my face blank, but I was still turning over Todd’s words as I made my way upstairs and back to the dormitory. Shirley’s bed stood stripped to its mattress by the window, with the pillow and blankets stacked neatly at the head, and the locker empty beside it. I wondered how many more of us would jack it in before the course was up.
And for what reasons.
***
We had a reasonable gap in the timetable between unarmed combat and the next driving session, so I headed for the shower, standing for a long time under the stinging spray with my hands braced against the tiles.
The only question I’d asked that might have upset anyone was my casual inquiry about Kirk and my mention of Hydra-Shok hollowpoint rounds. Rebanks had side-stepped both casually enough, so why the big fuss about it now? It didn’t make sense, unless Todd was just using that as an excuse to take me down a peg or two. But, did he really need an excuse for that?
I pushed my sodden hair out of my eyes and realised that I’d forgotten to bring my shampoo with me. Leaving the shower running I stepped out onto the mat and roughly towelled myself off, before hurrying through to the bedroom.
But as I opened the bathroom door I caught a glimpse of a figure rushing out through the main door into the hallway, letting it s
lam behind them.
I shot to the door and yanked it open, but surprise had slowed me down, and by the time I stuck my head out into the corridor, they were gone. With water dripping off me in puddles and only a towel for cover, I wasn’t inclined to give chase.
I stepped back into the room and shut the door.
Whoever I’d interrupted had left my locker open, with half the contents scattered out onto the floor in front of it. The mobile phone Sean had given me was on the bed, switched on.
When I picked it up I found that they’d been scrolling through the dialled numbers. There weren’t many to go at. In fact, the only one in there was Sean’s own mobile. For a moment I stood there clutching the phone. Who was searching my stuff, and why?
And, more importantly, had they found what they were looking for?
I abandoned my shower, even though my hair was going to be uncontrollable for being wet and dried again without conditioner. I hurriedly put the contents of my locker back together again, checking as I did so that the Hydra-Shok round was still where I’d hidden it.
I’d dropped it into the bottom of a sock which I’d then rolled back into a pair again. Not a ploy that would have held off a determined searcher for long. Now I picked the bullet out and looked quickly for a better hiding place.
Shirley’s empty bed caught my eye. I lifted up the foot end and discovered that the narrow steel legs were hollow. If I turned the round sideways-on, it would just about wedge in place inside the leg. I made sure I repositioned the bed back exactly onto its original indentations in the carpet when I was done, and stood back. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.
***
I had to resist the urge to check that the hollowpoint was still in its new hiding place when we packed in for the afternoon and the three of us trooped wearily back to the dormitory.
I still had no idea who my mystery searcher might have been. During the afternoon’s lesson I’d had plenty of opportunity to look round for guilty faces. Trouble was, just about everyone had begun to look shifty and suspicious all of a sudden, instructors as well as pupils.
Since Shirley’s departure, the cosy feel among the women seemed to have evaporated, too. I hadn’t realised how much she’d held us together, cheered us along.
Now, Elsa headed for the shower without much by way of conversation and Jan picked up her cigarettes.
She paused by the doorway. “You fancy a game of pool in a bit?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. I picked my phone out of my locker. “I want to call home first.”
Jan eyed me with a rare smile. “I don’t envy you your mobile bill this month,” she said, fishing. “He must be something special, the amount of time you spend on the phone to him.”
I grinned back. “He is,” I said.
It was only when she’d gone out and closed the door behind her that I realised how little of that I’d had to feign. It made me cautious in my greeting of Sean when he picked up at the other end.
He matched his tone to mine and launched straight in. “We’ve been doing some checking,” he said, businesslike. I heard the “we” and wondered if it was a deliberate attempt to put distance between us. “As far as we can tell your cover is solid. Someone’s been looking, but they haven’t broken past the stops Madeleine put in unless, of course, Gilby’s working for the army.”
My heart did a back-flip. “What?”
“Don’t panic,” Sean said. “I don’t think that’s a likely one. It would seem that Major Valentine Gilby is not a popular boy in a variety of circles.”
He filled me in on the Major’s military career, which had been on a fast track until the Gulf War. “He was put in charge of a group of Iraqi prisoners who mysteriously ended up walking across a minefield. Which wouldn’t have been so bad,” Sean said, his voice dry, “except for the fact that a team from CNN happened to capture the whole thing on camera. Doing it was one thing, being caught doing it by the media was quite another. There was hell to pay.”
“So he got the boot,” I said.
“In very short order,” he agreed. “But it’s not quite that straightforward. Gilby only held the rank of captain then. It would seem he’d kept enough records to show that he was just following orders, and he threatened to go public unless they made him up to major and let him go with full honours.”
“Sneaky,” I said, with a certain amount of admiration. If only I’d had something so strong to hang over their heads, things might have turned out very differently. But it confirmed that underlying ruthless edge I’d picked up from Gilby. I could well believe he’d not only force prisoners into mine clearance, but that he’d then resort to blackmail to escape the blame.
I glanced at the door to the bathroom. I could still hear the shower running. Looked like Elsa was taking her time in there. I moved over to the window anyway, just in case, and hitched my hip onto the window ledge.
From there, if I craned my neck, I could see across the forecourt to where Blakemore’s FireBlade and Gilby’s new car were parked on opposite sides of the gravel, facing each other. It was as though they were preparing for a duel.
As I watched I saw Gilby and Blakemore walk down the steps. Blakemore was in full leathers. The two men exchanged a few words, then went to their respective vehicles. The combined noise of their engines being started up was clearly audible, even at the other end of a telephone line.
“What the hell’s that?” Sean wanted to know.
“Boys and their toys,” I said. I watched Gilby perform another of his pebbledash starts with blatant disregard for a cold engine, heading for the driveway. Blakemore streaked the Honda across the gravel after him.
“Gilby’s got a new motor that’s supposed to be something special and he’s trying to race a FireBlade with it,” I said. “It’s a Nissan Skyline R-30-something or other, apparently.”
“R-30-what?” Sean demanded sharply. “Is it a thirty-two, a thirty-three, or a thirty-four? What does it look like?”
“Like a car. I don’t know,” I said, surprised. “I’m not sure of the number. R-32, R-34, what difference does it make?”
“At current prices, about forty-five grand,” Sean said. “If it’s an R-34 he’ll have paid a fortune for it.”
Forty-five grand. “I think it is a new one,” I managed weakly. “Forty-five grand? Are you sure? That’s as much as a house.”
“My God, Charlie, you do live in the impoverished north, don’t you?” Sean said, and there was no mistaking the smile in his voice. It died fast. “Where the hell has Gilby got that kind of money from? The last financial info we dug out on him showed he was only holding himself out of the red by the skin of his teeth.”
“There’s no sign of the place being run on a shoestring,” I said. “The food’s too good. And someone’s spent a fortune restocking the armoury here.” I told him about the SIGs having replaced the old Makarovs he had told me to expect.
“I’ll get Madeleine to look into it, see what she can dig out,” he said. He paused, then, “There’s something else come up that I think you ought to know about.”
“What?”
“It would appear that we’re not the only ones taking an interest in Salter’s death. The Germans are in on it.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “I thought you said the police here weren’t bothered.”
I was aware then that I could no longer hear running water from the next room. At that moment the door opened and Elsa came out, wrapped in a pair of towels. She smiled briefly at me and began collecting up clean clothes from her locker.
“It isn’t the police I’m talking about,” Sean said in my ear. “It’s the security services. Apparently they’ve got someone into the school.”
“That’s interesting news, darling,” I said, my voice a purr, “do tell me more.”
For a moment there was utter silence, then Sean asked, “Do I take it that you’re no longer alone?”
“Unfortunately not,” I said. I gave a t
hroaty chuckle. “But I can’t wait until we are.”
Elsa threw me a quick look of distaste. She gathered up her stuff and hurried back into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. I heard her hairdryer start up almost right away.
“Don’t make promises you’re not prepared to make good on, Charlie,” Sean said, and his voice was rich with promises all of its own.
“It’s all right, she’s gone,” I said, ignoring that last remark. “Do you have any idea who this German agent is? Male or female, even?”
Sean sighed. “No, not yet. We’re working on it. Do you have anyone in mind?”
I glanced at the closed bathroom door. “Possibly,” I said. “It might explain why I nearly caught someone searching my stuff this afternoon.”
“Did they take anything? Do you still have the round?”
“Yes, it’s safe, but they had a good look at the phone, so they’ve got your number,” I said. “You think that might be the Germans rather than Gilby’s lot?”
“Probably, but the real question is not who, but why? I can’t believe they’d be investigating Salter’s death unless it was connected to something else.”
“I’ll see what I can find out at this end,” I said, “although asking questions is not exactly making me popular.”
I told Sean all about Todd’s warning, and this time I didn’t gloss over the events leading up to it.
“Are you OK?” Sean’s voice was tight.
I shrugged. My chest was still sore. I could only hope that I hadn’t done any lasting damage. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Charlie, what did you mean earlier when you said they knew just which buttons to press? What did they do to you?” What could I hear in his voice? Weariness or anguish?
I had a brief, vivid flash of Todd holding me down on the desktop. An echo of the panic I’d felt then came clawing up my throat. It was a struggle to overpower it.
“It’s nothing, Sean, forget it,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry about me. I can cope.”
