The Hostage s-1

by Duncan Falconer

  Bill was finding it hard to suppress his hostility, but warned himself to push it to one side and remain calm. This was not the time to lose his composure, nor the person to lose it with. He could be shooting himself in the foot. Dealing with Father Kinsella was going to be the most difficult part of seeing his plan through and ultimately setting himself free. Bill had to remain cool if he was going to be the manipulator, a role he usually played well. But this was Father Kinsella, he reminded himself, the master of manipulation.

  Bill mellowed.‘I’m sorry . . . It was a bit of a shock seeing you, especially since I was wearing nothing but a smile.’

  ‘I can understand that, son. She’s not on her way up, is she - I take it you were expecting a lady?’

  ‘She was the only person who knew I was home but I’m not expecting her for a few hours . . . Well, now that you’re here, would you like a drink, Father?’

  ‘I don’t normally mix alcohol with daylight, but to be sure it’s dark enough where I live right now, so I will.’

  Bill poured some whisky into a glass, handed it to Father Kinsella, and picked up his own. They raised their glasses and took a sip, both glancing at the other over the rim.

  ‘Good stuff,’ Father Kinsella said. ‘Good stuff . . . How long is it since we’ve seen each other, Bill? It’s been a few years, hasn’t it? Time does indeed fly.’

  ‘It does,’ Bill agreed.

  ‘So tell me, how are things going with you?’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Since Paris.’

  Bill had to be careful how he handled this conversation. He couldn’t give anything away about his plan to quit, but at the same time he wanted Kinsella to see, if he hadn’t already, that it might be time for him to move on. At least Bill could try and get a sense of how Kinsella felt about the possibility.

  ‘That was a close shave,’ Bill said. ‘At first I thought they were coming for me. They had an entire surveillance team on the ground, surrounding my hotel.’

  Father Kinsella didn’t say anything and took another sip of his drink.

  ‘I don’t mind admitting it scared the hell out of me,’ Bill went on. ‘Still does. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since . . . I’m worried they might be on to me.’

  Bill couldn’t read any reaction in Kinsella.

  ‘The French have Henri, you know,’ Bill said.

  ‘Henri won’t tell them about you. He’ll tell them a lot of things, but not about you. He’s a canny French fox and was well chosen.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m warm. That’s a fact.’

  Kinsella didn’t give any indication he agreed. ‘So what are you thinking?’ he asked after a moment of silence.

  Bill decided to go for it, but one careful step at a time. ‘I’d like to back off, for a bit. Go cold. If they’ve got me, they’ve got me. But if they haven’t, they’ll be laying traps for me.’

  Father Kinsella walked across the room and looked out of the window and down on to to the street. ‘This is a well-chosen apartment,’ he said. ‘You’ve a good view of the street. Can you get on to the roof?’

  ‘Yes. And from there you can get into the apartment block next door and down the stairs.’

  ‘Were you thinking about escape routes when you got this place?’

  ‘At first maybe. But I’ve learned enough over the years to know that if they were to send anyone for me, running out of the building isn’t going to do me any good.’

  ‘That’s true,’ the priest said as he continued watching the street.‘You’d need your friends for sure if they came after you.’

  Bill wondered why Kinsella had made that comment. Perhaps he did see that Bill’s future as a spy was no longer tenable after all, unless it was a set-up for something else or a cleverly disguised warning.

  ‘I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to quit for good,’ Father Kinsella said.

  Bill looked at the priest’s back, wishing he could read his mind the way the man seemed to be able to read his. The truth was the priest was the only person he needed a blessing from if he wanted to get out. If Kinsella gave him the okay, then the godfathers would no doubt agree. Bill was, after all, Kinsella’s protégé. He sometimes wondered just how far up the ladder the priest went; he might even be a godfather. That would explain a few things.

  ‘And what if I did?’ Bill ventured, trying to make it sound as if he wasn’t all that serious.

  Father Kinsella turned to look at him. ‘I was right then. You want to quit.’

  Bill cautioned himself. He had to be most careful now. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that.’

  ‘Were you not?’

  ‘Obviously I’ve thought about it. Especially after what happened . . . What do you think about me going cold for a time?’ Bill said, immediately regretting it. It gave the priest room to manoeuvre in that direction. Bill didn’t want to go cold. He wanted out for good. ‘You’re a man of many experiences, ’ he went on, since Father Kinsella had kept quiet, ‘but I don’t think you know what it’s like to live in constant fear of being found out. First I might ever know about it is a bullet to the back of my head.’

  ‘Would you like to get out, Bill? Is that what you’re asking me?’

  Bill studied him, deciding whether or not to just go for it. The danger was telegraphing any actual intentions. He was aware Kinsella could just be fishing. ‘I wish I knew if MI5 had any suspicions about me,’ Bill said, weaving around the question. ‘Of course it’s possible they’re not even close to me.’

  ‘Make your mind up, Bill. A moment ago you sounded as if they did know.’

  The attack made Bill strike back. ‘I don’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life. Or end up getting executed by one of their assassins . . . I’ve been useful, haven’t I? I’ve given the cause some valuable information over the years.’

  ‘So you have, Bill. So you have. No one’s ever said anything less than what a blessing you are for the cause.You’re probably the greatest spy we ever had.You’re a living hero, Billy. When the war’s over yours will be one of the names that’ll be remembered for hundreds of years.They might’ve forgotten the likes of Thomas Meagher but they’ll not forget you. Sure you might even get your statue put up one day.’

  ‘Are you making fun of me now?’

  ‘I couldn’t be more serious. In fact that’s what I’m here to offer you. Not a statue, lad. I’m here to offer you a chance to get out.’

  The comment couldn’t have been more laced with suggestion and innuendo. Father Kinsella had used the words offer and chance. It was obviously not going to be as simple as packing a bag and leaving.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I agree with you. If you think it’s time you got out, then I have to respect that.’

  Bill remained prepared for the catch.

  ‘Just do one more thing for us, and we’ll call it a day.’

  There it was. One more thing. The way Kinsella said it so casually was enough to get him worried. ‘What thing?’

  ‘A job.’

  ‘A job? I’m not an operative, Father.’

  ‘I haven’t told you what it is yet,’ the priest said.

  He didn’t need to. Bill always suspected his career as a spy would not end in a whimper but a bang if Kinsella had anything to do with it. That was his style exactly.

  ‘Well?’ Kinsella asked.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Is that the way you want to proceed?’

  ‘I don’t understand. If you think I’m burned, then I should go. I shouldn’t have to buy my way out.’

  ‘That’s just the point. I don’t think you’re burned.You’re the one who does. If you want to leave, that’s up to you. But even in the British Army, if a soldier wants to leave before their time is up, they have to buy their way out.’

  Bill couldn’t believe this man. After all that he had done, the bastard was asking him to trade for his release. But Bill knew it would be pointless argui
ng with Kinsella.There was something else to this. Kinsella didn’t just come here with a job offer to barter Bill’s release. The mission itself was Kinsella’s prime reason for coming to see Bill. If Bill hadn’t said anything about the possibility he was compromised and wanted out, Kinsella would still have set him up for it. Bill was trapped. His career as a spy for the IRA was clearly at an end and Kinsella wanted one last shot from him. If Bill refused he could find himself out in the cold. Or even worse. Bill could only pray that the job wasn’t going to be a bad one.

  ‘What do I have to do?’ Bill asked.

  ‘That’s the way, Bill.’

  It was the only way. Bill had to keep some friends in high places. He had nowhere to run otherwise.

  ‘Before you say what it is, Father, I’m asking you to consider who I am, and what I’ve done for you.’

  ‘Bill. Do you think I’d ask you to do anything I didn’t think you couldn’t do in your sleep and get away with? You’re the only one who could do this job.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’re going to deliver something,’ he said, picking the briefcase up off the floor and putting it on the table. Bill had wondered what the case was for - it didn’t look like Kinsella’s style - but he’d forgotten about it once they’d started talking. He wondered if it was a bomb of some kind. This was already looking very bad.

  ‘It’s a bomb?’

  ‘There’s not one piece of metal on or in this case,’ Kinsella said.‘The whole thing’s made of plastic.’ He opened it. Inside was a sponge mould with a piece cut out of the centre, nothing else, no components, no wires, no explosives. ‘You can get this past any metal or explosives detector in the world.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Bill said.

  ‘It’s not complete, of course. There’s a component that fits snugly into here,’ he said, indicating the gap in the sponge.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A piece of glass with a liquid in it,’ Father Kinsella said.

  ‘All you need to do, when the time comes, is lay the case down on its side and stand on it, right in the middle, your weight fully on it.The glass will break and release the liquid.’

  ‘And what’s the liquid?’ Bill asked, his mind going into overdrive, producing possibilities he prayed were not even close to the truth.

  ‘It’s a message that will tell the world in no uncertain terms that we want our freedom, we want our country back, and we are prepared to go to any lengths to get it. You do this, Bill, and we believe we will win the fight that has taken centuries and cost thousands of lives. The Brits are on the fence. This will shove them over. You’ll be an even greater hero, lad.’

  ‘What’s the liquid?’

  Kinsella knew Bill would work it out if he hadn’t already, and even a wrong guess in the right direction was the same as him knowing the truth. ‘It’s a chemical.’

  ‘Now we’re into biological warfare? You must be mad. That’s not the message we want to send out to the world.’

  ‘Hold on to your horses for just one minute, me lad. Hear me out. It’s a virus. It needs to be transmitted by people. It’s not a nerve gas or anything like that. When the bottle is broken, as long as they contain it, it won’t harm anyone. If you leave it the second it’s broken, you’ll be safe. But where you’re going to put it will shock them to their very foundations.We’re not looking for lives here, Bill.We’re looking to convey a message. That message is we have the will and the means to take the fight to them at any level. That’s all they need to learn. You take it into the building. You crush the glass.You leave. They get a phone call telling them where and what it is. It’ll be up to you where you place it. Put it somewhere safe. As long as it’s inside that building. That’s the message . . . I know it wouldn’t serve us to kill thousands of people, but it would serve us to scare the living hell out of them. Do you understand, Bill?’

  ‘What building?’

  ‘You’ll be told later.’

  Bill could see the point as Kinsella described it, even though he still believed it was crazy. But he could not reveal his concerns to Father Kinsella. If this man was capable of releasing a deadly virus into a city as populated as London, he was capable of anything. He wondered why he had never noticed how mad the priest was before this moment. It would seem that Bill had underestimated Kinsella as much as Kinsella had overestimated Bill.

  ‘Where is this virus?’ Bill asked.

  ‘You’re going to collect it. I’ll call you as soon as I have the details. Don’t go anywhere. Stay here and wait for my call. Is that clear?’

  ‘When is this going to happen?’

  ‘Tonight. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to cancel your evening,’ Kinsella said.

  ‘I’ll have to leave the country right away?’

  ‘It’s all taken care of.’ Father Kinsella put a hand on Bill’s shoulder and squeezed it like a father would his son. ‘It’s equally important to us that you get clean away. I’ll look after you, Bill.Your escape will be another slap in their faces and almost as much a victory as the attack itself.’

  Bill nodded. ‘It makes sense,’ he said, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one.

  ‘Good lad,’ Father Kinsella said and left the briefcase on the table and went to the door. ‘You’ll receive full instructions in a while. Just remember: King’s Cross, platform 9.’ The priest opened the door and looked about the hall, checking it was clear. Before leaving he looked back at Bill. ‘You’re my greatest victory, Bill. I could never have dreamed that day when we first met in the cemetery that you would win the war for us. I’m proud of you, Bill.’

  He closed the door behind him.

  Bill felt suddenly weak and sat down. He took his drink and held it in his hands. They were surprisingly steady as he drained the glass into his mouth.

  Hank estimated it had been at least an hour since the engines had suddenly reduced power, followed a few minutes later by a jolt as they came alongside. The boat was perfectly still now and the only sound was the throb of the generator that ran the lights and pumps.

  No one had visited him since Brennan had left and Seamus had been taken away. That seemed like five hours ago, more or less.

  Hank had worked out a loose plan of escape, very loose in fact, since it all depended on his acting ability to open up an opportunity, then his jailers’ reaction and, of course, fate. No matter how much the odds were stacked against him, he knew he had to try; there was no point just sitting and waiting to find out if he was to be executed. It was Brennan’s parting words that had convinced him of the uncertainty of his future; as Brennan had pointed out, Hank knew his name.

  And then there was the virus. Hank had an obligation to alert the authorities in case they didn’t know. And wasn’t this the opportunity he had been waiting for all his life, the chance to do something truly heroic? Perhaps this was his destiny. He had considered all these things in the peaceful solitude of his dark and dingy cell and had fully motivated himself. Now he waited for the opportunity.

  Since making the decision he had been exercising as best he could. He had remembered a lecture from a former Vietnam War prisoner during a survival training exercise years ago. The man had been held in a confined space for years and had kept himself fit using isometrics. It was quite simple and apparently very effective; Hank had felt the difference after just a few hours. It consisted of selecting a muscle group and pulling or pushing against an immovable force or one’s own body and holding the tension until exhausted. For instance, his hands were tied together, so he straightened them and tried to pull them apart. After a while, he could feel the pain in his shoulders as the burn set in. It was more tiring than Hank could have imagined, and even enjoyable. After a few experiments Hank decided to work from the bottom up, isolating as many muscles as he could. Since each muscle had an opposite, the challenge was finding a way to exercise them both. He pulled himself towards the bar, stopping himself with his feet, and held the tension. This exercised the
biceps. Pushing away worked the triceps.

  The door to the room opened and someone walked in. Hank relaxed.

  Whoever it was sounded like they were searching through some tools or a box of nuts and bolts on a shelf.

  ‘Hello,’ Hank said.There was no reply. ‘Look, I need help. I’ve gotta go to the toilet. I’m in agony here.’

  There was still no reply and whoever it was continued their search.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Hank said. ‘Is it so difficult to be just a little humane? Why do I have to be in agony? Is torture part of everything you guys do?’

  The person stopped searching and went still.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ an Irishman eventually asked. He sounded young.

  ‘I haven’t been to the toilet in a week. I’m bunged up sitting here on the cold floor. I’m in a lotta pain. I don’t know if you’re aware, but a person can die of something like this. I’m a medic. I know. If that’s what I’m supposed to do, die like this, then forget it. But do me a favour. Can’t you just shoot me? This ain’t a nice way to go.’

  Hank was laying it on a bit thick but he couldn’t think of anything else. The young man seemed to be considering his request.

  ‘I’ll have to ask someone,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, you do that,’ said Hank. ‘But don’t take all day.’

  The man left the room. Hank took a deep breath and then began to tighten and release his buttock muscles, each time holding them in tension for a count of ten. His target was a hundred.

  Kathryn climbed out of the taxi in the village of Burnham Market and looked at the front of the old building, which had several wooden picnic benches outside. The sign read ‘Hoste Arms Hotel’. As the taxi drove away she double-checked the name against her instructions.This was the place.

  Before going to the front door she paused to look at the village. It was like a picture she had seen in a magazine, or was it a movie? This was her first idyllic English village. The roads the taxi had driven along the last few miles were so narrow that the driver had to pull up on to the verge and stop to let oncoming vehicles squeeze past. She had never seen a live pheasant up close before and by the end of the journey had seen so many she was almost tired of them. And what with the deer, hares and rabbits, and countless types of birds, the children would have loved it. The view in parts had been so beautiful it had almost distracted her from her bizarre mission - whatever it was - particularly the glimpse of the sea in the distance, a golden sliver of sand separating the grey blue water from the green fields. On entering the village the narrow road gave way to a broad centre surrounded by quaint little shops, two greens fat with trees and a brook running through it all. Idyllic it was, but all she wanted was to be back home in Norfolk, Virginia, and this was just a bad dream she would wake up from any second.