by Frank Coles
'My friend, how would you say my English is this year?'
'Excellent Yusef,' big smile, 'And you have helped me keep mine fresh.'
'You're welcome.'
They sat for a while, waking up, relaxing in each others company before the bustle of the day kicked in. English skills were more valuable for Yusef in his business dealings than any other thing Savage could give him.
'And how are your family?' Yusef said.
'Very well.' A lie. He didn't know. Savage hadn't spoken to any of them since that last trip. 'And yours? Your mother is better?'
'As much as expected. My wife is visiting.'
'Alone?'
'With my sons and daughter. It is important for them to know their family.'
Savage angled his head. Yusef's in-laws lived only a few miles from where Savage had been the night before - the boy's bloody face was now clearer in Savage's mind than it had been in reality.
Tricky thing the mind. Savage knew all the things he should do: avoid replaying the images, remember the facts - the boy tried to kill him - that information discovered after the event cannot have bearings on your initial actions. Savage knew what his brain was going to do next but couldn't stop it.
'Do you worry about them?'
'Of course. But I have taught them as well as I can. They are good children.'
'You ever teach them to shoot?'
'Never. Men use weapons to force others to do what they want, or to make them believe what they want.'
'But if other men attack you, you will fight back?'
'I would give my life for my children. It is a difficult thing you ask. I do not know the answer.'
Savage saw Yusef's son in his mind, the blood of the dead boy on his face, then the girl in the pink dress, her angry eyes, the gun in her hand.
Savage pushed the image back down. Damned beta-blockers wearing off.
Yusef looked at Savage. 'What's wrong?'
Savage gripped his friend's forearm and stared in his eyes. 'Yusef, you are a good man. My regards to your family.'
Savage turned to go, his eyes welled up.
'Peace be upon you my friend,' Yusef called after him.
Savage stalked off into the night. At the corner he broke into a run. His sandals caught on the ground, one fell off. He ran past the early risers, tried to ignore their questioning eyes.
A visceral thud of adrenalin hit him, he could almost feel the bullets whistle past, he never heard them during a fight, only afterwards. He shouted, a primal roar, punched the air, no idea whether he cursed in Arabic or English.
Outside the base, he held onto the wall and composed himself. He kicked off the other sandal then walked in, a nod to the sleepy guards.
In the kitchen he yanked the ice-box open. The woman's head still stared at nothing.
Would it go to the family? The only open casket they'd get was a shoe box.
He closed the lid, grabbed a diet-coke and headed back to his room.
The computer was on, Savage had work to do.
*
The woman sat in the dark while the others slept. She heard their breathing beneath the gentle rattle of her fingers on the keyboard.
The curtains billowed like streamers against the cool, crisp night. The promise of more sun in the morning, just one cloud over the man-made mountains of glass and steel in the financial district across the Thames.
She cursed. Deleted everything in the long message that had taken so long to write, then typed one simple line. Far more powerful, one little meme only he would know.
With his curiosity aroused would he come? No way to tell. No guarantees.
She pressed send, sat back, and looked out over the city.
*
Across the river at the heart of London's power base the new man in the chancellor's chair paced the floor of his 11 Downing Street office. Working late again.
The chancellor liked to think of himself as his own man. He'd come a long way. But he hadn't gotten where he was by being anyone's lackey, although those were the claims. He hadn't gotten where he was by following protocol either. Although everyone thought he towed the line, it was in reality simple artifice.
He'd been a scholarship boy. He'd kept his head down. Made associations rather than friendships, never gave too much of himself and never played the games of others to move up the social ranks.
Instead he made his own games. Found the weakest of the most powerful children, those destined to be leaders of industry, lords, or politicians, despite themselves. He made them jump through his hoops. It worked. Second most powerful man in the country. One day, who knew?
Now he intended to do something good. Something righteous.
His father would have been proud of the speech he held in his hands.
He had days left to practice. And he could normally drive a crowd to a frenzy with just a few crib notes. But this was different. He was about to change the very foundations on which the country was built.
He had to get it right. In one move he could either ruin or save the land he loved.
'The money illusion is over,' he said aloud to his imaginary audience. Working the troubled line. 'This country can no longer be slave to...slave to...ahhh!'
He scrunched the sheet of paper he held in his hands and threw it at the wall.
It landed next to a growing pile of similar paper balls on the floor. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head. Maybe he should let the spin doctors write it after all. He shook off the thought and opened the door to his office.
'More coffee?' he said.
Lost in her own late night thoughts, his secretary looked up. They shared a warm smile for a brief moment, she nodded, then he slammed the door.
Chapter Three
Arguments and angry horns greeted Savage when he woke up, the familiar orchestra of commerce outside his window. The man shaking him was the cause of his abrupt departure from the land of nod. Big, bald and badass, he was not. Full head of hair and handsome in a patrician kind of way, he looked like an ageing media guru with a cage fighter's physique.
'Ex-Colonel Henry, sir,' Savage said with one eye open.
'Don't take the piss Savage.' Henry kicked the bunk.
Savage loved to bait him. The ex-Colonel had been the commander of a British special force with a very special remit, the Advance Research Unit. This innocuous group infiltrated opposing Northern Irish factions during the troubles and manipulated them anyway they could to prevent the flow of arms, then set them against each other.
They had to know surveillance and human intelligence skills, breaking and entering, advanced driving, firearms and improvised weapons. They could call in the kind of air support that only generals had the authority for, and they never wore uniforms. They took the best of all the other armed forces, made them better, and then set them loose.
Savage's boss and mentor.
'Still hacking my shit are you?' he said.
Savage opened the other eye. 'What?'
Henry pointed at the screen. 'My shit.'
On screen were two items. His boss's own computer terminal complete with email program open, showing all the contracts and communication Henry currently had going in and out, and the company's server logs.
Savage shook his head to get the blood flowing. 'Guilty as charged.'
'What are you looking for?' Henry said. This was one skill-set Henry hadn't taught Savage, he was always slightly in awe of it.
'Ah, you know...'
'No.'
'Stuff.'
Henry folded his arms. Savage had never seen him lose his cool. Ever. He watched the flicker behind the eyes as Henry calculated the best outcome from this particular scenario.
'So,' Savage said, 'light a fire under my butt and see you downstairs for a debrief?'
Henry's lip curled. 'Five minutes,' he walked out of the room.
Savage's tongue was a landing strip for bad smells, he felt even worse than when he'd woken up in the night.
Savage made an effort. He took one of those chewy toothbrush things he'd picked up at the airport on his last close protection gig and used flat coke as a mouthwash. He pressed send/receive on his email and shoved his head in a basin full of water. When he came back. There were a ton emails, the usual rubbish. He went to delete. But one caught his sleepy eye.
The subject said: Help.
He opened it up. The address was [email protected].
The message simply said:
ARE YOU LISTENING?
Michael's last words. He was, wide awake and listening to his past.
*
'It wasn't your fault?'
'I had a choice.'
'Did you now?' Henry said. Letting the silence build, waiting for Savage to fill the gap.
'What's the word on Andre?' Savage said.
'Minor internal bleeding from the round impact, he'll live.'
'Shaken up?'
'I doubt it. We'll see when he's out.'
More silence. Both men waited for the other to speak.
'You are though, right?' Henry said.
'Maybe.'
Henry cleared his throat and looked away for a second. When his clear eyes swung back Savage knew what was coming.
'What else did you find out there?'
Okay, not that.
'Who says I found anything?'
'If you're boning my wife in my bed, why fall asleep with your dick in her mouth?'
It took a moment. 'The computer?'
'I taught you better than that. Something made you not care, what's that important?'
Savage threw the woman's knapsack across the desk.
'And this is?'
'Journal, recorder with some damning interviews, footage from an illegal prison. Evidence of interim administration death squads.'
Henry stared him out, Savage didn't offer any more.
'It's my arse on this,' Henry said, 'You were supposed to tell me about anything you found.'
Savage watched him open the bag, pull out the recorder and pen-drive, then flip through the journal.
'Yeah, I read your messages. We were supposed to be recovering her body for the family, but Universal News don't plan on telling them.'
'My messages are encrypted Savage.'
'Hey, I'm more than just a stunningly handsome poster boy for the new private military.'
Henry winced. 'You think? What else?'
'Well, the funny thing is this, what's in that bag is worth killing for, to someone. But whoever took her head left all this there, which means they either didn't know what she had, or didn't care.'
'What does that tell you?'
'I'm not sure, yet.'
Henry shook his head. 'Come on, you read the messages, what do you think?'
'It doesn't feel right. Jessica Price's death isn't public, officially she's only missing on assignment. So if Universal News weren't looking for the family's sake, why were they looking at all?'
'Sympathetic treatment for the family perhaps? Media blackout so the kidnappers don't get any free PR?'
'This is Universal News we're talking about. They'd start a war if they could get more viewers for their news channels.'
'Hmm, sounds almost plausible.' Henry jabbed the page in the open journal in front of him. 'Is this what's really eating you?'
Savage leaned over and read the words on the page, 'Maclays Banking Group.'
'I thought we'd moved past that,' Henry said.
'I still get the dreams.'
'After all you've done out here?'
'Christ, if I did the same things at home I'd be banged up for a very long time.'
Henry looked up from the journal. 'Savage, I can train you to survive the battlefield, if you decide to leave-'
'I'm on my own?' Savage held Henry's eye until he looked away.
The TV in the rec room next door began to blare. An Arabic news channel. Then the voices of other men on base. The channel changed, more news, music, a movie, until they realized the banter was far more interesting. Savage flinched at the sudden intrusion.
'Well there's nothing much to go on here anyway,' Henry threw the journalist's notebook on the table. 'A company name in a journal doesn't mean a thing.'
'I know that,' Savage said. 'The Universal News person you've been in contact with, Jason Williams, according to your emails. What do you know about him?'
Henry smiled. 'Not much. PR guy. He's the account manager.' Henry spat the job title out like sour milk. 'You know how it is these days. You'll deal with anyone as long as they pay well, on time, and cause you as few headaches as possible.'
'Yeah, but here's the thing, this guy, Williams, he only manages two accounts. Universal News and Maclays Investment Banking Group.'
'How'd you get that intel in the middle of the night? The Brits aren't even awake yet.'
'Hah, well, my powers of deduction are legendary as you know.'
'How?'
'LinkedIn. He has a profile on there.'
'You're not even blushing.'
The two men laughed, relieved by the break in tension.
'So, what now?' Henry said. 'The job's over. What do you want from this?'
'I'm not sure. All I know is if I don't find out where this goes, I'll always be wondering what if?'
Savage wanted to tell him about the email then, but hesitated. Henry had taken Savage from being scared and lost. Given him steel for his backbone. He'd earned Savage's respect, but he held back, he didn't know why.
'The chances of it having anything to do with what happened-'
'I need to know why I ended up here Henry.'
'Because this is where the big bucks are, that's why.'
Savage shook his head. 'I'm not proud of last night.'
Henry hesitated, 'We all have something. Want to talk about it?'
'No.'
Silence. Savage broke it.
'I want you to check your emails, there's a British government contract that'll help. Put me up for it.'
'Want to tell me which one?'
'You'll recognize the company name.'
'Damn it, Savage.'
'You keep telling me I should take a break.'
'Not like this.'
'Will you help or not?'
Henry tapped his pen against the desk. The noise from the next room was taking over. The shouts of the men drowned out the TV.
'I'll think about it,' Henry said.
He stormed out of the room to the source of the noise. Whoever it was would get a specialized Henry bollocking, quiet, calm, and far more threatening than any loud mouth drill sergeant. Rumors said he'd run a few death squads himself. You didn't tangle with him if you liked life.
Savage followed him. He always had Henry's back, didn't matter what, didn't matter how.
In the rec room Viktor stood centre stage facing away from them. An audience of six guys were laughing and whooping it up. Savage didn't know any of them. New meat.
'And then,' Viktor said, 'the two pussies are cowering behind the car.' He screwed his hands under his eyes, 'Bluh, bluh, like baby you know? I shout, "C'mon fuckers, up! Enemy over there, not down on your mother's tit."'
Savage's mouth dropped open.
'Then I fire,' he made the actions. 'Bullets hitting all around, you know. Bang, bang, peow.' He aimed his imaginary long at the smallest of the men for emphasis. The small guy flinched. Obviously impressed.
Savage's hands tingled. Henry gave him a sideways look.
'Pow. I take one guy,' Viktor said. 'Pow. Two guys, then...' the men listened in awe of the big man with the a-positive vampire tattooed on his arm.
'Then what?' one of the guys shouted.
'The bitch's head rolls out of the car to my fucking lap.'
He pulled Jessica Price's decapitated head into full view.
'Then I say, "You can suck my dick later, you ug
ly slut."'
He slapped her cheeks - porno style. Then grabbed the head with both hands, thrust his pelvis towards her mouth and made fuck-faces.
'Don't lose your head, bitch.'
The roars of laughter died when two shots hit the ceiling inches from the big man's head scattering plaster over the men.
Savage looked down and saw Henry's hand holding his up to the ceiling.
Viktor caught Savage's eye and smiled, then laughed.
Two more shots gouged the plaster.
Henry said, 'Look at me.'
Savage tore his eyes from Viktor's.
'I'll help you,' Henry said. He put his other hand over the gun and took it from him. 'I'll help, but right now, go to your quarters.'
Savage walked away, then Henry grabbed his arm and handed him the gun back.
The hard look on the men's faces told Savage why.
*
Savage's head span with what ifs. What if they come for me? What if I hadn't killed the boy? What if I'd never come here? What if this guy Williams knows something about what happened?
He woke his computer and clicked send/receive. More spam. No one else asking for help. Was the Maclays email a spoof? It couldn't be. The only person he'd told about Maclays was Henry. Not even Andre knew. And he trusted both with his life.
He right clicked the Help email, selected message options and copied the header information from the email. Every email you receive has a header, an information source that the computer reads but is hidden from human view.
It'll tell you useful things like where the IP address that sent the email is located, you can even look up a map of where they are along with the phone number, if you're lucky.
What did we do before the internet? Or mobile phones? He opened one of the many free email IP tracers on the web and dropped the header in to its search field.
The email appeared to originate in Zurich, Switzerland, routed via Czechoslovakia, and then a private IP address. When he looked that up he got a reference to Pakistan. It could mean everything, it could mean nothing, a Blackberry via a VPN could show something equally oblique.
