Smoke and Mirrors (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 3)

by Oliver Tidy

  She nodded and for the first time since their reunion she smiled at him. She wanted it to be a smile of encouragement, of support, of empathy.

  She carried her daughter through to the small bedroom and laid her on the single bed. She spoke quietly to her in earnest tones that he only half caught. It was hot and stuffy in the small bedroom, but she pulled the single sheet up to the girl’s neck. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and left the room, pulling the door almost shut.

  She came into the living area, where he was waiting, with the intention of saying something further but his body language indicated that he had other ideas, other priorities. He held a bowl of water in front of him. He motioned her to sit so that he could inspect his surgical skills. She leaned forward and lifted her hair. Using her headscarf, the only relatively clean bit of cloth in the place, he washed away the dried blood from behind her ear and was pleased to see that the little flap of skin where he’d made the incision had almost sealed itself. There was a small seepage of blood but he felt that would quickly congeal. He told her so.

  She showed no shyness in removing her shirt in front of him. She dampened the headscarf and rubbed at the blood that had dried on her skin and that she could reach. He noticed that her bra was grubby and frayed.

  ‘There’s a shower here?’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘Can you just get the blood off my back, please?’

  As he scrubbed at her skin, he said, ‘What’s wrong with your daughter?’

  ‘She’s been traumatised. She watched her brother die. Like all twins, they were very close. They were all each other had in that place. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t speak. She needs proper medical help – physical and psychological.’

  ‘Your son’s name was Daniel?’ he remembered. She nodded and he was glad she had her back to him. ‘What you’ve gone through is unimaginable.’

  ‘I mean it, Mr Sansom, I would rather die than go back.’

  ‘Call me Acer. And no one’s going to die, Mrs Hammond.’

  She turned to face him; her eyes were filled with more tears at the memory of her son or the fear of her future. ‘Dominique, please. No need for us to be so formal.’

  He crossed to the window as she dressed herself. ‘What happened to your husband?’

  ‘He couldn’t deal with it. He couldn’t cope with our situation. He couldn’t accept what had happened. He didn’t fully appreciate our position. He refused to comply. He refused to work for them. They shot him in front of me. That way they could be certain I understood what he was too stubborn to accept: if we were not going to cooperate with them then they would have no use for us. With no use for us there would be no place for any of us. It would be bullets and desert graves for my children and me.’

  ‘How did Daniel die?’

  ‘Illness. He contracted a fever. He was dead within a week.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Four months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘If they’d taken him to a proper hospital he might have lived.’

  The senseless waste of an innocent young life hung in the air between them for a long uncomfortable moment.

  ‘And you, what happened to you on Jackson Island? They said you were dead.’

  ‘They were nearly right. I managed to eke out an existence for a year, until someone came along.’

  She stared almost disbelievingly at him. ‘A year. Alone. With all that appalling knowledge cluttering up your mind. I’d have gone mad. I know I would.’

  ‘I came close a couple of times. Then one day a German family sailed over the horizon. They came close enough for me to attract their attention. And then it was eventually back to civilisation. Look, I don’t know if this will help or not: the men who attacked us on Jackson, massacred everyone, and the man who sent them – they’re all dead.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I was there.’

  ‘You killed them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her expression hardened. ‘Good. I’m glad they are dead. But it doesn’t help.’

  He realised that help had been the wrong word to use.

  ‘It seems we are a pair of survivors, Acer.’

  ‘Let’s hope so?’

  ‘Who are these people – your friends?’

  ‘Iranians with an interest in upsetting the status quo.’

  ‘And where do we fit in with that noble objective?’

  ‘They believe that if they can get you out and back to the UK to tell your story the international and domestic fallout will be... potentially seismic. They think the revelations could damage the regime’s standing.’

  She looked like she was considering it. ‘Why you?’

  He tried a smile. ‘It’s a long story. I’m not sure we have the time for it now. They’ll be back soon. There are things to do. And then we’ve got a train to catch.’

  She was recovering and strengthening – coming together and displaying an awareness of her change of circumstances. She was a long way short of displaying confidence in her new-found situation but she’d moved away from her darkness.

  She asked him about the arrangements for getting them out of the country and he shared what he knew with her. She listened, considered, expressed her opinions, and became thoughtfully reticent once more. Then she went to her daughter.

  ***

  16

  Hassan returned with basic supplies including antiseptic cream and bandaging. Acer used it to treat Dominique’s neck.

  They made coffee and while Zoe slept on in the bedroom they sat around the small kitchen table.

  ‘First the bad news,’ said Hassan, looking in Dominique’s direction. ‘They are aware of your escape and that you had the assistance of a foreigner. The fact that you have been aided by a foreigner has raised the level of their immediate interest. If you had simply disappeared with your daughter they might have believed you’d just risked desperate flight on your own initiative, an impulse, perhaps. The involvement of foreign assistance, and a violent confrontation in which their man lost his weapon,’ he said, looking now at Acer, ‘will bring greater and more intense attention. If they have not already, they will almost certainly now associate the switch at the airport with this business, especially given the time frames involved. Iranians have learned the hard way not to believe in coincidence.’

  ‘None of that could be helped,’ said Acer, a little defensively.

  ‘I know. The sharing of intelligence is a necessary aspect of any successful operation. That is all I am doing.’

  ‘How will their raised level of interest affect us?’ said Acer.

  Looking at Dominique, Hassan said, ‘As we have already discussed, there are nine roads that leave the city of Qom. Only three of them go to Tehran. The most direct is the newer main highway. The old main road runs almost parallel with this and then there is a longer, more circuitous route through rougher terrain. All will now be monitored by VEVAK. I understand there are now personnel on all roads that lead out of the city.’

  ‘We have to go by road to Tehran?’ said Dominique.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which route will we take?’ she said.

  ‘The main highway – route seven: The Persian Gulf Freeway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The longer route will put pressure on our timing. Because of the secondary nature of the road and the terrain that it goes through, it would be a more hazardous journey. There will be less traffic on the secondary route and if they are stopping all vehicles on it, they will have greater time to be more thorough. Taking the newer main highway will encourage the opposite of these things. They would not expect us to travel openly this way, in full view, and so that is what I propose we do. And we will not now be travelling conventionally.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ said Acer.

  ‘A change of plan. Some subterfuge, things not being what they seem. I believe the English idiom is smoke and mirrors. We have an ambulance at our disposal. I w
ill drive. Niki will ride beside me. We will be dressed as paramedics. You,’ he said looking at Acer, ‘will be our emergency and you, Mrs Hammond, will be his concerned wife. Your daughter must remain hidden from view.’

  He gave them a few moments to consider this information before adding, ‘An ambulance with an emergency for a Tehran specialist will enable us to bypass traffic situations. It would also be expected to travel the quickest and most direct route.’

  ‘Won’t they stop an ambulance?’ said Dominique.

  ‘Yes. But our paperwork will be in good order and because of our state of emergency they will not delay us.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ said Acer.

  ‘I can’t, of course.’

  ‘What about identification for us?’ said Dominique. ‘Won’t they ask to see it?’

  ‘Perhaps, when they understand the nature of the emergency, they will not be so enthusiastic for such things.’

  ‘Why? What will be the nature of the emergency?’

  ‘The paperwork will mention something highly contagious and unpleasant. They might open a door to check, but contrary to what the regime and the military would like to believe, poor ignorant soldiers who have been conscripted into the army do not usually risk their lives in such ways.’

  ‘What time does the train leave Tehran?’

  ‘Five o’clock this evening.’ Hassan checked his watch. ‘It is now one o’clock.’

  ‘You said Qom is eighty miles from Tehran,’ said Acer.

  ‘Yes. But we must allow extra time for roadblocks and the effect on the traffic. I suggest we leave in one hour. To be certain of making the train.’

  ‘You really think it is going to be that easy to get through checks?’ said Dominique. Her tone reflected her doubts.

  Hassan gave her his lopsided smile. ‘Yes, I do. I would not suggest it otherwise.’ In response to their apparent lack of enthusiasm for his suggestion, he said, ‘However we try to get you from one place to another there will be risks involved. There can be no guarantees.’

  ‘We know,’ said Acer. ‘For what’s it’s worth, I think this is as good an idea as any.’ He showed the man some respect: ‘An ambulance that won’t be missed. You have some powerful friends, Hassan.’

  Hassan inclined his head at the compliment. ‘Powerful and willing to assist. I have told you before, I think, do not imagine that everyone in Iran feels the same way.’

  ***

  17

  Hassan left to collect the ambulance with the instruction they should get themselves ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Dominique went to speak with her daughter, to prepare her for what was to come.

  Alone with his new found knowledge regarding the baby daughter he’d believed killed with all the other passengers and crew of The Rendezvous, Acer could not prevent the darkness of his memories exploding with questions and hope, like a midnight millennium firework display. Why had they kept her alive? Where had they taken her? Was she still alive? Where could she be? Who could help him find her given that he’d killed all those involved? And would he ever see her again? He had no answers. Not one. He had no idea of where he could even start looking for them.

  And then he was struck with a memory. Just before he had released his enemy’s wife in exchange for Eda and Stan Tallis, just as she was about to skim away across the smooth surface of the dawn Aegean Sea, she had said something. It had meant nothing to him then other than some well-meaning advice that he still had a life to live and so he should run, abandon his quest for revenge for his loved ones in a contest he had no hope of surviving.

  The more he thought about that time, the way she had crumpled before his eyes when he had revealed himself and his reasons for being where he was, doing what he was, risking what he was, he wondered whether she might have known something. Could her remark have had something to do with his daughter?

  He closed his eyes and breathed in and out heavily. He would have to guard against getting carried away with wild, unsubstantiated guesswork.

  When Dominique walked out of the bedroom clutching Zoe’s hand, he mentally nailed down the lid on his own unhelpful issues. He had to focus on the immediate future – getting himself and his wards out of Iran and back to the UK. If he failed in that there would be no opportunity for him to search for his daughter. Just the possibility that he might soon be in a position to do that was the last enlivening thought as mother and daughter came into the room. It left him with the merest tingle of hope and something of a smile hovering at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘You look like you’ve have good news,’ said Dominique.

  ‘I feel like I have, thanks to you. My daughter could be alive. It’s the best news I’ve had since I was rescued from Jackson.’

  Dominique wanted to say that the girl might not still be alive, but giving voice to that possibility was a cruelty beyond her for a man who was risking his life to help them. Besides, having her and her daughter’s rescuer focussed through new-found purpose to get them all out of Iran would be something to value.

  She said, ‘I hope you find her.’

  He smiled at her and turned his attention to the sickly waif who was on her bare feet for the first time since he’d seen her. He knelt down to share her eye level. ‘How are you feeling, Zoe?’

  She said nothing but stared intently at him with those large clear eyes. He could see she wasn’t afraid of him. That was good.

  ‘Your mum’s told you what we’re going to do? We’re going to get you out of here and back home. I promise you that. And we’re going to need your help. Come and sit down.’ He led them to the couple of chairs and took one for himself. He caught Dominique’s eye and in exchange for his mouthed words received a quick nod to confirm that, despite being an elective mute, Zoe understood everything.

  He turned his attention back to those searching eyes that he felt bore into him with a disconcerting, almost physical, intensity. ‘We’ve got a lot of miles to cover to get home. There are bad people who want to stop us. We’ve got to stay ahead of them. We’ve got to trick them, Zoe. We’ve got to beat them. Sometimes it’s got to look like it’s just your mum and me because the people who are looking for us will be looking for a child of your age with blonde hair and big blue eyes. That’s you.’ He tried a smile but got nothing in return.

  ‘Soon, we’re going for a ride in an ambulance. It’s a ride where you’ll have to hide. The people who want to stop us going home might stop the ambulance and look inside. Do you think you can hide and be quiet when the time comes?’ He realised he’d said a stupid thing as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  ‘She’ll be a great hider, won’t you?’ said Dominique. To Acer, she said, ‘Do you really think it can work?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ In answer to her look, he said, ‘We have to trust them. We’ve got no choice, for one, and for two, they need us to succeed. We get caught they’re worse than dead – the woman’s words. Much as I don’t like fancy dress, they’ve got a point with it and the Arab traditional clothing customs are definitely an advantage to us, especially with you wearing the chador and niqab.

  ‘Zoe is who they’re going to be looking for in the crowds. That blonde hair and those blue eyes are going to bring attention, have everyone giving you a second look,’ he said, looking at the girl and trying to be friendly. ‘But if you’re wearing a child’s version of the chador and niqab that’ll cover your hair. I’ll carry you, Zoe. You just have to pretend to be asleep. The train’s an overnighter. We’ll have a sleeper cabin to ourselves. It’ll just be a matter of boarding the train and finding our compartment.’

  ‘What about when we get off the train?’

  The mobile Hassan had given him began ringing. He answered. After a brief conversation he ended the call and said, ‘They’re on the way. We should get ready.’

  ***

  18

  Niki came up and led them down to the ambulance. She was wearing the uniform of the paramedic. Acer and Dominique were in
their traditional Arab clothing and, as before, Acer carried Zoe wrapped head to toe in a thin cloth.

  They arranged themselves in the back of the ambulance and Hassan drove slowly away.

  Acer saw that Niki looked tense, anxious, and it did not instil confidence in him for their deception.

  There was a large solid box fixed behind the driver’s seat. It was open and empty. Something to keep things cool in, ordinarily.

  ‘When the time comes the girl will have to go in there,’ said Niki. She locked eyes with Acer. ‘You will lie on the bed. Don’t react to anything. You are unconscious as far as anyone looking here is concerned. You will wear an oxygen mask. When they stop us,’ she said to Dominique, ‘I will tell them you don’t speak the language.’

  Dominique said, ‘What’s supposed to be wrong with him?’

  ‘Suspected bird flu.’

  ‘Have there been any cases of that virus in Iran?’

  ‘Not that I know of. But he recently visited Hong Kong. Iranian health officials are not taking any chances. That’s why he’s being transferred to a specialist isolation unit in Tehran.’

  As a story, it continued to sound weak. But perhaps, thought Acer, that was because he knew it was a charade. He tried to imagine himself in the shoes of a poorly-educated, young, unworldly Iranian army conscript caught by surprise with the arrival of a speeding ambulance carrying sick passengers and a potentially deadly virus. It could work. It would depend on the convincing performances of the ‘paramedics’, the believability of their paperwork and how busy the road was with traffic.

  Niki clambered through to take her seat in the front of the ambulance. Both she and Hassan had simple face masks on. Hassan turned on the sirens and the lights and gradually increased his speed. With the noise and the uncomfortable swaying of the high-sided vehicle, conversation seemed hardly worth the effort. And they had little to say to each other; being preoccupied with their own thoughts, their individual unease.