FOURTEEN
Mark sat with his arm resting against the heavy set door as the car snaked through the roads towards Headquarters. It was almost as thick as the door of an aircraft. The reflection of his face in the inch thick glass rippled in and out of view, yet he barely recognised it as his own. He saw dark eye sockets and ruffled hair. He looked smaller somehow, disarrayed like his plans. He felt weaker, a man cut down by a virus, consumed as a host, unable to function.
The vehicle draw to a halt, and the sound of both front doors opening prompted him to ready himself for his exit. He had loosened his tie on account of his throat feeling constricted, so he straightened himself and his clothing up. In the centre of his head he felt a familiar pressure. It was a tight knot that had positioned itself between his eyes and fed off his stress. The patch of eczema on the palm of his hand was itching, and it had got worse this last week. Coincidental, he had told himself. There was a new patch on his foot too, and he could feel it itching in an inaccessible location. He crunched up his toes and rubbed the side of his foot against the other as if trying to stimulate a spark between two dry sticks in the search for a snippet of relief.
The heavy door opened, and he slipped out his feet in one steady motion. He heard the raindrops drumming on the waiting umbrella as he stood up underneath it.
“Sir.” He was greeted by a faceless agent, somebody that he didn’t know. He said nothing in reply and walked at his usual quick pace. The agent quickened his pace in order to keep up with Mark as he climbed the steps to Headquarters. Above him the rows of identical windows offered no view in. They appeared reflective like mirrors, and yet as black as the raven that he could hear cawing in the trees that encircled the building.
The rain began to fall heavily as he approached the front doors, and the flanking agents at Mark’s side stepped up their pace to move ahead. They stood with their hands on the covered keypad, and as they simultaneously entered their private key codes. The doors opened, and with second perfect timing Mark approached the thick, mirrored-glass doors. His reflection rippled away and he stepped into the belly of Headquarters.
The heels of the agents resonated as they walked through the foyer, each step vibrating up to the high level ceiling. Captain White greeted them as they neared the rear door, his arms laden with papers. His usually coiffed hair appeared tousled, scruffed up, like he’d had a really rough night’s sleep. He looked spent.
“Sir, all of the arrangements for Agent Sadler were made, and Seventy Fourth Street has been cleaned.” His words came spluttering from his lips, all breathy and eager like he was talking to a really hot woman. Nerves. He fidgeted the papers about in his arms waiting for a response, hoping he had impressed.
Mark stood in front of his subordinate, his crowd of underlings waiting anxiously for his reaction to Agent Sadler’s name. Sets of eyes twitched left and right, looking for comfort in another man’s gaze at the uncomfortable mention of Ami. They had all heard by now what had happened. The news had filtered through like Chinese whispers, bringing with it sorrow and disbelief. Then the second wave of gossip had spread, she was a foreign agent, a double agent, working for both sides. Oh in that case, good job. It was for the best. Even the ones who didn’t really mean it kept their grief to themselves.
“It is quite clear to me now that Agent Sadler was not at all what she seemed. Amena Saad was in fact the daughter of Abdel Salam Saad, a well know buyer of weapons who feeds not only the east, but the west, the north, and the south. Had they have successfully stolen the data that we have tried for many years to acquire he would have undoubtedly made a fortune from the nearest buyer. In the near future we would have been the victim of our own success, and subsequent failure.
“It is your department that manages recruitment and dissolution of contract, is it not, Captain White?” The whole crowd knew the meaning of dissolution of contract. It was a phrase that made even the most secure of agents fearful. There was not a single agent who would have wished for ‘dissolution of their contract.’ The discomfort rippled through the ten pairs of feet as they shuffled about.
“Yes, Sir. It is indeed.”
“Then you were, as I understand it, solely responsible for her recruitment.”
“Yes, Sir. That is correct.”
“Then you and I have much to discus regarding Amena Saad. But right now I want to know the location of Ben Stone. That is our priority. What do you have?” Mark began to walk towards his office, through the corridors and hordes of eyes that gazed upon him. The rumour of the operational failure had began its diffusion throughout the department. Captain White glanced repeatedly at the papers, reading as they moved through the crowds, sidestepping the other agents in order to get close to Mark.
“Sir, Agent Mulligan tracked him to the underground station on Sixtieth. He shot an agent and disappeared into the tunnels. Her team followed him but came up with nothing. We picked up a signal from his phone line briefly, and we have sent agents in that direction, but it was a very brief signal, and has subsequently not been identified again.”
“You mean you haven’t got anything on him since he left the underground station?”
“For half an hour it looked as if he was heading in an easterly direction, but the last activity we recorded was over forty minutes ago.”
“Tell me, Captain White, how can a man with no identity, no financial resources, and approximately one hundred agents on his tail, manage to evade our grip? We have tracked this man successfully for many years and controlled his life to the point that I could even decide what he was eating for breakfast. What holiday destination he may visit. Short of controlling when he goes to the toilet we knew everything about him. Yet suddenly we know absolutely nothing. How is this possible?”
“Sir, we have every agent out looking for him. We have every underground station sealed. There is no exit he could take that doesn’t go through us.”
“But yet he is still loose. Find him.” They had reached Mark’s office door and he held up his access card. He turned to look at Captain White for the first time since they had started walking together. “Find him, and kill him.” He turned to another agent on his right just before he closed the door behind him. “Mulligan is on her way in. When she gets here, send her directly to me.”
Mark didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need the confirmation from his staff that his instructions would be followed. There wasn’t a single person working in his department that would dare go against his will. Yet there had been many whisperings that his appointment had been misguided, a gentle nod from most of the staff with military experience that his lack of exactly that had made his position untenable. They had all been professional to his face, of course. But he knew that they were talking about him now that things had gone awry. This one mistake could be the very thing that justified their beliefs. He couldn’t let that happen.
To fail in Ben’s elimination at the final hurdle had the potential to show weakness, and therefore undermine everything he had ever achieved. It would render years of work worthless. He knew people were wondering if his friendship with Ben had prevented him from delivering the fatal drug. They thought he was trying to help Ben. The only proof of his dedication to the agency now was Ben’s body, cold and dead and on a slab. It was his only option.
He gazed at the computer screens around him. He saw the multitude of red lights, each representing an agent in the field. It corroborated Captain White’s account that there was indeed no underground exit left uncovered. The red lights blinked in uniform straight lines following the course of the train system, equally spaced and in pairs as his team sat guard at the stations. There was also a small collection of dots forming an arc around the eastbound perimeter of the city, a backup team in case Ben’s travel east had in some inexplicable way been successful. He rested his heavy head on the palm of his hand, as if his muscles couldn’t cope with the weight of it, which served only to make his painful headache feel worse. He took several deep cleansing
breaths, safe from view of his team on the other side of the reinforced wall where such a display of tension he had forbidden himself long ago.
His private office was a fortress within a fortress. The walls were reinforced against radiation and built with an aluminium and steel layer. He had his own passageway towards an underground bunker. It was an emergency shelter for the face of the government that not even they knew existed. That was the best way of keeping its existence secret. If ever that secret was compromised it would be the end of the system as Mark knew it. For his Agency to survive, first it had not to exist.
He pulled the top file from the pile on his desk. After pushing aside the large glass paperweight he placed the beige cardboard folder in front of him. It was marked three of ten, which meant that the pile had become irritatingly disarranged. Mark had ensured that the documents from Ben’s lab be entrusted to his own safe keeping. In truth, he wanted to read through them. He wanted the words to lift from the page and transfer into his own mind, reawaken his scientific abilities. Eventually he intended for them to become his own words, his own work. That way he could replace the one thing that until then had been irreplaceable. Ben.
He knew that he wouldn’t understand the majority of what was written immediately. It would take time. These were after all, Ben’s handwritten notes from years of research. The date on the top of this file was from three years previously. He leafed through the contents, the notes and diagrams a foreign language to him. He brushed his thumb against the spines of the other files. He found the latest file, marked ten of ten.
Opening the folder he saw that the latest page was dated only two days before, the final day of Ben’s existence. It was unimaginable how Ben had failed to maintain computer records. He scanned through the results before closing the file, telling himself he had all the time in the future to read it.
Taking one final look at the red lights blinking on the screen, he stood from his desk, leaving the office behind him as he stepped out into the corridor. The only sounds around him were the tapping of computer keyboards or the occasional scratch of the lead of a pencil against paper. Which one of you was talking about me before I came out of my office, he asked himself rhetorically, fearing that the answer could be all of them.
He knew they were thinking him to be a weak leader, or worse, a traitor. He ignored his desire to question them, to ask if they had any idea what it was that he had given up in order to get this operation off the ground. If they had any idea of what personal cost he had paid in the pursuit of success, the thought wouldn’t even cross their minds. He held his head up, and pushed all memories of his youth to one side. There is no shame in what I have done, he told himself. Anybody would have done it. It’s normal to want the best for yourself. He focussed his mind on the metronomic beat of his shoes as they struck the stone floor of the corridor. It’s true, nothing and nobody lasts forever.
As he approached another door he swiped his access card against the screen of the card reader. The red light at the side of the door changed to green and he slipped into the room beyond.
“Where is he?” The nearest agent stood to attention as the door opened and his boss walked through. Mark’s words were cannonball-blunt.
“Just through here, Sir.” The guard led him towards another doorway which had no locking mechanism or card reader to grant access. Mark pushed the door open to see the little boy playing on the floor with a popup book. A female agent, who looked less than excited with her appointment to this latest assignment, stood to attention. Mark brushed her away, ushering her to resume her disinterested position in her seat as if he knew this assignment was beyond boring.
“Hey Matthew,” Mark said, as he got close enough to crouch down next to the boy and ruffle his hair. His sudden change of tone, a full about turn, sounded alien to the other agents. They shared their surprise in a quick glance at each other behind the safety of Mark’s back.
“Uncle Mark!” A smile spread across Matthew’s face and he threw his arms around Mark’s body. His hands gripped onto Mark’s clothes, and Mark naturally and softly slipped his hands around the small boy. In a genuinely warm embrace Mark scooped him up. “Did you bring it?” Matthew asked.
“Did I say I would bring it?” The boy nodded, unsure if the response was in his favour or against him. “If I said I would bring it, then I must have brought it.” Mark pulled out a rolled up book from his inside pocket, no thicker or smaller than a magazine. Matthew’s eyes grew wide as he saw the blue of the book appear.
“Wow!” exclaimed Matthew, unfolding the football sticker album onto the grey tiled floor as Mark placed him back down. Matthew pushed away his popup book and comics. “And the stickers?”
“I got ten packs.” Mark pulled the packets from his inside pocket and scattered them onto the floor. He crouched down next to Matthew.
“Shall we do it now?” Matthew asked, as he tore open the first pack and scattered the contents to the floor. Faces of football players tumbled to the ground. “No, we should wait. We should do it with Daddy when he gets here.” Mark slipped his hand underneath Matthew’s chin, and pulled it towards his. He leaned down so that their faces met. Matthew’s smile drained away, just as if somebody had pulled the plug on his excitement and dreams. Mark saw the shift of the female agent next to him, and wondered if she too thought him to be the libertine that he knew he had become.
“You remember what I told you yesterday, Matthew? You remember what I told you about Daddy when you got here?” Had he not been holding Matthew’s head so tightly it would have dropped like a fallen ice cream, splat into his chest. Instead Mark pulled on his chin, dragging his eyes back up to meet his own. “Do you remember what I told you, Matthew?”
“Yes. You said he had to go away,” Matthew muttered.
“That’s right.”
“But he promised me that we would go and play football on Saturday. He never breaks his promises. You promised too.”
“And we will, Matthew. But not this Saturday.” Mark stood up, ruffling his fingers through Matthew’s curly blond locks which looked so much like Ben’s. But Mark felt him pull away. He added in, “Mummy will be back soon,” hoping that would ease his distress.
Matthew pulled the comics towards him, discarding the sticker album in an act of childish defiance. He allowed his dreams of one day becoming Wolverine or Cyclops to replace the idea of his father. His fantasies drowned out the last words to leave Mark’s lips before he left the room.
“Don’t let anybody else in here,” he said to the agent that stood guard against the door.
“What about Agent Mulligan, Sir?” the guard of the main exit door asked. Mark glared at him through cold eyes, glass eyes, glistening like polished crystal.
“I said nobody.” Mark pulled his jacket neatly back into place, before once again swiping his card and passing through the door. As he walked back up the corridor, he saw Captain White approaching. He looked even more harassed, his hair having a party atop his head, crazed like it was on a bad trip. He hurried towards his superior.
“Sir, we need to talk.” Mark had seen this look before. It was the type of clenched-jaw tension that never proffered good news. Add into that ‘we need to talk’, and you virtually guarantee disappointment.
“Tell me you have found him.” Mark clung onto the last unrealistic hope.
“We lost Mulligan.” In an instant, hundreds of half formed ideas raced through his mind, uncertain if any of them could represent the truth. He looked back to the door behind which Matthew was hidden, and then back to Captain White.
“What do you mean you lost her? You can’t just lose an agent.” He could feel his throat drying and pulse quicken as his muscles tensed across his body, like an electric shock they tightened in waves.
“Sir, it’s not just her,” he paused, as if saying it would somehow make it worse. “We just lost her whole team.”
FIFTEEN
As Hannah steadied the boat into the small mooring station hid
den by bush and shrubbery, she motioned for Ben to stand up. Raising her hand, she waved him out and pointed to the rope that was curled up at the bow of the small vessel.
“Take that and tie it to the jetty. Not the first post though, it’s a bit wobbly. Be careful where you put your feet, too.” Ben pressed his hands against the wooden slats until he found a stable section which didn’t shift under his weight. He pushed a few dangling Willow branches to the side, and with a bit of a wobble as the boat became unsteady, he hauled himself out. he secured the rope with a simple knot and she checked that it was taut. Noticing his lack of confidence in his effort she smiled and said, “It’s fine.”
She lifted up the seat cover and removed the bag with the flask and fruit inside. She threw it down onto the jetty. She pulled up the other bag and offered it out to Ben.
“Take this one. It’s too heavy to throw down.” She passed him the bag and he felt the weight of it as he slung it over his shoulder. She jumped from the boat and snatched up the second bag. As they moved through the canopy of trees the first drops of rain began to fall. It was open and uphill, and the ground was slippery underfoot. Hannah was still wearing heels, and progress was slow, her feet as steady as the legs of a new born deer. He instinctively took hold of her arm to help.
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