Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  So she hasn’t forgiven me, either. I need to tone this down. I don’t want Lee overhearing.

  “OK,” I say, my hands held up between us. I point at the room through the one-way mirror. “That’s interrogation. Table, chairs, people asking questions.”

  She nods, impatient. “Uh-huh.”

  I point in the opposite direction, and her eyes flick to the back wall of the observation room.

  “Out that way, there’s a room with no cameras. No table, no chairs. The people who ask the questions don’t sit down with the prisoners.” I curl my fingers into my palms. “They get to use their fists. They’re very good at making people decide that talking would be the best option.”

  I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it isn’t the knowing smile she gives me.

  “Iron fists and steel toe caps?” she asks, grinning.

  Don’t underestimate her, Lee said, and I’m beginning to see what he meant.

  “I guess,” I say, carefully. “Why?”

  “It’s a technique I’m familiar with.”

  I’m suddenly very aware of the small room. The closeness of our bodies. The fact that she’s standing between me and the door, and I have nowhere to go.

  She’s talking about torture. Physical assault. And the smile on her face tells me she’s enjoying the idea.

  The thought takes my breath away.

  “Really?”

  She’s still grinning, hands on her hips, her weight shifted to favour her injured knee.

  “You find difficult prisoners everywhere. Even in the countryside.”

  I think of my brother, in his RTS uniform. His friends, learning to be soldiers. And I imagine Ketty Smith keeping them under control with her fists and boots. The fear on their faces.

  The thought is terrifying.

  “Camp Bishop? Wasn’t that kids?” She nods, still smiling, and I can’t meet her eyes.

  I held the power, here. I had information she wanted, and I mocked her request. I should be the one smiling, but she’s stolen my power from me. She took my information and my mockery, and she made it her own.

  She’s a one-woman soap opera, and I’m falling into her story. I have to remind myself who is pulling the strings.

  Drama

  Lee pulls Margaret’s Belmarsh footage from the flash drive as soon as he’s back in the office. I bring us both coffee, and we watch as he places the photos of the recruits on the interrogation table. Margaret’s smile as she realises we haven’t caught her friends.

  “You don’t have them,” she says, and it sounds like a prayer. “You don’t know where they are.”

  She’s blinking back tears as she slumps in her chair. “They got away.”

  Lee rewinds the footage and plays it again.

  I wave a hand at the screen. “This is all she’s said?”

  He nods. “She won’t answer questions.”

  “But this is enough to convict her, if the recruits were at the farm?”

  He nods again, watching as she reaches out to touch the photo of Dan Pearce.

  “So …?” I’m trying to understand his obsession with Margaret. Why this footage is important.

  “So …” he says, fixing me with a cold stare. “It’s a shame we can’t let her out for an evening in your company, Corporal. Imagine how much more we could learn if we could persuade her to talk.”

  I blink away an image of drinks with the silent girl. Her dark hair against my pillow.

  Margaret’s silence is a challenge to Lee, and his abilities as an interrogator. He wants to make her talk, but I’m smiling as I realise he doesn’t need me.

  He needs Smith – Smith and the Enhanced Interrogation specialists. Iron fists, and steel toe caps.

  Between Smith and the brigadier, I don’t think Margaret Watson stands a chance.

  *****

  I’m still thinking about Smith as I walk home. Lee is serious. He wants Bracken gone, and he needs me and Smith to make that happen.

  But any intelligence-gathering with Smith seems further away now than ever. She knows she can turn me down. She knows she can manipulate me. She’s not going to let her guard down any time soon, and she’s certainly not sleeping with me. I might have shaped her scars, but she’s in no hurry to share them with me.

  I think again about what she said – iron fists and steel toe caps. The way she smiled at my discomfort. She knows how to intimidate people.

  But it’s not just that. She knows how to protect herself, too. It’s as if she’s wearing armour, all the time. Armour I need to break through if I’m going to keep Lee happy.

  I couldn’t charm her out of her defences. I couldn’t tempt her with privileged information. Mocking her lack of experience in the Home Forces only convinced her to mock me. I ended her RTS career, but that’s only made her even more determined to hold onto her place in London.

  My power over her is slipping away.

  I can’t do this overnight. Getting what Lee needs? That’s a long road. I need to put in time with Ketty Smith. Convince her I’m on her side. Keep the mockery going – and let her mock me – without pushing her away. She needs to think she can trust me.

  She needs to think I’m a friend.

  At home, I take a beer from the fridge and step out onto my tiny balcony. There’s a view of the park through the bare branches of the trees, and a group of kids playing tag on the grass.

  That’s what this is – a game we’re both playing, but neither of us knows all the rules. We’re playing against each other, but I need to convince her we’re on the same side. She has an ally in Major General Franks, and that makes her dangerous, but I’ve done this before. Lee is confident that I can get him any information he wants, just by taking the right girl home with me.

  This is harder than seducing the mail-room girls. This is a challenge. It’s going to take longer, but it is a game I need to play.

  And it’s a game I need to win.

  *****

  The basement coffee room is empty when I fill my mug and take a seat at the table. I’ve been awake most of the night, trying to figure out my next move.

  Trying to figure out what Smith expects from me.

  Trying to figure out what will make her drop her armour – and her clothes.

  Trying to figure out how I can keep seeing Penny, while my attention is on Ketty.

  I’d like to tell Lee that this is impossible. Smith is never going to trust me, and he’ll have to find another way to get rid of Bracken.

  But part of me still wants to know what it would be like to have Ketty in my power. To have her – curves, scars, and attitude – in my bed.

  And what it would be like to be completely at her mercy.

  I can only find out if I keep playing the game. I rest my face in my hands and close my eyes, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

  I don’t react when the door crashes open. I need a few more minutes by myself.

  “Is it true?” I look up. Private Penny is standing, one finger pointed at me. Her face is stained with tears, and her hands are shaking. “Is it?”

  There are hurrying steps in the corridor, and Lydia hurls herself into the room, closing the door behind her.

  I shake my head, holding my hands up. I haven’t drunk enough coffee for this.

  “Is what true?”

  “You!” She shouts. “You, and that bitch from Bracken’s office.”

  I glance at Lydia, who shrugs.

  “They saw you, you know.” Penny takes a ragged breath. “In the bar. Drinks. Talking. And then you left.”

  I hold up my hands again. I need time to think. “Slow down, Penny. Start again.”

  “I will not slow down.” She takes a step forward and hammers her finger onto the table. “I will not stand here and tell you what you already know.”

  She’s crying again. Lydia steps up behind Penny and wraps her arms round her shoulders, a smile playing on her lips.

  “Drama,” she mouths at me, grinning. I try not
to roll my eyes.

  I spread my palms. “Penny,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I don’t like the way she’s controlling this conversation. I don’t like the feeling of power slipping away.

  “You went to the bar with her.” Her sobs are breaking up her words, but she pushes on. “You left. And later you called me.”

  I shake my head. So far, she’s right, but I’m not sure what she’s accusing me of.

  “Were you laughing at me, over your drinks?”

  “What?”

  “Have you been shagging her this whole time?”

  And now I see it. Someone’s seen me and Smith together, and Penny’s picked up the gossip. Now she’s throwing it at me.

  I wish I’d had more sleep. And more coffee.

  I’m trying not to laugh. I don’t want a messy coffee-room breakup – I want to keep Penny in my bed. I want someone who comes when I call, and does everything she can to please me. To make me hers.

  But this is funny. I’m tired, and I have bigger things to worry about. I want to shout back at her, and tell her why this is absurd. That Ketty is the person I wish I was sleeping with – the person so unobtainable, it’s torturing me. That Penny was just a convenient body, who happened to have information I needed. Someone who meant nothing – just one more pawn in Lee’s power games.

  And an easy target.

  I don’t trust myself to speak. If I want her to stay, I can’t tell her any of this.

  “I knew it,” she yells, and then her voice drops to a whisper. “I knew it.”

  I haven’t said anything. But I haven’t denied anything, either. As far as Penny is concerned, I’m guilty.

  Her shoulders shake with sobs, and Lydia rocks her gently side to side.

  She knows who I am. She knows my reputation, and she knows about the other girls. She just thought, when I invited her out again, that there was something more between us. She knew who I was, and she came back for more. Lydia was right – she thought she was the one who’d turned my head. She thought she was special.

  And now she’s dumping me, loudly, over the one thing I didn’t do. The one thing I couldn’t do.

  I’ve lost them both. No more Private Penny. And no Ketty Smith to replace her.

  I’m too tired for this. I’m laughing before I can stop myself. Lydia glares at me, and Penny balls her fists.

  I make myself take a breath.

  “Sorry, Penny,” I say, when I can speak again. “You’re wrong.” She frowns. “You’re so wrong. I’d explain, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Penny gapes at me.

  “You mean …?” She says, her voice quiet. “You mean you’re not sleeping with her?”

  Lydia rolls her eyes.

  I take another breath. I’ve never engaged with girlfriend drama, and I don’t need to start now. I’m not losing my power over this girl, just to win her back. I’m too tired to fix this, and there are plenty more Home Forces girls to tempt into my bed.

  Time to make a decision.

  Focus on Smith. Dispose of Private Penny.

  Use her accusation to get what I want. Make sure she understands.

  I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter, sweetheart. Who I’m sleeping with is up to me.” She flinches, as if I’ve thrown a punch.

  “I don’t —”

  “It’s complicated, and it’s above your pay grade.” I give her an insincere smile. “You’re better off out of the way. No hard feelings? Can we be friends?”

  Penny shakes her head, eyes wide, tears drying on her cheeks. “Wait – you’re dumping me?”

  I shrug.

  “You’re unbelievable, David. Unbelievable.”

  And she walks out, dragging Lydia after her.

  The door slams shut, and I rest my head in my hands, thinking about what I’ve done. It was fun, screwing Penny. I enjoyed taking her secrets and her attention.

  But reclaiming my power? Sending her back to the mail room without me? I enjoyed that, too. Now she knows just how small she is. How quickly I can move on. How soon I’ll forget her name.

  There will be other girls. There will be other nights. And now I have one less complication to think about. Penny’s dumped. Lydia will enjoy picking up the pieces – and no doubt picking up Penny – and I’ve ditched the drama.

  Now I can concentrate on Smith.

  *****

  “More from your new friends.” Lee tosses another grey folder onto my desk. “Field assignment.”

  I pick up the briefing. Top Secret, with the Canterbury project code.

  “They want me to visit?”

  Lee smiles. “The committee wants you on the ground, Corporal. New identity. New clothes. New line of credit.” His smile fades, and he watches me for a moment. “This is too important to screw up.”

  I make myself take a breath. This isn’t what I was expecting.

  He points at the folder. “Get yourself up to speed. Collect your new ID and bank card. Make contact with your team.” He checks his watch. “You’re heading out in a week.”

  I pick up the folder, my hands shaking. I’ve never visited our resistance contacts. We’ve always run everything by phone, but this is bigger than anything I’ve worked on before.

  I understand. I know how important this job is. I need all the cooperation the resistance cell can give me, and if I’m working with them in person, I can make sure everything goes to plan.

  Lee waves a hand at the folder.

  “I don’t need to know the details, short of big-budget requirements. What you do, and how you do it – that’s up to you. You know how this works. If you screw up while you’re training them, you’re on your own. If you make a success of this? The Terrorism Committee will be watching. There will be career opportunities for the person who makes this happen.” I nod, and Lee smirks. “I’m sure your famous charm will keep your team under control.”

  My face is burning. I think of Penny, slamming the door of the coffee room. Ketty, pushing her way out of the bar.

  Milk-white skin and anger. Curves and scars.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.

  I hope he’s right.

  Scars

  “Hello?” A soft voice answers the call.

  “Jen? It’s David.”

  “David. Thank you for reaching out. Do you have a password?”

  I’m smiling as I give her the phrase from the committee folder. She’s been notified by letter, and she’s been told to expect my call and check my identity. I’m usually the one who has to ask, but Jen is protecting herself up front. She’s sensible and eager. I realise I’m looking forward to training her.

  She responds, and asks for my news.

  “I’m coming to Whitstable,” I say, keeping my voice down in the quiet of the conference room. “I’d like us to meet.”

  “That’s … that’s great. Thank you.” She sounds breathless. Excited.

  “No promises, yet. Let’s talk. You can introduce me to your team, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

  “No problem. I’ll arrange everything. When are you coming?”

  We work out a time and a place to meet – somewhere quiet, but public. Somewhere safe for both of us. I already know we’ll be working together – Lee’s team has completed background checks on Jen and all her friends – but it pays to keep her uncertain. If I can control her expectations, I can control her reactions. I can control her team.

  And maybe I can forget about the drama I’ve left here.

  Jen has made a good start. I’m impressed. In a week I’ll be in Kent, ready to charm my way into her confidence. Ready to make a good impression. Ready to make sure she’ll do exactly as I say.

  *****

  I chain-drink coffee all morning, but it doesn’t help. The more I think about Penny, the more I want to rewind everything that’s happened. Start again with Smith. Keep Penny coming back for more.

  I’
ve thrown them both away. I’ve lost control of the mail-room girl and the babysitter. I’ve underestimated them. I’ve made a stupid mistake.

  I can’t stop thinking about Penny’s pale skin, soft under my fingers. I can’t stop thinking about Ketty. About the armour she won’t let me through.

  When she walks through my office door, I don’t bother hiding my frustration.

  “Corporal Smith,” I say, giving her an unwelcoming smile. “Come to beg me for more inside information?”

  She doesn’t return the smile, and I realise I’m disappointed. I want a reaction. Something to show I can reach her – that I can put a crack in her armour.

  “Corporal Conrad.” Her voice is cold and business-like. “I’m here to see the brigadier.”

  I know what this is about. She and Bracken are planning Margaret Watson’s firing squad. She’s carrying the paperwork, ready for Lee to approve.

  Time to hit her where it hurts. Her failure to catch Bex Ellman and her friends is adding a personal edge to her plans for Margaret. I’m guessing that’s an easy button to press.

  “Planning the execution of a schoolgirl? Or giving your missing recruits another chance to escape?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, David? No stomach for disposing of terrorists?” She’s smiling now. “Good thing us country girls are here to do it for you.”

  I wanted to land a blow. I wanted to make her feel some of my frustration – but this is better. This is engagement. She’s thinking about our conversation yesterday – about the things I said.

  She’s thinking about me.

  I can’t help grinning as I send her through to see Lee.

  *****

  Back in the coffee room, I find myself smiling as I wait for my mug to fill. I lashed out at Ketty. I threw my frustration at her, and instead of rolling her eyes or staring through me, she punched back.

  She punched back.

  Mail-room girls and receptionists don’t retaliate – they don’t dare. I could report them, and they’d be out of a job.