Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  *****

  Start again.

  Lee’s contacts found Kieran. Kieran put together a group to fight for the resistance.

  I made contact. I went to Canterbury.

  Emma volunteered to check me out – get close to me, find out who I was.

  Jen helped her search the cottage.

  I found them a boat. I gave them a target. And I gave them everything they needed to build their bombs.

  What if they were already working with the resistance?

  What if my offer was too tempting to turn down?

  What if everything they did was to get their hands on the military-grade explosives?

  Shiny government equipment, Ketty called it.

  Eye candy, she called me. Sweet-talker.

  Entertainment, Rose said.

  Trouble, Lydia said.

  I think of Emma, joking with Jen in the middle of the night. Have you looked at him?

  And Jen, calling Emma the tempting girlfriend.

  I was so busy playing them, I didn’t catch them playing me.

  I was so busy being the eye candy, I didn’t notice when Emma used herself as eye candy to distract me. I was so busy finding myself a pretty girl, I didn’t think about what the pretty girl wanted from me.

  They took this from me, and I let them. I missed every sign. I ignored every clue. I ran their errands, gave them their bombs, and entertained myself with their willing friend.

  I think of Emma – tanned skin against white sheets. Company for all those nights. Her arms around me on our last night together.

  All for this.

  And now London is burning. Landmarks are falling.

  Smoke, flames, and screaming, and I let it happen.

  *****

  When Lee comes back for me, I’m a mess. I vomited into the bin, but there’s no water in here – nothing to clean myself up with. My boots are wet from the river and my feet are cold. My shirt is creased, where Lee dragged me out of the building. I’m resting my head on the table, arms crossed in front of me, and my stomach feels like a bruise.

  I hear the door opening, but I can’t make myself move.

  “Corporal!”

  Lee is shouting – asking questions and telling me to stand up – and I want him to stop. I drag myself to my feet and salute, my shoulders hunched.

  “Go home,” he says, disgust in his voice. “Get yourself cleaned up and go home. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  And he walks out.

  The guard shows me to the bathroom, and I wash my face and rinse my mouth. When I’m done, he marches me to the door, and I’m on Whitehall.

  The noise is shocking. I can hear shouting from Horse Guards Parade, and sirens across the river. A fire engine screams past, its blue lights pulsing. The pavements are crowded with soldiers in uniform.

  I blink, trying to make sense of the shouts and noise. A figure in fatigues sprints across my path, heading for Westminster Bridge. Someone in a fluorescent Emergency Response jacket pushes past me, followed by a field doctor with a first aid box.

  I’m the only person standing still. Everyone is busy. Everyone has a job to do.

  I want to help, but this is my mess. I did this, and I can’t undo it.

  I have no power, and Lee is sending me home. He wants me out of the way.

  I’ve messed up, and now I have to live with it.

  And suddenly there’s nothing I want more than to sleep. To crawl into bed and pretend this hasn’t happened – that this disaster is nothing to do with me.

  Lee’s right. I can’t do anything to help.

  I start walking, slowly, back towards my flat.

  Type

  My alarm sounds, and I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I’ve been awake for most of the night, and I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to put on my uniform and walk to the office. I don’t want to face Lee.

  I don’t want to face anyone, but I don’t have a choice.

  It takes all my strength to make myself sit up. Stand up. Walk to the bathroom.

  The face in the mirror is grey. I run a hand over my hair and fill the basin with cold water, trying to wake up, but I find myself resting my head on my arms at the edge of the sink.

  I feel hungover, without being drunk. I feel hollow.

  I want to go back and make every decision again – change everything that happened with Jen and Emma. I want to undo the bombing. I want to put the South Bank back together – tidy up the mess, like picking up clothes from the floor. Like taking a painkiller.

  I don’t want my mistake to stain the city, like a scar.

  I don’t want any of this.

  *****

  The streets are quiet, and the sirens are on the other side of the river as I walk along Whitehall. The Home Forces building was damaged by the bombs, and a security guard directs me to a temporary office in one of the buildings facing Horse Guards Parade. We’re doubling up, Lee and I sharing a single, small room. It takes hours for our files and furniture to arrive.

  Lee doesn’t mention yesterday, but I think he’s relieved to see me. He keeps me in the office all morning, running through everything that happened in Canterbury. And when I’ve told him everything I can remember, he starts again. Everything I said to Jen. Every conversation with Kieran. Everything I did with Emma.

  It’s excruciating.

  He wants details. Who said what, and when. Exactly what happened with the trawler. How I found Niall and Simon. How much they knew, and how much I told them. How many times I noticed my team looking out for each other. Kieran, on the seafront. Jen, in the car.

  How long Emma was sleeping in my bed. What she was willing to do to get close to me.

  How I felt about her. How it ended, between us.

  Everything that attracted me to her.

  He smirks when I describe her athletic build, blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Tells me I have a type.

  I feel sick. I think he’s enjoying this.

  *****

  Lee calls an emergency meeting for the Terrorism Committee. They were supposed to meet yesterday to plan a response to the Canterbury attack, but my mistake put an end to that. I should have been next to Lee, taking credit for the bombing.

  Instead, this feels like a trial.

  Lee speaks for me, mostly. He repeats what I told him this morning, making sure he includes every damning detail. The committee members turn to me when they need clarification, but they’re happy to let him explain all the mistakes I made and all the clues I missed.

  He’s twisting my story to suit his version of events, but it doesn’t matter. This was my job, my operation, and it ended with an attack on us. There’s no way I can deny the reality across the river.

  “Any further questions?” Lee sounds exhausted. I don’t know how long we’ve been in here – I don’t dare check my watch – but it feels like hours. It feels like days.

  “There’s the matter of the video.” Holden folds his hands on the table in front of him. Lee raises an eyebrow, and Holden doesn’t try to hide his smirk.

  My stomach drops. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I don’t think Lee does, either.

  I think about everything I’ve done. Everywhere I went, and every conversation I had in Canterbury and Whitstable. What do they have on video? My meeting with Jen? Discussions with Niall and Simon?

  Emma?

  My face is hot, and my heart is kicking in my chest as Holden pulls up a video file on the TV in the corner.

  And I finally take a breath.

  It’s not what I was expecting. It’s not me, at all – or anyone in Canterbury.

  It’s Ketty’s recruit.

  Bex Ellman in a black T-shirt, her hair tied back to match the image on the resistance posters. She’s standing in a white studio, facing the camera, a look of determination on her face. Lee leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. I realise I’m doing the same.

  “We found a copy when we searched the house.” Holden
checks his notes. “Kieran’s house. He’d hidden a DVD in the back of a photo frame.”

  The video starts to play.

  “My name is Bex. You know me as the Face of the Resistance. I’m British, like you. I’m an angry citizen, like you. And I’m a fighter, like you.”

  I have no idea what we’re watching. What Bex Ellman has to do with any of this.

  There’s ice climbing my spine as I wait for her to continue.

  “And I want to thank you, for what you’re about to do for us.”

  There are rocks in my stomach. A band round my throat.

  I know what this is.

  “Fighting back is dangerous. It’s messy, and it’s hard, and it takes courage.”

  This is an endorsement. A pep talk from the rebels.

  “It takes courage to be part of the resistance. It takes courage to get up every morning and live through another day, knowing that your name could be on a list. Knowing that you could end up on PIN. Knowing that your government wants to lock you up.”

  She pauses, to make sure her words hit their target.

  “You have courage.”

  She talks about determination, inspiration, and support, but I’m not listening. I’m thinking about how this video reached Kieran. When this video reached Kieran.

  Maybe it’s a standard video. Whoever their resistance contact is, maybe they have a stack of these. Maybe they hand them out to everyone who wants to help.

  And then my blood turns to ice.

  “So, Andrew, Saanvi, Pete, Said, Emma, Jen, and Kieran: thank you. We see you. We know what you’re doing for us.”

  I can’t breathe.

  This is personal.

  “We’ve done everything we can to make this a success. To support you, and to keep you safe. And you’ve done everything possible to support yourselves.”

  I can hear Jen, searching the cottage. Emma, laughing as they emptied my pockets.

  “You’re ready. Good luck. And thank you.”

  Ellman stares at the camera, her expression intense, a blush of colour in her cheeks as the video ends.

  Lee sits back in his chair. Holden smiles as he turns to me, but I can’t take my eyes off the screen.

  Bex Ellman sent a video to my team. The Face of the Resistance told the Canterbury cell to bomb London. She wished them luck, with the disaster we witnessed yesterday.

  And that means the OIE is behind this. The Opposition In Exile is protecting Ellman and her friends. They’re sheltering Ketty’s recruits in Edinburgh. The only way they’ve made a video of the Face of the Resistance talking to my team – the only way they know their names – is if they‘re in direct contact. Kieran, Jen, Emma, and the OIE.

  I cover my face with my hands. The OIE used me to bomb London. I didn’t think this could get any worse, and now the committee knows I’ve been played by a schoolgirl and a bunch of failed politicians. The biggest attack the OIE has ever launched, and I’m the one who helped them.

  I look around the room at the committee members. People I know and respect. People I’m lucky to work with. And they look at me, their expressions cold.

  They know this is my fault.

  *****

  Lee sends me out of the room with instructions to wait outside. He’s trying to sound calm, but I can hear the anger in his voice.

  I step into the corridor, the room silent as the committee waits for me to leave. Ketty looks up from the runner’s desk, ready to fetch more coffee or run an errand, but I’m not in the mood to talk. There’s an empty seat next to hers and I sink into it, hands over my face, head against the wall.

  This is it. Lee didn’t defend me. He didn’t justify any of my decisions. He answered their questions and he told them everything they wanted to know.

  They’re going to take my job.

  My breath catches. They’re going to lock me up.

  “Trouble, David?”

  A conversation with Ketty is the last thing I need after what happened in the meeting, and I know she’s going to enjoy this. I drop my hands and look at her.

  “What do you think?”

  She smiles, and it takes everything I have not to throw a punch.

  “I think you screwed up,” she says, brightly.

  There’s nothing I can say. I put my hands over my face again, and groan.

  But she’s not done.

  “They took your toys, didn’t they – the bombers?” I can hear the smile in her voice, and there’s nothing I can do to make her stop. “They took the bait, but they didn’t follow the plan.” She waits for me to respond, but I concentrate on breathing. The last thing I need is a fight. “Where was the target, David? Where were the bombs supposed to explode?”

  She leans towards me, and I can feel her breath on my neck. My jaw is clenched, and I’m doing everything I can to stay calm. “Which city was supposed to be dealing with this?”

  Enough. She’s not supposed to know any of this.

  “You don’t have the clearance for this conversation, Corporal.”

  She nods. She’s not smiling any more.

  “True. But I know what you do.” I can’t engage. I can’t answer her. I can’t deny anything. “And I spent yesterday afternoon carrying stretchers and rescuing people who were never supposed to get hurt.”

  Of course she did. Of course Ketty was on the front line, witnessing the worst consequences of my mistake.

  “So what went wrong? And how did they get so close to us?”

  I don’t care any more. I don’t care about secrets and clearances and protocol. I want her to leave me alone.

  “Suitcase bombs,” I say. “Designed to be hidden.” I wave a hand. “And we don’t patrol over there – not as much as we do on our side of the river. London Eye is the closest they could get. No one would notice hidden suitcases over there. Not like they would over here.” I’m still waving my hand. I know I’m not making sense, but I hope it’s enough to keep her happy.

  She leans towards me again, her voice a harsh whisper.

  “That should have been us, David,” she says. “They were aiming for us.”

  I nod. Her voice is raw with pain, and I wonder what she saw yesterday. I wonder what I missed – what other people had to clear up while I crawled into bed and tried to forget what I’d done.

  This is so much bigger than me, and right now she’s the only person who understands.

  “I know, Ketty,” I say, grateful to make a confession to someone who can’t take my job. “I know.”

  Blame

  “I wouldn’t be grinning if I were you.” Lee closes the door to the office behind us. “There’s still a hole in the South Bank that shouldn’t be there. A high casualty count. And this …” He waves his hand at the tiny room, the two desks still stacked with boxes from the Home Forces building. “Don’t forget that this is thanks to you.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, swallowing my smile.

  It was an hour before they called me back into the meeting. An hour of thinking through everything Lee said. All the questions the committee asked, and all the answers I gave. An hour of wondering whether I’d be spending the night in a cell.

  Spending my life in a cell.

  The thought took my breath away, and sent cold sweat tracking down my spine.

  I can’t believe I’m walking free. I can’t believe I’m still working. Still running the Watson trial, still Lee’s assistant.

  I look around our temporary office. He’s right. Sharing one room is going to be inconvenient. We’re practically on top of each other, and it’s going to take days to organise the space. Days I need to work on the trial, and Lee needs to do whatever the Terrorism Committee is planning next.

  Hunting down my team. Fast-tracking their trials and executions. Reserving time on PIN to show the OIE what happens to terrorists in the UK.

  My stomach twists. In spite of everything, I still don’t want to see Emma face a firing squad.

  “Sit down,” he says, and points at the only
chair not piled with boxes. Lee sits on the edge of his desk, and gives me an uncomfortable stare.

  “Do you understand what happened in there, Corporal?”

  I take a breath. This isn’t over.

  “I think so, Sir.”

  “I hope so,” he says, his voice cold. “What happened in that meeting is something I never expect to happen again.” He watches me, a hawk watching its prey. I feel completely exposed. “I spoke up for you, Corporal. I explained your mistakes. I blamed the OIE and the resistance team, and I made sure they understood how you’d been manipulated by that shameless blonde you seem so fond of.” I can feel the heat rising on my face. He’s bought me my job, but he’s destroyed my reputation.

  “It was close. Not everyone wanted to clear you of blame. You understand that you are barred from committee business?” I nod. “You will not be working for the people in that room again.” He rolls his eyes. “Right now, as far as the committee is concerned, you have less credibility than Bracken. Do you understand?”

  That stings. We both know Bracken’s reputation, and we know how dangerous he could be for the committee.

  He’s still on the inside. I’m not. That’s how far I’ve fallen.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “This …” Lee waves his hand at the boxes around us. “This is your problem. This, and Margaret Watson.” I nod. “I want the office ready for use, and I want your attention on our show trial.” He stares at me again. “No distractions, Conrad. No pretty girls from the mail room.”

  “No, Sir.” There’s nothing else I can say.

  He leans towards me and speaks slowly and clearly. “And one more thing. Stay away from Ketty Smith. I don’t want another devious athletic blonde turning your head, and you clearly have a weakness for blue eyes and freckles.”

  My face is burning. I make myself nod.

  “I cannot have my assistant undermined by Bracken’s babysitter. Not after I saved your career.” He sits back, folding his arms.

  He’s saying I can’t be trusted. After everything he’s asked me to do, he’s making sure I don’t give Ketty the chance to manipulate me the way Emma did. He’s protecting me. He’s protecting himself.