by Andy McNab
‘I know.’
Gemma was all set and it was Charlotte’s turn to check in. Gemma was a little younger than the rest of us, early thirties, and she was one amazing plant and machine operator – much to her parents’ disappointment. They had always wanted some upward social mobility in their family.
But the army loved her for it. She, too, was a reservist, and we both served in the same Royal Engineers unit based in Catterick, a garrison town north of York. We’d done our Afghan tour together and she was my sergeant. It wasn’t in her official job description, but her main job seemed to be to sort out all the shit for me – hence Captain Calamity. But Gemma was more than just a reservist: she was a hero. She was driving a Combat Engineering Vehicle to build the FOBs during one of the clearing operations in Afghanistan when the infantry about a hundred metres forward of us came under heavy fire. There were two dead and four wounded, and the patrol was pinned down. What she was driving had a fancy name, but it was effectively just a wheeled excavator to scoop up sand to fill HESCOs, with a bit of armoured plate around the cab.
She saw what was happening and, with the bucket up and front, she went for it towards the Taliban position about three hundred metres ahead. Not only did she take rounds into the cab, but an RPG took out the excavator when she was just fifty metres from the enemy.
I was positioning HESCOs at the time and, standing on a section of wall, could see the whole thing unfold. I thought she was dead when the vehicle took the RPG, but soon the infantry moved up and pulled her out of the wreck. She wasn’t standing straight for a day or two, but she was alive.
It was a proud day for her parents when they joined her at Buckingham Palace where she was decorated with the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross by the Queen.
But that day of joy at the Palace was quickly wrenched from them. Gemma’s parents owned a construction firm just outside Ripon, building mainly houses and small industrial units. Just like the rest of us, she, too, had been trying to save the family business. Despite everyone’s best efforts, the firm was forced into bankruptcy, and Gemma took out personal loans to buy some of the old company’s plant and set up on her own. She dug foundations, knocked down houses, laid tracks, moved earth, broke out concrete, drilled manholes, prepared ground for anything like pipework or ducting that needed to be trenched. Whatever had to be dug up or pushed in, she was the one to call, and the business grew and grew. At the same time, her sister, a year older, became a landscape gardener, and between the two of them they seemed to have cornered the market. If earth needed shifting for a fancy new garden it would be Gemma’s machines on the case, and if her clients needed a landscaper, her sister would magically appear.
They worked hard; they made a go of it. Gemma, more so: she worked in a totally male-dominated, Wild West environment. Some very strong-arm tactics were employed in her line of business, with heavies coming in to persuade people to use certain plant firms. But Gemma stood her ground. She had chosen to study sports psychology because she was good at people and she was good at sports, rugby especially. And with a mouth and an attitude like her father’s, she had been just as tough against the heavies as they were and prevailed.
Gemma wasn’t only a hero to the country but to her former captain. It wasn’t just the action I’d seen her take but the fact that she never talked about it. That didn’t come from having a stiff upper lip – far from it, she was all lip. It was the way she looked at the war and thought, Been there, done that, what’s next? She was the one who taught me to think exactly the same. It really was in another life.
I addressed all three of them: ‘What about we say eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, in my room, two oh nine, and I’ll explain what we’re doing, then maybe go into town for lunch?’
There was a general smile and agreement about it, rather than a laugh. They were probably saving that for tomorrow when they’d got some energy back. Not that there’d be much of that in the room after they’d heard what I had to say.
Charlotte joined us and, as they steered the trolleys towards the lift, I peeled off to the right.
‘See you in the morning, eleven, two oh nine.’
A quick wave and I disappeared up the stairs. I wanted to get away from them for now, let them sort themselves out and enjoy the last few hours of thinking I was the good guy.
As I cleared the last few steps before pushing through the fire-doors and onto the second-floor landing, my mobile vibrated in my jeans. It was WhatsApp, and the message was clear: Mr Mani wanted to be introduced to Charlotte in forty-five minutes.
37
Shit.
I opened my door and the Brit was already inside, rigging up the holoport equipment.
My first reaction was: How did he get in? And then it dawned on me. Of course he could get in. He didn’t even look up, just carried on setting up the second camera, the black one that was used to show instant memories, running its leads to the power.
I launched straight into an explanation. ‘Look, I didn’t know she was coming. All she knows is what I’ve told the others. Nothing more.’ He wasn’t interested, but I felt better trying to say something.
At last the Brit acknowledged me. He stopped pushing the power cable into the wall socket and stood up to face me. Then he checked his watch. ‘Forty minutes.’
I was straight out of the door and heading for the fourth floor. What did he want with her? To get her to join the family? Would he tell her the truth? That would mean I had no control over it, no context to try to soften the blow. How would she react? First of all, in front of Parmesh and the Templars, and even worse, in the face of more lies from me.
I knocked on the door far too many times without a reply, then rushed back to the lift and picked up the hotel phone on the wall. ‘Room four one nine, please. My name’s James, and it’s for Charlotte.’
I didn’t have to wait long and finally the operator joined us together.
‘It’s me.’
‘I was—’
‘Listen, this is very important. You’ve got to let me in right now.’
She was matter-of-fact, but wary as ever. ‘Okaaay.’
This time, one double tap and it opened. Charlotte was in a bathrobe and brushing her wet hair. ‘We said half an hour?’
I went in and pushed her jeans and sweatshirt to the side so I could sit on the end of the bed. She knew something was wrong. ‘James, everything at home will be okay. It’s better for me to help you down here. That will help Pip and the kids more than—’
I put both hands up to halt her. ‘Yep, yep, I agree with that. But … there’s a lot more you need to know. We’ve got under thirty minutes for you to get dressed and also throw a really big one at me while you’re doing it.’
‘Okaaay.’ She braced herself for the next bout of garbage. She came and sat next to me and stopped brushing.
I kept my eyes fixed on the black screen of the TV in front of me, then homed in on the little red standby light to avoid her gaze.
As if. She was centimetres away. I was going to have enough problems with my ears being so close when she kicked off, let alone avoid watching her do it. I might as well get on with it.
I let out everything I’d been holding back: about the cognitive elite, Parmesh, the ‘family’, the Templars, the ledger, why whatever was in there was worth him giving us millions. And, finally, that I needed her help getting the team onside, without them knowing what she now knew.
And, on top of that, Parmesh wanted to meet her. In less than thirty minutes’ time.
I stopped and waited for the big one coming my way.
But nothing.
I turned and she had started to brush her straight, shoulder-length black hair with slow, deliberate strokes. I carried on: ‘All I can think of is to try to get a copy of the names, the places. Then maybe we have some protection. But don’t forget, if he’s telling the truth, we are rich.’
She carried on brushing. ‘Maybe. But if everybody else wants it and they know we have a co
py …’ She looked at me and her head tilted. ‘I know what you’re going to say – that’s for another day. Right?’
I nodded and tried to raise a smile. ‘Exactly – we worry about that some other day.’ I was actually feeling good. Not only had I just emptied the barrel of all my lies, but also her reaction so far hadn’t been too bad.
She stood up and pulled a drier from the desk drawer. ‘So, you’re only telling me this now because Parmesh wants to talk with me?’
I had to admit it. ‘Yeah, sort of. Tomorrow I was going to get the team onboard with cash and that what we were stealing was just an accounts ledger, exactly what I told you the other night. But, yeah, I had to tell you. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even want you down here, remember. I didn’t want to put you at risk.’
The drier came on deafeningly and her hair jumped all over the place.
I checked my watch. ‘We’ve got fifteen.’
She turned off the drier and over-concentrated on brushing her hair once more in the mirror.
‘l promise you, all he knows is that you’re here on the same lie I gave the rest of them. I didn’t ask you here, but you came anyway.’
I stood to walk over to her as she inspected herself in the desk mirror. Still no reply: she was too calm. This was worrying, as I knew what was about to happen next. ‘I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.’
She just listened, and I knew it was going in one ear and out the other, but I still had to try to make a positive. ‘But between us we should be able to get out of this with a lot of cash, and for the others. Just think about that.’
The brush came down from her hair and I sensed it was time to take cover. She turned, and used it to push against my breastbone, her black eyes burning into mine. There wasn’t even a blink.
‘Do you really think I should be excited about money when you’ve put your family – my family – at risk? Do you?’ She pushed harder and I took backward steps. ‘Do you really think I want to be here? Sorting out your mess once again? Do you?’
I took the shoves and eventually we were both through the bathroom door and standing on tiles.
‘Well, I don’t, but I’m here. We are family, and we will sort this out. But don’t think you and me are good. We’re not. I don’t care what you’ve been doing down here, but what I do care about is your lying. Don’t you lie to me ever, ever again. You understand?’
The brush kept stabbing at me as I nodded and took it.
She stopped and pointed the brush right at my face. ‘Wait here. I’ll call when I’m ready.’
She turned on her heel and slammed the door.
As far as I was concerned it had gone well. At least, much better than I was expecting. The door was immediately reopened for her to hand me an A4 envelope. ‘From the boys. They miss you.’
The door was closed again. I sat on the toilet and pulled out the A4’s contents.
There were two felt-tip pen pictures, the sort that would normally be stuck on the fridge. Jack had always been better at perspective than Tom, and the drawing of me with wellies, hard-hat, shirt and tie standing on a pile of rubble with a digger in the background was almost correct. I couldn’t help but notice details. Jack’s, on the other hand, was all over the place and more to do with plant than me. I was standing in the world’s biggest digger’s bucket with no hard-hat on. It didn’t matter: it never had.
Their scribbles were both of the same message.
Daddy we miss you and Daddy we love you.
38
We got to my room with five minutes to spare, and I opened the door to find Egbers and the Brit standing in their allotted positions by the settee. Two pairs of eyes studied my sister.
‘This is Charlotte.’
As if they didn’t know. They gave her a polite hello and a good evening. Actual words.
Egbers handed her a set of goggles. ‘Please put them on when you sit.’ He indicated the two chairs facing the end of the bed, where there had usually just been one. It was clear which one was hers. My goggles were waiting for me on the seat.
Egbers remained very polite. ‘Please take your seat from the back. The gap between the chair and the bed, I need to keep clear. Thank you.’
Charlotte looked at me, her goggles in her hand, and raised an eyebrow. I’d forgotten to tell her how we were about to meet Parmesh: there had been more important things to think about at the time. Anyway, she was probably about to find out.
Egbers guided her round to the back of her chair, like a waiter at the Ritz, pulled it out for her, then pushed it back in as she went down, as if he was about to hand her a menu next.
This was all very formal and I wasn’t sure how worried I should be.
As the goggles went onto her face she gasped. I still didn’t have mine on, but I knew what she saw in front of her. ‘Whoa! You must be Parmesh!’
The speakers came to life, but he must have been sitting, waiting, watching us since we entered the room.
‘Yes, it’s so wonderful to see you at last, Charlotte. James, please come and join us.’
I put on my goggles as I sat down, in time to see Parmesh explaining the technology to Charlotte and why we didn’t see each other’s goggles. ‘I was trying to get the high-five glitch rectified for the next time I spoke with James. But, sadly, no luck yet. We need to fine-tune the perspective on each side so that hands can meet.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘But, anyway, such a pleasant surprise you are here. I just wanted to say hello.’
‘And hello to you, Parmesh.’
‘Where are you from originally?’
She smiled. ‘Sri Lanka.’
Parmesh beamed back. ‘Me too! I was born in Palali. It’s just a small town way up in the north near the coast – do you know it?’
She shook her head. ‘No, sorry, I don’t know the country at all. I was just a baby when I left, one of the lucky ones – you know, the war. Countries were taking in orphans. I was adopted by our wonderful parents. The UK is all I know.’
She smiled across at me as Parmesh nodded. He looked genuinely upset. ‘Yes, it was a terrible time. Now look at the two of us. Both with very funny accents.’
He got a laugh from everyone, including the Templars. Parmesh radiated his normal over-the-top big smile and oozed friendliness. For the first time, I wondered if it wasn’t only to help with his obsession, but actually genuine.
Charlotte was all smiles and looked pleased to meet him. But, then, she knew it wasn’t him the danger was coming from: it was the other two by the settee. Or maybe she felt she was using her heritage to bond, perhaps to help us later somehow.
The laughter subsided and he carried on: ‘That is so true, Charlotte. So true. But I think my accent is the funnier. That British accent, you sound so cool.’ He stared into her with intensity, wanting more. ‘So you never knew your parents? Can you remember anything? Your name? Family name, maybe?’
She shook her head, but not with sadness. ‘James and our parents offered to help me find out where I was born, trace my family, maybe brothers, sisters. But there were so many killed, so many families separated, no records. Where would we start?
‘But you know what, Parmesh? I didn’t want to. Our parents were the ones who’d cared for me since I was a baby. They loved me. They put plasters on my knees when my kid brother here pushed me off my bike.’
That got another laugh, and the Templars joined in again. It was very freaky.
‘That’s who my parents are, and James is my brother. What more do I need to know?’
There was a lull in the conversation while Parmesh stared at her, his smile still on main-beam. He tilted his head. I was used to it by now, but Charlotte would be feeling his strangeness soon enough. For now, she felt she had to cut the silence.
‘So what about you, Parmesh? You escaped the war?’
He came back to us. Memories of the past were getting to him. ‘Yes, like you, we lost family – killed. But me, my parents, we were so lucky, so blessed. And in fact I have
my own family now.’ He waved off to his left as the cheerful Parmesh slowly returned. ‘Come on, guys, I want you to say hello to Charlotte and James, two very special people.’
Soon his whole family were gathered around him, waving at us, like one of those awkward American Christmas cards. This was weird: had they been waiting? One of the girls clambered onto his lap and Parmesh began the introductions. He thumbed behind him. ‘This is my husband, Kyle. We’ve been together for ever, and good old CA finally made it legal to marry. It was a great day – even though he’s British.’
Kyle was the same age as me but taller, tanned and much better-looking. He carried a small bundle of blankets in his arms, and his accent gave away his birthplace. ‘No, not British. Scottish.’
Charlotte and I waved our hellos as the two little girls wriggled about.
Parmesh pointed out Jing. ‘James already knows this one, Jing. And this …’ he pointed to the second ‘… this is A’lia – which is a beautiful Nigerian name that means “glorious and wonderful”. Just like she is.’
He thumbed back at Kyle. There was movement in the blankets and I realized he was holding a baby. ‘And this is our new addition, Shoba. She is just like you, Charlotte – a war orphan. She was found abandoned in Aleppo and, again just like you, without even a name. But she now has a wonderful Hindi name. It means “beautiful”, and she is so very much. We want her to be happy and have a contented life, just like you.’
Charlotte looked invested in the set-up. Maybe seeing the baby, seeing the love she was receiving, gave her a bit of a flashback to her own life and how drastically different it might have been. She was getting a bit emotional herself. ‘Yes, you have an amazing family, a wonderful family.’
Kyle waved Shoba’s tiny olive hand out of the blanket as he gently rocked her left and right to keep her settled. The other two were getting big kisses on their heads from Parmesh but he started to move things on. ‘I think we have to talk about work now. So I tell you what, wonderful children, I’ll see you all very soon. And maybe we will go for a swim.’
