by Ryan, Chris
‘This bloke’s a civvy. Should he even be here?’
‘This isn’t the first time I’ve worked with Vauxhall,’ Cantwell responded haughtily. ‘My firm has cooperated with Madeleine in the past, sharing information and so on. I know the drill.’
‘Julian can be trusted to be discreet,’ Strickland said. ‘I’d vouch for him personally on that front.’
Bald spread his hands. ‘What can you tell us?’
Cantwell folded his legs and thought carefully before making his reply.
‘The first thing to bear in mind is that Caroline is a sensitive, thoughtful soul. We met back at Oxford. I was studying PPE at Merton. She was reading History and Politics at Jesus College. We were both members of the Union.’ He smiled at a memory. ‘That’s how we first met one another, actually.’
‘You two were an item?’
‘Oh God, no. Nothing like that. It was strictly platonic. Caroline was a fiery socialist, very much inspired by her father’s political upbringing. I was always more of a dyed-in-the-wool Conservative, I suppose. She would never have dated some young fogey like me, but that didn’t stop us from having some thrilling debates. No-holds-barred stuff.’
‘Fascinating,’ Bald said drily.
Porter shot his mucker a look, then turned back to Cantwell. ‘Go on.’
‘Look, Caroline is incredibly bright. Far smarter than me, I have to say. She’d invariably outwit me in our discussions, peppering her arguments with arcane quotes from obscure intellectuals. But she’s quite an anxious individual.’
‘How do you mean?’
Cantwell ran a hand through his red hair. ‘We took a holiday once. After graduation. Myself, Caroline and a few others. A trip to Eastern Europe. This was in the mid-nineties. The Berlin Wall was down, the Soviet Union had collapsed; everything was edgy, raw and exciting. Just the sort of place a few politically engaged graduates would want to explore.’
He paused to take a sip of water.
‘Go on,’ Porter said.
‘We spent the last few days in Estonia. Beautiful part of the world, by the way. Highly recommend it.’
‘Get to the point,’ Bald said.
‘We got drinking in a bar one night and heard from a local about some frozen waterfall in a remote part of the country. The next day, we decided to check it out, rather on a whim. Well, anyway, we’d failed to check the forecast, and on the way back we got caught in a fierce snowstorm. Truly dreadful. Our car broke down, it was bitterly cold, we had no food or water and we had no way of calling for help. This was in the days before mobile phones, of course. After a few hours the car battery had died, we were all freezing, and it looked a bit worrying. We started to wonder whether one of us should leave on foot to look for help. Eventually, several hours later, we spotted a passing truck and flagged him down. He sent for help. It was rather a dramatic little adventure, but Caroline saw it rather differently.’
‘How so?’
‘She had a full-blown panic attack while we were stranded. Took her a while to get over the ordeal.’
‘Sounds like a soft touch,’ Bald growled.
‘Caroline is a wonderful person, don’t get me wrong. She has many, many qualities, but you must understand that she comes from a privileged background. Well-off parents, large house in the suburbs, private education. She never really had to struggle. Never had to deal with adversity. I come from a much humbler background. Had to fight tooth and nail to get to where I am today. She didn’t have to suffer like I did.’
‘Class system,’ Bald said. ‘You get it everywhere. Even in the Regiment.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Strickland cut in. ‘That’s changing, even at Vauxhall. I’m proof of that. It’s not about where you went to school. It’s more about your ability these days.’
‘Yes, that must be it,’ Cantwell replied sarcastically. ‘Nothing at all to do with all that diversity rubbish being shoved down our throats.’
Porter changed the subject. ‘How long do you think Fuller will hold out against the Venezuelans?’
‘If I’m perfectly honest, I’d be very surprised if she hasn’t caved in already.’
‘What happens when we locate her? How do you think she’ll react?’
Cantwell set his face into a grimace. ‘Badly, I’m afraid. She’ll already be at her wits’ end. She’ll panic. You’re going to have to calm her down before you do anything else.’
Bald said, ‘That’s going to be a problem for us. The president will have his goons out searching for us. We can’t hang around.’
‘It won’t take long. Just a few words of reassurance. Put her mind at ease. That should do the trick.’
There was a pause, and then Strickland rose to her feet and smiled at Cantwell. ‘Thank you, Julian. That’s all very helpful.’
Cantwell remained in his chair. ‘Is there any truth in those rumours in the press? About Caroline working for the security services?’
‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the news. You of all people should know that, Julian.’
‘They’re saying she was looking into Vasquez. Digging around his inner circle. That she may have found out something big.’
‘She was out there doing research, speaking to academics,’ Strickland said. ‘Nothing more.’
Cantwell nodded then swung his gaze back towards Bald and Porter. A look of anxiety was etched across his face.
‘Do you think you’ll find her?’
‘We can’t make any promises,’ said Porter. ‘But we’ll do our best.’
That seemed to satisfy Cantwell. He let out a breath and tipped his head at them both.
‘Just bring her back safely. Whatever it takes. Bring her home, before those bastards break her.’
The briefing ended a short time later. Strickland thanked Cantwell for his help and reminded him not to talk to anyone about the operation. Then Merrick escorted him out of the room. Bald and Porter stayed behind to run through a few more procedural details with Strickland. She told them they were booked onto a United Airlines flight departing from Heathrow the following afternoon. They would fly to Houston, then change for a connecting flight to Bogotá. A local contact would meet them at the airport and escort them across the country to the jungle camp. They would RV with the three ex-SEALs and make their final preparations before crossing into Venezuela.
She wished them the best of luck.
Then she said goodbye.
They followed Merrick out of the briefing room. Retraced their steps back down the tunnel-like corridor and up the flight of stairs leading to the ground floor. Passed back through the security door with the camera mounted above it. Marched across the foyer and through the double doors to the street outside.
A charcoal-grey Vauxhall Insignia was parked in front of the building, waiting to ferry them to their accommodation for the evening. Bald and Porter climbed into the back while Merrick took the front passenger seat and gave an address in Paddington to a driver with a widow’s peak. He pulled away and accelerated west, then turned north on to Park Lane before hitting traffic.
The roads were clogged with vehicles. The city was practically at a standstill. A huge crowd of people clustered in the square outside Marble Arch Tube station, staring at their phones or throwing up their arms in frustration and shouting at the blue-jacketed Tube officials. Others sat on the lawn opposite, drinking bottled beers. More people stood in long straggling lines at the bus stops, jostling for space on the crammed double-deckers. None of the traffic lights appeared to be working. Cars honked at one another. In the distance, Bald could hear dozens of alarms going off, machine-like wails piercing the night air.
He leaned forward and said, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Blackout,’ the driver replied in a hoarse south-of-the-river accent. ‘All over the news, mate.’
‘When?’ Porter asked.
‘Forty, fifty minutes ago. They reckon half of north London was down. Bloody chaos.’
‘Is
the grid still down?’
‘Radio is saying that power has been restored. But half the Tube’s still closed, along with King’s Cross and Euston. Traffic lights are fucked and all. People are stranded and have got no way of getting home. Going to take a while to get you lads across town.’
‘They say what caused it?’
‘Some expert on the radio reckons it might be a software bug. A glitch. Like the one that happened in Paris a few weeks ago.’
Bald sat back and nodded.
Porter said, ‘That’s weird.’
‘What is?’
‘The blackout. Happening so soon after the one in France.’
‘Coincidence.’
‘You don’t think it’s strange?’
‘I can think of stranger things. Such as how a lame soldier like yourself managed to pass Selection. That’s a big mystery, that. Right up there with the pyramids.’
‘Fuck off,’ said Porter.
‘Anyway, how could two power cuts in two separate countries be linked? Doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Someone might have hacked into the grids. Messed about with the software.’
‘Like who?’
‘The Russians, maybe.’
‘What for?’
‘Disruption? To send us a message? Or maybe they just want to mess with us for the sake of it.’
‘I don’t buy it,’ said Bald. ‘The Russians are old school. All them years their president did in the KGB. They want to send a message, they poison some poor bastard in a hotel in London.’
‘They’ve carried out cyber-attacks before. Here, in America, and a lot of other places too. The Russians are doing this stuff all the time, hacking into government systems and planting viruses in major networks. They can close down a foreign banking system from a back office in Moscow.’
Bald looked at Porter and made a face. ‘How do you know all that stuff? You’re not exactly Steve Jobs when it comes to the tech, mate.’
‘I’ve seen it on the news. Had a whole big feature on it.’
Bald looked back out of the window at the restless crowds. ‘It’s a coincidence,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve been watching too many conspiracy films.’
They crawled north past Marble Arch and joined the traffic on Edgware Road, inching past the shisha bars and Lebanese restaurants. It took them twenty minutes to travel a mile. Then they hooked left onto a side street and shuttled west through Paddington. The roads grew less congested as the driver made a series of quick turns until they stopped outside a gleaming new apartment block built on the edge of a canal.
‘This is us, chums,’ Merrick said.
He hopped out of the Insignia. Bald and Porter unfolded themselves from the back seats and followed him towards the glass-fronted entrance. Merrick took a key card from his wallet and swiped it against a panel next to the door. He led them through a spacious lobby towards a pair of lifts at the far end. They rode up to the third floor and made their way down a beige-carpeted corridor until they stopped in front of the door to apartment 317. Merrick tapped the key card against the lock. Ushered Bald and Porter inside.
The apartment looked like it had been ripped from the pages of Rich Bachelor Monthly. It was stylish and cold and untouched. The floors were made of engineered wood. There was a chic kitchen built into the corner of the main living space, with a breakfast bar and a Nespresso machine and retro pendant lights. Sliding patio doors led out to a small balcony looking out towards Hyde Park. There was a flat-screen TV so big the US president probably wanted to do a trade deal with it.
‘Keys are on the breakfast bar,’ Merrick said. ‘There’s a gym in the basement. Fridge is full, and there are toiletries in the bathroom. Two sets of everything. Should cover the essentials.’
He pointed to the two large double bedrooms.
‘There are chargers for your phones in your bedrooms. Gym shorts, tops and trainers are in the wardrobes, in both your sizes. Jock, your go-bag is on your bed.’
Porter said, ‘What about my clobber? I need a change of clothes. Shoes. All of that.’
‘We’re sending a driver over to the Sultan of Brunei’s place to pick up your things. He’ll drop it off later tonight. The concierge will call up when he arrives. Questions?’
‘Anywhere to grab a decent pint nearby?’
The agent shot a cold look at Bald. ‘I’ll assume that’s a joke. If you need anything urgent, there’s a parade of shops across the canal. But try not to leave the building unless you absolutely have to. Understood?’
‘Crystal,’ Bald said.
Porter said, ‘What about our documents?’
‘I’ll bring them tomorrow. Nine o’clock sharp. There’s some reading material on the coffee table. Travel guides on Colombia and Venezuela. Worth a read if you’ve got five minutes free.’ He peered at Bald through his glasses. ‘You do know what books are, don’t you?’
‘Very funny. Hilarious. Side-splitting. You’re a born comic.’
Merrick glared at him. Then he turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.
They made themselves at home. Bald tugged open the fridge door, scanned the shelves and helped himself to an ice-cold Diet Coke. Porter poured himself a glass of tap water and looked round the living area.
‘Nice place. Iverson must be doing well for himself.’
‘He’s a Rupert,’ Bald muttered. ‘You know what them lot are like. Always looking out for one another.’
‘You think he’s only helping out Six for the money?’
‘Why else?’
‘Loyalty, perhaps.’
Bald considered, then shook his head. ‘Nah. Not him. Bet he can’t believe his luck. He gets to take part in a secretive op for Six and trouser a truckload of cash in the process. He’s laughing.’
Porter set his glass down on the breakfast bar and fished out his phone. No new messages. He looked away and gritted his teeth. He hadn’t really expected a message from Sandy – not after the way they had left things earlier – but the silence still hurt.
He typed out a brief message. Love, I’m sorry. Please call me back. I just want to talk. Tapped send and put his phone to sleep. Took another sip of tap water, and wished it was something stronger.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Bald snapped.
‘Nothing,’ Porter murmured.
‘Load of crap. You look even fucking sadder than usual. Any minute now and you’ll start rooting around for the voddie.’
‘I’m off the drink.’
‘For now. But I know you. First sign of stress in your life and you’re liable to hit the bottle.’
‘Not these days. That’s all behind me now.’
‘We’re about to head out to Venezuela,’ Bald said. ‘Murder capital of the fucking world. There’s no room for passengers. You need to be on top of your game.’
‘I am.’
Bald snorted. ‘You don’t bloody look like it. Got a face on you like a monkey just shat on it.’
Porter clenched his jaws and looked away.
Bald said, ‘If there’s something on your mind, I’ve got a right to know.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try us.’
Porter sighed. Then he reluctantly told his mucker about the situation with Sandy. He gave him the shortened version. Told him about the argument over her boyfriend. How she’d left the house in Hereford and moved to London. His efforts to track her down. The confrontation in the Green Eagle.
When he had finished, Bald grinned at him and said, ‘Could be worse.’
‘How’s that?’
‘She could have taken after her old man. At least she’s not sleeping in a cardboard box.’
‘Piss off, Jock.’
‘You want my advice?’
‘Not really.’
‘She’s a grown woman. Stop treating her like a child.’
Porter felt the anger constricting his throat. ‘She’s throwing her life away.’
‘Doesn
’t sound like that. Sounds like she just wants to step out of her old man’s shadow.’
‘You haven’t got kids. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘No, but I know what it’s like to want to get away from your old man. Me, I couldn’t wait. Why I joined the army.’
‘You never told me that before.’
Bald shrugged. ‘Nothing much to tell. Old man was a wanker. Prick used to come home drunk from work and give me what he liked to call the Friday Night Special. Beat me senseless with his fists and then give me a belt to the arse. Did that until I was thirteen and old enough to punch him back.’
‘He still around?’
‘Died years ago. Lung cancer. Best fucking day of my life.’
Porter stared him for a beat. He was seeing a side of Bald he had only ever glimpsed before. He didn’t know much about the guy’s background, other than some vague references to a tough upbringing in Dundee. There was clearly more to him than his ability to soldier, his dirty jokes and his hatred of the officer class.
He briefly wondered what else he didn’t know about Bald.
He refilled his glass and said, ‘What do you reckon about the ex-SEALs? Think they’re gonna be up to the job?’
‘If they’re as shit hot as them Yanks say they are.’ Bald knocked back the rest of his Coke and belched loudly. ‘But it’s not the SEALs I’m worried about.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re past it, mate. Bloke like you should be sitting behind a desk somewhere, filling out a form. Not going halfway round the world on a rescue op.’
Porter gripped his glass tightly. ‘That’s not what Strickland thinks,’ he replied through gritted teeth.
‘She’s got a blind spot. Thinks you still know how to soldier, just because you wore the winged dagger a long time ago. You might be fooling her, mate, but not me.’
‘I’m not much older than you,’ Porter argued.
‘Eight years,’ Bald said. ‘I don’t turn fifty for another eighteen months. You’re only a few years from turning sixty. That makes you fucking ancient, in Regiment terms.’
