Rise

by Victoria Powell

  Mattie dove onto Somersby’s back, holding her arm outstretched. Toby stamped on her wrist and twisted until she cried out and dropped the knife.

  “What the hell was that?” Mattie shouted.

  “Martyn, are you Ok?” Toby leant over the table to check him.

  Martyn clutched his gut, but tentatively got to his feet. “Just a bad scratch.”

  Their Erikssen newbie was unconscious and bleeding out on the floor. Debbie kneeled down next to her, pressing on one of the wounds to stem the flow.

  “I can’t, Toby. Help, I can’t,” Debbie gasped.

  Martyn staggered around the table and looked down at her. “Debbie, leave her. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Emma,” Debbie gasped.

  “She needs a hospital. Emma couldn’t help that.”

  Mattie and Toby got Somersby’s arms behind her back and hoisted her to her feet. Somersby pulled against them, tugging left and right.

  “Somersby?” Mattie asked. “Who is Sergeant Somersby?”

  Toby kicked out one of Somersby’s legs. “I have a hunch. Marcus, come give us a hand.”

  Marcus thumped Somersby in the gut to stop her wriggling, then took over from Toby to restrain her.

  Toby skimmed the spy’s body, searching for weapons and anything suspicious. He pulled out a communicator from inside her boot.

  “Shit. She’s got a radio,” Toby growled.

  “They know we’re here,” Mattie said.

  Martyn staggered over to the table and leant on it. “We need to move, now.”

  “With Emma and the scouts out of base?” Mattie asked.

  Martyn grimaced. “Just get her out of sight. Go on.”

  As Marcus and Mattie led Somersby away, Debbie rested a bloody hand on Martyn’s shoulder.

  “She’s dead,” Debbie said.

  “Leave her here with Somersby.”

  Debbie sucked in large breaths.

  “Can you patch me up?”

  Debbie shook her head. “Clara can do stitches. She’s over with the kids.”

  Zoe watched numbly as Martyn limped off to the medic station. Activity was springing up around them. People were packing again.

  Zoe pulled the blood-soaked Debbie and grime covered Toby to one side.

  “Martyn can’t know this, but I’ve got to tell someone,” Zoe said, in a hushed tone.

  Toby tapped his knuckles on his hip distractedly. “Can you see what’s going on here? Hywel left a spy in our base. Can this wait?”

  “No, it can’t,” Zoe said.

  “Can I go wash?” Debbie said. Shock edged her words.

  “I had a message from an old contact when I was off base. About Alex,” Zoe whispered.

  “Is she alive? Is she safe?” Toby asked.

  “Mostly.”

  “Then she can wait,” Toby barked.

  Debbie grabbed Toby’s arm as he tried to walk off. “What’s the matter, Zoe?”

  “She’s in trouble.” Zoe pulled a set of car keys from her pocket. “I know where she is.”

  33 - The Daughter

  Alex woke early, refreshed. The door slammed downstairs. Mr Simons must have risen early too. Alex dressed, washed, then ate her breakfast in the kitchen. The MP3 player set a tune buzzing inside her head as she started her morning routine. The tune hummed from her lips as she straightened up the bedroom, bathrooms and fed the ever-refilling laundry. The work was hard, but calming and fulfilling.

  Today the study was unlocked. After lunch, this would be the day to tackle the dust riddled bookshelves. Mrs Roberts was waiting when she came into the kitchen. She clapped along to a ditty and spun around in a waltz as she laid a bowl of oxtail soup onto the table. The woman looked so content.

  Alex pulled the duster, polish and cloths from the cupboard. Back in the study, the first thing she did was put away all the loose books that were strewn over the floor. She dusted the tabletops and reached high to the cobwebs in the corners of the room. Finally, she started dusting the great bookcase that covered one wall.

  “What are you doing?”

  She spun around to face her employer. “Mr Simons?”

  He stepped into the room, gripping the wall for support. “Miss Bates? How did you get in here? What are you doing in my study?”

  “Sir, I was just cleaning the room,” she answered. What was his problem?

  “The room was locked,” he insisted.

  She shook her head involuntarily. “No, it was open, sir.”

  He scurried further into the room. “It was locked, and it was locked for a reason.”

  “I’m sorry.” She cut in.

  “No. That’s not good enough.” His voice rose suddenly, harshly. “You are not allowed in here when I am not present. Do you understand?”

  She stepped sideways away from the bookcase. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Never again. Do not come in here again.”

  The doorbell clanged from the hallway. Alex felt a wave of relief and turned to the door to escape his tirade.

  “No,” he insisted. “I can get my own front door. This is not over. Wait here.”

  The door swung gently and half closed behind him. The creak and click of the front door hinges and lock were familiar to her now. Someone new was in the house - someone who did not have a key. Voices came through the wall. They were in the living room. They could be in there for hours.

  Alex fought against her own curiosity. What is there to hide in this room? Really? He consults for the police so there could be secrets hidden here that would help the Ackersons. It was unlikely, but she had to find out.

  Tiptoeing over to the desk, she gently tugged on each drawer handle without success. What about the holoscreen? Would it beep if she turned it on? Would it send him an alert to let him know she had succeeded? Tentatively she reached out to the thin metal strip on the desk and ran her finger from left to right along its length. The twenty by fifteen-inch screen appeared in soft sepia. Four blocks appeared on the screen, waiting for a passcode. She swiped her finger on the holoscreen metal strip again to turn it off.

  Boring herself, she turned back to the bookcase. Most of the books were non-fiction, to do with law or politics or history. There were a couple of local and Tamerian authors scattered about. Nothing inflammatory of course. The best books, in Alex’s eyes, had been burned a long time ago. Something caught her eye.

  In amongst all the compliant books on politically correct historical accounts was a copy of the Mabinogion. The book of Celtic literature was thought lost for hundreds of years. It had been a staple food for book burnings for a long time. What was it doing here, out in the open for all to see?

  Alex could not stop herself. She had to take it, protect it, keep it safe. She touched the cracked and age-worn bindings and gently pulled on the book. Something crunched inside the wall and the case shuddered backwards. She recoiled, watching as the case receded into the wall and then slid sideways on oiled rails.

  There was another room inside. A room with surveillance cameras of the house, a gun case in the corner, a desk covered in files and a locked memento box. There was a screen showing her bedroom in the attic. There was one of the laundry room and another of the kitchen.

  Scanning the little hideaway in horror, she saw security shutdown buttons attached to a switchboard. From here someone could lock down the house pretty tight. He could lock her away in the attic or barricaded her inside at any time. There was a pair of cuffs resting of a small desk in the corner of the room, half hidden beneath papers. A memento box on the edge of the desk called to her and she lifted it carefully.

  She heard a click from Mr Simons office. The box slipped from her hands and bounced to the floor.

  Defoe! He was there, just outside the secret room. He gripped a pistol with both his outstretched hands. The weapon wavered hypnotically, driving away any confidence she had. He slipped off the safety catch with his left index finger, then lowered his left hand. The only escape was past Defoe. He
was ready to shoot.

  Just five minutes ago this house had been her safe haven.

  The cop stepped forwards, closing the space. “What are you doing here?”

  His voice cut across Alex’s nerve. Just like on the train platform before he chased her from the train, or in the prison cells when he threatened to torture her. She watched him, suddenly too weak to know how to answer.

  He stepped closer again. “Are you alone? Why did you come here?” He insisted.

  “How did you find me?” She asked at last.

  He straightened his arms, taking aim.

  She sucked in a hard breath, feeling the rush of ice in her lungs. “Stop. I work here.” She waved her hands as she saw his disbelief. “I work for the blind man, Mr Simons. He didn’t know it was me. He didn’t know I...” she gestured with her hands, “He didn’t know.”

  Defoe lowered his weapon minutely. Alex glanced from the tip of the pistol to his eyes. He looked... something like disgusted or horrified. Some evil disturbing thought crossed his mind.

  “You’re alone here? No others?”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m hiding. I don’t know where they are.”

  “Do you know who he is?” Defoe spat out.

  “Who? Mr Simons?” She tried to analyse his look. “He works for the police?”

  “Mr Simons?”

  “The blind guy. I never thought you’d come here. He said the cops never came here. He was just a patsy.” Her voice was raised to an impotent blathering.

  Defoe scanned across the room, taking in the stacks of boxes and resting momentarily on the gun cabinet. “Blind guy? I doubt he wanted the police to find you here. Or for you to find this room.”

  She saw a photo frame sticking out from beneath a stack of papers on the desk and she reached for it. “Stand still!” Defoe growled.

  She backed away. “I thought this was a good place to hide; a good safehouse. I didn’t expect to find anything here. If I’d known he had so much intel kept here....”

  He lifted a pair of cuffs from his belt and tossed them at her. “This is the furthest you could get from a safehouse.”

  She bent down and picked up the cuffs. The sharp sting of tears started on the edge of her eyes. Don’t let him see. She should never have used this house as a cover.

  “You know I’m no fool,” Defoe growled. “I know what you were planning to do here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He watched her. “Perhaps you do. I think you do.” He straightened his arms again, pistol extended. “Put the cuffs on.”

  She turned the cuffs over in her hands, not knowing how to answer him. “It always comes to this.” There had to be a way out. She spun around quickly looking for inspiration.

  “Put those on now,” Defoe warned.

  “I don’t know where the others are,” she protested.

  He shrugged. “I doubt you’d be here alone if you did.”

  The gun cabinet was just to her right. She stepped sideways towards the handle. Defoe closed the gap by three paces in less than a second.

  “Do not move or I will shoot!” He growled.

  “No - you won’t!”

  Mr Simons was in the study doorway. He was holding a pistol in his hands. The pistol was aimed true and steady at Defoe.

  “Lower your gun now, Defoe,” Mr Simons commanded.

  Defoe’s weapon wandered from its target. Stark unadulterated shock rippled over his face. “Sir, this is a dangerous woman. She needs to be taken into custody.”

  “Lower your weapon, Defoe.”

  Defoe stepped sideways to see both of them more clearly. “She’s coming with me.”

  “Keep out of this,” Simons snapped.

  Defoe turned away from Simons and growled back at Alex. “Put those cuffs on.”

  Alex didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. She was staring at Simons. “What are you doing?” The blind man briefly connected with her glare. “How?”

  “He’s not blind,” Defoe said, watching her.

  “Defoe,” Simons said in warning.

  Defoe shook his head. “My orders were to bring in Alex Jenkins.”

  “Mr Simons, he’s a cop. You can’t shoot him,” Alex said desperately.

  Simons considered her closely. “Hush now. I know he’s a cop. He’s one of my cops.”

  Simons walked around the desk and pressed a button on its edge. The world wobbled around Alex.

  Defoe trained his pistol back on her. “Put those cuffs on. We’re leaving.”

  “Stay where you are,” Simons demanded. “Your orders were to hand her over to my security forces. Well guess what? They’re here.”

  Banging noises came from the hallway and two armed guards in riot-gear swung into the room. “Gun down!” One guard yelled.

  They had been here before. These were his managers - Charlie had flirted with her. Now he and Frank were in riot gear ready to take down a troop of terrorists.

  “Inspector Defoe, drop it now!”

  Defoe raised his arms and let Frank take his pistol. The second guard, Charlie, charged at Alex, pinning her against the far wall. He was not flirting now.

  “Leave her.”

  Charlie turned, recognised his master and backed off, leaving Alex to shrink into the cabinet next to her. Her questioning glare never met Charlie’s eyes.

  “Everything Ok here, Ambassador?” Frank asked, now holding Defoe against a wall.

  “Ambassador?” Alex panted. Her gut knotted tight.

  Simons shot her an irritated glance. “Take him outside, Frank, and wait there until I call. Tell Kelly I need the secure room now. We’ll be there in half an hour.”

  The guards left and the room stilled. There was silence as the truth unravelled. The chasm closed as the Ambassador stepped toward her.

  “No!” Alex screamed, throwing the cuffs at Simons. He easily side-stepped out of the way. “Those guys, they’re your managers?”

  “Stay perfectly still.” Simons pointed his pistol at Alex’s chest.

  She watched the pistol and clung onto the gun case next to her. “This isn’t real.”

  “Such a naive little girl,” he scoffed. “Sit down and shut up.”

  Alex shook her head and lunged for the handle on the gun cabinet. Simons rushed her and pinned her back against it. His hand fumbled for her right arm. The pistol pressed hard into her hip.

  “I told you to stay still,” he growled. “Calm down. Breathe.”

  She heaved in deep breaths of his aftershave mixed with the gunpowder scents from the cabinet behind her. He pinched her arm tight, keeping her from pulling away. His eyes kept her in place by themselves.

  “You’re not blind.”

  “No.”

  She felt the floor steady beneath her feet. “You’re the Ambassador.”

  “Yes.”

  Despite the terror attached to that name, it felt more real saying it a second time.

  “I’m in your house.”

  “You’ve been in my house for a few days now.”

  Her heart lurched and she pulled her eyes away from his. This was too much. She felt the pistol twist as he relaxed his position. She could see it nestled in the top of her leg, pointing through the outer muscle, missing her femur.

  He looked down at it too. “I don’t want to shoot you, but if you try anything you’ll get a bullet in your leg, or your arm, so that we can stitch you up again.” He shook her until she lifted her eyes to meet his. “But if you try anything like diving for this cabinet again I will shoot to kill if I have to. Do you understand?”

  She paused, then shook her head. “I don’t understand any of it.”

  He squeezed hard on her arm, she winced. Moving the pistol away from her hip, he roughly spun her across the room and threw her into a chair. “Stay still.” She nodded and he stepped back, taking a more casual stance with the pistol.

  He smiled, the relief palpable in his charming demeanour. “I’ve waited a long time for this mom
ent. You’ve no idea.”

  Subconsciously, Alex curled up on the seat, her feet clinging onto the edge of the chair. None of this made sense.

  “I’d hoped we had a few more days together, like we were. You were listening to me, openly and willingly listening to reason. A few more days like that would have made your future easier to live in,” he said.

  “When did you know it was me? Me instead of a maid?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

  He smirked. “The first moment I saw you. As soon as I opened the living room door. It was your intentions I was unsure of.” He perched on the desk edge and held the pistol lazily.

  “You killed... so many people I loved. I can’t count the reasons why I want to see you die. You must’ve known that. Why didn’t you just kill me?” She asked.

  Simons was playing with her, considering what he wanted to say. He scowled, but remained silent.

  She couldn’t stop herself. She launched out of the chair. He jumped off the desk, arm stretched out in warning. They stood barely a metre apart separated only by the pistol; trained on her visibly shaking frame.

  “I’ve been here, cleaning your house, for three days and you just let me do it! I’m an activist and you let me sleep in your house, in your attic. You introduced me to your guards. Was this just a game?” She felt her voice choking.

  Simons shook his head. “We both know that if I die my bosses will decimate the city. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  Alex asked again, “So why didn’t you kill me when I turned up?”

  Simons contemplated this. “That’s what I should have done, certainly. I’ve got very good reasons for wanting you alive. For one, I think you know who killed my maid.”

  “What?” Alex said, thinking about the cosmetics in the wardrobe and the shoes on her feet. “I’m not a killer.”

  “Well, I figured that. You’ve never killed before and I doubt you had the vehemence to start now. Although you did shoot a policeman earlier this week.”