'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
'Meet me in the Doppel Hotel on King's Street in exactly one hour. I've reserved a room under the name Allan Springer.'
'The Doppel Hotel. Yes, sir.'
'I've got all the equipment you need. Once I've handed it over, we won't meet again. You'll stay in the room to assemble the device and when you leave you're to take the device and all other evidence with you. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You will also be given the name of your target. It is imperative that you get to your assigned target – by any means necessary. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I'll see you in an hour,'
'I'll be there. Bye, sir.'
I waited for Callie Rose to put down the phone first. Only then did I allow myself a smile. I allowed myself to feel again. I was truly happy for the first time in a long, long time. Everything I'd ever wanted was just a day away.
one hundred and fifteen.
Callie is 15
The rain slammed against the window like tiny knuckles, rapping to get in. The wind rattled the window panes in their ill-fitting frames. But I gave the rain and wind no more than a passing thought before turning back to the olive-green, padded windcheater lying on the bed. Studying it critically, I didn't realize that my eyes were narrowed and my lips pursed until I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror carelessly attached to the opposite wall. All day yesterday, I'd followed orders and spent hours sewing various-sized pockets onto the inside of the garment where they couldn't be seen. Pockets – breast high, waist high, pockets wherever there was a spare amount of space. And now those pockets were going to be put to good use.
'Well, soldier? Any questions?'
'Yes, sir. I did just wonder why I couldn't use an ordinary backpack or a belt for this assignment?'
'Because you won't be able to take your bag with you when you go to see him. Bags and backpacks have to be checked by Security and left in the cloakroom – no exceptions. And a modified belt would be too noticeable.'
Him . . . My assignment was a man then.
'I see.'
'Any second thoughts?' asked the General.
'None, sir,' I replied.
I glanced at the General's face before lowering my gaze to his chin. I watched his gloved hands unconsciously curl into fists and unfurl repeatedly. No way was he nervous, I told myself. Only one person in the room was sweating bricks. And it wasn't my forthcoming assignment that made me anxious, it was the General. He had a way of looking at you, like he was turning you inside out and inspecting every deficient little bit. He always looked at me like that, like he knew what I was going to say and do before I did. Like he was three steps ahead of me and patiently waiting for me to catch up. The General had been leaning against the wall, but he straightened up and handed me a carrier bag.
I took it, bracing myself. My arm flew upwards unexpectedly. I'd expected the bag to be much heavier.
'Is there enough in here, sir?' I queried.
'For your purposes – yes. More than enough.'
I fought to resist the urge to inspect the bag's contents in front of the General. It would appear disrespectful. I gripped the bag more tightly. I held Death in my hands. It was a strange feeling. A kind of calm, deliberate disquiet.
'You know what you have to do?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Are you up to it?'
'You know I am, sir.'
'Good girl. I'm relying on you,' said the General.
'I won't let you down.'
'I know you won't,' said the General sombrely.
He handed me a sealed, blank envelope. 'The name of your quarry and full instructions are in the envelope. Once you've read it, you know what to do?'
'Yes, sir. I burn it then take the charred residue and bag it up before dumping it somewhere away from here,' I replied.
'That includes the envelope as well. On a mission like this, it's the little details that count. It's very important that you don't forget that.'
I nodded. 'I won't, sir.'
'No mistakes, soldier,' said the General.
'No, sir. No mistakes.'
It was the moment I'd been born for. I felt like every breath, every decision ever taken in my life before had been leading to this one moment. The start of the most relevant hours of my life.
'I'm so proud of you, Callie Rose.'
'Thank you, sir. I won't let you down,' I replied.
I watched as the General let himself out of my dingy hotel room. He turned at the door and nodded once, before closing it behind him. I didn't blame him for wanting to leave as quickly as possible. The room gave cramped a bad name, with a dingy grey-white, low ceiling and the paint on the walls a clotted cream colour. The small double bed had a mattress which had seen its best days at least ten years ago. It was made up with two pre-stained sheets and a paper-thin duvet. And the incessant rain outside couldn't make any inroads against the grime on the outside of the windows.
I opened up the carrier bag and peered in. I put one hand in but stilled as I thought better of it. Moving over to the door, I chained as well as locked it. I couldn't take any chances – not now I was so close. Sitting on the bed, I at last allowed myself to take the items in the bag out with careful precision. Nice and easy does it. One by one. No rush. No mistakes.
Detonators.
Connectors.
Wires.
Batteries.
Hand switch.
And two blocks of wrapped-up plastic explosive.
Like the man said, no mistakes. Time to get down to it. I put on my latex gloves and gingerly unwrapped the explosive. Once it was uncovered, I placed it back down on the bed and forced myself to touch it, to feel it. It felt putty-like and cool beneath my tightly covered fingers. It couldn't harm me – not until the detonator caps and switch had been connected – but my heart was still clapping with thunderous applause. Just how much damage would the explosive on my bed cause? I took another deep breath. I could do this. I had to. This wasn't the time to get jittery.
Get it together, I told myself. And keep it together.
Another deep, steadying breath to calm my nerves and steady my heartbeat. This was what I wanted. This was the only thing I wanted. Nothing else mattered. The General believed in me. He didn't for one second doubt that I'd go through with it. I wasn't going to disappoint him. I pulled off the first chunk of plastic explosive. Quickly kneading and moulding the explosive in my hands into a thin, cuboid shape, I slotted it into the first makeshift pocket I'd so meticulously added to the inside of my windcheater. I forced herself to work with care, slowly and steadily. Bomb-making required a great deal of patience. And whilst I might not have all the time in the world, I did at least have the rest of my life. A few hours to make it, take it and wear it to my last meeting with the person I'd been assigned to kill. I glanced down at the sealed envelope on the bed. My hand reached out towards it, but then I thought better of it. First things first.
At last every pocket was full. Time to try it on for size. Slowly, carefully, I picked up the windcheater and slipped it over my shoulders. The switch 'was across the bed out of harm's way but my heart was still racing. Would I be able to do this? Would I be able to walk up to my intended victim and stand before him and blow us both to kingdom come? And not just my intended victim. Anyone around us would get more than they'd bargained for too. How did I feel about that? Deliberately, I shrugged. I was part of the Liberation Militia now. We were at war. All wars carried casualties. And as long as the man I was after was killed then it'd be a successful assignment, it was as simple as that.
My thoughts startled me, bringing me up short. Is this how my dad felt when he was preparing to kidnap my mum? Was he scared? Exhilarated? Appalled? Did he feel the same sense of sick anticipation? Or did he force himself to feel nothing at all? Probably the latter, just like me. Like father, like daughter after all. Funny but a couple of years ago the worst things in my life had been homework an
d not enough cool clothes. And now I look back at my life as it was then and it's so far away from where I am now, it's like remembering a TV programme or a story told to me long ago about someone else.
The windcheater fitted OK even if it was uncomfortable and slightly bulky. I placed a loose-fitting jacket at least a size too big over the windcheater and checked my appearance in the mirror. I wondered about doing it up as opposed to leaving it undone. In the end, I settled for doing up only the middle button of the jacket. Even though the plastic explosive was on the inside of the windcheater, I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances. I checked my reflection again, this time more critically. The explosive wasn't bulging in a really obvious way. I looked pretty shapeless but that was all. I'd wear a coat over the jacket so that I could take that off but leave my jacket on. That should work. I took off the jacket and threw it on the bed, followed by the windcheater, which was placed more carefully.
The explosive was ready. Now it was time to add all the other ingredients to the mix. Time to make the bomb active. I picked up the wires and detonators and got to work. Less than half an hour later it was finished. The only thing left to do was connect the switch. Now to find out who the target was. I pulled off my gloves and opened the envelope.
The card inside left my mind reeling. Of all the names I'd been expecting . . . But why not his name? It made sense when you thought about it, it's just that I hadn't thought about it. The card contained a name, a place and a date:
Kamal Hadley: Hewlett House, Croftways: Tomorrow
I scrunched up the card. My target was Kamal Hadley, Member of Parliament and leader of the Opposition. Kamal Hadley, divorced man and father.
Kamal Hadley.
My grandfather.
one hundred and sixteen.
Callie is 15
'Mum? Nana Meggie? Is anyone home?'
Silence. Good. I was back home with my completed afternoon's work hidden inside the carrier bag I clutched in my hand. I had a couple of phone calls to make and time to kill. First things first though. Get it done. I picked up the phone in the hall and made my first call.
'Hello?'
'Can I speak to Mrs Hadley please?'
'Speaking.'
That threw me. I hadn't expected her to pick up the phone herself. I was sure I'd have to battle my way past a P.A. or a home help at the very least.
'Mrs Hadley, I'm sorry to trouble you. My name is Callie Rose Hadley. I'm Kamal Hadley's granddaughter,' I began.
'Ah, yes. I remember you. And call me Grace.'
Didn't expect that. Didn't expect the friendly tone either.
'Thank you,' I said after a moment. 'I'm sorry to phone out of the blue like this, but I was wondering if I could come and see my grandad. I know he's concerned with the forthcoming election but I promise I won't take up much of his time. I just need to talk to him,' I said. I marshalled my thoughts, ready to counter all the protestations she might make.
'I'm sure that could be arranged,' said Grace. 'He's really busy at the moment, what with the election the day after tomorrow, but I'll tell you what, he'll be home tomorrow afternoon at around two but only for an hour or so. Why don't you come to see us then?'
Was that it then? That was far too easy.
'Is he . . . I mean, I won't get the door slammed in my face when I turn up, will I?'
'No, that will never happen again. Kamal knows what he did was wrong, especially after both your mum and I had finished with him, but my husband can be a very stubborn man.'
I didn't reply. My silence held uncertainty.
'Callie Rose, I'll make sure you and my husband get a chance to talk properly, and not on the doorstep either. I give you my word.'
'Thank you.'
'You can bring your mum as well if you'd like. It's time for all of us to put the past behind us and move forward.'
Grace by name, grace by nature. But too late.
'I'm sorry, Mum's busy tomorrow,' I lied.
'D'you want to wait for another day when you can both come together?'
'Thanks but I really need to see Grandad as soon as possible,' I said.
'All right then. When you visit tomorrow, maybe we could set another date for the whole family to visit,' said Grace.
'That would be lovely,' I said. 'I'll see you tomorrow then.'
'Looking forward to it. Oh and Callie Rose, happy birthday for tomorrow.'
How strange that she should remember my birthday when even I had only given it a passing thought. I had to force myself to speak. 'Thank you, Grace. Bye.'
I put down the phone, only to immediately pick it up again. I phoned Uncle Jude on his mobile.
'Hello?'
'Sir, it's me. I'm in. Tomorrow afternoon around two.'
'Excellent. Well done, soldier. And just remember, the angels are on our side.'
'Yes, sir.'
'It's been a privilege to have known you.'
'Thank you, sir. I won't let you down.'
'I know you won't. Goodbye, soldier.'
'Goodbye, sir.'
I put down the phone, feeling the calm and peace that the inevitable bring. This time tomorrow, all my pain would be gone.
one hundred and seventeen.
Sephy
I paced up and down my bedroom, the phone in my hand. 'What should I do? Call the police?'
'For your own daughter? Are you mad?'
'Then what should I do?' I asked, frantically.
'Sephy, calm down,' Mother tried to soothe.
'How can I calm down? You didn't hear what they said, Mother. I did.'
'What made you listen in on the extension in the first place? D'you listen every time Callie Rose makes a phone call?'
'No, of course not. I was napping and something woke me up. I thought maybe I'd missed the phone ringing, so I picked it up and I heard Callie talking to Dad's new wife, Grace.'
'She's hardly new, dear. They've been married for over a decade.'
'That's not the point. Callie Rose is up to something terrible and I can guess who put her up to it. After she got off the phone to Grace, she immediately phoned some guy and he congratulated her on getting in to see Dad. Mother, I'm scared to death. I think . . . I think Callie was talking to Jude and he kept calling her "soldier". Oh my God! You . . . you don't think Callie had anything to do with what happened to the Defence Minister? Or maybe the bombs that went off at the airport last weekend? No, she couldn't've . . . my baby 'wouldn't do anything like that . . . Mother, I'm so—'
'Persephone, get a grip,' Mother snapped. 'Look, d'you want me to come over?'
'No. Just tell me what to do.'
'You and my granddaughter need to sit down and talk. Really talk.'
'How? She can't bear to be in the same room as me. I enter, she leaves,' I said. 'She'd never listen to anything I have to say.'
'Then we have to find a way to make her listen.'
'How? It's never going to happen, short of locking her in a room with me.'
'Then that's what we'll do. You come over to my house tomorrow morning at nine. I'll invite Callie Rose over at ten and then the two of you can talk.'
'She'll leave the moment she sees me,' I said.
'Then she won't see you until it's too late for her to do anything about it. You can hide out in my cellar and when Callie goes into it, I'll lock the door.'
'Why the cellar? It's freezing down there,' I protested.
'It's the only room in my house which has a lock on the outside of the door,' said Mother.
'How can you sound so calm?' I cried. 'Callie's going to do something really stupid. Something that's going to ruin her life. I can feel it.'
'Then, we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen,' said Mother.
'How? Jude has got his hooks into her. If she doesn't do what he wants tomorrow, she will next week or next month. He won't stop till he ruins her life because he knows that's the only sure way to get to me. It's just like him to organize something for Callie's birthday. That
man doesn't miss a trick.'
It was very quiet at the other end of the phone.
'Mother . . . ?'
'You just be here tomorrow at nine and leave the rest to me,' said Mother at last.
'What can you do?' I said with more open scepticism than I'd intended. 'Mother, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you're . . . you're ill and
'I'm ill, Persephone, not ga-ga. Now, you're going to have to trust me. OK?'
'I——'
'D'you trust me or not?'
'Yes, Mother.'
'When we've finished here, get Callie to call me. I want to talk to her. And do me a favour, Sephy. Stop calling me Mother.'
'But I've always called you Mother,' I frowned.
'Yes, and I've always hated it. Call me Mum.'
'Yes, Mum.'
'See you tomorrow, Sephy.'
'Yes, Mum.'
'And Sephy,'
'Yes, Mum?'
'I love you.'
Mum put down the phone immediately before I could utter a word. She loved me . . . She hadn't said that for the longest time. Not since I was a teenager. Not since before Callum died. Mum loved me. And just like that, the wild panic I'd felt subsided a little. A very little. But I was still scared to death. I loved Mother . . . Mum very much, but even if her plan to get me and Callie Rose talking to each other worked, she still couldn't sort out our other problem with Jude. No one would be able to do that. Jude was too clever, too powerful. But she obviously had something in mind. One last appeal to Meggie to talk to her son perhaps? Whatever it was, I didn't need sharply honed instincts to know that one way or another, the following day, Callie Rose's birthday, was going to be a turning point in all our lives.
one hundred and eighteen.
Callie is 15
My mobile phone rang for the second time in five minutes. How strange to be so popular this late in the day . . .
'Hello?'
'It's me.'
'Hello, you!'
'What're you up to tomorrow, birthday girl?' he asked.
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