Dark Clouds (37 page)

Ingrid picks up the entry phone, and she’s fazed. ‘Someone wants to speak with you,’ she says.

I recognise Earl Connors voice, and he’s apologetic. ‘It’s all taken a serious turn,’ he tells me. ‘And we need to talk.’

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No – Rudi,’ Carla Hirsch interjects. ‘Can you open the door, please,’

I don’t feel I have any options. If I refuse, it will be
tactical entry ram
time again, so I press the entry button.

‘These people work for the British and American Governments,’ I explain to Ingrid. ‘I’ve been forced to help them because someone I know has been funding Islamic terrorists ... I thought my job was done, but ... ’

She’s staring accusingly at me like I might be a neo-con CIA agent. Her whole upbringing and life experience has been within a liberal, free expression and generally anti-establishment milieu.

It’s not looking good when I open the studio door and Carla strides in followed by Earl. Her fluorescent spikes have disappeared. Her hair is flat, her face is drawn, and she’s wearing jeans, boots and a leather bomber jacket.

‘I’m sorry about intruding on your privacy like this,’ she says to Ingrid. ‘But we’ve got a disaster in the making ... and it’s all happening over there.’

She’s pointing towards the helicopters that are circling above the Hackney Downs.

‘Who are you? Ingrid wants to know.

‘I’m Carla,’ my re-instated Controller says, ‘and this is Earl.’

They both present Home Office ID cards with Her Majesty’s crest above their photographs.

The story about Pele Kalim and the hijacked nuclear waste train unravels in detail, including the bit about the engine reversing up a track from London Fields to the Hackney Downs.

‘Why did it stop there?’ I want to know.

‘Because there was another train coming down the same track,’ Earl explains. ‘The driver braked, but they collided and the front wheels of the oncoming train were derailed.’

‘We think Pele wanted to take the nuclear waste train up to Stoke Newington or Stamford Hill,’ Carla says. ‘So if it exploded, most of the radioactive waste would fall on the local Jewish community ... there are apparently 20,000 of them in the area.’

I’m numbed by what I’m hearing and Ingrid’s mouth is open in shock.

‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ she asks when she finally takes in what’s happening almost outside her studio.

‘You’re very kind,’ Carla says, ‘but we need to get back to the scene.’

I think she’s definitely becoming more human. I’m not exactly warming to her yet, but there is some empathy.

‘Why have you come here?’ I ask.

I’m apprehensive. Earl’s looking down at his shoes and Ingrid is pouring me three fingers of Jameson’s whisky.

‘Pele has someone with him,’ Carla tells me. ‘They’ve wired the nuclear waste canisters with shaped explosives and they’ve shackled the driver and his assistant to these. Everything appears to be very professional, including the sensors they’ve fitted around the train, which can trigger the detonators if anyone approaches.’

‘Have they made any demands?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ Earl says. ‘They want all Islamists held here or in the States to be released ... and they’re proposing that Guantanamo should be closed.’

I’m with the train hijackers on the last one. But how can the Brits persuade my President to release our al-Qaeda and other Muslim prisoners? It’s a tough call.

‘Rudi – ’ Carla says when I’ve sipped at the Jameson’s. ‘There’s a real chance that Pele and his buddy will blow up all of the nuclear waste canisters. First reports from the UK military people confirm that the wiring and the explosives are sufficient to shatter the containers. If they explode, then the Plutonium or Uranium waste elements will contaminate the whole of East London. The radiation effects may spread a lot further, depending on the wind ... I don’t think anyone wants that to happen.’

No – of course not.

‘And there’s only one person this Kalim guy might listen to.’

I don’t know where Sulima is. I’ve deleted her contact number from my mobile because I didn’t want Carla Hirsch to track her down, which leaves a single possible way of getting through to her.

‘I wouldn’t bank on Fiona saying where she is.’

‘She’s hiding her?’

‘Not exactly – ’

‘But she knows where to find her?’

I can see Fiona spitting in Carla’s eye and saying, ‘
fuck off, you fascist American bitch ... I’m not telling you where this innocent Syrian woman is ... and if you lay a finger on me, I swear I’ll track you down, and when I do ...
’  Well – anything could happen.

‘Why don’t you go and ask her?’ I suggest.

If this is the old Carla, I’m going to stand up to her and opt out. But it isn’t. She’s changed, and it’s not just the peroxide spikes in her hair. She’s operating on a discernibly more responsive level, which is working.

‘Rudi ... I don’t think Fiona’s going to pay any attention to Earl or me,’ she says. ‘She’s  a strong woman. If I were in her position, I’d probably respond in the same way ... but she might listen to you.’

‘
Where is Sulima, honey? I know I asked you to hide her away and not tell anyone where she is. The situation has changed however ... we desperately need her to talk to a guy who loves her. He’s over on the Hackney Downs just now with a train load of nuclear waste that was destined for the Orthodox Jewish community in Stoke Newington ...
’

‘All right,’ I say after a while. ‘I’ll speak with her ... but there’s a condition.’

‘What’s that?’ Carla asks.

‘I want you to take Ingrid somewhere safe.’

‘No – no ... I’m fine here,’ she protests.

‘If you don’t do as I ask,’ I say to Carla. ‘And I mean now ... I won’t talk to Julia.’

I’m not sure if Ingrid and I are ever going to meet again. My Nordic goddess may, understandably, wish to banish me from her life. ‘
I don’t do American secret agents, Rudi ... so would you kindly fuck off, please, and don’t ever think of coming back
.’

There is a long silence. Ingrid is furious with my obstinacy. Just who the hell do I think I am? There is a glorious and commendable panorama of feminists struggling with arrogant and frequently dominant males. ‘
Just who the hell do you guys think you are issuing directives? The world’s changed, Rudi baby. We girls don’t any longer respond – and in many cases we don’t even listen – when you guys make demands and lay it on the line. And if you have any doubts about what I’m saying, let me remind you that I’m part Sardinian and part Scandinavian. If you cross a Southern Italian, honey, you could end up with a bullet in your brain. And moving to the North, we Scandinavian females are pretty formidable ... have you heard about what the Vikings did when they came to visit the Brits?
’

I’m doing what I think is right. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen, but I’m holding firm. In this case, the situation is clearly way beyond normal everyday events. I may still be a chauvinistic, low life male who needs a good kicking occasionally, but the stakes are way beyond Ingrid’s personal feelings on guys generally and my eyes say I’m looking out for her. 

‘I have a friend, Josie, in Southwark,’ she says tells us reluctantly. ‘I’ll call her.’

This doesn’t take long. Her friend is intrigued by the prospect of an unexpected late night visit and is looking forward to seeing my assertive Valkyrie.

‘I’ll take you, honey,’ Carla tells her, which gets me concerned. I’m thinking about how Agent Hirsch dealt with the Wagstaffs and Sunita Malawi.

There is a portable blue lamp on the roof of her BMW with the darkened windows and her driver looks like he’s a shaven-headed eunuch. Would he blink if Carla came on to my Nordic Princess in the back of her official car? I don’t know, but I do care.

‘I’m not sure if I’ll excuse or forgive your duplicity,’ Ingrid says. ‘I trusted you, Rudi ... and for what?’

She’s right. It’s like she’s been seeing a different person. My feelings for her are still the same. I love her creative, independent spirit. I want to lounge with her under an umbrella on a Greek island. And who knows, in between her art and a summer of passion, something else might happen. A small seed could fall and grow. We might  consider a longer period together. It could  extend from hot embraces to camomile tea and soft symphonies. Ingrid’s eyes still have me in the dock though, so what can I do?

‘Give me a call later,’ she suggests.

I’m immediately struggling to get all sorts of excuses, explanations and apologies out from the back of my throat when she reaches up and kisses my cheek.

Carla’s next. This is just a handshake however, although it’s quite firm and I’m detecting undisguised flickers of warmth in her previously harsh and unrelenting expression.

‘Take care,’ she says. ‘And you know something?’

‘What?’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing your friend, Sulima.’

*  *  *  *  *

Fiona Adler’s Jeep Cherokee is parked outside her house in Crowndale Square. It’s strange going back. There’s an unmarked police car near the place that’s been my home for almost two years. The whole area is reassuringly tranquil, although I can still occasionally hear one of the helicopters hovering to the East over the Hackney Downs.

‘It really is crucial that the Iraqi woman speaks with Pele Kalim,’ Earl says.

I agree. No one wants nuclear particles raining down over London, and if Sulima can dissuade her man from creating a disaster, it would be most helpful.

Fiona’s not picking up on her phone initially. She’s probably asleep, so I try again. She might be away, but after a while I get a throaty response.

‘Rudi ... do you know what time it is?’

After one in the morning. I’m really sorry for waking her up, but can we talk?

‘Where are you?’

‘Outside – ’

‘With whom?’

‘Fiona ... we have a real emergency. Someone has hijacked a train load of nuclear waste on the Hackney Downs.’

It’s not far from Islington, so I stay quiet as it registers.

‘Hang on,’ she says and I’m waiting for the front door of her house to open.

‘Is he a policeman?’ she asks, pointing at the blue light on top of Earl’s people carrier.

‘Sort of ... but can we go inside? I’ve got a cold coming on.’

She’s wearing a full length wool dressing gown and she walks ahead of me to the kitchen where she gets a kettle going.

‘You want to see Sulima?’

‘Yes – ’

‘But you specifically requested that I shouldn’t tell anyone where she is.’

That’s all true, and now I’ve got to backtrack and plead.

‘The person who hijacked the nuclear waste train is in love with her,’ I explain. ‘There is a chance that if she speaks with him he might take his finger off the detonator switch.’ Even if it’s only for a second ... and that might be all that’s required.

‘Is the Hirsch woman involved?’ Fiona wants to know.

‘Yes ... and she’s not quite as tough as she seems.’

‘Ah ... so she’s won you over?’

There are residual issues between my former neighbour and friend and the woman who was briefly my Controller. It’s a gladiatorial contest between two titans. They’re out there in the arena with swords drawn and the issues are challenging. ‘
So bitch
,’ Fiona says. ‘
You thought maybe you would have some fun with me. A little light titillation. A dangling of possibilities between the sheets or even on the sofa. Yes ... I was briefly excited by the possibilities. You’re a robust character, Hirsch, and I was taken for a while by the illusion of what you might be. The reality, however, was a disappointment. You need to get your act together, honey bunny, if you want to hang out with the grown-up girls.
’

‘She’s OK, Fiona ... she’s conditioned by the work she does. She’s never really had a chance to express her feelings properly.’

‘My word – ’

‘And her father died with my girlfriend when the North Tower collapsed on 9/11.’

There’s an imperceptible softening here. Thoughts of Ground Zero hit the button for many of us. Almost three thousand people under the rubble in a great city opens steel doors to hard hearts. Fiona’s normally mortar proof resolve is faltering. However she feels about Carla Hirsch, the Hackney Downs are little more than a light westerly wind away. She’s switching off the kettle, but she’s still pinning me up against a kitchen counter with a strong Adler stare.

‘You’re sure about what’s happening?’ she asks.

‘Yes ... and there are a lot of vulnerable people around the incident site.’

Am I merely a pawn, she’s wondering. Is Carla Hirsch just using me to get to a vulnerable Syrian woman? She’d be right on both counts, but I’m holding onto the eye contact between us. It’s dumb perseverance, I guess, and it’s working. 

 ‘I’ll get dressed,’ she says. ‘And there’s whisky in the cupboard by the oven.’

‘Thanks – ’

I imagine she’s cursing as she goes upstairs, but she doesn’t delay.

‘Are we going with your police person?’ she asks when she comes down again in Dior jeans, heels and an Angora roll neck sweater.

‘Yes ... he’s a very nice man, Julia.’

Earl’s already on the pavement. He’s holding the back door of the people carrier open for her and he’s giving out with a great grin. I think she likes his brilliant white teeth. She’s also conscious of the fact that he’s Afro-Caribbean, so she smiles. ‘
Feminists respect persons of colour, sir. Your life has not been easy, so the least I can do is be civil to you.
’

We’re joined by another unmarked police car with blue flashing lights when we get to the Holloway Road. Fiona has already given Earl an address in Belsize Crescent. It’s a flat belonging to one of her magazine editors, who is presently on assignment in Los Angeles. She has also insisted that she will make the initial contact with Sulima.

‘Hello,’ she says softly to her mobile when we get to Haverstock Hill, which is close to Hampstead. ‘This is Julia, my dear ... I apologise for calling at this late hour. But something rather serious has come up ... Rudi and I wondered if we might drop by?’