I turned left via the car park and headed for the call boxes out on the road. I spent a few moments sorting out in my mind what I wanted to say, and then I dialled London.
In veiled speech I said, ‘I’ve just finished work and I’m in Washington to visit an old friend. I used to work with him ten years ago. He’s now working here for the US government.’ I outlined the problem and said that Kelly and I both needed help.
Veiled speech is not some magical code; all you’re trying to do is intimate what is going on, yet at the same time put off a casual listener. You’re not going to fool any professional eavesdroppers – that’s what codes and one-time pads and all the rest of it are for. But all London needed to know was that I was in the shit, I had Kev’s child and needed sorting out. Quick-time.
‘Fine, I’ll pass that message on. Have you a contact number?’
‘No. I’ll ring you back in an hour.’
‘OK, goodbye.’
These women never ceased to amaze me. They never, ever got worked up about anything. It must be hard work being their husbands on a Saturday night.
I put down the phone and felt a bit better as I strolled over to a filling station. I knew the Firm would work everything out. They might have to call in some big-time favours in the US to detach me from this shit, but what are friends for? They’d pull out all the stops, not so much to get me off the hook, more to make sure their operation was covered up.
I was trying to look on the bright side, which was more than the weather was doing. It had been starting to drizzle when I left the hotel and that had now turned to light rain. With luck, the Firm would pick us both up tonight. Kelly would be taken care of, and I would be whisked back to the UK for another interview without coffee and biscuits.
I bought some food and drink at the filling station so we could stay in the room and out of the public eye, together with a few other goodies to pass the time, then crossed the road and went back to the hotel. At the drinks machine, I went up the stairs, turned left and knocked on our door.
As I opened it I said, ‘I’ve got loads of stuff – I’ve got candy, sandwiches, chips – and I’ve even got you a
Goosebumps
book to read.’
I reckoned it was better to buy loads of stuff to keep her mind off things, rather than trying to cuddle or console her; I’d have felt really uncomfortable with that sort of stuff anyway.
She was lying on the bed exactly where I’d left her, staring in the direction of the television set, but not really watching, her eyes glazed over.
As I put the stuff down on the other bed I said, ‘Right, I reckon what you need now is a nice hot bath. I’ve even bought some Buzz Lightyear bubbly stuff.’
It would give her something to do and maybe relax her out of the catatonic state she was in. Apart from that, when I handed her over to the Firm, I wanted them to see that I’d made an effort and that she was all nice and clean. After all, she was my mate’s kid.
I turned the taps on and called back into the room, ‘Come on, then, get undressed.’
She didn’t reply. I went back into the bedroom, sat at the end of the bed and started undressing her. I thought she might resist, but instead she sat placidly as I pulled off her shirt and vest. ‘You do your jeans,’ I said. She was only seven, but I felt awkward about taking those off. ‘Come on, undo your buttons.’ In the end, I had to; she was miles away.
I carried her into the bathroom. Good old Buzz had done his job and the bubbles were halfway to the ceiling. I tested the water, lifted her into the bath, and she sat down without a word.
‘There’s loads of soap and shampoo,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to help you wash your hair?’
She sat, stock-still, in the water. I gave her the soap, which she just stared at.
It was nearly time to call London again. At least I wouldn’t have to go to a call box for this one; she’d be out of earshot in the bath. Just in case, I kept the TV on.
There was some weird and wonderful cartoon on – four characters in jeans, half-man, half-shark, who said things like, ‘Fin-tastic!’ and ‘Shark time!’ and apparently didn’t kick ass, they kicked dorsal.
The Street Sharks
. The opening credits finished and I dialled London.
Straight away I heard, ‘PIN number, please?’
I gave it. She went, ‘One moment.’
A few seconds later the phone went dead.
That was strange. I dialled again, gave my PIN number and again got cut off.
What the fuck was going on? I tried to reason with myself, tried to tell myself that this was just a fuck-up. But really, inside, I knew the truth. It had to be deliberate. Either that, or maybe, just maybe, the phone line was down. No good thinking about it. Take action.
I went into the bathroom. ‘The phone’s not working,’ I said. ‘I’ll just go down to the one in the street. Is there anything we need from down the shops? I’ll tell you what, we’ll go down there later on, the two of us together.’
Her gaze didn’t leave the tiles at the end of the bath.
I lifted her out and put a towel around her. ‘You’re a big girl now. You can dry yourself.’ I took the hairbrush from the wash kit and dragged her into the bedroom. ‘Once you’ve done that, brush your hair, and make sure you’re all dry and dressed when I come back. We might have to go somewhere. Don’t open the door for anyone, OK?’
There was no answer. I pulled out the phone line and left.
7
I was feeling apprehensive as I walked across the car park. I’d done nothing wrong, so why were they cutting me off? Were the Firm going to stitch me up? I started to go through all the scenarios in my head. Did they think that I was the killer? Were they cutting away now as a prelude to denying everything?
I got to the phone, dialled, and the same thing happened. I slowly put down the receiver. I went and sat down on a low wall that made up part of the entrance to the hotel; I needed to think hard. It didn’t take long to decide that there was only one option and that was to phone the embassy. I’d be breaking every rule in the book. I wouldn’t even bother going through all the protocol; I dialled 411 for directory enquiries and got the number. I got straight through.
‘Hello, British Embassy. How may I help you?’
‘I want to talk to LOSO.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘LOSO. Liaison officer, special operations.’
‘I’m sorry, we don’t have an extension number for that name.’
‘Get hold of the defence attaché and tell him there’s somebody on the phone who wants to speak to LOSO. It’s really important. I need to speak to him now.’
‘Hold on a moment.’ She clicked off and a string quartet took her place. I listened and waited while the phone card was used up.
Another woman came on the line. ‘Hello, how may I help you?’
‘I want to talk to LOSO.’
‘I’m sorry, we have no-one of that appointment.’
‘Then put me through to the DA.’
‘Sorry, the defence attaché is not here. Can I help you? Would you like to give me a name and contact number?’
I said, ‘Listen in, this is the news. I want LOSO or the DA to pass this on. I’ve tried to phone up on my PIN number. My PIN number’s 2422, and I’m getting blanked off. I’m in a really bad situation at the moment and I need some help. Tell LOSO or the DA that if I don’t make contact with London I’m going to expose what I’ve got in my security blanket. I will call back in three hours’ time.’
The woman said, ‘Excuse me, could you repeat that?’
‘No, you’re recording – the message will be understood. All you’ve got to do is pass that on to the DA or LOSO, I don’t give a fuck which one. Tell them I’ll call London on the PIN line in three hours’ time.’
I put the phone down. The message would get to them. Chances were the DA or LOSO was listening anyway.
Some of the operations I’d been on had been so dirty that no-one would want them exposed, but that could cut two ways: it also meant that someone like me would be expendable if things weren’t working too well. I’d always operated on the basis that if you were involved in deniable operations for the intelligence services and hadn’t prepared an out for the day they decided to shaft you, then you deserved everything you got. The head shed knew that Ks had security blankets, but everybody denied it – the operators denied it, SIS denied it. I’d always been sure that SIS put as much effort into trying to find where the blackmail kit was hidden as they did on the operations themselves.
I’d committed myself now. It was a card I could only play once. No way would I be living an easy existence after this. I was finished with the Firm and would probably have to spend the rest of my life in a remote mountain village in Sri Lanka, looking over my shoulder.
What if the Firm decided to admit to the Americans that there’d been an op they’d forgotten to mention? Would they take the rap on the knuckles, then say, ‘This man killed one of your officers?’ No, it didn’t work that way. The Firm wouldn’t know if my blanket was bluff or not, or, if used, how much damage it could do in the hands of the press. They’d have to take it as real, they’d have to help. They had no choice. We’d get lifted by the Firm, I’d be flown back to the UK, and then I’d take up tree-hugging until they forgot about me.
Kelly was lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around her when I got back to the room. The cartoon had finished and there was some sort of hard-hitting news-type voice on, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was more interested in getting a response from this little girl. It seemed that I was fast running out of friends, and she might be just seven years old but I wanted to feel she was on my side.
I said, ‘We’ve got to hang around for another hour or two, and then somebody’s coming to . . .’
And then it hit me. The no-nonsense female voice was saying, ‘. . . brutal murders and a possible kidnap . . .’ I switched my attention to the screen.
She was black and mid-thirties. Her face was in camera, with Kev’s house in the background and the Daihatsu still in the drive. Police were milling around two ambulances with flashing lights.
I grabbed the remote and hit the off button. ‘Kelly, naughty girl,’ I grinned, ‘you haven’t cleaned your neck. Just you go and get back in the bath right this minute!’
I nearly threw her into the bathroom. ‘And don’t come out until I tell you to!’
I hit the on button and kept the volume low.
The woman said, ‘. . . neighbours report seeing a Caucasian man in his late thirties, around five ten to six feet tall, medium build, with short brown hair. He arrived at the house in a white Dodge with Virginia registration at approximately two forty-five today. We now have Lieutenant Davies from Fairfax County police department . . .’
A balding detective was standing beside her. ‘We can confirm that there was a man fitting that description, and we’re appealing for more witnesses. We need to know the location of the Browns’ seven-year-old daughter, Kelly.’
A picture came up on the screen of her standing in the garden with Aida, with a spoken description. The broadcast cut back to a studio shot of two presenters saying that the family were victims of what appeared to be drug-related murders. A family portrait appeared on the screen. ‘Kevin Brown was a member of the Drug Enforcement Administration . . .’ The anchormen broadened the piece to a discussion about the drug problem in the Washington area.
There was no sound of splashing water from the bathroom. Kelly would be out again any time. I started flicking channels. Nothing more on the murders. I switched back to children’s TV and went into the bathroom.
I hadn’t heard any splashing because she wasn’t in the bath. She was on the floor under the sink, in the same foetal position I’d found her in at Kev’s, hands over her ears to block out the news she’d just heard on the TV.
I wanted to pick her up and comfort her. The only thing was, I didn’t know how. I decided to appear unaffected by her condition. ‘Hello, Kelly,’ I smiled, ‘what are you doing down there?’
Her eyes were shut so tight I could see the creases in her face. I picked her up in my arms and started to walk back into the bedroom. ‘Hey, you look sleepy. Do you want to watch TV or just go to bed?’ It sounded crap to me, but I just didn’t know what to say or do. Best to pretend it hadn’t happened.
I took off the towel to get her dressed. Her own body heat had dried her by now. ‘Come on, let’s get some clothes on and your hair combed.’ I was really fighting for words.
She just sat there. Then, as I started to pull on her vest, she said quietly, ‘Mommy and Daddy are dead, aren’t they?’
Getting her arms into the vest suddenly became very interesting. ‘What makes you say that? I told you, I’m just looking after you for a while.’
‘So am I going to see Mommy and Daddy again?’
I didn’t have the words to use or the guts to tell her. ‘Yes, of course you will. It’s just that they had to go away really quickly. I told you, it was too late to pick you up, but they asked me to look after you. As soon as they come back I’ll take you to Mommy and Daddy and Aida. I didn’t know it was going to take this long; I thought it was only going to be a couple of hours, but they will be back soon.’