Broken Hero (14 page)

I think there might be a veiled criticism in there… Either that or a desperate attempt to put this morning’s events into some sort of context. But I’m not sure if I’m up to feeling charitable.

“Ooh!” Clyde claps. “We should totally try that. And, as an interesting adjunct, it does seem that there are a number of realities containing entities that are theoretically soluble in caffeine. Unfortunately the nitrogen in our atmosphere causes them to detonate, so no one’s been able to test—”

“Look,” I say, wanting to get back to the suddenly important cause of defending MI37’s shitty coffee, “it’s a perfectly acceptable beverage. It’s there for keeping us awake, and for improving reaction times in the field. We need…” I reach for something else caffeine could theoretically help with.

“Course,” says Hannah, “if you don’t drink the piss, you could just sleep through the invasion and avoid danger that way.” She throws a wink at Clyde.

He grins. “Another excellent point, actually.”

He is not helping.

“Look—” I say for the third time.

Which is when Tabitha passes the kitchen. She is holding a glass jar in which something unspeakable floats in formaldehyde. She looks at us.

“The hell you drinking the coffee for?” she asks. “Tastes like piss.”

All in all, I am rather glad when Felicity pops her head in and tells us it’s time for the debrief, even if moving my legs does feel like trying to coordinate two planks of wood.

Back in the conference room, I run through events while clutching a fresh ice pack to the back of my head. I outline our arrival, the poor state of the books, the arrival of Friedrich and his robotic cronies—

“Because Volk and Hermann sold us up shit creek and nicked our paddle too,” Hannah cuts in. “Like I said they would.”

Her ice pack is on her shoulder.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “Why come here, ask for us to go there, and then attack? Why not just come here in force?”

“They couldn’t come here in force. They had to make nice and lure us into the open.”

“It still doesn’t make sense. They have no argument with us.” I feel like Hannah is reaching here. MI6 has honed her professional paranoia to too sharp an edge. It would have been better, I think, to bring in someone fresh, with fewer preconceived notions. This job demands flexibility of thinking.

“You know what really doesn’t make sense? You almost shooting me twice. I noticed you hadn’t mentioned that yet.”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. “You stepped into my line of fire twice.”

“You don’t know basic pissing fieldwork! You didn’t count my shots. And you’re the bloody field lead!” She’s still sitting down, has her arms folded, and she’s trying hard to keep the professional mask in place, but it’s fraying at the edges. She’s letting a little too much passion into her voice.

I open my mouth to defend myself, when Felicity says, “Look,” her voice like a cleaver severing the strands of our argument. “Let’s focus on what actually happened. We do not yet have proof that Volk and Hermann betrayed us. There are multiple explanations. Coincidence is one of them, but I’m not a huge fan of that theory. Hermann and Volk knew where we were, maybe this Friedrich character does as well. He could have surveillance on us. Or he could have it on them. They told us their broadcast frequencies, maybe Friedrich knows them. He was one of them once. And while they told us they were using encryption, the Enigma code was broken in the forties. We can’t discount betrayal, but we can’t say it’s a certainty at this point, and Arthur’s arguments make me question whether it truly is likely.”

Hannah does not look happy about this. I try to not look too happy.

“As for fieldwork,” and here Felicity’s gaze shifts to me and I start feeling decidedly less smug, “that’s not been an area of concentration for us. Until recently everyone has had,” she pauses, searching for the right word, “a rather unique skill set, and coordination hasn’t been an issue. It’s also not Arthur’s background. Any pointers and tips you have on how we can increase our efficiency in that aspect of our work would be very helpful, I’m sure.”

She’s still looking at me when she finishes talking. I decide to nod rather than point out that another solution is for us to get rid of Hannah because we were getting along just fine without her. Because it’s not as if she didn’t help at all. She did. She held more than one Uhrwerkmänn off my back. It’s just I don’t know that we couldn’t have handled it without her, and I would have come far less close to almost shooting a co-worker in the head if we hadn’t had her along.

Hannah nods as well. It is not a full declaration of peace but at least it’s a momentary truce.

Finally, Felicity turns to Clyde. “And what exactly did we manage to retrieve after all this destruction of government property?”

Clyde either doesn’t catch her tone, or doesn’t recognize it, because he gives an excited smile and starts fishing around in his jacket pockets. He tugs a few times and then yanks out the desk ornament Hannah found.

“This!” he says with an absurd kind of glee. He sets it down on the table. It is about a foot tall, and an inch wide and deep, with narrow channels running down its sides. A series of nearly invisible diagonal lines slice through those channels, and at each slice, the channel is offset slightly, so the flow of it is broken into a series of steps weaving back and forth, the pattern of steps different on each side.

Felicity stares at it. “That?”

“Yes,” nods Clyde, “that.”

Kayla squints at him, then at Tabitha. “You sure that feckin’ MRI said he was fine?”

“Is there,” Felicity ventures, working her fingers back and forth across the table, possibly in search of a neck to throttle, “something about that particular…” She stumbles over what to call it.

“Desk ornament,” I supply.

Felicity closes her eyes, seems to need a moment to absorb this additional detail. “That desk ornament,” she manages, “that makes it worth all the attendant fuss that was involved in getting it?”

Clyde hesitates, cocks his head to one side, staring at the object. After a few seconds’ contemplation he straightens. “I’m not sure,” he says blithely.

Felicity’s jaw works.

“Said he’s not sure,” Tabitha cuts in rather abruptly. She’s staring at Felicity, as if daring her to vent her frustration. “Might be. Might not. Give him time to analyze.”

Clyde beams. “Thank you, Tabby. Very kind of you to say. And very nice to get a vote of confidence. Can make all the difference that can. Really. I read about it somewhere. The impact of collective belief on outcomes. Of course, I do think there was a chance the author had been committed to a mental health institution at the time of publication, but that’s more often the case than not with this sort of material. It was well-referenced as I recall. Though a lot of it was to CIA documents that, when I had a chance to check them out, were largely redacted. Bit of a shame. I had this terrific idea surrounding government propaganda and the flavoring of pancakes, but—”

He looks up and sees us staring at him.

“Maybe another time,” he finishes.

For a moment Felicity pushes her hands to her temples. I want to reach out to her, stroke her arm, do something to help her ground herself, find her feet in all of this. But she is more than strong enough to do it herself. When she pulls her hands away her jaw is set, her eyes clear.

“You.” She points to Clyde. “Find out everything you can about that… desk ornament. I want to know anything it has to tell us. Use techniques the Americans wouldn’t dare to use on terrorists if you have to. Make today worthwhile.

“You.” She points at Tabitha. “Get on satellite footage, CCTV footage, on damn YouTube, and find out if we can see where the hell those Uhrwerkmänner either came from or went to. I want to know where they live and then I want to drop a bomb on it.”

There is a fire in her eyes now, steel in her voice.

“You.” She turns her finger on Hannah. Hannah seems to fight the urge to look startled, and doesn’t quite land on interested. “I want to do a team-building exercise tonight, and I need you to pick a place for us to do drinks. ASAP.”

The order is given with such military force that it takes me a moment to sort out what it actually is. A team-building exercise? But tonight is for lying horizontal on the couch, complaining bitterly about aches and pains, and listening to Miles Davis at excessive volume. I am very sure it is specifically for that. I need that. I need my head straight. I froze up today. That can’t happen again. And where alcohol has failed me in the past, Miles has always had a good chance of success.

“Team-building?” I think the constant shifting terrain at MI37 is finally beginning to fatigue Hannah. “Like, bevvies and shit?”

Probably not exactly how Felicity would have phrased it.

“Along those lines,” she concedes.

“Banging.” Hannah grins.

“Tonight?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m being reasonable, and not contrary. Unfortunately, there is a small chance I may have already been undermined by my earlier behavior. “Are you sure?”

My head throbs. I think I preferred it when the pain was just due to alcohol.

“Yes, Arthur,” Felicity says. “The cohesion of the team is important. I think that became clear today.” If her tone grew any more pointed it would prick me.

Kayla leans forward in her chair for the first time since the debrief began. She stabs a finger at Hannah. “Pick somewhere with some decently feck-able men, all right?”

Oh, well, that’s just perfect.

Felicity snags me in the corridor as we traipse out. Hannah has told us she will email out a meeting spot later, once she’s had time to think about it some more.

“Hey,” Felicity says, “do you want to go home and grab some supper first? I think we have some left over tortellini in the freezer.”

I look down at her. The woman I love.
Home.
She said home. She means her place. No,
our
place. She is asking, in her own way, to look after me.

And I can’t say yes.

If we go back, I will have to fill out the holes in my report. All the things I didn’t want to say to my boss, but have to confide in my girlfriend. That I froze up today and risked my friend’s life. That there is something outside of me, but somehow part of me, some fear that grips me so hard I can hardly breathe. That every time I look at her, think of
her
place becoming
our
place, I feel its fingers about me.

I don’t have time for those feelings. I don’t know what is going on in my head, but it has to stop. I need to kick myself back into alignment quickly. And I need peace for that.

“I was thinking…” I start. Which is all I have. I try to force my brain to engage. “I was thinking… maybe I could get a head start on packing up some of my stuff to bring over to your place. Sorting piles. What to put into storage. What to chuck. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Felicity’s face falls for a moment, then brightens. “That’s a great idea. Thank you, Arthur.” She leans up and pecks me on the cheek.

If any of what I’d told her was true, I suspect I wouldn’t feel like an arsehole right now.

“It’s mostly going to be me making a mess and finishing up crappy microwave pizza,” I say, elaborating on the lie. “Why don’t you go home, have some of that tortellini and I’ll catch up with you at drinks?”

Something flickers across Felicity’s face. Indecision, perhaps, though that’s not normally her style. Then she smiles again. “OK, yes. Maybe that’s for the best.”

An odd way to phrase it. The guilt battles with my relief. Guilt loses. I lean down, kiss her forehead, and walk away.

The Park End night club in Oxford appears to have very little to do with the up-scale residencies in London, and a lot more to do with girls who don’t look old enough to drink wearing clothes that don’t look suitable for public display.

Hannah stands in line with them, clapping her gloved hands, and rubbing them together for warmth. She’s wrapped in a long thick woolen coat, but where her legs emerge they are bare, and she’s wearing heels that look like they might double as stiletto daggers.

Actually given her training they might do that…

Clyde and Tabitha stand next to her, both looking like they came from the office, which I suspect they did. Clyde waves me over.

“Hey,” I say, trying not to say anything that sounds as old as I feel right now, “how did it go looking at that desk ornament?”

“Oh!” Clyde beams. “Quite well, I think. Tabby was the one who really cracked it open. Not literally. Well, I mean, there was a very funny incident with a hammer, but that worked out pretty well all told. And I promised to not make any more references to The Cure that could be misconstrued in a negative light. So, you know, problem solved.”

“None of that,” Hannah cuts in. “No bloody work chat. I’ve had more than enough of that today. This is after-hours bollocks this is. I want you all to get shit-faced and tell me who’s porked who.”

“Oh,” says Clyde. “That’s easy. Tabitha and I dated before I died and went insane. And Arthur is dating Felicity. Not sure on the porking status there, but it doesn’t really seem an area I want to intrude upon. That said, I mean, it’s been a year and she wants him to move in, so if one were to make an assumption—”

“Shut up,” I say. It is a little abrupt, but I have exhausted my mental list of polite ways to get Clyde to stop talking.

Hannah seems unsure if she should appear amused or slightly disturbed. “Bloody incestuous lot, you are, aren’t you?”

“They’re feckin’ disgusting.”

I look over my shoulder to discover that Kayla has arrived. Then I keep on looking because apparently not much of Kayla’s wardrobe decided to arrive with her.

Ever since I have known Kayla she has been encased in flannel and denim. I have a suspicion that grunge was kind of a big thing for Kayla. I think I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve been able to see both of her eyes looking out from under her bangs. As a side note, they both looked equally murderous on all occasions, ending a bet Tabitha and I had going.