Dead in the Water (44 page)

“
I can’t do that. I can’t make him do anything. You didn’t kidnap me and Jeremy, bring us here just to ask my father to …” she tails away. “This isn’t about my father.”

“
He’s more important than you think.”

“
Why me? Why Jeremy? This is crazy.”

“
You were never part of the plan, Miss Boyd, but you came back to the country at just the right time. We want you to give him the courage of his convictions. Can you think of a better way?”

“
What if he doesn’t listen to me? He won’t, you know. He won’t.”

“
You’ll do your best.”

“
What if the Summit ends up as just all the usual guff, and he doesn’t resign? What then? What happens to Jeremy?”

“
You’ll have done your best. We’ll release him.”

“
And how will you know I’ve done my best?”

“
You’ll wear a bug.”

75 West London

The buzzer rings for the exterior door. Mark presses the intercom button. It’s Rachel. Thank God for that. When she appears at the door of the flat she looks pale and drained.

“
Are you OK?”

“
I’m good. Just really tired. Don’t I get a hug?”

“
Oh God, Rachel, I’m sorry.” They wrap their arms around each other each other, Rachel resting her head on Mark’s chest.

“
I am so glad to see you,” says Mark.

She pulls away from him and looks at him, then, “Thanks, Dad. I need a bath. Is that OK?”

While he waits for her, he pours them both a glass of wine. And when she emerges from the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel he asks if she’d like him to get her something to eat. He’s getting good at acting normal.

“
Are we safe here?” she asks.

“
I hope so. But they’ll know you’re here.”

“
Who will?”

“
Oh, everybody. I should think!” She tries to laugh, but manages little more than a mumble.

“
Thanks.”

“
Are you hungry?” She nods.

They find it easier to talk while he’s cooking some pasta for them both.

“
Where have you been? I thought you’d come straight back here when the programme was postponed.”

“
You heard about that?”

“
Mrs Walker told me herself.”

“
I didn’t like Sara Davis. She’s really up herself. I don’t think she liked me much either.” Mark can feel himself colouring.
Sara was probably really nervous about being with you, Rache
. He’s surprised that Rachel hasn’t said anything about the awkwardness between him and Sara last night. Maybe she was too preoccupied to notice.

“
I expect we’re all a bit tense at the moment, Rache. I think she’s got a lot on her plate.”

Rachel nods. She’s not really listening. “Jeremy didn’t turn up. I went back to the hotel. I thought ….”

And suddenly her composure shatters and she puts her head on the table and covers herself with her arms, as if this will keep the horrors out.

“
We’ll be OK, darling, we’ll be OK.” He goes round the table, kneels beside her and holds her to him, stroking her forehead. “I am sorry, Rache. I am so sorry.” She sniffles and asks him for a tissue. He hands her some kitchen towel; he has no tissues in the flat.

“
What’s to be sorry for,” she says, looking up at him, forcing a smile. “Is it alright for me to stay?”

“
Of course.”

“
I meant, is it safe?”

“
In the movies they look out of the window and there’s someone in a long raincoat sitting on a park bench; or there’s a car they recognise. It doesn’t seem to work like that here, although the security people assure me they’re watching the flat. I think we’re as safe here as anywhere.” He’s trying to keep it light hearted, and she forces a smile in recognition of his efforts. “Where’s Jeremy now?” he asks.

“
Staying with friends.”

“
Why didn’t he turn up for the interview?”

“
I don’t want to talk about it,” she says looking away. “Can I have a drink of something stronger?”

They are still sitting at the little table in the kitchen, each with a glass of brandy. Mark is thinking about the morning; and the amount of time he has spent away from his family over the past five years; remembering those times when the dog seemed the only one pleased to see him on his return to Clifton Hamden.

“
It wasn’t Stephen,” says Mark.

“
What do you mean? Who wasn’t Stephen.”

“
The shooting incident this afternoon. The young man who was shot. The police rang about half an hour before you arrived.” She looks puzzled, wondering how he could have thought it might have been Stephen. The last time she saw Steve his hair was long and he was trying to convince himself that the dark blur on his chin was stubble effect.

“
That’s good. And what about you, Dad? Are you alright?”

“
I’m supposed to be at Chequers for the weekend. The Summit. I don’t want to go.”

“
That’s crazy.” For the first time since she arrived she seems energised. “You have to go.”

“
It’s not crazy. This past week I’ve realised that I’m just a bloody puppet. I thought I was advising, but I’ve become a kind of mouthpiece, a way of legitimising prevarication.”

“
Don’t be absurd.”

“
Rachel, I’ve become a pawn. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t even know who’s really making decisions. I thought I did. I thought I was the man ––”

“
You know what. You’re sounding like I used to when I thought I couldn’t do some homework. Like you don’t want to go to the Summit because you’ve got things to say that they don’t want to hear. Sounds like a bloody good reason for going if you ask me.”

“
It’s more complicated than that. Angela Walker specifically asked me to attend, and then told me not to upset the Americans. What am I going to be there for, Rachel? A token radical with his teeth pulled.”

“
Well, put them back in. Christ, Dad. You sound pathetic. You’ve got to go. The time you most want to quit is when you need to stick with it. Remember that? You said it.”

Saturday

76 London, Clifton Hamden, Chequers

Mark wakes soon after six, pops his head round the bedroom door. Rachel’s still asleep. After a drink of fruit juice, he jogs round to the paper shop, leaving a note in case she wakes before he gets back. It’s cooler out today than it has been, though the sky is still cloudless. The papers are full of outrage at the horror of the School Bomb, their indignation directed against the callous and cowardly ‘bombers’. One of the children hit by a police bullet has now died of her injuries.

He wakes Rachel at about half seven, and over breakfast proposes taking her to Clifton Hamden in the car.

“
I thought you didn’t like driving?”

“
I have to, Rache. There’s so much I have to take with me. Laptop, documents, all sorts. And security won’t let us take anything confidential on trains now. I always drive when I go to Chequers.”

“
Sounds like you’re a regular.”

“
This will be the fifth time. Serious informality. That’s the way Angela Walker likes to deal with the big issues.”

“
Organised confusion.”

“
Sorry?”

“
Something José Dias used to say.”

She seems tense, frightened almost; which is not surprising, given the horrors and the threats she’s endured in the past ten days. The question is how to persuade her to accept post traumatic stress counselling at the end of this. At the end of what? The weekend? It’s a vain hope, but the notion that everything will somehow get back to normal once the Summit is over keeps him going.

The M40 is relatively quiet and there’s no sign that they’re being followed. Mark tries to keep the chat light-hearted: music, friends, films, Charlie the dog. But Rachel seems lost in her thoughts, mustering nothing more than occasional nods and grunts in response.

Several miles pass in silence.

“
Do you want the radio on Rache?”

“
No. You’re alright.”

Rachel is replaying in her head what happened yesterday – the abduction that wasn’t, the threat to Jeremy, the bug she’s still carrying, and whether she’s said enough to convince them – trying to tally what the woman told her with Jeremy’s theory about the London terrorism and its connections to the Amazonas massacre; her dad’s conviction that the ‘
Angels
’ are provocateurs. Nothing makes sense. If the woman who took her to Jeremy was an ‘Angel’, they’re genuine. Surely.

As the motorway descends through the great cutting that marks the edge of the Chilterns, the plain of Oxfordshire lies below them. She knows this journey so very well: about twenty five minutes from here to home.

“
Dad…” She hesitates. “You know what we were talking about last night?” His turn to grunt. This is the last thing he wants to talk about. But she persists: “What are you going to do if they don’t listen to you?”

“
I don’t know. I used to think it was better working from a position of influence than sitting on a hobby horse and railing at the system from outside.”

“
Last night you said you were just a puppet, a pawn.”

“
A sacrificial pawn. Sounds rather grand,” he says with weary irony. “Don’t you think?”

“
You know what you used to say?”

“
Things I used to say. People have been reminding me rather a lot lately. Go on. What did I say?”

“
You’ve got to try to make a difference. That’s all you can do.”

“
That’s what I said? Well… I’ll do my best, Rache. I promise you that.”

When they get to Clifton Hamden just before nine, Joanna is not at home, and wherever she is, Charlie’s with her. Mark refuses to set off for Chequers until they’ve managed to contact her. Rachel is happy to do the phoning. He’s touched that she wants him sitting with her by the phone as she makes the calls; she must be feeling more frightened and vulnerable than she’s allowing him to see.

Joanna is staying with her friend Judy; and she has the dog with her. Mark registers an unexpected feeling of relief that she’s not with Robert. Something else to deal with once everything’s back to normal.

“
She said she’ll be back in half an hour. You better be getting on, Dad. I’ll be OK.”

“
I’m not going to leave you here on your own. I’ll go when Mum gets back.”

Mark makes himself a coffee and a fruit tea for Rachel. Their attempts at small talk falter again. Concerns about the Summit are beginning to play on Mark’s nerves, and the absence of things which would usually irritate – Charlie padding round the kitchen looking for food, Stephen playing his music too loud – makes the house feel empty, cheerless and reproachful.

When they hear the car outside, he goes to the window and checks to see that it is Joanna. He hugs Rachel and kisses her on the forehead, not wanting her to see how close to tears he is. A wave and a kiss blown to Joanna as she’s parking the car, and he’s gone.

From Clifton Hamden he takes side roads back to the M40 and on to the A329, through Thame and towards Milton Keynes. The Sat Nav system warns him when he’s about 5 miles from Aylesbury that traffic in the town is clogged because of an accident, and advises him to complete the journey on minor roads – which comes as a relief. The only kind of driving he gets any pleasure from is on these little narrow country roads.

He’s no more than four miles off the main road before the navigation system dies on him and a red light on the central display starts to flash, warning him that the battery system is failing to charge. The engine starts to lose power. He pulls off the road at the next field entrance. Brilliant. At last he knows his own mind, knows where he’s going and what he’s going to do when he gets there – and he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere.

The woman in the AA emergency call centre assures him that they have someone in the area who should be with him within half an hour. While he’s waiting, he tries home, wanting to say a proper hello to Joanna and apologise for rushing off. But his phone now indicates no signal. Oh shit. That’s bloody ridiculous. He rang the AA only a couple of minutes ago. With half an hour or so to kill, he takes a walk into the field, keeping an eye on the car and the time. The sky is a deep blue, there’s a gentle breeze, overhead a couple of red kites are circling, their tail feathers twitching with hyperactive precision; in another life he might be here with Joanna, spreading out a blanket for a picnic lunch. Maybe in an earlier life he was here – he remembers calling in for lunch with friends who live near Thame and in the afternoon going for a long walk with the children….

He sits down in the field to enjoy the sun. Angela Walker wanted to meet at half ten and it’s already quarter past; but there’s nothing he can do to speed things up. He shuts his eyes; and could even be drowsing when he’s stirred by an impatient blasting of a horn, he looks round. An AA van is parked beside his car.

“
How long will it take to fix?”