Tarent returned the Canon to its protective case, without having worked out what had gone wrong with it.
‘You can’t see the tower from this room,’ he said. ‘I’ll point it out when we’re outside.’
‘Could it be the water tower? From when it was a bomber airfield?’
‘Is that still here? You said it was demolished ages ago.’
‘That was what the website said. I thought the RAF buildings would all be gone by now.’
‘I’ll show you later.’ Tarent stood up and paced around the room. It was after 10:30 and no word had come through from Lepuits’ office, or from the man himself, and in the quadrangle there was no sign of a Mebsher. He wondered if he should try to contact Lepuits, confirm the arrangement. He stood at the window, hands resting on the sill, staring down at the huge area of concrete.
‘I think I’ll take a walk,’ he said. ‘Will you come too?’
‘No – I’ll wait here. You’re so tense it’s making me nervous.’
‘Sorry. It’s just that I want to be out of here. I’ll take my stuff down now. I’ll come back for you when the personnel carrier arrives, or you could just meet me in the quad if you hear it. Mebsher engines make a lot of noise.’
He left the room, went out into the quad and dumped his case at the side. With his cameras slung over his shoulder, Tarent looked for the path he had used when he arrived at the Warne complex. He had to pass back through the residential building, then walk along a corridor through the next building. This led to the gravelled walkway that went up towards the main fence. The gate he had used was locked with a security device, but his ID card opened it for him. He went through.
The last time he was here was in the immediate aftermath of what he had witnessed when the Mebsher was attacked. His intention, when he left Lou’s room, had been to walk back up to the ridge and take another look at the site of the attack. What he saw that day already felt like an unreliable memory: it was sudden, inexplicable, horrific, and although he thought at the time he was keeping a cool head he knew now that the incident had helped tip him over into a state of delirium. It was tempting to go back for a second look at the scene of the disaster, but now there was a real prospect of actually doing so he suffered a strong but indefinite feeling of fear.
He paused just beyond the gate, which had swung closed behind him. He was surrounded by trees, many of which had been toppled by the gales, their root balls exposed. Most of the other trees had their branches broken off, leaves missing, splits in the trunks. Having experienced the violence of the last storm he was surprised how many trees had in fact survived, damaged as they were. At least they were to be spared the next storm: he had heard the radio news earlier in the morning. During the night TS Graham Greene had veered off unpredictably to the south-east, crossed the Bay of Biscay and almost immediately lost most of its strength as it swept on to the French mainland. No more temperate storms were thought to be imminent, at least in the British Isles, although there were advance warnings of heavy snow, with some drifting. It was still late September, but the winter, with its unpredictable and often dangerous moods, was almost upon them.
7
He heard then the deep throbbing sound of an engine, one that clattered noisily and was overlaid by the high-pitched whine of turbines. Tarent turned back immediately and presented his ID card to the scanner. After a long pause, which Tarent found worrying, thinking he might have shut himself out, the electrically powered gate swung open again and he slipped back into the compound. He looked across to the south, through the few trees that still stood there, past the first of the Warne buildings, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the huge dark shape of the Mebsher, heading slowly towards the main gate. Relieved to see it, Tarent hurried along the passages through the buildings and emerged into the quadrangle.
The Mebsher had already passed through the secure barrier and was coming to a halt. The driver, hidden behind the darkened, strengthened windshield, manoeuvred the vehicle close to the clinic building. The engine noise wound down, the turbines becoming silent, while the diesel power plants idled. The black exhaust smoke was swept back by the wind and across to where Tarent was standing. The familiar smell of the fuel, which he had breathed for so many hours on the long journey north from London, brought back the buried memories of confinement inside the Mebsher, the boredom of sitting still for so long, the lurching discomfort, and the mild distraction of speculating about the woman in the seat in front of him.
Several uniformed security men emerged from the guard post by the entrance to the clinic, and stood in a loose line. One of them, an officer, stepped forward and ascended towards the high cockpit area, using the crude steps welded to the side. A metal vane beside the windshield opened up, and a conversation took place. Soon, papers were passed out for examination.
While the check was going on, Tarent remembered Lou. He turned away, intending to walk back to her room to tell her the personnel carrier had arrived, but as he did so he saw her emerging from the building. She was tugging her large suitcase by the handle. She walked over and stood beside him.
On the Mebsher the guard handed the papers back through the vane to the driver, and the panel closed. The officer jumped down from the vehicle and with the other security guards walked quickly into the clinic building. The Mebsher’s engine began to develop power, and in a moment Tarent watched the huge transporter manoeuvre to and fro, as the driver reversed it towards the clinic.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ Tarent asked Lou.
‘Can’t wait. How about you?’
‘Yes.’
The crew hatch at the front of the vehicle opened, and one of the men who was inside clambered through the opening and levered himself up and out, pressing down on the rim. He climbed easily on to the housing at the front of the vehicle.
He was a tall young man with a narrow, athletic build. He was wearing camo fatigues, the sort favoured by the British Army on home duties: dark mottled green with specks of brown, black and a lighter green. A standard-issue lightweight automatic rifle was slung handily across his shoulder. Under his cap the young soldier’s head was shaved, but he wore a long beard, wispy and dark. He was wearing shades. With his hands on his hips he turned to take in the view in all directions.
Tarent had his camera ready and took several quick photographs of the soldier, admiring the measured, self-confident way he carried himself.
Four of the security guards now emerged from the clinic, a casket resting on their shoulders. They marched slowly in step, heads bowed, and carried the coffin across to the cargo hold of the Mebsher. The hatch opened on its hydraulic rods – slowly, and with great care, the men slid the coffin into the hold. A second one was already being brought out of the building by another group of the security men.
The young soldier standing on the front of the vehicle monitored the process, and at one point leaned in and spoke to the other crewman, still out of sight inside the cockpit.
One by one the caskets were brought out of the clinic and placed on board. Soon all had been loaded, although the sixth had to be eased in carefully, as most of the space inside the hold was already taken. While this happened the soldier jumped down to the ground and helped the security men shift and relocate the coffins that were already there.
‘I suppose this is why they said there would be restrictions on what we could bring with us,’ Lou said, watching this slow and careful procedure. ‘There’s hardly any space left.’
‘Put your case into the hold when you can,’ Tarent said to her. ‘I’ll keep mine with me. I know how the passenger compartment is laid out and I’ll be able to squeeze my bag in there somewhere at the back.’
He had been watching the loading of the caskets, which was done with outward respect and no false sense of ceremony, and as each of them was brought out he felt a sense of pain and distress growing in him. Inside one of those coffins, he knew, was Flo’s body.
It was an uncomfortable thought, knowing that the
y would be travelling with the coffins beneath their feet.
Lou trundled her wheeled suitcase to the entrance of the hold and the young soldier, seeing her trying to push it inside, stepped forward to help. There was hardly any space left, which meant the case had to be placed on top of one of the coffins. The soldier took the case from Lou, managed it in one swift and muscular lift. He leapt down to the ground, and signalled to the other crewman to close the door.
The soldier straightened, glanced around, and for the first time looked directly at Tarent. The two men stared at each other.
It was Hamid, the young Scot who had been one of the drivers of the Mebsher that brought him here.
Instinctively, Tarent raised a hand in greeting, but in the same moment the soldier turned away. He returned to the front of the vehicle and climbed up to the position he had taken before, on the housing.
Tarent’s hand fell to his side. He stepped forward, amazed to see the young man again.
‘Hamid?’ he called.
There was a security guard standing close to the vehicle. ‘Keep back, please. This is a military vehicle.’
‘I’m travelling on this vehicle!’ Tarent shouted, annoyed by the intrusion, and swept his diplomatic passport from his back pocket and flashed the distinctive white cover in the man’s direction.
‘Sorry, sir, but I have instructions that no one must approach this vehicle.’
‘I’m being picked up here. You can check with Mr Lepuits.’
‘It was Mr Lepuits who gave me the instructions.’
Tarent gestured impatiently. ‘Yes, but I have permission to travel on this vehicle. Ms Paladin too.’
Lou was again standing by his side.
‘Wait there.’ The security guard spoke into a handset, then waited for a reply.
‘Hamid!’ Tarent raised his voice.
The young soldier heard him then and turned in Tarent’s direction. Again, their gaze met but he showed no sign of recognition. Tarent was certain it was the same man. He moved away from Lou and approached the Mebsher. This time the security guard made no move to impede him.
‘Sir?’
‘Peace be unto you,’ Tarent said. ‘Weren’t you the driver of the Mebsher that brought me here?’
‘I’ve only just arrived, sir.’ The Glaswegian accent was the same.
‘Two or three days ago. I was in London at the end of last week, when I joined other passengers. The road was flooded and you helped me climb aboard the Mebsher. We ended up at a base at Long Sutton, but the next day you let me off the vehicle somewhere not far from here.’
‘I have to follow a strict route, sir. We haven’t come from London, and I don’t recall being at the base you mentioned. Long Sutton is a closed unit.’
‘Not this trip. It was just a few days ago. Surely you remember?’
‘We are here to collect and transport materials. Two passengers as well. Inshallah.’
Presumably hearing the sound of their voices, the second crewman raised himself through the open hatch. He stared across at Tarent.
‘Ibrahim!’ Tarent said. ‘Peace be unto you. Don’t you remember me?’
He stared back at Tarent, but said nothing. He shook his head vaguely. The two crewmen spoke briefly to each other, a soft burr of slang, and then Hamid clambered quickly to the ground. Ignoring Tarent, who was now less than three metres from the side of the vehicle, he worked the outer mechanism of the main hatch. With a smooth mechanical sound the hatch raised itself on its hydraulic rods. The built-in steps also unfolded and lowered themselves to the concrete. Tarent had an angled glimpse inside, but because the hatch was too high above the ground he could see almost nothing of the interior.
The security guard approached them, putting away his handset.
‘Mr Lepuits has confirmed these two passengers may join the personnel carrier,’ he said to Hamid. ‘They are to be taken only as far as the DSG in Hull.’
‘Inshallah.’
Tarent said to Lou, ‘After you.’
As she moved forward, Tarent also took a step towards the Mebsher’s hatch. Now that he was as close as this he could smell the air drifting out from the passenger compartment. It was so familiar to him: the smell of people inside, recirculated air, bare metal, old seat fabric, bringing a mental image of the cramped conditions, the hard seats and the fluorescent lighting. Lou walked past him.
‘You are coming too, aren’t you?’
‘I left my bag over there,’ Tarent said, indicating the place outside the residential block where he had earlier dumped his luggage. ‘I have to get that. I’ll be back in a moment.’
Lou went up the steps, lowered her head and went through into the compartment. Tarent saw her come to a halt just inside. A moment later she turned and leaned back out, a glance around the Warne compound, one last look. She was smiling, and she looked at him.
‘Thanks, Tibor,’ she said.
Lou went on into the compartment but a moment later someone else came to the opening, leaned through the hatch and moved out to stand at the top of the steps. She glared briefly down at Tarent, but looked away again immediately. She was wearing a scarf over her hair, and her left hand was pressed lightly to the area behind her left ear. It was Flo.
To Hamid she said, ‘What’s the delay out here?’
‘We’ll be restarting shortly, madame,’ he said. ‘We have to pick up two passengers.’
‘We are running late. I have a ministerial meeting in less than two hours’ time.’
‘Yes, Tebyeb Mallinan. There will be no more delays after this. We will depart soon.’
Flo then looked directly at Tarent.
‘Have you been authorized to board this vehicle?’ she said.
‘Flo?’ Tarent said, his heart racing.
She looked at him more intently. ‘Why do you call me that? Who are you?’
She sounded as if she genuinely did not recognize him. Tarent was staring at her, feeling shock, disbelief, even terror, sensing his own hold on sanity had been released. Only the evening before, in the clinic –
In the Mebsher hold below –
He said weakly, ‘Don’t you remember me, Flo?’
‘Should I?’
‘We met a few days ago. Travelling.’
‘I don’t – travel, as you call it. What business do you have here? Let me see your security clearance.’
Tarent was aware of the other people: Lou inside the compartment was probably hearing this, Ibrahim and Hamid were just behind him, the security guard was there. Flo was speaking loudly, authoritatively, dominant.
‘Flo – you are Flo, aren’t you? You wouldn’t tell me your second name, but I know now it’s Mallinan.’ He still had the white-covered passport in his hand, so he held it up for her to see. ‘I’m Tibor. Tibor Tarent. We know each other. You wanted me to—’
‘Are you here on ministerial business?’
‘No.’
‘This is a government vehicle on official duties. You are delaying me.’
‘I have been travelling for the government.’
‘Why did you use my family name? Do I know you? Have we met before?’
‘Yes, we met on the other Mebsher, before the attack.’
‘What attack?’ She looked around at the other men. ‘Leave us,’ she said in an imperious voice. ‘This is a confidential conversation.’
She stood immobile, waiting. Hamid and Ibrahim went around to the front of the vehicle and climbed up swiftly into the drive compartment. The security officer retreated towards the clinic. Tarent looked back towards the buildings, half-expecting to see others coming to find out what was happening, but the quadrangle in all directions was empty of people. In a moment, the drivers’ hatch closed and sealed itself.
Flo said, ‘Let me see that passport.’
He handed it to her and for a fraction of a second their fingertips brushed against each other. She opened the passport, read the information on the front, then looked at the photograph of him ins
ide the back pages, and simultaneously pressed two fingers to the hidden implant behind her ear. She raised an elbow to try to conceal what she was doing.
She handed the passport back to him.
‘I don’t know who you are, Mr Tarent,’ she said. ‘Nor what your business here might be. But you have been using that passport illegally. You have no diplomatic credentials and as far as I can determine, no legitimate business with either the Office of Overseas Relief or the Ministry of Defence. I have cancelled the passport, so if you wish to travel abroad you must apply for a new one. Now I have work to attend to.’
‘Flo, please!’
‘What is it you want?’
‘May we speak privately?’
‘This is a private conversation. I have never met you before. Under what circumstances were you issued with that passport? And you haven’t told me why you are using my familiar name.’
‘Do you really not remember me?’ he said. On an impulse he raised his Canon, pointed it at her face and exposed three shots in rapid succession. She recoiled slightly. ‘The quantum lens, Flo. You warned me about it.’
‘You have no right—’
‘That’s what you said before. And Rietveld – he told me too, long ago. I remember now. He warned me that quantum adjacency was dangerous. You said I had met Thijs Rietveld, and you were right.’