If The Bed Falls In Read online

  Before the signal from the Russian’s brain had finished its journey to his trigger finger, Sherry had seen it. She fired a single shot that expertly pierced the soldiers gallant heart. But the message from the dead man’s brain was still active, and his finger jerked as he fell. Deadly bullets drew a line across the space that Sherry occupied, but only one found its target. Blood spurted from Sherry’s left thigh. It was the first bullet Sherry had ever taken, and the level of pain that it caused was far worse than she could have imagined. She screamed, producing the loudest noise she had ever made, but knew that more was waiting for her if she didn’t get out of there quickly.

  She dragged herself into the lobby, then out onto the street. She could see the car ahead of her, and found extra-human energy to close the distance between her and it. Behind her she could hear the Russians spilling onto the street. They probably wouldn’t chance letting off rounds in a public street, but they would despatch her at close range if they caught her up. The car was just in front of her now, and she could clearly see that the driver’s window was shattered. Sherry pulled the door open, and the last of her agents fell sideways onto the road. She pulled his heavy body out, got in and sped away past Russian soldiers who raised their weapons, but refrained from chancing an international incident by firing.

  Sherry pulled the car to an abrupt stop in a side street near the hotel. Her leg was soaked with blood, but she knew that it was only a flesh wound. If it had been any more serious, she would have bled out by now. She removed her belt and fashioned a tourniquet around the top of her thigh. She lay back and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm down. There was no doubt in her mind that the Russians had been waiting for them. The question was who had tipped them off. The double agent? It had to be. ‘Fuck it,’ she thought, ‘Joseph’s gonna tell me who the fucker is and I’m gonna delete that son-of-a-bitch myself’. Her anger imbued her with renewed strength. She started the car and drove the remaining distance to the hotel.

  A hotel porter was emptying some rubbish into a dumpster next to the staff entrance at the back of the building. Sherry sighed angrily as the porter stopped to smoke a cigarette. Three minutes later he looked around guiltily then disappeared back into the hotel.

  Sherry limped to the door, and took the staff staircase to Joseph’s floor. She knocked on his door. There was no answer. She tried the handle. The room was locked. She moved down the corridor six rooms and rapped her knuckles on the panelled wood of another room being used by the British agents. The door swung open at her touch. From the hall, all she could see was a made-up bed with crumpled sheets, and no personal items.

  A trail of blood traced the route from the entrance of Sherry’s room to the bedside table. Sherry sat heavily on her bed and lifted the phone. She dialled zero.

  “Guten Abend.”

  “Hello, this is Mona Porter, room 543,” said Sherry.

  “Good evening, Fräulein Porter. How can we help you?”

  “I just wanted to ask about one of the other guests… Thomas Frintern.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that Herr Frintern was a friend of yours.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I’m afraid, Fräulein, that he left some time ago. Something urgent apparently. He asked me to get him a taxi for him and four friends.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “To the airport, Fräulein. Back to England, I believe.”

  Sherry paused wondering what to do next.

  “Did he leave me a message?” she asked.

  “One moment Fräulein, I’ll check.”

  The phone went silent for an insufferable eternity, then crackled as the receptionist resumed the conversation.

  “Hello, Fräulein Porter?”

  “Yes, did he leave me anything?”

  “No, Fräulein, I’m afraid he didn’t.”

  Sherry hung up without saying another word. She painfully rose from the bed and limped to the shower, closed the door and disrobed.

  Her leg had stopped bleeding as the head of the wound had coagulated into an angry dark red mess. She ran the shower and stepped in. Instantly, she jumped out again, and rummaged desperately through her discarded clothes. She searched every pocket with increasing anguish. As thoroughly as she looked, the ‘chip’ was not there.

  ▽

  ▼

  ▽

  Chapter 25

  Joseph arrived at the SIS HQ, and went straight up to the ninth floor. Simmons’ PA looked up from his desk.

  “Is he in?” asked Joseph.

  “Yes, but…”

  Joseph glided past him and into his mentor’s office. Simmons was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards the door as if he knew Joseph would be coming through it at that precise moment. Behind Joseph bobbed the disgruntled head of the PA.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, he just barged past me.”

  “That’s okay,” said Simmons, and waved him away. “Good trip?”

  Joseph stared at him.

  “What the hell’s going on?” asked Joseph.

  “You were in danger. I wanted to get you back here.”

  “I’m a field agent,” said Joseph. “That’s going to be somewhat dangerous from time to time.”

  “Look, Joseph, you are not aware of everything that goes on. You must trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “So this was purely your decision, was it?” Joseph asked.

  Simmons face darkened.

  “Yes,” he replied tersely.

  “No it wasn’t. You don’t behave like that. This was a snap decision, and that’s not you. You don’t make snap decisions.”

  “Okay, you’re right. It wasn’t totally my call.”

  “All right, so…?”

  “As I say, Joseph, you’ll have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” said Joseph, “but you’re saying someone else was involved. I feel a little uneasy about that.”

  “The Prime Minister wanted me to recall you.”

  “The Prime Minister?! Why would he care about me?”

  “He decided that we shouldn’t be seen to be involved.”

  “Then why send a British team in the first place?”

  “You’re always questioning everything,” said Simmons, “that’s the most troublesome thing about you. You need to be a team player, and that means listening to the man in charge; and that’s me.”

  “Or the PM,” said Joseph.

  “He’s my boss,” said Simmons, “and I’m yours. I don’t question him and you don’t question me. That way we all get along tickety-boo, okay?” Simmons retreated behind his desk. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Why do you insist on this crusade of can opening? You may regret what you find, Joseph.”

  “If there are worms to find, I’m not afraid of uncovering them.”

  “Very well,” said Simmons, “close the door.”

  Joseph walked over to the double doors and pushed them, gently. Before the gap between the two heavy portals disappeared, Joseph caught sight of the annoyed face of Simmons’ young PA straining against being marginalised.

  Simmons rummaged in a desk drawer, and as Joseph turned back to him, he found what he was looking for and tossed it towards the younger man. Joseph caught the small item and studied it. He looked at Simmons.

  “I don’t understand. This is the stolen chip.”

  “Actually,” said Simmons, “it’s a small memory card. You can buy them in any computer shop. And like the one you were sent to retrieve, this one has nothing of importance on it.”

  “You sent us to retrieve a useless memory chip?” said Joseph.

  “No, you were sent to create an international incident. The Russians were fed intelligence that a raid on their Embassy was imminent. You and the CIA were sent in to be caught… Don’t blame me, Joseph. I don’t decide these things. I was simply ordered by the PM to supply a team and then told to pull them at the last moment.”

  “So the CIA were also pulled?”

  “No. Th
e operation was CIA. And what they wanted was that both their agents, and ours, became casualties. You weren’t supposed to come home. Well, that’s what the Americans wanted, but the PM insisted that we pulled our guys out of there at the last minute. If the CIA want to sacrifice their own kith and kin, then that’s their business. We look after our own.”

  “So what happened to the CIA agents?”

  “No idea.”

  “And what was the purpose of this… fucking lunacy?”

  Simmons looked reproachfully at Joseph.

  “It’s what we do, Joseph. We trust that the person above us knows what he’s doing. And I’m the person above you. So, just let it go and move on.” Simmons sat behind his desk. “You have a debrief in room seventeen.” He looked at his watch, then down to some papers on his desk. “You’re already late.”

  Joseph carefully placed the clear, plastic case containing the memory chip onto a side table.

  “Cans of worms, Joseph, cans of nasty worms,” Simmons said without looking up.

  Joseph turned, and left the room.

  The flight had been pleasant, but was marred by the intense pain in Sherry’s thigh. Her leg had been ‘made good for travel’ by a local doctor in Berlin who was on the payroll of the CIA. However, Sherry was determined to compile a damning report on the sadistic little man as soon as she got to Langley. But that was not the most pressing matter on her mind. She had watched four good men die, and the more she replayed the events in her head, the surer she became that Joseph had played her. The irony was that she had made a pact with herself, from an early age, not to trust men, and had led a very successful life without wavering from that principal. Sherry often believed that her success, in a man’s world and a man’s agency, had been because of her commitment to that decision. Then, the first time she started to suspect that she may be impoverishing herself by eschewing romance, she got royally fucked over by a Limey. Maybe she needed to add another life goal to her bucket list, to make him pay for the lives of her team.

  The plane landed at Dulles International Airport, and after collecting her bags, she went to the Rentalcars reception. A young Asian woman smiled at her across the counter.

  “Good afternoon, Ma’am. How can I help you?”

  Sherry pushed her CIA ID across the counter.

  “No problem, Ma’am.”

  “I need something big. You got something big?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sherry was driving the half-hour journey from the airport to Langley in an Audi A2.

  She was relatively senior at the Company, but her current pay grade did not come with a designated parking space; she still had to fight in the ‘free for all’ staff car park. The nearest empty space she could find was an eye-watering limp to the entrance. One of the two receptionists looked up as she appeared on the inside of the building.

  “Hi, agent Goodman. The old man said to go straight up.”

  Sherry nodded and started towards the lifts. The receptionist picked up a phone.

  “She’s here,” she said.

  The lift stopped at every floor en route to Sherry’s destination; the fifth. At the third interruption, the doors opened and an attractive woman, around thirty years old and with bright red curls bouncing off her shoulders, got in.

  “Sherry,” she said, “I didn’t know you were back.”

  “Hiya, Tina. Yeah, got back just this minute… Going to see the old man.”

  “You been a naughty girl?”

  “Not this time… listen… I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure, I’d love that,” said Tina, “I’m here until one, then back at the research facility.”

  The door opened. Tina squeezed Sherry’s arm.

  “I’m glad you’re back safe.”

  Sherry looked at her. Tina stepped onto the landing, then turned. She lifted her hand to her ear and extended a thumb and little finger.

  “You call me, you hear?”

  Sherry nodded just before the lift door severed their conversation.

  Ted Castle was a big man, and his corner office mirrored his impressive dimensions. Sherry opened the door and Castle looked up, feigning surprise.

  “Ah, Sherry Goodman,” he rose and came around his desk to greet her, “come and sit down. You want a drink or something. Maybe something to eat?”

  “I’m fine… I ate on the plane.”

  “Sure,” said Castle. He paused for a moment, then held both hands up. “Yeah, I know, it’s been a real fuck up!”

  “You think?” Sherry mocked. She massaged her left thigh, pointedly.

  “You’re okay, though? That’s the most important thing, right?”

  “I’m still breathing, if that’s what you mean,” said Sherry.

  “Exactly,” Castle said rubbing his hands together.

  “And what about the four that aren’t?”

  Castle dropped his hands to his side.

  “Don’t fucking push it, Goodman.” Sherry looked at him and involuntarily squinted her eyes. “I know you’ve had a tough time, but we got to find the best way forward not snipe at each other… Listen, I’m going to make this up to you…”

  “What, you gonna extradite that cunt Miller?” responded Sherry.

  Castle did a double-take.

  “Joseph Miller?” he asked.

  “Well who do you think I’m talking about? He’s the one that sold us out to the Russians, isn’t he?”

  “Is he?”

  “Well, who else could it have been?”

  “No, you’re right, Sherry. Miller’s always been a loose cannon.”

  “So, what you going to do about it?” said Sherry.

  “Right at this moment, Sherry, I’m not sure. We have to play this carefully. There’s a lot at stake.”

  “We can’t let them get away with this,” said Sherry.

  “They won’t. Trust me, Sherry, they won’t.”

  Castle looked around the room as if trying to remember something, then moved quickly to his desk. He picked up a file and returned to where Sherry was sitting.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  He waved the file at her.

  “Take it.”

  She took the file and opened it. Sherry lifted her eyes from the paperwork to meet his.

  “This for real?” she asked.

  “You do good, you get good.”

  “You’re sending me to England to head up UK operations?”

  “I can’t think of a better man for the job. You leave in two days, so don’t sit around here moping, you got a lot to do.”

  “Shit! Thanks, Sir. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  “Why do you think I’m giving you the job? I don’t make arbitrary choices, you know?… Goodman… get the fuck outta here.”

  Sherry struggled to her feet, and started towards the door. She stopped and turned back to Castle.

  “I’m really sorry about all this,” she said.

  Castle waved her away.

  “Forget it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But what are you going to do about the chip?” Castle looked at her; his eyes widening a little. “It’s still out there, somewhere.”

  “Sure,” said Castle, “leave that to me. I’ve got that in hand… Goodman… you focus on England. Don’t let me down, you hear?”

  Joseph sat in a hotel bar, and studied the room. Everything was crowding in on him; nothing was as it seemed. He felt that he wasn’t so much opening a can of worms, but living in one. He had seen things that many people wouldn’t believe and most don’t even want to know. And yet, to look around this hotel bar, you’d think that absolutely nothing was wrong. Part of him wanted to stand up and shout out; tell these oblivious innocents what’s really going on. How they are being played at every turn by their politicians, manipulated by big business and laid waste by the bankers, but he knew that no one would listen to him, and no one wanted to
believe him. Fuck it! Not even he wanted to believe it. It all seemed so unreal that part of him even doubted that it was.

  “What can I get you, Sir?” asked a barman.

  Joseph swivelled on his bar-stool to face the man.

  “Tea, please.”

  Joseph turned back to the room. A young couple were talking sternly to their son.

  “I know we’re on holiday,” said the mother, “but bedtime is still bedtime.

  The boy looked at his father, who stood up and took him by the arm. The boy started to cry. The mother caught the father’s eyes and smiled coyly.

  “Maybe another five minutes, then?”

  The boy immediately brightened, turned his back on his parents, and resumed playing with his teddy.

  “We know not what we do,” Joseph said under his breath with a smile.

  “Your tea, Sir.”

  The barman had returned and carefully placed the cup and saucer on the counter. Joseph sipped and aimlessly stared at the wide-screen TV behind the bar. A newsflash interrupted the sitcom that had been playing. He instantly recognised the pictures being shown.

  “Excuse me!” Joseph called to the barman, “can you turn the sound up?”

  The barman found the remote control and stabbed a button a few times until the sound was just audible. Stock footage of Berlin filled the screen, and a rolling caption, at the bottom, repeated the claim that an international incident had occurred in Germany. The picture changed to a spokesman at the White House.

  “I am going to make a statement, but we are not taking any questions at this time.” There was a lot of noise from reporters, and the screen flashed like a fireworks display as cameras clicked rapidly. “So far we know that a number of Americans have been shot dead by the Russian military in Berlin, Germany. Our American soldiers were in the process of retrieving a stolen NATO device. That’s all I have for you at the moment.”

  The spokesman turned away, but the roar of the crowd forced him to return. He held up his hands and the reporters’ protestations diminished to a background growl.