If The Bed Falls In Page 22

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll take just a few questions… if I have the answers.”

  “How many Americans are dead?” a voice called out.

  “At this present time we are unsure, but they are multiple,” the spokesman said.

  “Was the device recovered?”

  The spokesman’s arm was grabbed by someone next to the podium. The woman whispered into his ear.

  “At this present time… the whereabouts of the device is… unknown.”

  The volume soared, and the spokesman raised his hands. He shouted above the din.

  “That’s it gentlemen and ladies. I have no more information at this present time.”

  Someone shouted out.

  “How dangerous is the device?”

  The woman adviser whispered to the spokesman again. He raised his hands and patted the air. The noise subsided a little.

  “At this present time… I cannot answer that question.”

  The noise increased to a fever pitch, then the TV went silent.

  Joseph looked around the room. Everyone was continuing with their day to day lives. The young boy still played with his teddy bear and his parents still looked frazzled. A man in a black suit had appeared behind the bar. He had the TV remote control in his hand and was flipping channels on the now silent screen.

  “Excuse me,” Joseph called to the black suit, “can you put BBC One back on?”

  “It’s a bit loud, Sir.”

  “Please… keep the sound low if you want…”

  Black suit changed channels a few times until BBC One reappeared.

  “That’s it!” Joseph shouted.

  The programme had returned to the studio and a presenter.

  “Tonight we are looking at the recent battle in the US. President Harrington has been leading the Republicans in an all out tussle to raise the debt ceiling and grant the military an additional one trillion dollars. Earlier today the President addressed the nation.”

  President Harrington was seen in front of the White House.

  “… As I have been saying,” said the President, “we are living in an uncertain world. There are threats around every corner. If we do not defend ourselves, no one else will. That’s why I have been asking for the defence budget increase, and that’s why congress cannot afford to say no.”

  The programme cut to the presenter.

  “So what will the effects be if the President gets his way? Ten minutes ago the US congress took the emergency vote on the controversial raising of the debt ceiling and the additional defence budget. Both amendments were passed with around an eighty percent majority in favour of both…”

  The anguished cry of a child caused Joseph to turn his attention to the room behind him. The young father was again on his feet, and the boy was once again protesting. This time the father insisted and the boy gave in.

  “A kiss goodnight for mummy?” said the young woman with her arms outstretched.

  The father let the boy return for a kiss. The young woman held the boy’s hands.

  “Sleep well,

  Sleep tight,

  Don’t let the bed-bugs bite.

  And if the bed falls in,

  I’ll see you in the spring,” she said.

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  Chapter 26

  Dulles International was a big airport, and unlike many major European international termini with only one or two runways, Dulles sported four. However, the foot-fall today did not warrant so much tarmac, but Sherry had known days on this concourse when she had been so sardined that she might have been at an open air rock concert.

  It was ten o’clock in the morning. Her flight left at eleven, which meant a depressing midnight landing at Heathrow, London.

  “Excited?” asked Tina Morgan, who sat opposite Sherry.

  Sherry sipped her black coffee, and looked around the bar.

  “Well, what do you think?” Sherry answered, wiping her lips with a paper napkin.

  “I’m gonna miss you, honey,” said Tina. “Nobody at Langley’s as crazy as you.”

  “Listen,” Sherry said leaning into her friend and talking softly, “did you get it?”

  “Sherry, I’m not happy about this.”

  “I didn’t ask you to share your feelings, I’m asking if you did what I asked.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Let me see it,” said Sherry holding her hand out.

  Tina rummaged in her large shoulder bag.

  “I could get into big trouble, you know?”

  “I know, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. But you have higher security clearance than me.”

  “That’s because working in research,” said Tina, “we are trusted more than you field fuck-ups.”

  “I’m not a field fuck-up any longer. I’m a desk fuck-up now!”

  Tina laughed.

  “A boss fuck-up.”

  “That’s me,” Sherry said with a broad smile, “I’m a fucked-up boss.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” concluded Tina.

  Sherry’s hand was still hovering over the table.

  “So?” said Sherry raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  “You didn’t get this from me,” said Tina as she handed over the green file folder.

  “Didn’t get what?” replied Sherry studying the folder without looking up.

  “There are four possibles in there,” said Tina, “all of them fit the criteria you requested; young, single, troubled and British Intelligence agents.”

  “Thanks, Tina,” said Sherry. She stuffed the folder into her flight bag. “I won’t forget this, so, anytime you fancy working in England…”

  “What, and leave this lovely place?…”

  “And don’t forget the lovely Ted Castle.”

  Tina almost choked on her coffee.

  “As if I could,” she said.

  Sherry looked at her watch, then up at the departures noticeboard. American Airlines flight AA4536 was on time, but not yet boarding.

  “So what’s new with you, babe?” Sherry asked Tina.

  “Actually,” Tina said dabbing at her mouth with a serviette, “some pretty exciting stuff.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve been working on a new interrogation tool. Barbiturate based, but unlike anything available before. At high dosage it would put an elephant to sleep, but in controlled, lower doses it almost completely disables inhibitions.”

  “And you designed this?” asked Sherry.

  “Well, me and the team, but,” Tina rubbed her knuckles on her chest, “I’m the lead chemist!”

  “Go Tina.”

  “You see…” Tina paused, “sorry, am I being a bore?”

  “No, not at all,” said Sherry. “Anyway,” she tapped her flight bag, “I owe you one.”

  “Okay… you see I think it’s really exciting. Well, you see, it’s a rare isomer of a tried and tested drug called Protadine. In this cis configuration the effects are astonishingly different to the standard drug, but the isomer we want occurs only at zero point zero zero seven percent, so it’s really hard to enrich it enough to obtain a useful quantity,” continued Tina.

  “So when do I get my hands on the stuff?”

  “Whoa cowgirl, this compound has quite a few teething problems. It’s going to be some time before we can use it… even on our enemies.”

  “When have we been so caring about our enemies?” Sherry said with a laugh.

  “Boy, I’m gonna miss your compassion.”

  Sherry stared up at the noticeboard again. Nothing had changed.

  “So what are the side-effects?”

  “Confusion, depression, irritability… the list goes on.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Sherry.

  “… hallucinations, delusions, paranoia and acute cognitive dissonance.”

  “Okay, I got the picture,” said Sherry, her eyes revisiting the departures board for the umpteenth time. “There
you go, my flight’s boarding.” They stood up and hugged. “I’ll miss you, girl.”

  “Yeah,” said Tina, “I know.” She waved Sherry away. “Go on, babe. Go kick some British ass!”

  Sherry’s young PA pranced into her office with the innocence and arrogance that only inhabited those below the age of twenty-five. Her accent was East-coast US with a transparent veneer of sophistication.

  “Settling in, Ma’am?”

  “I’m doing just fine,” Sherry answered.

  “May I just say that it’s about time the powers that be came to their senses and appointed a woman to run the UK agency. I know I’m not supposed to express my personal opinions, but it’s got to be said,” the young woman concluded.

  “Well, I’m real glad you approve.”

  “No, Ma’am, I don’t mean to offend…”

  “Are you busy out there?” asked Sherry.

  “Yes, Ma’am, rushed off our feet.”

  “Then you might want to express less and work more.”

  “Of course, sorry, I’m too outspoken for my own good.”

  Sherry threw her a smile devoid of kindness.

  “I need to go out,” Sherry said, “I won’t be back today.”

  “No problem, Ma’am. We’ll hold the fort.”

  Sherry repeated her previous special smile as she passed the young girl at the door.

  “Real happy to hear that, real happy,” she said.

  Half an hour later Sherry entered a pub in the West End of London. She chose a table in a corner where the lights penetrated least effectively, and waited patiently with a half pint of bitter in front of her. Next to Sherry’s table stood an old upright piano. Sherry glanced at it, then back to her drink.

  The street door opened a number of times, and each opening caused Sherry to look up. She ignored people leaving, but carefully inspected each person coming in before returning to her half pint. After around twenty minutes a woman in her thirties entered. Sherry watched her cross the room. She heard the door open again, but did not look towards the entrance. Neither did she return to her drink, but kept her eyes firmly on the young woman. After nodding to the barman, the new addition to the pub made her way over to the piano. She sat on the instrument’s stool, only a few feet from Sherry.

  “Do you play?” Sherry called to the woman.

  The woman looked up and smiled.

  “I do,” she said, “and I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday night.

  “Oh, you work here?”

  “No, I just do an hour or two for fun, you know, keep my hand in. As they say, use it or lose it.”

  Sherry got up and walked over to the woman. She stretched her hand out to her.

  “I’m Sherry,” she said.

  The woman shook her hand warmly.

  “Matilda,” she said, “but everyone calls me Tilda.”

  Like the Windmill theatre, SIS HQ never closed. The receptionist looked up wearily as Joseph walked in.

  “Good evening, Sir.”

  “Hi, George,” Joseph said as he walked towards the lifts.

  “Working late tonight, Mr Miller?”

  The lift bing’d and the door opened.

  “The day the world sleeps,” said Joseph, “I’ll take a night off.”

  Bathed in the flickering, fluorescent glow of level minus three, Joseph approached a solitary figure hunched over a computer screen. The young man looked up.

  “I need access to these files,” Joseph said handing the man a piece of paper.

  “These are sealed documents. Do you have level two authorisation?”

  “I am level two.”

  “Yes, I know, but you need authorisation to access this data.”

  “But if I am level two, then surely I can authorise myself,” argued Joseph.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” the man said sarcastically, “but no.”

  The man turned back to his screen.

  “You still here?” he said without looking up.

  “Terry, isn’t it?” asked Joseph.

  The young man turned his eyes to Joseph.

  “Yeah?”

  “You live in a mews cottage on Brompton street, right?”

  The man’s face tightened.

  “What is this?”

  “You might want to invest in some better security,” continued Joseph, “those old door locks are not very robust.” The man’s breathing became more rapid. “I mean, you wouldn’t want all that computer gear to get stolen, would you? I expect it would cost a fortune to replace… or is it company equipment? Just out of interest, who authorised that?”

  The man pushed his lips together tightly.

  “You’ll have to be quick,” he said.

  “Trust me,” said Joseph, “I won’t be in this building a minute more than I need to be.”

  The young man scanned the room furtively, then got up and led Joseph to a console. He sat down and typed on the keyboard. A pop-up window appeared requesting a password. The man looked at Joseph.

  “Do you mind?” he said petulantly.

  Joseph turned away and stared through a glass partition into the next booth. He refocussed onto the reflection of the young man in the glass.

  “There you go,” the man said vacating the chair and allowing Joseph access to the computer.

  “Thank you, Terry.”

  The young man marched away.

  Joseph immediately exited the screen displayed on the computer, typed a short sequence and was presented with the security pop-up the young man had evoked a moment before. Joseph keyed in the password he had just seen, and memorised, from the reflection in the glass. He navigated through several layers of folders to one marked, ‘Sealed – Top Secret’. Behind this warning were a large number of files labelled ‘Embedded Agents’.

  Tilda had just finished an hour of sing-a-longs with the patrons of the pub. She took a bow and beamed as the applause kept coming. As the ovation subsided, she walked over to Sherry and joined her.

  “So,” asked Tilda, “what brings an American to this miserable country?”

  “Really, is it so bad?”

  “Depends on your perspective, I suppose.”

  “Now, that sounds like there’s an interesting story behind it?”

  Tilda looked around the room, then sighed.

  “What do you do, Sherry?” she asked.

  “Me?” said Sherry, “oh, that’s a story that would bore the pants off you.”

  “Really?”

  “I run an import-export business.”

  “Oh!”

  “Told you,” said Sherry, “you sound like you lead a much more interesting life than me.”

  Tilda studied Sherry’s face.

  “What do you import… and export?”

  “This and that,” said Sherry.

  Tilda paused, never taking her eyes from Sherry’s.

  “What do you want?” Tilda asked.

  “What? Nothing. I’m just having a chat with someone in my local boozer.”

  Tilda shifted in her chair to face Sherry squarely.

  “Don’t fuck with me. Cut the crap and tell me what you want.”

  Sherry smiled.

  “I want to help you.”

  “Who says I need help?”

  “Well, shall we talk about your last boyfriend who disappeared leaving you in the lurch for three hundred K with some rather nasty loan sharks or the fact that you have been trying to find a buyer for some rather sensitive SIS intel?”

  Tilda stared at Sherry and fought to stay composed.

  “I repeat, who the fuck are you?”

  Sherry leant forward and spoke in hushed tones.

  “I’m the one that’s gonna get you out from under all the shit you’re in and get you the good life you really deserve.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m a good Samaritan?”

  “Bollocks!”

  “Of course you’re right,” said Sherry, “but I really do
want to help you, though, and believe me I can. All you have to do is… do a little job for me.” Tilda stretched her neck. “So, are you interested?”

  Tilda ran her tongue over her teeth.

  “Keep talking,” said Tilda.

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  Chapter 27

  Present Day – North Hertfordshire, England – July 2015

  Cyril had been silent for the last few minutes since Joseph’s revelation.

  “Sir?” he said. Joseph looked at him with troubled eyes. “What was the Spring going to do?”

  Joseph walked to the window.

  “Kill President Harrington,” he said staring out into the blackness.

  “What!?” said Cyril. “Why?”

  “Cyril?” he asked without turning around.

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “The second time I met you, you put your own life at risk… why?”

  “I… I believe in you, Sir.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Joseph looked out of the window, again. “You believe in me… sort of, Joseph Miller right or wrong, right? When you let me in at the window you knew there was a blue alert out on me, but from your profiling, you believed I didn’t deserve it… they must be wrong.” Joseph looked at Cyril and Cyril nodded. “And after all that’s happened, do you still believe in me?”

  “I’m here, Sir, aren’t I?”

  “Well what I’m saying is that you don’t have to be. You have been a very competent field agent and… a good friend… You don’t need to stay. What’s going to happen is pretty off-the-wall… and… you don’t have to stick around.”

  “Sir,” said Cyril, “I don’t believe in you right or wrong. I believe in you because I know who you are and what you stand for… and that’s worth… well…” he swallowed hard, “… my life.” He looked at Joseph, and his bottom lip trembled. “I don’t think you could never make a mistake, I’m not that naïve, but I do believe you’re one of the good guys, and from what I’ve seen, they seem a bit thin on the ground. So… Sir… I’m sticking with you. I still believe in you…” he smiled at his mentor, “even if you don’t.”

  “Nice speech,” said Joseph.

  “So, I’m not going anywhere. Sir… Would you please tell me why we need to… well…”