Balancing Act Page 4

  And left me to contain the fallout.

  I’ve been listening to Lee for an hour. Talking him down from everything he wants to do to Smith, to Bracken, and to the prisoner. Taking notes and making suggestions. Giving him a reason to stay in his office and blow off steam, instead of marching upstairs to confront Major General Franks, or downstairs to shout at Bracken. Franks has approved everything – the prisoner, the cell, the rule-breaking – which only makes him more angry.

  But I know how to handle Lee. And I know how to protect the targets of his anger. I listen, I sympathise, I let him shout at me.

  I control his reaction.

  I’m not protecting Smith and the drunk Colonel out of a sense of loyalty or pleasure. This could have been the opportunity Lee was looking for to bring Bracken down, before Franks stepped in. I’m protecting them because I think Smith has done the right thing.

  I think parading Bex Ellman’s mother on TV is an inspired piece of manipulation. I think we can use it to control the missing recruits – and the resistance. I want to make them think before they act. To make sure the bombings we plan are the only actions they take against the government.

  I’m protecting Smith because I want to give her a chance. Lee was right – she’s not some wide-eyed recruit, and it would be a waste to send her home so soon. She’s already taking over interrogations and Top Secret prison facilities. She’s invading nursing homes and helping herself to useful civilians, all while keeping Bracken on his feet. She’s a wild card, and she’s unpredictable.

  And Smith has the support of Franks, which makes her dangerous.

  I’m protecting her because she’s not just another Home Forces girl. She’s fascinating, and I want to see what she’ll do next.

  Lee sits back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the desk, eyes on me. I wait for him to start ranting again, but when he speaks, he’s calm.

  “I want you to get involved.”

  “Sir?” I have no idea what he means. I’ve been involved for an hour, as his verbal punch bag.

  He waves a hand. “With Katrina. Buy her drinks, seduce her, whatever it is you do with these girls.”

  I almost choke. “Yes, Sir.”

  He waves his hand again. “You know I don’t need the details. Just tell me what she knows. And what she’s planning.”

  “Yes, Sir.” My voice dries up. I have to clear my throat to speak.

  “And don’t waste this, Corporal. We need to get inside her head.”

  I nod. “I won’t, Sir.”

  Back in my office, I sink into my chair. My head is spinning, and my hands are shaking.

  I’m under orders to take Katrina Smith to bed. And as much as I wanted this, I realise I’ve never been more afraid of anything in my life.

  *****

  Lydia is in the coffee room when I walk in.

  “All right, David?” She asks, jumping up from her seat at the table. “You seem …” She steps back, and looks me up and down. “Rattled. Shaken up.” She grins. “What’s Lee thrown at you this time?”

  I don’t mean to tell her, but I need to tell someone, and I know Lydia will listen. I know she’ll keep my secrets. I close the door, lean back against the worksurface, and explain.

  She laughs. “You’re supposed to screw the drunk guy’s babysitter, and report back with whatever pearls of wisdom drop from her honeyed lips?”

  I nod, and she shakes her head, smiling.

  “Oh, to have your troubles, Corporal Conrad.”

  “Have you heard what she’s done?”

  “The Belmarsh thing? Yeah.” She shakes her head. “She’s …”

  “Fearless? Terrifying?”

  She grins. “What’s not to love?”

  I rest my face in my hands. “I’m not used to …”

  “… real women? I know, David. I’d noticed.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Courage, Corporal. Learn to fake it. Use your usual confident swagger.”

  I shake my head. “This isn’t a mail-room Private. This is important.”

  She gives a mock gasp, and puts her hands to her mouth.

  “Private Penny! Have you told her?” Her eyes are wide at the scandal. “Are you going to?”

  “I thought …” I shrug.

  “David Conrad. You’re not thinking of ghosting the girl who thinks she’s the love of your life, are you?”

  I groan. “You’ve been talking to Penny?”

  “Of course I’ve been talking to Penny. Your bedroom antics are the best entertainment there is right now!”

  “Lydia …” I’m whining. I sound like a child.

  “If you ghost that girl, there’ll be drama.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  She shrugs. “Drama.”

  “So there’s no way I get to walk out of this looking good?”

  Lydia rolls her eyes. “You always look good, Corporal. But the day when all this …” she points at my face. “… gets you into trouble? It’s coming.”

  For the first time, I believe her.

  Strategy

  I put off approaching Corporal Smith for as long as I can, but when she walks into my office the next day I’m out of time. I give her a smile as she heads in to report to Lee, and on her way out I make my move.

  I have to handle this carefully. She’s not eighteen, and she’s not one of Lydia’s gaggle of girls. If she rejects me, I won’t have a second chance to turn up the charm – but if she thinks this is a setup, I won’t get anywhere.

  With Penny, with Rosalind, with Jules and the others, all I had to do is show up and be charming. But with Smith? This is the woman who handed a prisoner to a firing squad on her second day at Belmarsh. The woman who dumped an unauthorised prisoner in the cells and persuaded the Major General to sign off on her actions. I don’t think charming is going to cut it. I think she eats charming for breakfast.

  I think she needs to know that she’s in charge.

  I jump out of my seat as Lee’s door opens, and she strides across my office.

  “Corporal Smith!”

  “Corporal Conrad.” She sounds angry as she turns away from the outer door.

  “I was just …” Her fists are tight at her sides. Whatever Lee had to say didn’t go well for her. “I was wondering …”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you busy, later?” I sound nervous, my voice small. I think I’m blushing.

  Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what she needs to see.

  “Later, when?” She snaps, clearly impatient to be leaving.

  “After work, later. For a drink?”

  I think she’s going to laugh. She has no idea of the risk I’m taking, and I think she’s going to laugh at me.

  “Sorry,” I say, holding my hands up in front of me. I need to calm her down. Give her a reason not to run. “Sorry – that was inappropriate.”

  She nods, biting back a smile. “It was.”

  I’m frozen, waiting for her reaction. Is she going to report my failure to Lee? Walk out, without giving me an answer?

  Is she going to make me beg?

  She makes me wait, a look of amusement on her face. I’m definitely blushing now.

  She has all the power, and she’s using it against me.

  I should be careful what I wish for.

  “OK,” she says, breaking into a grin. “I feel like celebrating. Meet you out front at seven.” It’s not a question.

  But it is a yes.

  “Yes. OK! Seven.” I have to make myself breathe. “See you at seven.”

  I’m not sure what I’ve done.

  *****

  It’s half past four when Lee calls me into his office.

  “New assignment, Corporal. From the committee.” He pushes a grey folder across the desk towards me. “Take a seat.”

  I sit down and pick up the folder. It’s stamped Top Secret, and there’s a code to identify the project. I recognise the first part of the chain of letters – this is another resistance contact. Anoth
er bombing.

  “You’re cleared to access the information.” Lee waves a hand at the folder and leans back in his seat. “The committee was very impressed by your work with the Bournemouth cell. Think you can manage something bigger?”

  I think about the images on PIN. The remains of the amusement arcade – glass and metal. Rubble spilling onto the beach.

  Penny’s reaction to the attack. The fear in her eyes.

  How it felt, to be the person behind the bombing. To be the person Cora trusted.

  How it felt to have power over everyone watching the news.

  Something bigger.

  I’m smiling as I give Lee his answer.

  “Yes, Sir. Absolutely.”

  “Take a look at the plans. We’ll have more from the local contacts in a couple of days.”

  *****

  I take the briefing back to my desk. I need to get ready for my night with Corporal Smith, but I have time to skim the documents before I leave. I want to find out what the committee is trusting me to do, and when I start reading, I don’t want to stop.

  Lee is right. It’s bigger.

  The plan is to hit a target in Canterbury, and I’m smiling as I read through the details. It’s unmissable. Coverage on PIN will show everyone what the resistance can do, and the fear I saw in Penny’s eyes? I can spread that to every city and every town in the UK. People will demand tighter controls on their freedom. More arrests. More soldiers on the streets.

  I keep reading. Profiles of the cell we’re using to carry out the attack. Technical specifications of the bombs and equipment. Maps and plans of the target. Likely damage, casualty estimates, costs of repair.

  My breath catches as I read the committee’s recommendations. This will be the largest bombing since Crossrail, and the largest civilian attack since Leominster.

  I put the folder down on my desk and run a hand over my hair. The Crossrail bombing was the end of democracy in the UK. It was the excuse the government used to declare a state of emergency. And Leominster? That was the start of Martial Law. The excuse for the Home Forces to take over the government.

  The Canterbury attack will be discussed in the same breath as Crossrail and Leominster.

  This is big.

  This could keep the Home Forces in power for years.

  *****

  I’m thinking about Canterbury as I walk back to my flat. Lee’s local agents have located a resistance cell and made contact. They’ve claimed to be acting for the resistance, and they’ve offered the volunteers the chance to work with a larger organisation. They’ve offered them the chance to fight back, and the cell has expressed an interest.

  They’ve been promised bomb-making equipment, instructions, a target where the security guards will be distracted, and the CCTV will develop a fault at exactly the right moment. They don’t have the details – we’ll drip-feed them what they need to know, and we’ll save the target information until everything else is ready.

  I’ve done this before. I know how to manage a resistance cell. I know how to charm them into doing everything we need them to do, and if I’m lucky, I can hand them all to Lee’s soldiers after the attacks. More terrorists in orange jumpsuits for PIN’s execution platforms. More support for the Home Forces.

  The committee knows what I’ve done before, and they think I’m ready for this.

  I know I’m ready for this.

  I should be thinking about my strategy for this evening. How to convince Smith to drop her guard. How to make her share her secrets, and share my bed. How to control the RTS girl who hands Lee’s prisoners to firing squads.

  I have time to clean the flat, work out, and take a shower before I head back to work to meet Smith, and I should be planning our evening out.

  Instead I’m thinking about the bombs. Lee and the committee, trusting me to run this operation. The power they’ve handed to me, and the headlines they’re expecting in return.

  If I can deliver all that, a night with Bracken’s babysitter will be easy.

  Stories

  I don’t recognise Smith as she crosses the road towards me a couple of minutes before seven, so she’s treated to a genuine, comic double-take as I realise who I’m looking at.

  The smug smile on her face tells me that’s a point in my favour.

  She’s wearing skinny black jeans and a cream blouse that shows off her curves, even under her long black coat. Flat black shoes with thin straps and tiny metal buckles. A necklace that catches the glow of the streetlights, and her hair hanging loose – blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders.

  And no sign of the limp as she walks.

  I was wrong, at Belmarsh. She’s breathtaking.

  I remember to speak. “Corporal Smith!”

  “Corporal Conrad.” She’s smiling. Definitely enjoying the effect she’s having on me.

  “Call me David.”

  “Ketty.” She says, nodding.

  “Ketty.” Not Katrina. Interesting. “How about we go and find that drink?”

  She’s happy for me to choose the bar – she hasn’t been in London long, and I don’t think she’s been spending her time drinking. We walk along the river, making small talk. I should feel completely at home. How many times have I done this? Taken a girl to a bar, and charmed her into my bed?

  But this feels different.

  It’s usually easy. I’m the predator, she’s the prey. I know exactly what to do to catch her and reel her in, and there’s a script we both follow to make it happen. But Smith – Ketty – isn’t following the script. She’s fighting back, even when we’re talking about London, or public transport, or the weather.

  I feel completely unprepared.

  I’ve chosen a bar close to my flat, as usual, but she’s resisting my usual strategy. I’m holding the door open for her, loud music spilling into the street, before I work out what’s changed.

  We’re both predators. The script won’t work this evening.

  I don’t know how this ends, but I know I want to find out. I know I want Ketty Smith in my bed tonight. Curves, scars, and attitude.

  She asks for a beer, and I realise I need something stronger. The barman makes a show of mixing my cocktail, and we push through the crowds to claim a table in the corner. She shrugs her coat from her shoulders and drapes it over the back of her chair, flicking her hair from her face as she sits down.

  Her blouse really does show off her figure.

  I hang my jacket on my chair and sit, my eyes on her face as she checks me out. For a moment, I’m the prey. It’s exciting, sitting here with her. Not knowing the ending in advance.

  She picks up her beer and shouts over the music, pointing between us. “Is this allowed? You and me?”

  Strictly, it’s not. Relationships are frowned on at Home Forces HQ, but Lee ordered me to be here. I have a free pass, and so does she, while she’s useful.

  I shrug. “Is it allowed? I don’t know! I guess so.”

  “So no rules about socialising with colleagues?” She’s used to the RTS, where the punishments are harsh to keep the teenagers in check.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “That’s useful.” There’s the hint of a smile on her face, and I wonder whether she’s seen through my denials.

  She’s still here, though.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding.

  She takes a drink and sits back in her chair, bobbing her head in time to the music and watching the crowd between us and the bar. Lee told me she wouldn’t make it easy to get inside her head. She’s going to make me work for this.

  I can act nice, or I can provoke her. See how far she’ll let me push. See how much control she’ll give me.

  I hide a smile. Time to watch her defend herself.

  I raise my voice to compete with the noise. “So you’re the person who taught the missing recruits everything they know?”

  She snaps her attention back to me. She wasn’t expecting me to challenge her.

  “At Camp Bishop?”
/>
  “Yeah. I heard you were Lead Recruit.”

  She nods, watching me. “I was.”

  There’s a guarded edge to her voice. She’s protecting herself. Waiting to see what I want from her.

  I want to keep pushing. I want to see when she breaks.

  “So – how does that happen? Five recruits breaking out of camp?”

  She sits up straight in her chair, shaking her head. “That’s not what happened.”

  I know what happened, but I’m going to make her tell me. I’m going to make her confess.

  “So you didn’t lose five recruits?”

  “Oh, yeah. We did.” She smiles at me over her drink. “It just took two goes to get them out.”

  She takes a sip, watching my reaction. She’s playing the story for laughs, so I give her a laugh.

  “Two break-outs?”

  “Not exactly. There’s a bit more to it than that.”

  I pick up my drink. “I think you should explain!”

  “Three of them broke out of camp.” She holds up three fingers, shouting over the music.

  I smile. “OK.”

  “And they had a prisoner and a member of staff with them. They needed someone to drive the truck.”

  I give her the reaction she’s looking for. “They broke out in a truck?”

  I’m enjoying this. Her attention is entirely on me. On making sure I understand what happened.

  “Smashed their way out of the gates, yes.”

  The expression on her face makes me laugh. “OK,” I tell her. “That’s a proper breakout.”

  She smiles, proud of her story. “It was.”

  “So? What happened next?”

  She puts her beer on the table, her hands cupped round the glass. Her voice is serious, and I can barely hear her over the noise.

  “So then two of them came back and rescued their friends. During the raid on the coach.”

  My raid. The raid that gave her her scars. I can’t resist reminding her how far she fell, that day.