A Line in the Sand (34 page)

Authors: Gerald Seymour

territory is a good idea, and a smile helps to start the day."

223

Littelbaum spoke with the same quiet, relaxed tone with which he had t the notion of the tethered goat the image had stayed with

laid ou

Markham through the night. Littelbaum swung his shoes off the desk and

reached for the coffee.

what

Markham said shrilly, "If that's what you want, then that's

you'll

get."

He headed back to his cubicle for his coat and the American trailed behind him.

Mr. Markham, a very fine young woman, a very attractive

"She is,

young

woman... Ah, Day Three..."

The American had paused in front of t

door, and the smile rippled at his face. ~I believe that we've four g.

days remainin

He will move, and very soon. He will want to strike

as soon as is practical. I assume, by now, he or his collaborators one close for reconnaissance and he will already know that

will have g

the target is protected. That will not deter him, only delay him.

a comfortable, dangerous illusion into your head, Mr.

Don't get

Markham, that he will see the protection and back off.

He has the

spirit of Alamut, where it was all about blind obedience and

discipline

Let me tell you a story about old times at Alamut..."

d up his briefcase, shrugged into his coat, slammed

Markham snatche

the

shut behind him. He went

door

fast, and sourly, towards the

corridor.

an was at his shoulder.

The Americ

he time of the Old Man of the Mountain, Hasan-i-Sabah, Alamut

"In t

was

y King Henry of Champagne. That was a big prestigious

visited b

visit.

n-i-Sabah needed to put on a show that would impress the King

Hasa

with

the

ation

dedic

of the fida'is. The show he put on was the death leap.

Centuries later Marco Polo, on his travels, heard about it and

d it. Hasan-i-Sabah had some of his people walk to a

chronicle

cliff-top, a high cliff, then jump off to their deaths.

hey weren't

pushed, they were volunteers. That's obedience and that's

discipline.

I'm telling you, Mr. Markham, so you understand better the

224

ent

commitm

your opposition.

They just walked off the cliff because that's

what

told to do."

they'd been

d out his hand and felt the beat of the rain.

He hel

Vahid Hossein's arm was at full stretch. In his fingers was one of the

last pieces of chewed rabbit meat.

The bird watched him. The rain made a spray of jewelled colours on its

athers and on its back.

collar fe

It was beside his hand and he saw

the

wild suspicion in its eyes. He thought the suspicion fought with

its

exhaustion and hunger.

e it hopped closer, he could see the darkening flesh of the

Each tim

wound under the wing and he knew the bird would die unless he could clean it.

He made small sounds, slight whistling noises, the cries he had heard long before in a faraway marshland, like a hen bird to chicks. The bird, with the power to rip at his hand, was beside his

beak of the

fingers and the chewed meat. He saw the talons that could gouge his flesh.

d crawled from his bramble den. The bird had been

He had woken an

watching him and he'd taken comfort from it. Once again, he had

e marsh, cut through Old Covert into Hoist Covert and

skirted th

crossed

the river. For a final time, he'd gone over the ground he would use at

the end of that day. He had approached the house from the side and had

found a tree in a garden under which the grass was covered with a

carpet of blown-away blossom. He had sat motionless in the tree for an

hour. From it he could see the back and the side of the house, across three gardens. He saw the soft light in the hut and the curtained ndows.

black wi

He watched the policemen, back-lit when they opened

the

door of the hut, emerge and walk the perimeter of the garden, and

225

saw the guns they carried.

The car cruised past every twenty minutes, as regular as if a clock timed it. That night, he would return in the darkness at the end

the day, and he would use the rifle.

The harrier, in a darting movement, took the chewed meat from his

fingers. He could have wept with happiness.

There was caked blood and yellow mucus on the wound.

Carefully, as if he moved forward on a target, Vahid Hossein took

another scrap of meat with his free hand, chewed on it and laid it on

his wrist. The bird flapped, jumped. He felt its talons strike into his arm and then the prick of the beak as it took the chewed meat

from

his wrist.

The bird perched on his arm and, with great gentleness, he stroked the

wet feathers on the crown of its head.

"It's Saturday."

"I really think, Mr. Perry, we should talk this through."

"It's what I do every Saturday."

"You have to accept, Mr. Perry, and I am picking my words with care, that the situation has changed."

"I haven't been out, not even into the garden, of my house in two days."

"Which has been sensible."

"I am bloody suffocating in here. Enough is enough, I go out every unch-time."

Saturday l

"Mr. Perry, I am not responsible for the situation."

"Oh, that's brilliant. I suppose I'm responsible. Blame me, that's convenient."

226

It was another of those moments when Bill Davies thought it necessary authority.

to assert his

"You are, in

opinion,

totally responsible. You told my colleague,

Mr. Blake, last night about your read ion to a radio appeal that

gave

ur former identity.

Probably half of the adult population of the

country heard that appeal, and the name of the hospital you were

ted to. Don't you think that the Iranian embassy listens to

direc

the

rly-morning news bulletins on the radio, which follow directly

after

appeals? I'm not a high-flying detective, but I'm bright enough

They'd have picked you up there, then hung

to put that together.

the trace.

mistake just as the weapon in the playground

It was your

mine. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Perry, I'm not one of those people who'll say you've brought all this on yourself through emotional

ness, but I know plenty who would.

careless

That was just to set the

record straight brought all this on yourself."

But the principal had a streak of obstinacy, which Davies found mildly attractive. Perry blinked, absorbed what he was told, gulped, then going."

said, "It's Saturday, and I'm

"Your last word?"

"Last final word. I can't take it, another whole day, like a rat in a

cage."

"I'll make the arrangements."

"What arrangements?"

"It's not straightforward,

erry,

Mr. P

getting you out for a Saturday

nch-time drink, then back from the pub."

s principal had swung out of the dining room, and shut the door

noisily, petulantly, behind him. Bill Davies sat again at the

reading the paper.

dining-room table

He'd rung home that morning,

ped one of the boys would pick it up, but Lily had. He'd tried

to be

easant, to make reasonable noises, and she'd asked him when he was pl

coming home, but he couldn't answer her, hadn't been able to think of

227

anything else to say. She'd put down the phone on him. In seventeen weeks he had had nine complete days off work, and for four of them he

had been so tired he had slept through till midday. His marriage

was

going down the drain and he didn't know what he could do about it.

He'd

seen it often enough, with other guys, who all put on the brave front and moved out of their homes to shack up with barmaids and slags.

Some

were taken off SB protection, and some smooth-talked the counsellor and

kept the job and the firearm, had the meetings in parks and at

McDonald's with the kids every third weekend, and they all talked

about

the new woman in their lives as if it were heaven. He could never find

the time to think about it, he was too busy, too stressed. If it

happened if- Bill Davies would have two or three seconds to react, top

estimate. Should his mind be on his wife, his kids, in those seconds he would lose his principal, if it happened. All the case histories he

knew were about mistakes and distractions.

He pushed up from the table and went to the window. The dining-room window was next on her list for net curtains. He stood back from

the

glass and peered out. He could see the neat homes, the tended

gardens,

more homes, and then the village hall with waste ground

the shop,

the back.

It had been raining earlier and the road glistened; there was thin sunshine now but the rain was threatening from the sea. At the end of

the road, on the corner, was the pub. From the window he could see end gable of the building.

only the

He counted eighteen houses on

the

tween the house and the pub, and the parked cars, and

left side, be

fifteen on the right side, with the shop... At the shooting range

they

d houses, and in front of them

used was Hogan's Alley, a row of plywoo

were derelict gutted cars. Behind the plywood and in the cars were sion. When to fire, when

cardboard shapes that could jump into vi

228

not

to fire, was the reason for Hogan's Alley. They used 'simunition'

there, paint-tipped 9mm plastic bullets. The target might have a

weapon or be holding a baby against her chest. No escape when walking Hogan's Alley: hold the fire and the instructor would tell you drily,

"You're dead, mate, he got you." Fire too soon and you'd be told,

"You

killed a woman, mate, you're charged with murder." The road, the houses, the parked cars, was Hogan's Alley, all the way to the pub.

She came into the dining room and brought him a mug of coffee.

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Perry, but you didn't have to."

"I was doing one for myself. You're going to the pub?"

"That's what Mr. Perry wants, so that's what we're going to do."

"It's not about a drink, it's about finding his friends."

"I appreciate that."

"He has to have his friends."

"Yes."

She was close to him. He could smell the scent and warmth of her

and

could see the worn-down strain at her eyes. It was always worse for the women. She held a handkerchief in her hand, pulling and worrying at it. Had he put his arm around her shoulder then her head would have

gone to his chest and he thought she would have wept. It was not

his

job to offer comfort. He thanked her for the coffee and began to

make

the arrangements to visit the pub at lunch-time.

They were at the last stages of the discharge of the crude. The

weather at the offshore jetty was too fierce to permit his crew to work

with paint rollers on the superstructure and hull plates of the

tanker.

The master's crew were employed on small maintenance jobs in the

accommodation block below the bridge and in the engine housing;

ary work, but something had to

unnecess

be found for them. The

229

master's

greater concern, more than finding work for his crew and occupation for

his officers, was the failure of the people in Tehran to provide him with a time for sailing. He still expected to leave the waters of the

terminal port that night, but the coded confirmation had not reached him. The man who had gone over the side of his tanker was never far from his thoughts. It was not possible for the master to believe

this

man was blocked. He demanded of his radio technicians that they

maintain a watch through every hour of the day. He waited.

can

"Hello

you put me through to Theft Section, thanks... Hello, who's

that?... Tracy, it's Gladys yes, Gladys Jones. I've still got flu.

Yes, that's what I heard, a lot of it about. I'm not coming in, not passing it all round.. . Yes, bed's the best place. Can you tell them

in Personnel? Thanks .. . What? .. . Police? .. . What sort of

police?.. . What did they want?... Thanks, Tracy, it'll just be

something silly... Thanks... I'll sort it when I've got rid of the flu... No, I'm not in trouble... "Bye..."

She pocketed the handkerchief through which she had spoken to give the