“I’m afraid they may be a few moments. They have to check everything is in order.” Monsieur Blanc said, sipping his tea. “Do you plan to remain long in London, take in the sights? It is such a diverting city, don’t you think? One can find something to satisfy even the most unusual of appetites,” he said.
Ahmed rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if that was an allusion to his past, his affair with Padma or just innocent conversation. It wouldn’t surprise him if Monsieur Blanc had compiled a dossier on him, knew every detail of his former life. He seemed like a very precise man, very careful. Ahmed didn’t care either way. He was counting the minutes till he caught his flight home, money safely transferred to the account he had set up in the Cayman Islands.
“No plans to sightsee, Monsieur Blanc, perhaps another time.” He said, reaching forward and helping himself to a couple of cakes, realising he might not have another opportunity to eat for a while. One of the men returned from the bedroom, leant in close and whispered something in Monsieur Blanc’s ear.
Ahmed didn’t get to eat the cake, he watched in astonishment as it spun from his plate, kicked by a heavy boot across the room. Before he knew what was happening his forearms were pressed against the arms of the chair, two men with a vice like grip holding him down. Rough hands round his neck, the choking twist of material and the sound of laughter from behind him. The voice of the mercenary.
Monsieur Blanc rose to his feet, delicately wiping his hands on a serviette, taking his time, observing Ahmed’s bulging eyes, the sweat that had broken out on his forehead. He moved behind him, sighing deeply. Amidst his panic Ahmed detected a peculiar scent, rose water. A distinctive and unsettling fragrance.
“Dr. Seladin, I am known for many things, but patience is not one of them. I will ask you once why you did not deliver all ten devices. You will have ten seconds to give a satisfactory answer, after which my friend here will tighten the belt around your neck until you wish you had given me a satisfactory answer. Do you understand?”
Ahmed tried to respond but the words got tangled in his throat. Monsieur Blanc checked his watch. “I make that six seconds now, Dr. Seladin.” He frantically tried to recall the afternoon’s events. The order of things. He’d deliberately blocked it from his mind, a form of self-hypnosis, shut it all out. The belt squeezed against his larynx, a bitter taste in his throat, like he’d swallowed a bar of soap.
“Ok, alright,” he gargled. The grip relaxed. He counted the patients in his head. It was only then that he saw it, the empty bed. Invisible to him at the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. Everything had happened so fast. This was hardly his usual line of work.
“Nine patients” he tried to say, “only nine patients.”
“Nine patients or nine beds?” Monsieur Blanc replied, quick as a flash. Ahmed pictured the ward, the prostrate figures, innocent in death, sleeping silently as the bullet split their foreheads.
“Patients,” he said at last, “nine patients,” how could he be so stupid? The words dragged from inside of him. “So there was an empty bed?” Monsieur Blanc said. Ahmed nodded, unable to muster the strength for further explanations. The grip on his neck relaxed. Monsieur Blanc stepped away.
“Dr. Seladin, you put me in an awkward position. Very awkward.” He said, pacing up and down.
“Let me tell you what I am prepared to do,” he wagged a finger in Ahmed’s direction. “My team will run some checks, pull whatever information we can from the lab’s remote servers. You will wait here. When we have a name you will go with my team and you will finish the job you were paid to do. Is that clear?” He stepped towards Ahmed, his round face up close, filling his vision.
“I said is that clear?” Monsieur Blanc hissed, the words carried on a blast of rotten breath. Ahmed flinched, the putrid smell, mingled with the scent of rose water, like petals spread over open graves. The same smell you found on animals’ breath, a wolf, a jackal, something that feasted on raw meat.
6
“Jack, Jack can you hear me?” Jack looked up, a stiffness in his side. Concerned green eyes the colour of sand through a clear blue sea focused on him with a hushed intensity. Her hand supported the back of his head, a gentle, but firm hold. Amanda had never seemed more beautiful, one or two strands of blond hair had escaped her ponytail, a complex arrangement she managed to fix in place in a moment with a pencil. They tickled his neck. He smiled weakly.
“Sorry Amanda,” he whispered, “should’ve called,” she was feeling his pulse, looking intently at him. Didn’t respond. Professional mode.
“I’m going to have to call an ambulance Jack, we need to get you examined.” He gripped her arm. The memory of the ward, the hospital beds flooding back.
“No, no Amanda. I’m alright. Just need a rest, some food. Maybe some clothes too?” he said, attempting the smile again. Amanda shook her head. She wasn’t smiling, was she just checking him over out of professional duty? Her hand felt around underneath the blanket, pulled at something, his gown. He raised his eyebrows, starting to feel better already.
“This isn’t standard hospital issue, at least not at any of the hospitals round here that I’ve worked in.” She said in an official tone, looking at the seam. “Marcon Pharmaceuticals.” Still in professional mode, pulling away from him.
“Hang on, I know that name. Isn’t it a private research lab near Huntingdon?” She frowned, “Jack, tell me you didn’t put yourself forward for drug testing?” She said, exasperation in her voice. Eyes disapproving. He shrugged, before he could say anything she added “of all the stupid, stupid things. You can’t seriously have been that desperate for money?”
Jack closed his eyes, his mind on the poker game, the money he’d lost. At last, the reason why he’d been in the ward. A two-week clinical trial to raise the money to settle the debt. How else was he supposed to get four grand in a hurry? On balance probably not the cleverest thing he’d ever done.
“Come on,” Amanda said, shaking her head, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Then we’ll try and find you some clothes. If you’re good,” she added, a hint of a smile on her lips.
As Amanda fried up bacon and eggs Jack wondered how much to tell her. The immediacy of her presence, her touch on his skin, had stepped in front of the terror, blocking it momentarily from view. He knew he had to tell someone what he’d seen, but the more time he spent in her presence the more unreal it seemed, the more he worried she would think him insane, certifiable.
“So what did they do to you at this place, any idea?” Amanda asked, pouring out a glass of orange juice and handing it to him. “Aside from making you wear that ridiculous gown. You’ll know you’ll have to forfeit the money if you run out on the trial half way through.
She looked at Jack closely. The hunted look in his eyes. It shocked her. She’d only known him as supremely confident, possibly a little too sure of himself, but she liked that. She needed a personality strong enough to stand up to her, physical strength to match. And the confidence seemed to be well-founded, top of the year group in Computer Science, Blues footballer, captain of the University boxing team. A trophy bloke used to getting his way with women, but the laddishness he displayed on occasion was tempered by an unusually perceptive intelligence.
“You ok?” She asked, passing him a plate. He nodded quickly, a little too quickly for it to be convincing. The hunted look not entirely banished.
“Fine, just starving. The bacon smells delicious.” Amanda turned on the small TV on the work surface. The dull drone of the newsreader mixed with the sizzling bacon.