I went into the bathroom.
"The phone's not working," I said.
"I'll just go down to the one on the corner. Is there anything else we need from the store? I tell you what, we'll go down there later on, the two of us, together."
Her gaze didn't leave the tiles at the end of the bath.
I lifted her out and put a towel around her.
"You're a big girl now. You can dry yourself." I took the hairbrush from the bag and dragged Kelly into the bedroom.
"Once you've done that, brush your hair, and make sure you're all dry and dressed when I come back. We might have to go somewhere.
Don't open the door for anyone, OK?"
There was no answer. I pulled out the phone jack and left. I was feeling apprehensive as I walked across the parking lot. I'd done nothing wrong, so why were they cutting me off? Was the Firm going to stitch me up? I started to go through all the scenarios in my head. Did they think I was the killer? Were they cutting away now as a prelude to denying everything?
I got to the phone, dialed, and the same thing happened. I slowly put down the receiver. A low wall made up part of the entrance to the hotel; I went and sat down. I needed to think hard. It didn't take long to decide that there was only one option, and that was to phone the embassy. I'd be breaking every rule in the book. I wouldn't even bother going through all the protocol; I dialed 411 and got the number. I got straight through.
"Hello, British Embassy. How may I help you?"
"I want to talk to LOSO."
"Excuse me?"
"LOSO. Liaison officer, special operations."
"I'm sorry, we don't have an extension number for that name."
"Get hold of the defense attache and tell him there's some body on the phone who wants to speak to LOSO. It's really important. I need to speak to him now."
"Hold on a moment." She put me on hold and I waited.
Another woman came on the line.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"I want to talk to LOSO."
"I'm sorry, we have no one of that appointment."
"Then put me through to the DA."
"Sorry, the defense attache is not here. Can I help you?
Would you like to give me a name and contact number?"
I said, "Listen, this is the news. I want LOSO or the DA to pass this on. I've tried to phone in on my PIN number. My PIN number's two-four-two-two, and I'm getting blanked off.
I'm in a really bad situation at the moment and I need some help. Tell LOSO or the DA that if I don't make contact with London, I'm going to expose what I've got in my security blanket. I will call back in three hours' time."
The woman said, "Excuse me, could you repeat that?"
"No, you're recording the message will be understood.
All you've got to do is pass that on to the DA or LOSO, I don't give a fuck which one. Tell them I'll call London on the PIN line in three hours' time."
I put the phone down. The message would get to them.
Chances were the DA or LOSO was listening anyway.
Some of the operations I'd been on had been so dirty that no one would want them exposed, but that could cut two ways: it also meant that someone like me would be expendable if things weren't working too well. I'd always operated on the basis that if you were involved in deniable operations for the intelligence services and hadn't prepared an out for the day they decided to shaft you, then you deserved every thing you got. The head honcho knew that Ks had security blankets, but everybody denied it the operators denied it, the Firm denied it. I'd always been sure that the Firm put as much effort into trying to find where the blackmail kit was hidden as they did into the operations themselves.
I'd committed myself now. It was a card I could play only once. No way would I be living an easy existence after this. I was finished with the Secret Intelligence Service and would probably have to spend the rest of my life in a remote mountain village in Sri Lanka, looking over my shoulder.
What if the Firm decided to admit to the Americans that there'd been an op they'd forgotten to mention? Would they take the rap on the knuckles, then say, "This man killed one of your officers"? No, it didn't work that way. The Firm wouldn't know if my blanket was a bluff or not, or, if used, how much damage it could do in the hands of the press.
They'd have to take it as real; they'd have to help. They had no choice. We'd get lifted by the Firm, I'd be flown back to the UK, and then I'd take up basket weaving until they forgot about me.
Kelly was lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around her when I got back to the room. The cartoon had finished, and there was some sort of hard-hitting news-type voice on, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I was more interested in getting a response from this little girl. It seemed that I was fast running out of friends; she might be just seven years old but I wanted to feel she was on my side.
I said, "We've got to hang around for another hour or two, and then somebody's coming to..."
And then it hit me. The no-nonsense. New England female voice was saying, "... brutal murders and a possible kidnap..." I switched my attention to the screen.
She was black and in her mid-thirties. Her face was on camera, with Kev's house in the background and the Windstar still in the drive. Police were milling around two ambulances with flashing lights.
I grabbed the remote and hit the Off button.
"Kelly, naughty girl." I grinned.
"You haven't cleaned your neck. Just you go and do it right this minute!"
I nearly threw her into the bathroom.
"And don't come out until I tell you to!"
I hit the On button and kept the volume low.
The woman said,"... neighbors report seeing a white man in his late thirties, around five-foot-ten to six feet tall, medium build, with short brown hair. He arrived at the house in a white Dodge with Virginia plates at approximately two forty-five today. We now have Lieutenant Davies from the Fairfax County Police Department..."
A balding detective was standing beside her.
"We can confirm that there was a male fitting that description, and we're appealing for more witnesses. We need to know the whereabouts of the Browns' seven-year-old daughter, Kelly."
A picture came up on the screen of Kelly standing in the garden with Aida, with a spoken description. The broadcast cut back to a studio shot of the two anchors saying that the family was a victim of what appeared to be drug-related murders. A family portrait appeared on the screen.
"Kevin Brown was a member of the Drug Enforcement Administration ..."
The anchors expanded the piece into a discussion about the drug problem in the D.C. area.
There was no sound of splashing water from the bathroom.
Kelly would be out again any minute. I started flicking channels. Nothing more on the murders. I switched back to children's TV and went into the bathroom.
I hadn't heard any splashing because Kelly wasn't washing.
She was on the floor, under the sink, in the same fetal position I'd found her in at Kev's, hands over her ears to block out the news she'd just heard on the TV.
I wanted to pick her up and comfort her. The only thing was, I didn't know how. I decided to appear unaffected by her condition.
"Hello, Kelly." I smiled.
"What are you doing down there?"
Her eyes were shut so tight I could see the creases in her face. I picked her up in my arms and started to walk back into the bedroom.
"Hey, you look sleepy. Do you want to watch TV or just go to bed?" It sounded like crap to me but I just didn't know what else to say or do. Best pretend it hadn't happened.
I took the towel off to get her dressed.