And that was it. With a bound, Michael was on his feet. He snatched up one of the portable lamps and shone it on the boy, who was curled into a softly weeping ball. He turned and swept the lamp round the enclosed courtyard. For the moment, it was just two of them and three—no, five—bodies. He wondered for a moment if there had been another moment of blurred perception. But, no—he really had killed only three. He looked back at the sobbing figure. Hard to tell with these people, he realised, but his first surmise had been the correct one. Despite the clothes and cropped hair, this was a girl.
He looked round again. Now the killing was over, he was back to dithering. It was madness to stay there and help the girl to her feet. He had no idea why they’d been threatening her, or if there were others in the area. But here he was. There was no stepping back—not for the moment.
Though she was still shaking too hard to stay on her feet without help, the girl was managing to fight back her tears. She tried to speak, but all her bruised throat would let out at first was a croak. She coughed and tried to clear her throat. Eventually, she brought out something in a tone that suggested thanks. Or it might have been a warning. “You are saved,” he said, racking his brain for the appropriate Bible verses. “Come with me,” he added, trying not to wonder where that might be. The girl steadied herself and let go of his arm. “Rise in and follow me if you was be saved,” he improvised. She twisted free of his grip and bent down for another of the lamps, and shone it in his face. She let her arm fall. In the lamp’s now gentle glow, he saw a look of confused understanding pass over her face.
“Who are you?” she asked in Latin through chattering teeth. No longer supported, her legs gave way, and she sat down. Letting go of the lamp, she pulled her upper clothing into place. “The secret police are already after you. If they don’t get you first, the ordinary police will execute you.”
Michael looked down at the girl. Was it worth questioning her? It might have been, had he known what questions to ask. “We need to get away from here,” he said in Latin. She stared up as if she hadn’t understood. Then she nodded and reached forward to put his own lamp out. She got slowly up and massaged her throat. She took a step forward, and stopped. After a moment of uncertainty, she picked up her lamp and waited for the right words.
“We need to cover ourselves up,” she said with a returning croak. She leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. He thought she’d start crying in earnest. Instead, she pulled herself together. “Help me get these coats off the bodies,” she said, her voice more normal than he’d yet heard. It was a more peremptory tone than he might have expected from a girl—especially one he’d just saved. But she spoke Latin, and was fast coming into a mood where she might be more useful than a burden. She bent down again and switched off the one lamp that remained on the ground. She positioned hers to shine over the two smallest of the bodies, and began a feeble effort with one of the coats. It was for Michael to pull off their outer garments.
Nervously, they crept from the courtyard where the girl had been taken. She led Michael into a narrow street without lighting, and, from this into a wider street, also unlit. They were half way to a lit street, when there came the gentle throbbing behind them of a vehicle. Michael saw his shadow and the girl’s grow longer and more substantial as it moved towards them. As if by agreement, they both reached up at the time to pull their collars higher. Not changing speed, the vehicle drifted past. “If it’s you they’re after,” she whispered, “they’ll not be looking for a couple.” They turned into the main street. There were other vehicles here. They bumped and rumbled past, none of them showing obvious interest.
“Where are we going?” the Outsider asked. Jennifer stopped. It was a good question.
“We need to go back to my room,” she said when no other answer came to mind. Why not there? She had nowhere else. She pressed the display on her watch. 11:30, it said. Radleigh wouldn’t be missing her for a while yet—if, indeed, he’d been seriously expecting her to show. Hooper had said there’d be no police support. Perhaps his own men hadn’t been able to find where she was staying. Almost certainly, she felt, they hadn’t been up to following her back. She’d have to take that chance. She looked at the Outsider in the dimmed glow of the lamp she’d let him carry. At first, she’d assumed he was the boy Hooper had been so eager to get back. But, if he wasn’t very tall—not that Outsiders usually were—he did have a beard. And he had seen off those killers with practised ease. Now he’d finished his work of killing, though, the Outsider gave every sign of being as lost as she felt. His beard looked very thin. It might even have been curled to make it look more substantial. “Come with me,” she said. Her mind was beginning to fill with questions. But they were walking along a main road. The steady stream of vehicles passing by didn’t count. The pedestrians flitting by were another matter. It wouldn’t do even to whisper in Latin.
“So, you have decided to grace my establishment after all!” The old Indian tapped the pause control on his iPad. From a country that no longer existed, and never might exist, women in bright saris were frozen in their dance. “But who would be doing business in the streets on a night like this?” He stared at Jennifer’s battered appearance, and at Michael. When another convoy of military lorries rumbled by outside, he thought better of his next question, and contented himself with a demand for the specified rent.
Chapter Twenty One
Upstairs, in her partitioned-off area of the boardroom, Jennifer sat on her bed and tried not to cry again. “Who were those men?” the Outsider asked urgently. “Why were they trying to kill you?” Jennifer shook her head. “How safe is this place?” he asked with a glance over at the window blind. “Who knows that you live here?” Still not able to answer, she got up and fumbled with the battery lamp beside her bed until it was fully on. In the harsh light that filled the room, the Outsider went over to a cluttered table and took up a hand mirror. He looked for a while at his bearded face. He breathed slowly out and turned to her. “Can you get me a razor?”
It was an odd request, but it brought Jennifer to her senses. She hurried to the door, and caught the Indian trying to look through the inspection hole. Keeping her voice steady, she brushed aside his grinning whine about concerns for her safety and gave the instructions. Back inside the room, she picked off the blob of Blu-Tac from where it had been moved and pressed it once more over her side of the inspection hole. She pulled off her sweatshirt and adjusted the straps of her bra. In her struggle with the killers, her money belt had also been pulled out of place. Adjusting this, she pointed at Michael to sit on the bed. “He’ll be up in a minute with his things,” she said in a tone that she hoped would establish her as the senior in this new relationship. “He won’t ask any questions, but don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.” The Outsider nodded and looked away from where she stripped off her dirty jeans. “We haven’t time for you to play the gentleman,” she said, trying not to show her own embarrassment. Now they were in good light, she gave him a proper look. No longer tearful, she fought off the sudden urge to sit down and laugh. “You’ve got your trousers on inside out. Everything else is wrong too. Take it all off, and I’ll help you dress.”