‘What is it?’ I asked, immediately panic-stricken.
She grimaced and then smiled. ‘Calm down, Matt. I’m supposed to be the nervous one.’ She ran a hand over her abdomen. ‘Oh, you little swine. Stop doing that. It hurts.’
‘You aren’t having contractions, are you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I have a feeling it won’t be long, though.’
I fetched her a glass of water and she gradually got back to normal.
‘Do you want me to call the health center?’ I asked.
Karen shook her head. ‘It’s okay. Things are calming down.’ Then she swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears.
‘What is it, my love?’ I said, putting my arm round her shoulders.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, sobbing. ‘It’s just…it’s just I’m so happy…to be having our son…’ She blinked and looked into my eyes. ‘I’d never have done this if it wasn’t for you.’
I laughed. ‘You got that right. Remember how it started?’
She inserted her elbow under my arm. ‘Don’t make a joke of it, Matt. I…I’ve never felt so happy.’
It was infectious. I felt tears in my eyes. ‘Neither have I,’ I said, kissing her. ‘Neither have I.’
Karen slept unusually deeply that night, and so did I; no nightmares or blood-lathered memories, and no Sara. Despite all the bullshit-the kidnapping, the conditioning, the Rothmanns’ conspiracy, being held in this Spartan camp for weeks-the imminent arrival of our son was all that mattered; that and Karen keeping well.
In the morning we had breakfast together and I went off for a session in the pool with Quincy. I’d asked him to see if he could arrange some time on the shooting range, thinking that perhaps he’d be able to swing it with his superiors, but that didn’t work out. I knew who I could blame for that.
And when I got back to our rooms, there he was- Peter Sebastian, sitting at the table, in front of our laptop.
‘Where’s Karen?’ I asked, looking around the living room.
The FBI man raised his hand. ‘Good to see you, too, Matt.’ He gave me a tight smile. ‘Don’t worry, she’s lying down in the bedroom.’
I took a deep breath. I had got to the stage that anything to do with Karen provoked unease, or, rather, blind panic.
‘Sorry,’ I said, going over to shake his hand. ‘Though I don’t know why. You’re the reason we’re still stuck here. Karen should be in a proper hospital.’
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘Where Sara Robbins could get to her?’
I wasn’t letting him get away with that. ‘I guess I assumed the mighty FBI would be able to protect us outside of the camp.’
‘Cool it, Matt,’ he said, closing the laptop. ‘You know she’ll get excellent care here.’
I circled the table, unwilling to sit down with him.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Have you got kids?’
‘Sure. They’re both at college now.’
‘You remember what it was like when they were born?’
Sebastian smiled weakly. ‘Not much. I was on duty both times. That was when I was working undercover in L.A.’
‘Really?’ I was interested because he’d never said much about his past. ‘What were you pretending to be? A junkie?’
‘Nice,’ he said, with a subdued chuckle. ‘Actually, I was supposed to have a coke habit. No, the Bureau was investigating links between a Hollywood studio and organized crime. I was a writer with a hot script about the Mob.’
‘Who wrote it?’
‘Not me, obviously. We found some washed-up script editor and kept him in booze for a month.’
‘The romance of the writing life.’
He looked up at me. ‘Why aren’t you spending your days writing a book about your experiences?’
Further proof that we were being watched around the clock. I let it go. ‘Because they haven’t ended yet, Peter.’ I sat down opposite him. ‘When are you going to let us go from this shit-hole?’
He looked around the room. ‘I’ve seen worse.’ He put his hand on the computer. ‘What do you think of this? I haven’t heard any thank-yous.’
‘Screw you. When we can walk out the gates of this concentration camp, I might consider thanking you. Until then, you can swivel.’ I raised my leg and pointed at the tracking unit. ‘What am I? A common criminal?’
Sebastian’s expression was blank. ‘Many Americans would say you’re something a lot worse than that if they knew. Going after the President wasn’t the best move you ever made.’
‘So put us on trial. You know any decent lawyer will argue we didn’t know what we were doing.’
‘Are you sure you want to risk that? Karen will be nursing your son. Do you want her to do that in court, with the TV cameras running? Do you really think you can win a trial against the President? Even my word wouldn’t be enough.’
‘Of course not.’ I looked away. ‘I appreciate the computer and the combat training.’
‘How’s that going? Sergeant Jerome comes highly recommended.’ He smiled. ‘Shame you can’t get him to smash the tracking unit on your ankle for you.’
I’d made a few unsuccessful attempts to put my leg in the way of Quincy’s unrestrained kicks. He’d always managed to pull out in time.
‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than watch me all day long?’
‘I do. So Special Agent Simms and her team watch for me.’
‘Oh, great.’ I wondered if there was a camera in the bathroom-I hadn’t been able to spot one. The idea of the asexual Simms watching me in there was strangely disturbing. ‘So what’s going on, Peter? You’re getting me back to full fitness, you’re letting us communicate with the outside world. Are we going to get out soon?’
He stared at me. ‘I don’t know, Matt. There may be some movement in Justice’s position. The birth should help.’
‘How about Doc Rivers’s reports? He says I’m making good progress with the deconditioning.’
‘Why do you think I’m down here, Matt? I’ll be talking to him later. I might even look in on a session.’
That didn’t fill me with hope. If another trigger kicked in…
‘How about some firearms practice?’ I asked, putting the pressure back on him. ‘You know I’ll need it if we get out.’
‘Will you? Whatever you think, I reckon the Bureau’s quite capable of protecting you and yours from the so-called Soul Collector.’
‘Touche,’ I said, shaking my head. Getting round Sebastian was about as easy as spearing mosquitoes.
‘I’m working on things.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll see you again before I go back to D.C.’
‘Hey,’ I said, as he walked to the door. ‘You never told me what happened when you were undercover in L.A.’
The FBI man looked round. ‘That’s classified.’ He paused. ‘What the hell? You’re almost family now. Put it this way-the studio went out of business and the Mob lost five soldiers.’
‘You’re some tough guy,’ I said. ‘How many special agents breathed their last?’
‘That really is classified,’ Sebastian said, slamming the door behind him.
Arthur Bimsdale was watching Sergeant Quincy Jerome instruct some very raw-looking army recruits in the basics of self-defense. There were regular thuds as they hit the padded floor of the dojo; none of them managed to lay a hand on the big man.
‘Why don’t you give it a shot?’
The special agent turned and saw that his boss had sat down behind him on the tiered benches. ‘Em, I don’t think that would be a good idea, sir.’
‘Don’t you?’ Peter Sebastian gave the tight smile that always appeared when he wanted to put the squeeze on a subordinate. ‘What’s the matter? Forgotten everything you learned at Quantico?’
‘No, sir. It’s just that I wouldn’t like to put him in the hospital.’
Sebastian’s eyes opened wide. ‘Very good, Arthur. Maybe you have got a spine after all.’ He frowned. ‘I’d still like you to challenge the sergeant.’
Bimsdale knew there was no point in further resistance. He’d already taken a chance by answering his boss back. He waited patiently till the squad was dismissed, then made his way over to the mat without looking at Sebastian.