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  ‘Dougie,’ shouted Psimon once more making no attempt to conceal his approach.

  Upon hearing his name Commander Douglas Scott turned to see who was calling him. He did not recognise the young man striding towards him but the young man certainly seemed to know him.

  ‘Douglas,’ said Psimon holding out his hand. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Somewhat tentatively Commander Scott reached out to shake Psimon’s hand. He glanced at the police officers closing in from the sides giving them a slight nod to say that everything was all right. The officers held their ground but kept their eyes on Psimon.

  ‘Do I know…’ began Commander Scott.

  ‘How are you doing?’ interrupted Psimon all smiles and geniality. ‘How are Anne and the boys?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ said Commander Scott, his face a picture of puzzlement as he tried to figure out where this stranger knew him from.

  ‘And Gregor’s leg… is he back to playing rugby yet?’

  ‘It’s mending well…’ replied Scott still struggling to put a name to this face.

  ‘That’s good… that’s good,’ said Psimon and here he reached up with his left hand to clasp Scott’s hand in both of his. He said nothing for a second or two, his gaze becoming suddenly intense as he looked directly into Commander Scott’s eyes.

  Scott began to frown under the intense scrutiny but before he felt compelled to pull his hand away Psimon released it with a smile.

  ‘Well,’ said Psimon as a gap opened up in the queue ahead of Commander Scott. ‘I won’t keep you. Give my best to Anne.’

  Commander Scott seemed relieved that Psimon was going but before Psimon turned away he looked at a young man standing behind Scott in the queue, fixing him with the same penetrating gaze.

  ‘How’s it going Mike?’ he asked to the young man’s obvious surprise. Then before anyone could challenge him or seek clarification he turned away and headed back towards the cordon.

  Commander Scott’s eyes followed Psimon as he ducked back under the ropes then he turned to speak to the young man called Mike standing beside him.

  Steve watched them talking quietly, doubt and confusion written on their faces. The young man shook his head in response to a question from his commanding officer. They glanced at Steve as Psimon came to stand beside him then shuffled down the line as it shrank towards the check-in.

  ‘Where do you know him from?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Never met him before in my life,’ said Psimon. Then, ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We should make our way through to the departure lounge.’

  Steve gaped at him in frustration but Psimon just gave him one of those infuriating smiles and headed off towards security control.

  To Steve’s relief they passed through security without any more surprises. Now they were finally able to sit and enjoy a coffee before their flight was called out. Steve had bought a newspaper and a couple of magazines and was attempting to read an article on bird-flu while Psimon had found a pen and was studying the sudoku at the back of the paper. Behind him a television mounted on the wall was playing Saturday evening telly giving Steve a depressing glimpse into the normality of life that he seemed to have left far behind.

  ‘Aren’t you going to phone them?’ asked Psimon suddenly.

  Steve glanced up becoming increasingly convinced that Psimon really could read his mind. Psimon was looking at him. He seemed to have given up on the sudoku and was now sitting there, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding his half-finished cup of coffee.

  ‘They’ll be in the middle of the bedtime routine,’ said Steve trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

  ‘Still,’ said Psimon. ‘It might be nice to get a quick message.’

  ‘Just leave it!’ snapped Steve. It was clear that he did not appreciate Psimon commenting on his private life.

  ‘But what would you say if you did call?’ asked Psimon with annoying persistence.

  ‘I’m not telling you that,’ snorted Steve turning his body away from Psimon as if to emphasise his irritation. But in his mind he was kissing his wife and daughter goodnight.

  ‘Good night darling,’ he thought. ‘Give Nemo a kiss for me…’

  Faced with Steve’s broad, obdurate back Psimon remained unperturbed. And in his pocket, where he held his mobile phone, his thumb moved to the little green button and pressed ‘Send’.

  Steve gave up trying to read his article. He sat forward and drained his cup of coffee. Then he reached across and snatched up the paper from where Psimon had laid it on the table. He turned it over to see how far he had got with the sudoku.

  ‘Hopeless!’ thought Steve with satisfaction when he saw that the numbers Psimon had entered were not even close to being right, ‘The seven doesn’t go there.’

  He took up the pen to correct Psimon’s efforts. Meanwhile on the wall behind Psimon the picture had just changed to the lottery draw with a shot of colourful balls bouncing around inside a clear perspex sphere. A plunger suddenly lifted a single numbered ball clear of the chaos and tipped it down a curving wire track. It was the number seven. The plunger descended before rising to select another number. It repeated the procedure six times but Steve was paying no attention. He was too busy correcting Psimon’s mistakes.

  ‘And the eight can’t go there...’ he almost sniggered.

  And the bonus ball is…

  Psimon sipped his coffee and smiled to himself as he waited for the tannoy to announce that the flight for Orlando Florida was ready for boarding.

  Chapter 10

  Steve woke midway across the Atlantic. He woke with a start in response to some kind of impact. Squinting through the disorientation he focussed on his surroundings. They sat just behind the wing on the starboard side of the Virgin Atlantic 747. Psimon was sleeping soundly in the window seat beside him. The aisle seat was empty.

  Steve was shifting round in his seat when the plane suddenly kicked up beneath him before dropping away just as suddenly. An overhead locker made a hollow clunking sound and Steve could see a small rucksack lying nearby in the aisle. He looked round as a flight attendant drew level with his seat. She retrieved the rucksack and reached up to stow it back in the locker. She tucked in the straps and gave the door a healthy slam to make sure it did not pop open a second time.

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Steve.

  ‘We’ve a few hours to go yet,’ replied the attendant. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Steve shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the attendant comfortingly. ‘We’ll be through this in a minute.’

  Steve did his best to look reassured. ‘You should try a low altitude insertion through the boiling thermals of the Colombian jungle,’ he thought.

  The attendant gave him a parting smile and returned to her duties.

  Steve sat up in his seat and straightened the blanket over his legs. The plane gave another lurch and the fold-down tray on the seat in front dropped open coming to rest against his shins. He pushed it back into place and settled back in his seat but a moment later the tray was rubbing against his legs once more. With an irritated sigh Steve reached forward and slammed the tray back up with more force than was necessary and in his mind he saw his fist make contact with the door to his living room, with a good deal more force than was necessary…

  It was five-thirty in the morning and Christine had just returned from the police station. Her brother had been picked up earlier that morning for a breach of the peace outside a casino. The police had called to say that, while he was not hurt, he was in a state of some considerable distress, and would she come and collect him.

  Christine had left, leaving Steve in the house with Sally.

  When, after a couple of hours, Christine had still not returned Steve phoned her on her mobile.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked. ‘How’s Paul?’

  ‘Paul’s fine,’ Christine had replied but Steve could hear the tears in her voic
e.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, bracing himself in anticipation of bad news.

  ‘I’m heading home now,’ said Christine. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes.’

  The very fact that Christine had dodged the question told Steve more than he wanted to know.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, a cold, sick feeling spreading through his stomach. ‘See you then.’

  The next ten minutes felt like an hour as Steve waited for Christine to return. Finally her car pulled onto the drive and Steve went to meet her at the door. Christine was obviously upset but instead of seeking comfort in Steve’s embrace she pushed past him into the living room. Steve followed, the sense of foreboding growing ever stronger. His wife stood in the middle of the room, her back to him, her hands held up to her face.

  ‘Christine?’ said Steve reaching out to her but before he could touch her Christine let out a sob.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she cried. ‘It’s all gone.

  ‘What’s gone?’ asked Steve warily.

  ‘The money, Steve… the money. It’s all gone!’

  Now Steve knew exactly what she was talking about. She was talking about the capitol they had raised for the launch of their new business venture; the three hundred thousand pounds that represented every last penny of their assets.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ said Steve, unwilling to accept what she was telling him. ‘I spoke to the bank manager only last week… it’s not possible.’

  Christine rounded on him, the bitterness etched on her tear-streaked face. ‘This is Paul we’re talking about. Believe me it’s possible.’

  Steve felt as if the ground had been torn from under his feet. The room seemed to suddenly tilt around him. ‘But that’s all the money we have,’ protested Steve.

  ‘I know,’ said Christine.

  ‘That’s the money my father left me…’

  ‘I know,’ said Christine in a low moan.

  ‘That’s the house, Christine… we borrowed money against the house.’

  ‘Steve!’ shouted Christine in frustration. ‘I know!’

  ‘Sshh!’ said Steve in response to the raised voice. ‘We’ll wake Sally.’

  He pushed the living room door to but it never stayed closed and even as he turned back to the room it swung open several inches.

  ‘Oh God’ said Christine raising a hand to her mouth and turning away.

  ‘Jesus,’ swore Steve softly as the enormity of what she was telling him sank in.

  They were four weeks away from signing a deal that would see the bank matching their money; four weeks from the start of production on the first of nearly two hundred orders, and each one worth the best part of five thousand pounds. They were four weeks away from ensuring the financial security of their family and proving that Steve could do something worthwhile in life other than fighting for Her Majesty’s armed forces.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ said Christine sinking into a chair.

  ‘But how?’ asked Steve still wondering how Paul could have gone through three hundred grand in less than a week.

  ‘Oh, you name it…’ said Christine angrily.

  Steve shook his head, the shock giving way to anger.

  ‘I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him.’

  ‘So this is my fault!’ challenged Christine. ‘For talking you into it…’

  ‘No,’ said Steve somewhat taken aback.

  ‘But if I hadn’t talked you into it…’

  ‘That’s not it at all,’ protested Steve.

  ‘But I did Steve. I did talk you into it.’ Christine was back on her feet. ‘Oh, he’s fine for a night down the pub. Great for a laugh… great with Sally…’

  ‘Christine, don’t,’ said Steve taking a step towards her.

  ‘No!’ snapped Christine pulling away from him. ‘You never trusted him, not really. If I hadn’t persuaded you that he deserved a second chance… that the responsibility would do him good…’

  ‘You didn’t talk me into it,’ said Steve. ‘We made the decision together.’

  He made another attempt to comfort his wife but she just kept turning away from him. ‘I like Paul… I always have. I knew the way he was… I just never believed he was capable of something like this.

  ‘But maybe I did,’ cried Christine and the guilt in her voice was more than Steve could bear.

  ‘Christine, please…’ he began but she cut him off.

  ‘Steve, what are we going to do?’

  Now it was Steve who turned away. He could not believe that Christine was blaming herself after all that she had done.

  ‘Enough…’ he said quietly. ‘Just let me think.’

  ‘We have no money…’

  Steve sighed wearily. As much as he had always liked Paul, he hated him at this moment. He hated him for his selfishness, for his weakness… he hated him for what he had done but most of all he hated him for what this was doing to his family. He and Christine never argued, not really, and he hated to see his confident, resourceful wife reduced to self-doubt and despair. Steve raised his hands to massage the growing ache in his temples, while behind him Christine paced back and forth sounding off the miseries that lay ahead of them.

  ‘The mortgage is due next week and we’re already three months behind…’

  Steve could hear the blood rushing in his ears. ‘How could he do this?’

  ‘Then there’s the loan for the research costs…’

  Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest. ‘He knows what this means to us… He knows what this will cost us.’

  Steve’s hands withdrew from his throbbing temples; the joints of his knuckles cracking ominously as they tightened into fists.

  ‘The car will have to go back… We won’t be able to get Sally to school…

  ‘How could he do this?’

  ‘Steve, what are we going…?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ shouted Steve and, lashing out, he punched the half-open door.

  Even in the grip of angry frustration Steve knew that something was wrong. His awareness had registered two sounds, two impacts… His fist denting the solid wood of the door and then, a fraction of a second later, a second impact. And there had been something else… the tiny, choked off whimper of a little girl.

  Steve stood there, frozen to the spot, as Christine moved past him to open the door.

  There, lying insensible on the hall carpet, was Sally their five-year-old daughter. There was blood on her face and her perfect little nose looked misshapen and nudged to one side.

  ‘Oh God!’ whispered Christine kneeling down beside her daughter.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ breathed Steve as he looked down on the two people who meant everything in life to him.

  Sally stirred as Christine bent to check on her. She tried to open her eyes but her left one would not open, the previously unblemished flesh starting to redden and swell.

  ‘Lie still baby,’ said Christine as Sally began to cry.

  ‘Steve,’ said Christine in a voice of cold necessity. ‘Get me a damp cloth and the first aid kit from the kitchen.

  As a trained nurse Christine knew what to do but Steve just stood there. Years of combat and training to deal with crisis situations had not prepared him for this.

  ‘Steve, a cloth, please!’ said Christine in that same harsh tone of control.

  Steve started towards the kitchen.

  ‘And phone for an ambulance,’ Christine called after him. ‘I want to get her checked out.’

  Steve grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard and rinsed a clean cloth under the tap. ‘Oh my God,’ he thought. ‘I’ve put my daughter in an ambulance… my little girl… Oh my God!’

  Steve’s vision was blurred with tears as he made his way back to the hall. He handed Christine the first aid kit and cloth then went back into the living room to call for an ambulance. ‘They’ll be here in a few minutes,’ he said in a hollow voice when he returned to the hall.

  Sally had stopped crying but she still sn
ivelled and moaned while Christine tried to keep her from getting up.

  ‘Is she okay?’ asked Steve. The paralysis of shock was starting to leave him and he went to crouch down beside Sally but Sally recoiled from him in confusion and fear and Steve backed away in dismay. He had never had a reaction like that from his little girl before. But until now he had never given her reason to fear him, never given her reason to doubt his love.

  ‘Just leave her,’ said Christine, her tone softening a little as she nodded Steve back towards the living room.

  Feeling more lonely and worthless than he ever had in his life Steve went and sat in his comfortable living room. He listened to his wife’s gentle voice as she soothed and reassured their daughter. He listened as the ambulance arrived and Christine briefed the paramedics on Sally’s condition.

  ‘I think she’s okay,’ Steve heard her say. ‘But she did lose consciousness and she’s complaining of a sore neck. I didn’t want to move her…’

  ‘You did exactly the right thing,’ one of the paramedics told her as he bent down to examine Sally. ‘Now, what happened?’

  Steve had passed through the brutal psyche evaluation of the SAS selection process, where would-be recruits are placed under severe psychological stress to simulate what they might experience during interrogation by the enemy. Psyche week was notoriously difficult to endure… this was worse.

  Steve had watched the ambulance drive away. He had waited until the police arrived with a social worker in attendance to take a statement from Steve and assess whether remaining in the family home represented a danger to Sally. He had waited until Christine phoned to say that Sally was going to be okay. She had a broken nose and a badly bruised face but there was no serious damage done and her nose would soon be just as perfect as it always had been.

  ‘Kids mend remarkably well,’ Christine had said.

  ‘Kids shouldn’t have to fucking mend!’ Steve had rebuked himself.

  ‘When can you bring her home?’ he had asked.

  ‘We’re going to stay at mum’s tonight,’ said Christine tentatively. ‘Sally doesn’t want to go home just now.’