Birdkill Read online

‘Nice to see you too, darling. How are you?’

  ‘Hung over. Don’t ask.’ She turned to the waitress. ‘Hi, can I get a straight water, an Americano and just a plain chicken sandwich by any chance?’

  ‘I’ll have to check with the kitchen.’

  ‘Please.’ She turned to Kelly. ‘I got tailed from the hotel I was in last night. I shook them, I think. You were right about Clive Warren.’

  ‘Alan Potts is dead. Nasty accident. Thought he could stop a bus with his face.’

  Mariam stared at him. She noticed the darkness around his eyes, the pale skin underneath the gingery half-beard. Kelly laughed, an unhappy little sound. ‘There’s more, darling. We got a call to the news desk from a former teacher at the Hamilton Institute. Sounded pretty wild. Name of Emily Gray. Ring any bells?’

  ‘Yes, she left last week. She was the one put me onto the Mayview.’

  ‘She’s not answering calls, either. I’ve got the funny feeling we might be finding out she suffered from the same issue with stopping buses. What I am saying,’ Kelly leaned forward. ‘Is that you can drop this and walk away in one piece.’

  Mariam shook her head. ‘But I can’t. It’s too late. Robyn’s at the very core of all this and I can’t let her down. You said you’d made some sales.’

  ‘The Washington Post, the Sydney Morning Herald and Die Welt. I got Figaro conditionally. They want to see the stuff before confirming.’

  Mariam nodded. ‘My only hope is we’ll be safe after this breaks. Here.’ She handed over her memory stick. ‘Buddy’s archive is on that, as well as six pieces that detail the whole story. There’s a transcript of an interview with Foster in which he admits the Mayview’s role. And there are photographs of what American troops did to the International School in Zahlé, Lebanon under the influence of Odin. Including beating a British teacher half to death and gang raping her.’

  Kelly looked at the key as if it was a live cockroach and slipped it into his greatcoat pocket. ‘Lovely. All backed up with good documentation is it?’

  ‘Could use an edit, Kelly. It’s all good.’

  ‘This the only copy?’

  ‘I have a backup.’

  ‘Good girl. You got somewhere to stay?’

  ‘No. I was going to ask you if you knew somewhere that would be safe until this is all over. I’m going to get Robyn out of there.’

  ‘You sure about that? Seriously?’

  ‘She’s in danger. They’re keeping her alive because she can’t remember. But this,’ she gestured at Kelly’s pocket, ‘Has pictures of what her mind’s forgotten.’

  ‘There’s a place we’ve used before. I’ll ask. I’ll call you later. Don’t call me from your mobile, right?’

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’

  ‘You were, darling. It’s why you’ve got such lovely skin.’

  Kelly rose to leave, fumbling for his inside pocket. Mariam waved him down. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’ The waitress was walking towards them with a chicken sandwich and bottle of water. Kelly patted Mariam’s shoulder as he left. She lunged at the food.

  Lawrence Hamilton lunched sparingly at the club, but allowed himself a glass of port with his Stilton and biscuits. Bill Foster was late and his meeting with the Minister had been put back. He resented the additional time in town. He had hoped to get back by teatime at the latest and that was looking increasingly unlikely.

  ‘I’ll take coffee in the library, Clarke, thank you. If Dr Foster arrives, will you have him brought in?’

  ‘Certainly, Dr Hamilton. Your meeting room is ready upstairs. I understand you might require it later than originally anticipated.’

  ‘Yes. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Not at all sir. I have changed the booking.’

  Hamilton rose and let his napkin drop to the plate. ‘Good chap.’ He bestowed a smile on Clarke. ‘Well done.’

  He wandered through to the library, where the fire was merry and warm. Clarke brought his coffee and he sat back and waited for Bill to arrive. He was not really looking forward to his meeting with the Minister, if he were honest. Things hadn’t been going smoothly recently and the incident with the Wilson girl was sure to play badly in the corridors of power, especially coming on the heels of the unfortunate incident in Lebanon.

  He sipped his coffee, which was excellent.

  Bill Foster came in. Hamilton put down his cup and pushed himself up to meet his old colleague. He held out his hand and then let it drop when he saw Foster’s face. ‘Good God, Bill. What on earth’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘As good as. I’ve seen a journalist. And she knows all about the programme. Everything.’

  Hamilton tried to rein in his natural asperity when faced with idiocy. Bill was normally a good, solid man. Now he was trembling, his hair in disarray and dark patches under his armpits.

  Hamilton folded himself back into his armchair. ‘Why don’t we try and start from the beginning. Who was this journalist and where did she come from?’

  ‘She was young, an Arab. Mariam Shadid was her name. She made an appointment as a patient and then ambushed me.’

  ‘Shadid, you say?’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘No,’ Hamilton’s mind raced. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘I didn’t need to. She knew everything, the names of the carriers, that their children are at the Institute. She knew about Odin, Lebanon—’

  ‘Did you confirm any of this to her?’

  ‘Confirm? Hardly, I was in shock.’ Foster averted his eyes. ‘I tried to throw her out, but she just kept coming out with details.’

  ‘Did she tape you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I would never have permitted a tape recorder.’

  She likely had, of course. Hamilton tried to gauge the threat she posed. Raynesford had said the media issue had been sorted out and Hamilton had taken his assurance as water-tight, but it would appear things were not, indeed, resolved. He checked his watch. Half an hour before the Minister was due to arrive. He decided to make the call.

  ‘Bill, go home. Take a couple of days off. Speak to nobody. Do you hear me?’

  ‘What’s going to happen?’

  ‘I really don’t know. Nothing, in all likelihood. But speak to nobody.’

  His gratitude was pathetic. Hamilton shuddered to think how much Foster had given away to the aggressive young journalist he had thrown out of his study when Robyn Shaw had blithely invited her into his sanctum sanctorum.

  He used the telephone in the meeting room, having made sure Clarke would not permit any disturbance. Raynesford answered on the second ring.

  ‘Lawrence. I had been expecting your call.’

  ‘You assured me the media issue had been taken care of. I am informed that is now no longer the case.’

  ‘But it is very much the case. What appears to be the issue at hand?’ The rich voice was almost unctuous, the measured tones instilling confidence and establishing superiority. That hint of a drawl that Raynesford used to let the world know it was considered mildly inferior.

  ‘Bill Foster has had a journalist visit the Clinic. She appears to have a deep understanding of the Programme. Name of Mariam Shadid.’

  ‘We are aware of this issue and I have taken steps to address it. There’s nothing to concern yourself over, Lawrence.’

  ‘What do I tell the Minister? We meet in twenty minutes.’

  For once, the drawl was absent, Raynesford’s retort was sharp. ‘Tell him nothing. There is nothing to tell. A girl, barely an intern, has decided to go rogue and fling some silly accusations around. She has no platform and we are aware of her. Put it out of mind, Lawrence. What did Foster tell her?’

  It was that question wiped away all the assurance which had preceded it and made Hamilton a worried man. ‘He says nothing, but I would hazard he at least confirmed her accusations with his reaction. I suspect he will have been taped and in all probability was indiscreet.’

  ‘
Where is he now?’

  ‘I sent him home to lie low.’

  ‘Just as well. As I say, we are managing the situation and I see no reason for concern, although Foster’s indiscretion is regrettable.’

  ‘You are sure there is no reason to inform the Minister?’

  ‘None. Let us do our work, Lawrence.’

  It was left unsaid: ‘And you focus on yours.’

  His Majesty’s Minister of Defence, Michael Carter, wore a pinstriped charcoal suit with a buttonhole and a pink handkerchief. His chief scientific advisor, Nicholas Paige, was with him, a fussy man in his sixties who combined a dangerous jollity with a mind of breath-taking brilliance.

  Lawrence Hamilton shook hands with them both, trying to mask his perplexity that they should be joined on this occasion by General Tom Parker, whom Hamilton had not seen since they had fled Lebanon after the Zahlé affair. Parker had blamed Hamilton for the whole fracas and had been highly indignant to be accused of fostering indiscipline among his men. Paige had been the diplomat who had saved the programme from the consequent fallout and brought them out of the dark ages that had followed. The price had been greater American involvement in the decision making although up until now Hamilton had been largely left alone to focus on the science.

  Hamilton managed to stop his jaw dropping as the bulk of Jolyon Raynesford followed Parker through the door. His hand engulfed in the soft, sweaty embrace of Raynesford’s clutch, the pudgy lips drawn up in a smile while the eyes enjoyed Hamilton’s attempts to mask his shock.

  Had Raynesford decided to tag along after their call? How had he even known about this meeting? And if he had, why not mention he was to be present when Hamilton had called him barely twenty minutes ago? Had they been en route? The questions hurled around in his mind. He was nervous, stuttering his greetings, bidding Clarke take an order for drinks, clearly ill at ease as he invited everyone to sit. He took his place opposite the Minister, noting belatedly they had all arrayed themselves facing him.

  He tried, and knew he had failed, not to look nervous.

  Carter’s voice was assured, his demeanour stern as he consulted the tablet containing his briefing notes. Hamilton had last heard those measured tones the day Robyn Shaw had arrived at the Institute, the last piece in the operation to busy the appalling incident in Lebanon. ‘Dr Hamilton, thank you for hosting this session. We were to meet to hear an interim report regarding the development of the Odin Programme but I can see no reason to invest in such a process at this stage.’

  He had his notes and report ready. ‘Well, I can—’

  ‘The programme is to be terminated with immediate effect. We have decided, in consultation with our partners,’ He nodded to Parker, whose dead eyes were steady on Hamilton. ‘That the programme findings and any ongoing scientific resources will be assigned to them. They will continue the research work in a secure location in America, sharing their findings with us on a full briefing basis.’

  Hamilton felt his heart lurch in his chest, tinnitus in his ears. They couldn’t… How could… His lips worked but he couldn’t find words to force out. How dare they?

  Paige filled the science. ‘Your dedication to your work, your brilliance in opening this field thus far is recognised and appreciated, Lawrence. But it’s time to put the programme onto a more professional military footing. We clearly have not been able to maintain the confidentiality and security of environment the programme itself demands.’

  Hamilton found his voice at last, still reeling from the preposterous accusation he had been somehow responsible for any breach of security. ‘The security problem has been triggered entirely by an American whistleblower. I hardly think it would be improved by exposing the programme to more of that level of risk.’

  He was making a fool of himself, of course. They had reached their decision and were here merely to deliver sentence. His only real choice would be to fall onto his sword graciously. His palms felt sweaty and his armpits were prickling. Raynesford laid his great pudgy hands on the table, the signet ring on his little finger nestled into the turgid flesh. ‘The issue is not how security was breached so much as how we have reacted to that breach. I am afraid we can no longer sustain the programme when there has been so much disclosure at a number of levels. We have now had to embark on a major damage limitation operation in Lebanon. Without wishing to prolong any debate, we have clearly established the incident that took place there was the result of a failure of science.’

  Parker beamed at Hamilton, enjoying his triumph.

  Raynesford cleared his throat. ‘We understand the Shaw woman remains at the Institute?’

  He croaked. ‘She does.’

  ‘And remains unaware of what happened in Zahlé?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Good. That is at least,’ Raynesford turned to the others with a moist chuckle, ‘one small consolation.’

  ‘We’ll have a clean-up team in place by tomorrow.’ Parker growled.

  Hamilton bowed to the inevitable. ‘And in the meantime, what am I—’

  ‘Your contribution has been immeasurable, Dr Hamilton.’ Carter opened his hands like a Muslim praying. ‘There is a generous pension on offer.’

  A pension? He had worked himself half to death for years, had barely noticed his wife Sue when she started to lose weight and energy, was so wrapped up in his mission he had listened to her news and gone back to work having barely done more than pat her hand.

  He hadn’t realised until she was gone how much she meant to him. She had died without him telling her. Because he was focused on building the Institute into the world’s leading research centre on the augmentation of human capability and achievement, on turning the children of ordinary people into a new generation of beings with abilities we have only begun to explore.

  He had given his life to this work and they were tearing it out of his hands and giving it all to this sneering Yank? And where would he go, without Sue at his side? A lonely few years pottering around some chocolate box cottage garden waiting to die?

  ‘Thank you.’ He smiled, rising. ‘That is very generous, Minister.’

  EIGHTEEN

  And so to Sleep

  ‘Mariam. It’s me.’ Clive Warren’s voice was neutral. She waited for him to continue, the little red Golf eating the miles along the motorway. She was enjoying the drive, she had to confess. Perhaps a clapped out Ford wasn’t the best way to enjoy the experience of driving. She wondered what driving a car like Robyn’s TT would be like. She’d never even bothered about driving as an experience, it had always been about A to B, even in Beirut where she’d had a clapped-out 2CV, just one step from being a clown’s car.

  ‘I wanted to talk. I know you have reservations about me, but I have your best interest at heart. I’m worried about your safety.’

  ‘So where are Tweedledum and Tweedledee?’

  ‘You gave them the slip. Where are you?’

  ‘Not telling.’

  ‘Oh come on, for fucks’ sakes Mariam. Did nothing that happened between us mean anything to you?’

  Oh, great. Who was she, the mother of Christ or a whore? Was that to be it? Which Mary was Mariam to be? ‘It meant the world to me, Clive, but I think we’re on different sides of this story and I need to do my thing before I can trust you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re going to get Robyn from the Institute.’

  She nearly dropped the mobile. It must have been a lucky guess. ‘So where are you?’

  ‘I’m doing the same thing. I think she’s in danger. I’m about halfway there.’

  Mariam glanced at the dash. So was she. She couldn’t help but glance in the mirror but there was no black Jaguar behind her. ‘I’ll race you, then.’

  ‘Or we could meet up at the Pottersbury Services.’

  ‘Clive, let me do this for myself. A couple of days and the whole story is going to break and it’ll all be over and Robyn and I can rebuild our lives. And you and I can see if we feel the same way about things.’ />
  ‘You’re acting like I’m with them rather than you.’

  ‘Aren’t you? Who’s “them” anyway?’

  She passed a sign to Pottersbury Services. Five miles away. She felt weak and stupid. If she didn’t hang up on him now she’d give in to him. ‘Clive, I have to go. Why don’t we arrange to talk in a couple of days?’

  ‘I’ll get to her first, you know.’

  His words chilled her. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’ll get there first. You’ll have to meet me anyway.’

  ‘Why do you want to get to her first?’

  ‘Because I think she’s in danger and needs to be away from that place. I’m not going to do anything bad, but you get my point? We started off on this working together, we’ll end up together anyway at the end of the journey. So let’s go down together.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Pottersbury.’

  ‘Fine. Hang on, I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  ‘I’m parked beyond the fuel station near the exit back to the motorway.’

  ‘I’ll find you.’

  She got out of the car to meet him. He was looking pretty dishy in a bomber jacket, t-shirt and jeans, leaning against his black Jag. He opened his arms towards her and she found herself blushing. She went to him and was folded into his embrace. His strength was around her and he held her gently. They kissed and she felt stupid for mistrusting him. She ran her hand through his hair and searched his brown eyes smiling down on her.

  There was barely a sound behind her, a crunch of loose stone on tarmac before a big hand was clamped over her face. Her arms were pinioned and a hand pushed her head down. Forced into the back of the Jaguar, she tried to lash out but cloth was tied around her wrists. Another length across her mouth gagged her. She struggled as a pad was forced against her nose. She tried not to breathe in the volatile chemical stench and failed.

  She woke in her hired Golf, a slow, disoriented awakening. The world started to heave into focus. She was strapped in, the door open. Her head was splitting. Her hands were still pinioned behind her.