(1995) By Any Name (33 page)

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Authors: Katherine John

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BOOK: (1995) By Any Name
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They’d never had any problems slipping back into the easy intimacy that left no room for reserve or shyness.

Sometimes he wondered what their lives would have been like if he’d taken the job he’d been offered in NASA.

He’d talked it over with Bonnie at the time, but she’d never mentioned the post again after he’d turned it down. It would have been almost, but not quite, nine to five, living within an easy drive of a confining office. There would have been no undercover operations, no travelling, but there would have been weekly, if not daily leisure time that he and Bonnie could have spent together. Rachel could have had a settled life with friends and a regular school she wouldn’t have had to leave until she graduated…

‘What are you thinking about?’

He threw one shoe on to the floor and turned to look at his beautiful, desirable and naked wife. ‘The job I was offered in NASA.’

Laughter, delicate, silvery that somehow matched and conveyed her personality filled the room.

‘What’s funny?’ he asked as she folded back the sheets and sat in the bed.

‘The thought of you trying to living a normal life.

You’re many things, Richard, but normal isn’t one of them.’

He leaned over. Imprisoning her with his elbows he tickled her until she begged for mercy. ‘I love you,’

he murmured seriously, ‘and I’ll do anything for you and that little scrap sleeping next door.’

‘Little scrap! I’ll have you know that’s a fine healthy baby who regained her birth weight in record time.’

‘She looks very small to me.’

‘Only because you’re used to being around great, brawny men. She’ll grow up all too soon, and then,’

she wrapped her arms around his chest after he removed his shirt, ‘she’ll need a brother or sister.’

‘While I do what I do, I can’t guarantee I’ll be there when they or you need me.’

‘But we’ll have each other, and… ’ she admired the ring he’d slipped on top of her wedding band, ‘-

Christmas every time Daddy comes home. I love you far too to much to let you sacrifice yourself for us, Richard.’

‘Do you mean that?’ he questioned earnestly.

‘No, but it does wonders for your guilt complex, and guilty men work hard to make the most of the time they spend with their wives, and do everything in their power to please them.’

He began to tickle her again, but not for long. Ten months of pent up desire and passion erupted, carrying both of them into a sweet private world that was never far from his thoughts during every interminable separation. His secret and most terrifying fear was that one day he’d return from an assignment to find both Bonnie and that world gone, which was why he’d never been able to take her for granted in quite the same way some of his fellow officers’ did their wives.

Afterwards they lay quietly, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, until a barely audible mewing broke into the stillness, a sound he wouldn’t have recognized if Bonnie hadn’t shot out of bed.

‘That, darling,’ she kissed him before reaching for her robe, ‘is the end of peace for the moment.’

‘Can I feed her?’

‘You lack the basic equipment.’

‘You’re breast feeding?’

‘You didn’t notice the extra four inches?’ She thrust out her chest.

‘You always look great to me.’

‘That’s good to know, but this,’ she patted her taut stomach muscles, ‘is the result of six solid weeks of rigorous and painful exercising. I was even glad that you weren’t around to hear all the cursing.’

‘One of the things I most love about you is your ability to find a bright side to every situation.’

‘Better to have one or two honeymoons a year than fifty two weeks of fighting. Martin and Jenny are divorced.’

‘Little brother?’

‘Little brother,’ she repeated.

‘Shit! He’s ten years younger than me.’

‘And looking for wife number three. Aren’t you glad you’ve found one you can put up with for more than a few weeks? Stay there,’ she called as he swung his legs out of the bed. ‘I’ll bring her in here.’

He listened to her talking to Rachel as she went into the other bedroom. It was peculiar to think of another person living with them. Bonnie had always taken care to make the time they spent together private. Now there was someone who was going to be with them, if not forever, certainly for a very long time.

Five minutes later she carried Rachel into the bedroom.

‘Here, it’s safe to hold her. I’ve changed and washed her, she’s beautifully clean for five minutes, but I warn you, she won’t stay pleasant for long without her feed.’

He took Rachel from Bonnie, drew up his knees and propped his daughter against them, holding her stiffly at arm’s length, both hands clamped firmly beneath her armpits. Rachel stared at his unfamiliar face through deep blue, wary eyes. He laughed when she made a face. Laying her against his shoulder, he rubbed her back, looking away from Bonnie lest she see the tears of pride hovering at the corners of his eyes.

‘You’re supposed to do that after she’s been fed, not before. Here hand her over.’

He lay and watched while Bonnie fed Rachel, his heart absurdly full. It was crazy, a grown man like him, who did the job he did, and did it well, reduced to tears by the sight of his wife feeding his daughter.

‘As you see she’s a greedy little monkey.’

He knew Bonnie saw through the ruses he used to conceal the emotions he was afraid to express, but she understood him too well to say anything that would embarrass him.

‘I’ve two T bone steaks under the grill. How does smoked salmon on rye, followed by steak, tossed green salad, onion rings and garlic bread sound to you?’

‘Good,’ he murmured.

She took the baby, milk bubbling from her mouth, head lolling sleepily, from her breast. ‘Wind her while I sort myself out.’

‘What’s that?’

‘What you did before. Put her on your shoulder and rub her back until she burps. I’m going to shower and find an outfit that will do justice to this jewellery.’

He smiled down at Rachel when he took her into his arms and laid her against his bare shoulder.

‘She’s a very good baby,’ Bonnie smiled.

‘I wouldn’t expect anything else from my daughter.’

‘I had something to do with her as well,’ she laughed.

Bonnie disappeared through the door, her long tanned legs stepping free from her robe. After two large burps from Rachel which made him feel extremely proud of his fatherly prowess, he lay the baby on the pillows beside him, propped himself up on his elbow and watched her.

When Bonnie reappeared, her make-up was perfect and she was wearing a black silk trouser suit.

‘You look gorgeous. Good enough to eat.’

‘Not until after we’ve had that steak. I’m starving.’

‘Have I two minutes to shower?’

‘Five if you need them. I’ll take Rachel downstairs and put her in the day cot.’

He reluctantly handed his daughter over, relishing the feel of her tiny, soft, talcum-scented body. It was then he noticed something about the set of her mouth that reminded him of Bonnie, although her eyes had been so like his. Already, she had a certain individuality. So small, yet so different from Bonnie and him. A part of both of them. A being he had brought into the world, to whom he owed everything, and who owed him nothing in return. It was a most peculiar, solemn feeling.

‘Five minutes,’ Bonnie swept the baby into her arms.

He took his toilet bag from his case and went into the shower. Resisting the temptation to linger under the warm relaxing jets of water, he left time for shaving. He was splashing cologne on to his chin when he heard the doorbell. Alarm bells rang in his mind. He almost reached for his gun, then he remembered, he was home, not undercover. He had no need of a gun. He was living the normal life of a happily married man in suburbia, and in normal life, newspaper boys and milkman rang doorbells to collect money and make deliveries and neighbours occasionally popped round for drinks.

His wife was under the same roof he was, cooking dinner. His daughter slept in her cot. The constant threat of being found out and dragged off to a torture chamber in the middle of the night didn’t apply here, and wouldn’t apply for at least another three months.

He had a cushy number to look forward to.

Conference security. Standing around, making small talk, watching diplomats sip champagne while looking for non-existent bogey-men under the bed, or the conference table. But he pulled on a clean pair of jeans that he took from his bag, and went to the head of the stairs.

‘Who is it Bonnie?’

There wasn’t a sound. Not even a clatter of dishes in the kitchen. He stepped warily on the first step, automatically sticking to the side of the wall so he could throw himself down to minimise his target size.

It was then he saw Bonnie. She was cradling Rachel, the small body slumped like a broken doll against hers in the living room, the hippopotamus he had bought lying, splattered with their blood next to them on the carpet. Throwing caution to the wind he vaulted the banister. He didn’t need to go any closer, or feel the pulses in their necks. Their eyes, cold, lifeless, staring blindly upwards told him what his mind refused to accept, but he still went to them, wanting- willing it – not to be true.

He heard a scream. A long drawn out bestial scream, then he realised it was his. A gun pointed at his face. The thumb of the hand that held it was scarred. He saw a vivid red mark shaped like a many legged centipede.

There were two shadows in the room. He had no weapons, but the survival instinct that had been drummed into him during long, arduous, training sessions when he had been driven almost past the point of endurance took over.

He sized up the situation within seconds. Ahead lay the centre panel of a bay window. He kicked the gun from the hand with the scar, curled himself into a ball, and threw himself through the glass.

Picking himself up from a stretch of damp lawn he broke into a run, and kept on running – and running – from the house – from the guns – from the broken bloodied bodies of Bonnie and Rachel.

But no matter how far or fast he ran – he could still see them. And he couldn’t bear it – he simply couldn’t bear it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Shrouded by unrelenting darkness Richard McKenna crouched low, heart pounding, hands shaking. A telephone began to ring insistently, its remorseless high pitched tones escalating the tension. His hand brushed against a body. He recognized the quick, panic-filled rhythm of Elizabeth’s breath. He fumbled with his bound hands for the gun beneath her suit, taking it awkwardly between his palms.

‘Sergeant!’ He shouted with the intention of getting a fix on the man by drawing his fire.

A flash rent the darkness. Hot, scalding pain trickled down Richard’s arm but he stood his ground and fired back.

‘Get down man.’

Richard recognized Chaloner’s voice, above the noise of the telephone. Light flooded the room. ‘Hold your fire!’ Chaloner commanded, bewildered by the sight of his sergeant’s four man patrol lining their sights on John West, and Simmonds. The brigadier and Heddingham nodded in unison to Sergeant Price.

The NCO turned, aimed his gun at Chaloner’s head and fired. Chaloner threw himself over a steel desk and the bullet whistled harmlessly past his ear. He knelt and fired West’s gun, felling two of the patrol in quick succession.

The diversion was all Richard needed. He pulled the trigger on the Browning, firing once and firing to kill, but when the sergeant slumped to the floor and the astringent smell of cordite filled the air, all he could see was Bonnie and Rachel. His pain was agonizing. As intense and insupportable as it had been when he had first seen their bodies. He depressed his trigger finger again – and again – and again –

watching bullet after bullet pump into the sergeant’s body, jerking it like a marionette in the hands of a clumsy puppeteer. And he didn’t stop until the chamber clicked empty.

Paralyzed by fear Elizabeth remained hunched on the floor. She stared at John in disbelief as he proved himself the cold blooded killer everyone except her had believed him to be. He had killed a man without compunction or compassion. How could she have ever believed herself close to him?

Chaloner was shouting through the closed door, warning everyone outside it to stay back. The telephone finally stopped ringing. A hand touched Elizabeth’s arm. She looked up. Major Simmonds was standing over her. He stooped down and helped her to her feet.

‘Are you hurt, Dr Santer?’

She stared blankly at him.

‘Sit down, you’re in shock.’ He lowered her on to a chair.

Someone was speaking in a calm, controlled voice.

The only hint of sanity in a world gone mad. She turned and saw Chaloner explaining to whoever was at the other end of the line that his sergeant had activated a time lock on the door that would hold for another hour. While he talked he trained his gun on the solitary survivor of the sergeant’s patrol. The man was standing, hands high, with his back to the wall.

Less than six feet away from her, the sergeant’s body lay sprawled where he had fallen, his legs bent awkwardly beneath his torso, his arms flung wide.

Next to him were the corpses of the two men Chaloner had shot. She would have preferred not to have looked at their broken bloodied bodies, but she couldn’t help herself. She continued to sit and stare.

She jerked her head back when Simmonds tried to force brandy between her lips.

‘I’ll shoot to kill, corporal,’ Chaloner warned the last member of the patrol when he moved his hands down slightly. Chaloner carried on speaking into the receiver. Heddingham and the brigadier sat silently at the conference table, both of them eyeing Chaloner’s gun.

It was then Elizabeth realised that John was standing at the foot of the table, his empty gun pointed at the brigadier and the lieutenant-colonel, blood streaming from a wound in his upper arm.

‘You’re hurt!’ Momentarily forgetting her outrage, she left her chair and ran to him. ‘John… ’

‘Not John.’ His voice was detached, remote.

‘McKenna. Richard McKenna.’ He dropped the empty Browning and took a gun from the hand of a dead private.

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