The Adjacent (21 page)

He was still eating when a second helicopter arrived. It approached through the darkness, lowered its tail, swung around dramatically, then landed in the glare of the floodlights. It appeared to be a military aircraft, the same general type as the ones Tarent had seen hastening towards the triangular scar in the field, but this one carried the shield of the British Army: a scimitar and rifle crossed, with the
Shahada
beneath. This time the men who ran forward to unload it appeared from a smaller building on the far side of the compound. They were soldiers in standard fatigues, with orange hi-vis jackets glaring in the bright lights of the helipad. They formed up efficiently into squads. They had brought with them half-a-dozen glistening metal trolleys. With the help of crewmen who had arrived in the aircraft they carefully and slowly unloaded many small and unidentifiable items, which were placed in a truck, then long stretchers bearing human shapes were brought out, hidden beneath thick blankets and securing webbing. Because of the darkness and the movement, Tarent could not see how many stretchers appeared, but there were at least four or five. They were each placed gently on to one of the metal trolleys, drip feeds and oxygen were quickly but deftly hooked up, and the casualties were wheeled away at fast walking speed to the building from which the soldiers had emerged.

Thinking of course of Flo, Tarent stood up as soon as he realized what was going on, pressing up closely to the window. He leaned against the glass, cupping his hands about his eyes. After the trolleys had been trundled out of sight the helicopter restarted its engine and prepared for take-off. The crewmen who had helped with the casualties now stood outside the aircraft, while the pre-flight checks were carried out. They were armed with automatic rifles. As the
engine fired and the blades began to move at full speed, the soldiers leapt back on to the floor of the machine, each squatting beside the open side hatches, feet dangling into space, their weapons pointing at the ground. Within a few seconds the helicopter was out of sight.

Tarent left the Paddock building and returned to the accommodation block. He went to find the room to which he had been allocated. As he approached the door he saw that his large bag had been put outside in the hall.

When he slipped the key card into the slot, the red signal stayed stubbornly on. He pulled out the card, reversed it, tried again. The door remained locked. He thumped on it with his fist.

There was no response, so after a few seconds he hammered again. This time, after a short wait, he heard the lock being turned from inside, then the door eased open and was held by a security chain. A face moved into view, partly shaded by the light behind. It was a woman with untidy hair framing her face. He glimpsed baggy, shapeless clothes. She was wearing half-moon spectacles and she raised her chin to peer at him through them.

‘I know what you want. You can’t come in.’

‘This is my room. I’ve been given the key.’

‘No, it’s my room. I was given an undertaking I would not have to share with anyone.’

‘They said we had to share.’

‘Bad luck. I want to be alone.’

‘So do I,’ Tarent said, beginning to feel desperate. ‘They said they didn’t have another available room so I would have to share. I don’t want this any more than you do, but I’ve nowhere else to go.’ He sensed that she was about to slam the door closed. ‘Maybe another room will become vacant tomorrow. Couldn’t I just sleep on your floor tonight? Or in the spare bed. I know there’s one there.’

‘There are usually other rooms they keep free. Go to one of those.’

She was pushing the door against him, but Tarent, anxious to make his point, held it open with his weight. ‘They said there is nowhere else available. Look, I’m exhausted. I’ve been travelling all day, and I was caught up in that attack.’

‘What attack?’

‘You must have heard the explosion. A Mebsher was destroyed, or maybe damaged badly.’ Because he had just seen casualties being brought in he was no longer so sure of the real extent or seriousness of the damage, or if the injuries had been fatal, as he first assumed. ‘I was out there when it happened. I was lucky to escape, because I
was about to get back on it when it was leaving. I’m at my wits’ end. I just need a place to sleep tonight.’ She said nothing, but continued to regard him through her low spectacles. Tarent could see she was not tall, fair-haired, nice to look at, but her expression was implacably hostile, unyielding. ‘Please may I come in?’

‘No. Allow me to close the door or I’ll call security.’

‘I won’t go anywhere near you.’

‘You won’t get the chance.’

She shoved the door hard and Tarent yielded. The door closed noisily against him and beyond it he heard the locks turning, then the clattering of two bolts.

WITH NOWHERE ELSE TO GO TARENT WALKED BACK THROUGH
the buildings to the corridor where he had met the woman in the
burqa.
He was dragging his bag, holding his cameras. His back was aching, his arms and legs were tired, he was still finding it painful to breathe and his mind was starting to feel numb. He simply craved a place to rest and sleep – even a chair would do.

There was no one in the corridor. The desk had been cleared of papers. The drawers were locked. A notice on the wall gave a number to call out of hours, but someone had scored a red ballpoint line through it. Tarent had no idea what to do next, but he was now in need of a lavatory. He walked the length of the corridor but the few doors were all locked. The further end was unlighted.

His last, dismal chance was to return to the room, and try for a second time to get the woman to admit him, so he started back that way. Then a door in the corridor opened behind him, one of the doors he had found locked a few moments before. A man emerged.

‘I thought I heard someone moving around,’ he said. ‘May I help?’

‘I can’t get into my room,’ Tarent said. ‘Are you the manager here?’

‘Tonight I am acting duty officer, but these buildings are on Threat Level Red because of an insurgency attack earlier.’ His English was excellent, but he spoke with a faint French accent. ‘My name is Bertrand Lepuits. First, I have to ask you: how did you gain entry to this site?’

‘I was ordered to report here. I believe you are the person I am meant to contact, Monsieur Lepuits. I arrived just after the attack on the Mebsher, which was the one I had been travelling on. The
gate opened for me. I am Tibor Tarent, and I understand you are my supervising officer.’

‘Yes, Mr Tarent. We were expecting you, but we received an electronic message that you were going on to Hull DSG instead, so the officers who were deputed to debrief you are no longer available.’

‘No, I never intended to go to Hull.’ Tarent had let go of the handles of his bag, which now stood leaning at an angle on the floor. ‘That message was sent by mistake. If I had stayed on the Mebsher I suppose I would have been among those who have been killed or injured. Monsieur Lepuits, I beg you, at the moment all I want to do is find a room, somewhere I can rest. There is someone already using the room I was sent to.’

‘I can’t offer any help with that,’ the other man said. ‘You would have to see if the other person is willing to share with you.’

‘No, I’ve been through that,’ Tarent said.

‘My best advice, sir, would be for you try again. I have no access to the residential side of this establishment. I am so sorry. As far as the OOR is concerned, your case has been taken over by the MoD and you should be in Hull.’

He was already moving back towards the door he had appeared from.

Tarent said, ‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Is this place likely to be attacked? Is it safe here?’

‘It is as safe as anywhere, and nowhere. We are at Level Red, which is all I can tell you. We are at maximum level of security. Be alert to danger, Mr Tarent, and if the alarm sounds you must assemble with everyone else outside. There are instructions posted in every room.’

He nodded politely, then withdrew through the door and closed it behind him.

TARENT RETURNED TO THE OTHER BUILDING AND ONCE AGAIN
found room G27. He leaned his bag against the corridor wall, made sure his cameras were securely stowed away, then squared up to the door. He was determined that this time the woman in the room should not force the door closed against him.

There was a hand-shaped tactile pad by the side of the door, which he had not noticed before. He pushed his palm against it,
feeling the familiar sensation of the reading of sensory information, and waited. A minute passed, then another. Tarent remained braced against the door, hoping it would open, ready to block it with his weight if she tried to close it against him again.

He heard the lock turning, and the security chain rattled. This time the door opened slowly, revealing her face, much as before.

‘I told you to bugger off,’ she said.

‘I’m appealing to you. It’s not my fault they’ve given me the wrong room. I’ve nowhere to sleep. That’s all I want. Please let me in?’

‘Try your key card in one of the other doors. That sometimes works.’

‘And go through all this with someone else who doesn’t want me?’

‘Several of the rooms are vacant. Since the May 10 attack this building has been half empty. They are transferring operations out of here to the DSGs. Just walk along and try some of the other doors. I don’t want you in here, you don’t really need to be in here, admin has fucked up and double-booked you. You’ll find another room if you look. I’ve got work to do.’

‘I have diplomatic status.’

‘Yes, and we both know that’s bullshit. I’ve seen what the databank holds about you. Your security clearance is OK, but you’re not a diplomat.’

Still she did not push the door against him. He had his hand raised and his foot placed hard against the base of the floor, in case she did.

He said, ‘If you’ve read the output from my tactile profile, you know I am who I say I am.’

‘It makes no difference.’

He stared through the narrow gap at her. She was deliberately keeping her expression neutral, but she was no longer trying to force the door closed. For several long seconds they both held the gaze. Nothing more was said.

He drew back and Tarent thought he saw, for an instant, a small smile dash across her face. What she meant by it he did not know and did not care. He stepped back further, picked up his luggage. She was still there at the door, having moved to peer out at him through the chained gap. He ignored her and walked off down the long corridor.

Putting to the test what she had said he slipped the key card into the reader of the first door he came to. The red locked light glowed instantly, so he withdrew the card at once, not wanting a confrontation with whoever might be inside. The same thing happened at the next door, and the one after, and at all the doors along the corridor. He climbed a staircase to the second storey and
at the first door he tried on that floor he was rewarded with a green glow from the LED and the clunk of a released lock.

Hardly believing his luck had changed, Tarent went swiftly inside and slammed the door behind him. The room was not only vacant, it was clean and everything had been arranged tidily. It looked at first sight as if it had barely been used. Every domestic utility was in place – kitchen and cooking equipment, a working shower and toilet, a closet for his clothes, two large beds with bedding folded neatly on top of both of them. There was a desk with a tablet computer, a scanner/printer, instructions for wifi usage and satellite connections printed on a card lying beside them. There was another small room adjacent to this, with a couch and two comfortable chairs, a TV, shelves for books, and more. The rooms were moderately heated.

He left most of his luggage where he had first dumped it as he entered the room, threw off his clothes and luxuriated in a hot shower.

He went to bed.

Tarent was woken in the morning by the unnerving feeling that he was not alone. He sensed a presence in the room, a movement of the air, a subtle variation in light, the sound of quiet footsteps. He half-opened an eye, reacted to the glare of daylight from an uncurtained window. He closed the eye again.

He lay still, waking quickly but not yet turning or sitting up, knowing someone was in the room with him. It was obviously some new problem that would have to be dealt with. The many events of the day before were still fresh in him – sleep had not alleviated his memories of them. He imagined an intrusion from the officials who ran this place, someone else whose room it was intended to be, instructions to vacate.

Then a female voice said, ‘I can make you some coffee if you would like it.’

He turned over and levered himself with his elbows into a half-sitting position. It was the woman from Room G27. She was standing away from his bed, next to the alcove where the cooking equipment had been positioned. A cupboard door was open. Her stance was neutral, unthreatening. The offer of coffee was tentative, almost a pre-negotiation.

‘How did you get in?’

‘The usual way. I’ll drink some coffee too, if you will have one.’

‘Black, please. Without sugar.’ She took down the coffee filter machine that was on a ledge. ‘How did you get into my room?’ Tarent said again.

‘The same way you opened my door.’ She raised an arm and presented the palm of a hand towards him.

‘So how did you know which room I’m in?’

‘You’re carrying a signal emitter.’

‘My camera?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Do you mind if I get out of bed? I need to use the bathroom.’

‘Help yourself,’ she said, without turning. Tarent, seeing no alternative, rolled naked out of the bed, took a moment to find his balance and catch his breath, then walked across to the bathroom. His chest was still painful. He emerged a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around him – the woman was now seated in one of the chairs, but she turned away while he pulled on some clothes.

‘You might want to read this,’ she said. Gripping it lightly between two of her fingers, she held out a security card for him to take. With a cup of coffee burning his fingers, Tarent walked across to the reader installed on the wall next to the door and downloaded the ID information about her. She sat silently while he read the screen, watching him, sipping her own drink. He made a hard copy of what he found.