This Other Country (32 page)

Atwell turned to look at Ben for the first time, catching his gaze voluntarily. “Your friend did know.”

“What?”

“Your big, blond friend who was pretending to be Nigel Stannis—he took their driving licences and their phones after the fight. They were all still working in the business. He must have known.”

Ben sat at the table he’d sat at with Nikolas and thought about this.

§ § §

“A pub. In Burnley.”

Nikolas woke fully and focused on Kate. Squeezy and Tim were asleep on the sofa. They woke, too, grunting and sitting up. “His father owned a string of pubs in Lancashire. He went bankrupt. Some of the pubs have been sold for housing developments, but not the one in Burnley. No call for new apartments there. Give me another minute and I’ll have the address.”

“Don’t bother. I know where it is. Let’s go.”

“Burnley?”

Nikolas gave her a look. She ducked her head and closed her laptop. “Burnley. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

§ § §

One by one, the men who’d left their lives—their families, the people that loved them—responded, summoned by a call they’d been equally longing for and dreading.

Universally, they recognised ex-Special-Forces-expert Ben Rider. It was too awesome to believe that they should intersect with someone so fabulous, so beautiful, so famous, so…ethereal. Ben
was
ghosting along, hardly there in spirit or body. His memories so recently returned, his decision to do what he was doing so radical and unlike him, he hardly knew who he was anymore. Only one thing was keeping him grounded, but that was private and held down deep where it wouldn’t surface and distract him from what he now had to do.

He waited until they were all present.

Fergus Atwell seemed to be regaining his confidence. He swelled to his audience. He joined Ben at the front, the general bestowing approval on his most trustworthy lieutenant.

Ben studied the men. They were Nigel Stannis and Justin and Tim Watson and Samuel and James and Matthew. They were him and Nikolas and Squeezy. They were all men and no man, anonymous souls who’d been desperately seeking acceptance but sold something very different. What had Fergus done to guilt them into their radicalisation? Had he debased them as he’d intended to humiliate Ben? If Ben hadn’t been who and what he was—a killer—would he have cried and begged for mercy, would he have pissed himself at the thought of the sword cutting across his neck? And all of this degradation taped and held as a stick, goading him into committing an atrocity? Where was the tape of Jono? What had they made him do that led him to his death?

One of the men who appeared on the edge of breaking, his beard stubble thick, his clothes unkempt, his eyes restless and haunted, finally spoke up from the low rumble of speech in the room, asking, “What are we here for? What are we going to do?”

§ § §

There were lights on in the pub. Nikolas told Tim and Kate to stay in the car. Squeezy took the front. Nikolas went around the back, the way he’d exited after the fight. He could hear angry conversation. He eased through the door into a short corridor. He heard one man speaking more loudly, caught, “What are we going to do?” and then he heard a voice he recognised reply.

§ § §

Before Ben could answer, Fergus stood up as if on a stage. Ben sensed a messianic passion radiating from him. He spread his arms wide—a gesture more suited to a far greater audience than these six weary men. “We’re going to send a message to the whole world. We’re going to go to London. We’re going to assassinate the president of Russia.”

There was something of a commotion after this announcement.

Ben laughed.

He caught Fergus in a tight hug around the neck, asserted loudly to the room, “Actually, we’re not,” and elbowed the man in the temple, lowering him unconscious to the sticky carpet.

At the same time, two figures burst into the room. There would have been a desperate brawl, but Ben shouted, “Sit down!” and, as one, every single man in the group obeyed him. Nikolas came to a halt over the unconscious body.

They stared at each other, a reunion neither of them had ever expected to have to make, so much between them known and forgotten and remembered again. Ben turned back to the six men in front of him, giving a small nod of recognition to Squeezy who was hovering behind them.

“We’re not killing anyone.
You’re
not killing anyone. This ends here. This ends
now
. You want to know what statement you can make? You wanna know what it’s all for? It’s for this.” He grabbed Nikolas by the lapels of his suit and heaved him closer, enveloping him, eating him with his mouth, his tongue seeking entry, his hands roaming in the blond hair.

Ben shoved Nikolas away, but held him close as well, his hands firmly on the beautifully tailored jacket. He turned triumphant to his stunned audience. “I’m gay, and I’m fucking glad of that, because this is Nikolas Mikkelsen, and he’s my boyfriend, and for me he’s all there is in this life worth living or dying for. And I’m not ex-Special-Forces-expert Ben Rider; I’m Ben
Rider-Mikkelsen
.” He kissed Nikolas again, just because he could, and because the expression on Nikolas’s face was too funny not to exploit.

§ § §

Nikolas had been hit by a tsunami once. He’d felt less disoriented by that than by Ben Rider-Mikkelsen coming out in front of his would-be army of gay warriors. Still reeling, he stood on the sidelines as Ben began the process of de-radicalisation. He could only watch, stunned, as six men desperate to belong, to find meaning in their lives, found it in the same place he had when he’d been equally lost eight years before: in the perfect alignment of bones and flesh and the shade of a pair of green eyes. Ben Rider-Mikkelsen mesmerised these men as he had audiences for his television appearances. He was the genuine article. As Nikolas had pointed out so recently, Ben was a warrior, he was charismatic, and he was beautiful. And, of course, he was gay. Like survivors of a cult, the men in his tiny army were dazed and confused, but they were most definitely willing to be convinced of a better way.

Nikolas only dragged his eyes away from the talk at the back of the pub when Squeezy came to stand alongside him. “He’s in the car.”

Nikolas nodded.

“I’ll take him then.”

Nikolas nodded again. He sensed Ben’s friend was waiting for something from him. Permission? Forgiveness? “Don’t get my car wet.”

Squeezy appeared to find this acceptable and left. He was owed. Jono had been one of life’s gentle souls. Nikolas turned his thoughts briefly to Julian Wood and the sting of a cold needle. It was a pity he hadn’t been here as well. He’d find him eventually.

Eventually, everyone stopped running.

§ § §

Tim Watson had been given his place on the ANGEL team mainly by being Ben’s friend. He earned it more that day when Ben, clearly exhausted, fuelled only by good intentions, found him sitting down alongside him. Tim introduced himself to the group, confirmed he was a doctor, and that he worked in the field of ethical psychology—that they’d been manipulated by men using unethical psychology. He was going to help them. They were impressed. Nicholas thought they were more impressed when Tim added that he was gay.

Ethics?

Nikolas wondered idly what Tim thought his boyfriend was doing at that moment. Perhaps he thought Squeezy was taking the unconscious Francis J to the hospital.

Andrea Gillian arrived later that day. Nikolas had begun to think of her as his heavy hitter, which amused him, as she barely made four feet and probably weighed less than he had when he’d come out of the Gulag. She’d told him on the phone that this wasn’t her area of expertise. He’d told her it surely wasn’t Ben’s. He needed her.

They couldn’t stay in the pub. It didn’t set the right tone.

By lunchtime, Kate had them booked into the exclusive spa hotel they’d enjoyed for a brief few hours on their course. She’d taken over the conference room as well. Andrea and Tim left to set up.

For a brief few minutes, Ben was back up front and centre on his own, six desperate men now looking to him to bring them out of darkness by talk alone, by sharing and guiding and effective counselling.

Ben was empty. Nikolas could see it. He was losing them. All Ben really had were good intentions and a perfect face and body. There was only so much you could do to de-radicalise angry men with a good heart and a pretty face.

Nikolas plunged his hands into the pockets of his coat. It smelt faintly and very pleasantly of Kate. He had a feeling he’d bought her that scent on a whim because he’d liked the crystal bottle, which had been a miniature version of the onion dome on a Russian orthodox church, exquisite and beautiful, and he couldn’t exactly buy it for himself, and Philipa wouldn’t have appreciated it.

The rumblings of discontent had turned more vicious. Ben was floundering badly.

At the time, it had been the most expensive perfume in the world. Perhaps he should have mentioned this when he’d given it to her…

One of the men shoved Ben, and he staggered slightly, the others then holding the enraged man back.

Nikolas hoped Philipa had got his text about Radulf. The cleaning service would feed and water him if she hadn’t, but he’d enjoy a stay with a pack of royal dogs if he got the chance. He could make them a bit more streetwise.

A few militant men were standing up to leave now.

Fucking hell!

Nikolas strode up to the front of the group. He pointed to one of the men standing. “Why did you think you needed therapy?” Before the astonished man could reply, he gestured to the man next to him. “And you?” The other men sat very rapidly. He felt a hand on his wrist, Ben tethering him once more, but he shook him off. “No. I want to know. All of you, what did you think therapy was going to do for you? I was taught the facts of life by my father when I was ten years old. He forced his cock inside me and told me he loved me more than anyone else in the world did or ever would. Do you think therapy is going to make that right? I’ll tell you what makes that right for me.” He yanked Ben to his feet and repaid the kiss Ben had given him earlier, and when Nikolas wanted to he could put on quite a show with his body—after all, as he’d told Ben, he’d been doing it since he was ten. He then eased them apart until just their foreheads were touching and elaborated so quietly every man present had to strain to hear him, but he had a totally captive audience by this time, so there was a great deal of concentration on his words, “I’m gay, but as that means I get to do this…” He kissed Ben again, slower, more loving, a very private kiss which was not for show at all. “…then I’m extremely glad I am.” He turned to the men in the room. “It’s really not something to make a big deal about, is it?”

§ § §

Andrea and Tim stayed in the hotel with six men who’d been so confused and traumatised by their experiences of therapy that they’d almost been excited to hear they were going to attempt to assassinate the president of Russia. Rest, food, and professional expertise would eventually undo the chaotic radicalisation they’d been subjected to. Kate had been sent back to London before Ben had even noticed she’d been in Burnley.

Ben and Nikolas went home.

Ben drove because he now knew the way.

After a few miles, when he hadn’t put Radio 1 on, Nikolas asked quietly, “What?” It seemed like a good question to him. It sort of encompassed what he’d been thinking for some weeks now.

Ben shook his head slightly. “I think parts of my memory are still missing.”

Nikolas turned to face him, a slight frown beginning to form. Ben smirked. “My boyfriend has just told me he’s gay. Eight years—I had no idea. No clue whatsoever…”

Nikolas just pursed his lips and turned to stare out of his side window.

“I guess the things he wanted to do in bed should have—”

“It’s not funny.”

“Yeah, it is.”

At the same time they seemed to realise this was a very familiar conversation between them, only it was reversed—each saying the other’s lines. Nikolas pouted, having trouble working this out. It added to the other confusions in his life. As far as he was concerned, a lot of things were suddenly happening to him that shouldn’t be—given who he was. What he was. Just shouldn’t…He sniffed. “I’d rather have taken out the president. Easier.”

Ben snorted. “You told me once that you liked him.”

“You may have noticed I have a tendency to lie. Are we going to keep this up, Ben?—because if we are, I’m much better at it than you.”

“Keep what up?”

“That’s right, ask a question you know the answer to. Now ask me something irrelevant or annoy me so I lose the thread of my thought. I’ve been doing it for eight years with you. I know every tactic in the book to avoid being forced to think about things I don’t want to think about.”

“Like talking about your father to a bunch of strangers—and saying cock for the first time in your life?”

Nikolas folded his arms. “Just the first time in English.”

Ben was better at this than he’d given him credit for. They were almost back to
his
startling declaration at the pub. It was Ben they needed to be talking about. Nikolas made a conscious effort to unfold his arms and turned to look at the perfect profile next to him.

It was the most effective tactic of all. Nikolas had never met anyone who didn’t fill an uncomfortable silence with talking. Ben was no exception. Finally, he just made an exasperated noise, checked in his rear view mirror and suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road. He stuck the hazard lights on and twisted around to Nikolas who remained silent. “I went into the chapel. I still didn’t remember anything. I sat down at the front and then the sun came through the stained glass window and hit the empty pew across the aisle, and it all just righted itself. It was all still in my head, just like you promised it would be. And I know I should have felt revulsion for what I did, but I didn’t. It had been kinda knocked off top-horror spot by the awfulness of losing you.” Ben took hold of Nikolas’s arm, forcing him to concentrate on his words. “I lost
you
—everything you were to me, had been to me for eight years, and when it came back
that
was all I could think about. Nothing is worth losing you again.
Nothing
. If I think about the other things I might, so I’m not going to think about them. I’m going to do a Nikolas Mikkelsen for once. How’s that?”