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SNAFU Part 38

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

*****

John caught up with me at the end of the corridor, he wrapped the blanket he’d ‘borrowed’ from the trolley, around me. Then, to a series of strange looks and muttered comments, we walked across the car park to his car.

“Here,” he said, “phone your parents.”

So rapt in my mission was I, I had temporarily forgotten their angst. Just before I tried to send a mind message, like a telepathic one, to mum warning her of the shock that was coming. I also sent a lioness, which I hoped they would both see, and make them think how it could get there.

The call was traumatic, but it did at least warn them I was alive and needing some clothes. John, drove furiously back to the house. If I hadn’t been dead a couple of times already, this journey would have frightened me. Now, it was simply terrifying.

My parents met me at the door, and we had a tearful reunion. We hugged and howled like a pack of demented wolves. The neighbours came out to see what was happening, and someone suggested a party to celebrate the apparent miracle. I asked for a deferment, I had work to do.

As I showered, ridding myself of ‘hospital smell’, I tried to summarise what I knew. It wasn’t much. I sent John off to speak to the local plod about the farm. I was going to meet him an hour later at the farm.

So far, the only evidence I had of wrong doing was the attack on me. So that should convict the gang and stop World War three. I needed to look around the place, to find something, anything we could use to tail the gang. I also needed some sort of evidence of their conspiracy. I had to have something more than intuition to get the authorities to act.

As I dressed, I managed to call Don. He was surprised I had recovered so quickly, I promised to tell him about it another time. I also asked him to contact whoever could arrange for some air cover of the US embassy. I thought an Apache attack helicopter would be useful, plus some fighters in the vicinity. Should only cost a few thousand a minute, but better than a major war. Anyway, arranging it as a contingency, was his problem. I had my own.

Knowing I was going to be poking about in barns and things, I dressed casually. A pair of Levi jeans, a soft cotton top and some trainers. This time I carried my official ID and tucked into the small of my back, under the top of my jeans, some reassurance. I slipped on a denim jacket to hide the bulge. I grabbed my bag, borrowed mum’s mobile phone and got dad to drive me out to the farm.

Dad was still in a sort of daze, but managed to get it together enough to follow my directions to the farm. The trip was enjoyable, insofar as we could be together for a few minutes. It was difficult however, because the recent roller-coaster ride, had left us all, somewhat emotionally frazzled. I leant back in the seat, and moved as the Smith & Wesson, dug into my back. I wondered if bringing it was absolutely necessary, after all, I had some pretty powerful weapons of my own. I thought I should put it in my bag as soon as the opportunity arose.

“I can’t get over how you recovered so quickly. Apart from the pneumonia, you had a shiner which would normally take weeks to fade. Yours has gone.”

“Yeah, I heal pretty quickly, Dad.” I said sighing and looking out the window.
“Are you bullet proof as well?” He asked.

“Dunno, never tried it.”

“I just wondered what the bulge was in the back of your jeans.”

I blushed and said, “Oh.”

“It’s a gun, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Next time you have one in the house, please tell me.”

“Sorry, Daddy, it’s standard issue.”

“Does it make you feel safer?”

“I don’t know.” I said, pulling it out of my trousers and placing it in my bag.

“I’ll get you a safe for your bedroom.” He said, as if he was discussing new curtains.

“According to John, they found my car under a lean to. I hope it’s alright.”

“Judging by the policeman flagging me down, I suspect we’re here,” said Dad as he slowed the car to a stop.

I pecked him on the cheek, thanked him and stepped out of the car to speak to the copper.

“Sorry Miss, you can’t stop here. It’s under police investigation.”

I flashed my ID card. “I know officer, that’s why I’m here.”

“What’s it got to do with the military?” he asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” I replied as I walked past him and waved to my father.

I found John with a Chief Inspector Murdoch. “Pleased to meet you Miss Curtis. You seem rather young to be the senior officer on this case.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.” I smiled back at the tall, middle aged man.

“I’ve had to bring the Chief up to speed on the terrorists activity, as we know it,” said John, winking at me.

I grimaced back at him, just what had he told the local plod.

“I have given all we know about the occupants, to your sergeant. We’re trying to trace the aircraft as we speak. Do we know the target, yet?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I lied.

“Since your agent was found here, we’ve gone over the whole place with a toothcomb, but there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary here. How is your agent?”

“Okay, thanks for asking.”

“Why is this military not Special Branch?” asked the tall detective.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” I asked.

“Usually, anti-terrorist stuff is Special Branch, not SIS.”

“We all work together. Look there is a reason, but I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I know, speak to your commanding officer.”

“Exactly.” I replied nodding.

“Who is?”

“Try Number ten.” I said.

“Number ten, where? Downing Street?” he joked.

“That’s the one.” I said smiling smugly, as he nearly choked himself.

“You’re working for the PM.”

“Directly. Now do you mind if we continue our investigation?”

“I’m astonished, firstly we were given no notice of your investigation, secondly that it’s a military investigation, and finally, it’s under the command of the youngest captain, I’ve ever met.”

“Have you finished, or do you want to add some sexist remark as well?” I snapped at him.

He stepped back. “I think I shall ask to speak to your immediate superior.”

“Go ahead if it will stop you getting under my feet. Just don’t get in my way, or your pension may come early.” I glared at him.

“Don’t you threaten me,” he huffed.

“Chief Inspector, if you don’t piss off now. I shall ask my sergeant to remove you.”

“How dare you! I shall speak to your commanding officer immediately.”

“Go ahead, his name is Mr Green, as in George. Goodbye.” I walked past him and John carefully placed himself between us. The inspector was about to say something, but desisted, changing his mind and he turned away instead. As he left, muttering under his breath he somehow managed to slip on a cowpat, sitting in another, bigger, deeper and smellier one. It was not his day.

I went into the barn and shuddered. The remains of the fire and the water were still obvious and the smell was horrible. There was nothing to be gained from it. John showed me where the aircraft was kept, and the field used as a landing strip. There was nothing here either.

We began to go over the house. Neither the local constabulary, nor us had found anything of any use. A pile of burnt paper had been fished out of a fireplace and taken off for forensic examination, but that could take weeks. We had just over a day.

“This place is cleaner than an operating theatre.” I said, feeling despair very close, and disaster not far behind. “What if they change their method or timing? Then we’re scuppered.”

“I feel a snafu moment coming on,” said John, “but then, that’s usually the fault of the establishment, which we have to sort.”

“Nothing’s changed then.” I quipped, trying to see the absurdity of it all. “I mean, all of this is because I somehow picked it up on the psychic airwaves.”

“Yes, Don said something like that.” He shook his head. “A few months ago, I’d have had you locked up for wasting police time. But I have seen and felt things which I would not have thought possible. I don’t know if I believe in this mumbo jumbo stuff or not. In fact, I don’t know what I believe any more, or if I believe anything. But I do believe in you.”

I was very moved by this declaration and it was a few moments before the lump in my throat enabled me to respond.

“Thank you,” I said. A simple phrase with libraries of meaning. He smiled back at me.

“As your psychic stuff got us into this shit, any chance of us using it to get out of it?”
“The only one in real shit, was that plod chappie. Did you see, he got covered.” We both laughed at this recollection of Chief Inspector Murdoch sitting in the cow pat.

“Just remember, his lot did save your life,” John cautioned.

“Yes, I hadn’t forgotten.” I suppose I did owe them something, so maybe I shouldn’t be so contemptuous of them. I just didn’t like the arrogance of their senior officer. I also disclaim any responsibility for his dip in the shit, it hadn’t entered my mind, honest."

“So what about the fluence, then?” said John, “Do we give it a go, or just go?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly, I felt rather self conscious and my confidence shrank accordingly. “I’ll try and see if I can get anything.”

I sat in a large easy chair, my legs hardly touching the thick pile of the carpet below me. I closed my eyes and tried to tune into the energies of the room. For what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, nothing happened. Then, suddenly I saw the room I was in occupied by six people. I recognised the two who’d attacked me, but not the others – three men and a woman.

Something niggled in my mind, I had a feeling I’d seen her before, but where? I was still sitting in the chair, but they seemed oblivious to me. At one point, one of them was about to sit on me, so I don’t think they could have seen me. It almost felt like theatre in the round, where the action happens all around the audience.

Who was the woman? Tall, dark, very dark, sharp eyes. Could have been Hispanic or similar, her skin was olive and dark compared to my milk-bottle stuff. I wondered if she had a problem with facial hair, as some dark haired women do? Then I wondered why I was thinking about such trivia?

The three men, all casually dressed, one more expensively so than the others. He seemed to be the ringleader. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, it was difficult. I also found that when I really concentrated, the picture got worse, too. Talk about contrariness.

Eventually, I sat back and let it unfold before me. The ringleader was saying something about a girl. “She’s either a spy or a copper.” One of the others said something I didn’t catch. The boss continued, “I don’t care how young she looks, I reckon she’s dangerous. Find anything on her?”

The other person, whose back was towards me, said something else but I didn’t hear. Then the leader added, “Well I don’t reckon she was a plane spotter, so get rid of her. Stick her in the barn, cover her up with bales and torch it. They had a fire here once before. If it burns that hot, they may never find the body leave alone identify it.”

I took an active dislike to this man. Given the opportunity, I would introduce him to Nemesis, even if it is rather mixing my deities. I hoped we’d meet again.
Then the bastard, turned away from me and gave instructions to someone, who asked,” if the tanks were full enough to get there?” Damn, I’ll bet that was the pilot of the bloody aircraft.

He left, and called another man I hadn’t noticed until then; a small, swarthy man who could easily have been of middle eastern origins. He looked distracted, there was no emotion in his eyes, they seemed almost as if no one was at home. Could he be drugged or under some form of mind control? Was he the patsy who would fly the plane on its last flight? Anyway, he followed the other man, like he was somnambulant. “Come Tariq,” the pilot man said, putting his arm around his smaller companion. The expression in the latter’s eyes didn’t falter. There was definitely something odd about him.

The woman set fire to the papers in the hearth, tearing them up first while the leader sent the others to do something else, possibly kill me? Sadly, I couldn’t hear anything he said, as his face was away from me. So, after all that, I was none the wiser.

I came back to the real world. John was sat opposite me, watching me. “Well?” he asked, “Get anything?”

I shook my head. “I know who is going to fly the plane on its last mission, a little man called Tariq. Otherwise, I couldn’t hear all they said, the leader was faced away from me much of the time.”

“I saw you concentrating, and moving your head trying to hear. I also saw a look of pure balefulness at one point. I suppose you ain’t all sweetness and light.”

“I am a positive angel,” I said smiling at him.

“Yeah, the angel of death.”

“Got it in one,” I said, “Still it makes a change from flying over the houses of Egyptians at Passover.”

“Eh?” said John, looking blank.

“Final plague, Moses, Exodus. Got it yet?”

“Gee bloody whiz Jamie, I’m here in the twenty first century trying to make sense of things, and you’re off to bloody ancient Egypt, on about some bloody old curse or other.”

“It was a plague, not a curse.”

“Hexes, vexes, spells bells, Jamie. What the hell does it matter? Get with it girl.”

I felt rather upset by his outburst. He made feel about two feet tall. “I’m sorry, but I’m doing my best. If you think it’s so funny, you try watching someone order your murder.” With this outburst, the tears broke and I cried.

“I’m sorry.” He said, taking me in his arms. “I am sorry, princess. I forgot for a moment what you’d gone through, I’ll try to do better in future.” I unashamedly wept on his shoulder. Then he led me to a chair and sat me on his lap. I cuddled into him, aware of the roughness of his chin and the coarseness of his jacket. I drank in his smell. Manliness mixed with a hint of deodorant, Paco Rabanne, I think. I could sit here forever.

Time seemed to stop as we sat there, me cuddling into this wonderful man, even if I did hate him on occasions. I open my eyes and became aware of others in the room. John had dozed off. There were three others before us. Jesus! It was the three who had tried to kill me, they’d come back. Oh shit!

A moment later, I realised they were just running through their re-enactment as before, only this time I could hear what was said. I was sitting in the chair opposite where I’d been previously. The plane was going to Surrey, not far from Croydon. I woke John with my news. We left in our separate cars minutes later, and headed back to the office.

The journey back took twice as long as it should have done, the traffic was abysmal. John had arrived back about half an hour before me, but then he drives like a lunatic. Don made a great fuss of me glad that I had survived the fire and water. Sounded like a mediaeval trial by ordeal, but with my pedigree was that too far away?

He related to us how he’d tracked down the report writers, there were two. Neither had much to add, so once again we’d drawn a blank. When I asked him about the air cover, he went pale, and remember he’s coloured.

“I spoke to a squadron leader, then a group captain, then an air vice marshal. None of them wanted to help at all. Apart from needing several weeks notice, who would they be able to bill for the use of the aircraft? I tried to point out, the seriousness of what was going to happen, obviously without any specifics. None of them were interested.”

“So how are we going to protect the Americans, then?” I asked.

“I don’t know. God knows what fire-power they have inside of their own.”

“Don, it’s an inside job remember.”

“Yeah, I know that, but they can’t all be involved.”

“I’m sure it’s only one or two who are, but without knowing who, we can’t trust anyone.”

Don handed me a letter. “Oh bugger, I am instructed to be at Whitehall tomorrow, from where I will receive my schedule for my attachment to the Presidential party.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I told them, I didn’t want to be involved in the officialdom. It also gives me a dress code.”

John and Don laughed, although it wasn’t really very funny. I wasn’t laughing, I now had to rush home again and then back to London for eight o clock the next morning. It was now eight in the evening.

I left Don to try and identify who Tariq, might be. John was to try and locate any sort of flying club or landing strip in Surrey near Croydon. The clock was still against us.
As I drove home, I tried to mull over the information we’d gained. It didn’t take long. I tried to recall the people in the farm, particularly the girl. Who was she? And more importantly, how did I know her and from where?

So full of this task was I, that I missed the turning into my road. As I passed it, I had a very strange feeling in my solar plexus. Something was wrong. I just knew it.

I drove on and parked round the corner. I took the gun from my bag, then locked the latter in the car boot. I shoved the gun down the back of my trousers again. I would have to use the holster one of these days.

I crept across the space behind our rear garden, it’s part of a field with a footpath alongside the backs of the houses. All the gardens had a six foot wall around them, exactly what I needed, I don’t think. But then it was designed to keep out opportunist thieves, give privacy and clear boundaries to the occupants of the houses, viz. our family and those of the neighbours.

I took a run at the garden wall, and managed to get my hands over the top and pull myself up and over, slithering over the top and dropping quietly the other side. So far so good.

We have quite a big garden, with a lawn in the middle with shrubs and small trees around it. I hid behind the garden shed, deciding how I was going to get up to the house without being seen. I checked for my gun, it was still there.
I scurried from bush to bush, sneaking my way closer to the house, my gun in hand, safety catch off. I was now about twenty feet from the house, crouching behind a lavatera bush. I could make out figures inside the house, but not who they were. My dad’s car was in the drive, so he was home. Behind it was parked a black Mercedes.

Whose car was that, and how many of them were there? Were my parents in danger? What did these people want?

I knew, intuitively, that our visitors were not friendly. I could feel the energy coming from the house. I needed to get closer, but there was very little cover nearer the house. Then I saw a man walk to the French windows and look out and down the garden. I crouched lower and froze. He looked familiar, one of the louts who’d attacked and captured me. He also looked uneasy, as if he was waiting or watching for someone.

He spent some moments watching the garden. I was aware of my heart beating, the pounding in my ears was deafening. My legs were aching, so was my back as I held my position, daring not to move. Even my breathing was quiet and controlled.

Finally, he turned and walked back into the room. I ran towards the house, standing flat against the blank wall next to the back door. Like most British houses, we have PVC covered, double glazed doors and windows. I peeked in the back door, there was no one in the kitchen. Slowly and quietly, I put my hand on the door handle and pulled it down. “Damn.” It was locked, and I had no key.

How was I to get in? That was the question I had first to answer, then decide after, what I was going to do once I achieved it. I stood there contemplating my next move, when I was spotted by one of the neighbours. It was the last thing I needed.