Twisted Agendas Read online

  “I’m not interested.”

  “A lot of our best agents said that when we first talked to them. That’s why I’m not looking for an answer right now.”

  “I mean it.’”

  “I’m going to give you time to think about it. But while you’re thinking, it’d be smart to keep in mind what we’ve got on you.” He stopped talking and moments later began to drum his fingers on the surface of the desk. “On the other hand, I can make this all go away, Danny. Everything.” The detective nodded toward the two-way mirror. “I can let you walk out of here today without them arresting you.”

  “I am under arrest.”

  “This is detention, Danny. You haven’t been brought before a custody sergeant at a police station yet. Let me tell you, some of the blokes in there don’t want me to give you this chance. They’re angry about what happened at Hammersmith and want you charged right away.” He shook his head and drove air trapped inside his mouth through the wide gaps in his teeth. “Even when you make bail as often happens when the lawyers get involved, things can still be very difficult for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d better make sure your car’s always in good nick for starters. The traffic police might stop you every time you drive around London. And we mustn’t forget the parking and speeding tickets. I heard they had one bloke running to court every week they gave him so many tickets. The amount of fines he had to pay.” He tutted. “Then there’s the regular coppers you meet on the street. You could find yourself stopped and searched so often, you might lose your temper and get booked for public order offenses. I’m not saying these things will happen. But they could.”

  His threats infuriated Danny. “Where’s the lawyer?”

  “I don’t think you need him now.”

  “I want to make a personal call.”

  “Who do you want to ring?”

  “My flatmate, Julia Ralston.”

  “Give me her number. I’ll arrange it.”

  “You’ve already got the number.”

  “She got a mobile number in case she’s not at home?”

  After he’d given it to him, the detective rose as if to leave but then sat again. “Do we have a deal?”

  “You said I’ve time to think about it and I intend to do just that.”

  The detective’s face tightened, “Fair enough. I’m going to talk to my boss right now. I’m going to stick my neck out for you and tell him we have to let you go because you’re not involved in anything. It won’t be easy. He’s going to say we can keep you for another three days as well as sit in when you talk to your lawyer. That’s our right.” His eyes widened. “But I’m going to look out for you. Okay, Danny?”

  He knew it was just another attempt to soften him up. “Fine.”

  “If this works, and it’s a big if, I’ll need to know if you’ll work with us in return. What do you say?”

  “I’ll think it over.”

  The detective didn’t speak for a long moment. “You’ve got a week.”

  Was the end of the nightmare to be concluded so simply, so informally? Could it really be almost over? He could scarcely bring himself to believe this was possible. He’d expected to be returned to his cell until he was ready to give Tompkins the answer he wanted. But he didn’t care because all he wanted right now was his freedom. His mind was already running ahead. He was already visualising the sun or rain against his skin. He didn’t care which it was, just wanted to feel something natural.

  “I want to speak to Julia now.”

  “Absolutely.” The detective rose and walked to the door. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? First, let me see if I can get you out of here without them arresting you.”

  He hadn’t expected to feel such disconnectedness. Danny was ecstatic to be free but felt like he were an extra in a movie watching the principal actors execute their roles, the skinny, long-haired youth running across the street to meet a smiling young woman outside the supermarket, a middle-eastern man exiting a fast food takeaway that smelled of roast lamb and aromatic spices, an old woman standing by the open doors of a bus asking the driver a question before she boarded. Even the ride home on the tube was otherworldly: the way the train rocked and leaned inward as it turned corners, its brakes shrilly menacing as it decelerated pulling into the stations and sudden emergence of hate-filled graffiti and rude drawings etched into the windows every time the train plunged into the dark tunnels.

  Julia and Katie were in the living room when he got home. Julia embraced him tightly but Katie remained on the sofa, shocked by his unshaven face, body odour and utter dishevelment. When he’d called Julia to tell her he was being set free, she’d offered to drive up to Paddington but he’d declined the offer. He’d needed time alone to steel himself back to real life. The living room was restored to its natural untidiness; stacks of CDs lay scattered on the carpet beside the player, magazines and newspapers were splayed open on the tables. Even her knickers were drying on the backs of the dining room chairs. When he sat, the armchair felt so soft he thought he’d drop right through the seat to the carpet beneath.

  “What about some tea?” said Julia.

  The ingenious English remedy for all happenings, good and terrible. He understood it now. “Make it strong.”

  “Would you make it?” Julia asked Katie. She rose, came over to where he was sitting and gave him a hug.

  Over tea and cake he told them everything, including the bizarre offer securing his release.

  “Sounds like they know they haven’t a strong case if they press charges and took a chance they’d be able to recruit you as an agent,” Julia said.

  “I hope so.”

  “You’ll need a good lawyer. I’ll ask my boss’ boss if he knows anyone.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You really need to get some sleep,” said Katie.

  “I look that terrible, do I?”

  “You look bloody awful,” Julia said. “Give your father a ring first, though.”

  “He called?”

  “Twice since yesterday morning.” She laughed. “Boy, I see now what you mean about how forceful he is. The last time, he demanded to know where you were and why your mobile was switched off. I had to come up with something fast. He’d make a bloody good immigration officer, you know?”

  “What’d you say?”

  “That you were arrested yesterday due to some mix up about your car insurance because the policy was issued in Northern Ireland. I think he bought it because he told me to call this afternoon with an update.”

  “If you hadn’t got out today, I’d have had to tell him the truth because I was getting worried. I’ve been ringing every police station I could think of including Scotland Yard and nobody had a record of your arrest. It was getting scary, actually.”

  “I owe you, Julia.”

  Au revoir

  Not wishing to cause unnecessary distress to his parents, Danny confirmed Julia’s lie when he rang. His father was nonplussed, especially since an English company underwrote his company’s fleet policy and one of his employees had been involved in a car accident in Manchester seven weeks ago and there’d been no problems then. He also told Danny that his office manager was looking into the matter and refused to listen when Danny said it was resolved and thus unnecessary.

  “You now have a police record,” his father said. “You’ll have to disclose you’ve been arrested when you fill out certain kinds of official forms and some countries you want to travel to might not let you in.”

  “It was a detention not an arrest, Dad.”

  “If the police lock you up even for a couple of minutes, it’s an arrest plain and simple.” His sigh was audible. “Did they take your fingerprints?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Those’ll be on file as well. They’ll be checking your prints every time a crime’s committed in London now. Rape. Murder. Burglary. What a bloody mess.”

  Danny hadn’t con
sidered that aspect. Could the authorities enter fingerprints into their central database even if the person wasn’t convicted of a crime? He didn’t think so. It seemed too draconian. Did the Terrorism Act give the government a new legal authority to do it?

  “What should I do?” he asked his father.

  “Come home after that course ends like I told you.”

  Even if he did want to return to Northern Ireland, he couldn’t. The police had him under surveillance. “I’ll ask the lawyer to get my record expunged.”

  When he went to his bedroom after the call, he discovered Julia had tidied it while he’d been away. After a long, hot shower, he climbed into bed. It seemed larger and so much softer than he remembered. He stretched out his legs and arms and luxuriated in the crisp feel of the sheets against his naked body. He fell asleep quickly but kept waking up through the night thinking he was back in the cell.

  Though his incarceration had seemed endless, he’d missed only two days of German and knew he could catch up before his exam in four days. During the drive to the Kant-Institut the next morning, he frequently checked in the rearview mirror when slowly approaching or stopped at the traffic lights. He didn’t see anyone suspicious but could not shake off the unsettling feeling he was.

  Finty’s desk was empty when he got to class. When she hadn’t arrived by the end of the first class, Danny knew she wasn’t coming. Nor did she come the next afternoon, which was the last day of formal instruction before the exam. After classes ended, he went directly to the administration office to inquire about her but no-one had any information. He began to rehash every detail of their friendship: her initial evasiveness to talk about her background; the failure to invite him to her home; how gullible he’d thought her behaviour in smuggling letters out for an IRA prisoner. Her gullibility seemed unbelievable now. Perhaps she’d been appointed to develop a friendship with him and the story was a ruse to make him feel comfortable and confide in her. Or maybe she’d been a principal actor in securing the IRA man’s imprisonment. Perhaps the man was innocent like him, had found himself in the exact position Danny found himself in now and refused to become an informer.

  Tempering his rush to convict her was the knowledge that deep anxiety and a lack of control over one’s circumstances could spawn irrational conclusions. It was he who’d first made contact with her after all, and he who suggested where and when they study together. There was also the comical absurdity of a hardnosed Special Branch detective making her puppy a vegetarian, or not eating eggs because she followed a strange philosophy.

  On the morning of the exam, as Danny was leaving the house, Mrs. Hartley was crossing the street from her car carrying a shopping bag. When she looked up and saw him, the bag slipped from her grasp, its contents including tins of cat food and a jar of strawberry preserves falling onto the road. The jar smashed and the preserves pooled around her left foot. As he rushed to assist her, she emitted a high-pitched shriek. He picked up the bag and put everything but the broken jar inside. Her face looked dangerously pale.

  “Are you okay?”

  Gently, he gripped her arm but she pulled it away, her power surprising him. The blood returned to her cheeks and she snatched her shopping bag away. Without thanking him, she marched to her house and went inside, slamming the door behind her.

  Finty bustled into the classroom five minutes after the exam began. She apologised to Herr Fehler who permitted her to take her place beside Danny.

  The exam lasted two hours and, though very demanding, Danny felt confident he’d done well.

  “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Finty said after Herr Fehler had collected their papers. “I didn’t get as much time to cram as I’d have liked.”

  “ How come?”

  She avoided his gaze. “I’ve been ill.”

  “That’s why you missed the last classes,” he said, as he watched the Chinese men approach and bow as they said goodbye to the teacher.

  “Let’s say goodbye to Herr Fehler.”

  Determined to find the truth, he walked to the tube with her after they chatted briefly to their teacher.

  “I guess it’s all over apart from getting the results,” she said as they arrived at the tube station entrance. She moved aside to allow a woman carrying two heavy bags to exit the stairs onto the street. “I take it you’ll stay on in London.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  She didn’t look at him, instead hung her head slightly.

  “Why would you think I’m not leaving?”

  “You’re so good at German. Why would you not stay and do the advanced course?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “So you’re leaving?”

  He said nothing.

  “When?”

  “Can we walk for a minute?”

  She looked at her watch. They walked in silence for a bit.

  “I’m amazed you haven’t asked why I missed class last week.”

  “I did wonder, actually.”

  “Have you been spying on me, Finty?”

  Her face turned scarlet. Her mouth opened and closed twice. “Why would you even ask that?”

  “I saw you talking to a female detective at the place where I was interrogated.”

  “You were there, too?”

  “The two of you were very chummy.” He stopped walking and stared into her eyes. She didn’t look away. “I didn’t know what the hell to think.”

  “We weren’t friends. She… ”

  “You were smoking and laughing together.”

  “I’m not a friend of that woman. I had no choice. I was told to come with the detectives.” She swallowed hard. “You know my feelings about the police.”

  He kept his eyes riveted on hers.

  “When I came out of my… ” she stopped talking as a stocky, middle-aged man passed by within earshot. “As I was on my way to the tube, a car drew up alongside me and a man opened the passenger door. He said he needed to speak to me urgently. He didn’t even ask my name. He flashed a Metropolitan Special Branch badge, held up a photo of you and I lying on the grass in Saint James’ Park. He said he needed me to come with him to their office to answer questions. I said you were a friend from class and I didn’t have time to go with him, but he mentioned my past run-in with them in connection with the IRA chap and said it’d be in my best interests to cooperate.” She touched his wrist lightly. “They didn’t tell me you were there. You’ve got to believe me, Danny.”

  He scoured her face, scouring for the tiniest twitch of insincerity. She made no attempt to divert her gaze.

  “Something weird happened when I was with her, I’d been sitting sideways at the desk and her phone rang. After she came off the phone, she told me to quickly turn my chair round and face her. Then she lit a fag, offered me one and told me to relax because I wasn’t under suspicion. All they needed was my assistance for a couple of minutes, but she didn’t explain how I could help them. I was baffled.” Finty paused and her eyes creased as if she were recalling the meeting again. “The only thing she did was push an album across the desk and ask if I recognised anyone in it. When I came to your photo, I said I knew you and then she said I’d been really helpful and was free to leave. I was blown away. Before I left, she warned I was not to tell anyone I’d been helping them. It was crazy. I don’t know how I helped because they already knew I was friends with you.” She fell silent for a moment. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  It was obvious the police had intended him to see Finty with the detective, though for what reason Danny couldn’t tell. Was it to create doubt and suspicion about who his friends were, or was it to make him paranoid that they were watching every aspect of his life?

  “The bastards accused me of being in the IRA and want me to turn informer in exchange for their not pressing charges.”

  “Fuckers.”

  “They’re playing mind games.”

  “Special Branch does that.”

  He looked t
oward the station. “We should go back now.”

  After passing through the turnstile, they stopped to take their leave as Danny had to take the Piccadilly line west and she the Northern.

  “So this is it,” she said, and laid her hand on his.

  The coldness of her hand instantly penetrated his own. He’d forgotten how cold her touch was. He wanted all coldness gone between them. He pulled her to him and kissed her. He could hear people pass silently on the street. She stayed there for what seemed a long time but was actually just seconds.

  “I’d like to keep in touch with you.”

  “I’d like that, too.” She smiled. “He’d miss not seeing his Irish uncle.”

  “How do I do that? You don’t have a mobile.”

  “No.”

  “Give me your home number.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Ah yes, your boyfriend.”

  She looked down the street a moment and then reached into her bag, pulled out a pad and tore off a sheet of paper. She scribbled something and handed it to him.

  As he looked at it, she said, “It’s my current work number.”

  Labour day

  Her mother’s wedding was in two days and she wanted, no needed, her father to be on a structured recovery path before she left three days later for London. She met her mother after ‘the incident’ (as her mother referred to it on the phone) for lunch in a section of the Dag Hammarskjold Plaza on Forty-seventh Street and Second Avenue. Piper couldn’t figure out why her mother suggested meeting there until she informed her when they met that she couldn’t stay long because she had a final dress fitting with a seamstress who lived in a highrise one block from the plaza.

  “I didn’t mention the incident to anybody, not even Juan. Just like you wanted. But he frightened me. All that rage. I’m still shaken.”

  “I understand, Mom.”

  “Do you, Phila?” She sighed. “I should be thinking of my wedding, not this bullshit.”

  “He feels bad.”

  “If I did tell Juan, he’d have to report it to the NYPD. And you know what that means?”