Night follows day follows night. It always has. It always will. The hours of darkness finally recede to a new dawn of a new day, and Safa Patel comes wide awake with the blink of an eye and the realisation she hasn’t exercised for six days now.
‘Get up, beardy, we’ll train before breakfast.’ She bangs on Harry’s door, pausing to listen to the gruff affirmations coming from inside.
‘Mr Ryder? This is your fuck-early wake-up call . . .’
‘Piss off.’
‘Get up. We’ll train before food.’
‘Said piss off.’
She cracks the door open to see him pulling the covers over his head and snuggling further down the bed.
‘Safa.’ His muffled voice comes through the blanket. ‘Safa? I know you’re stood there . . . Piss off . . . Seriously . . . Fuck’s sake,’ he mumbles, pushing the cover from his head to see her grinning. Weak daylight behind her from the window in the middle room. Dressed in knickers and a vest top. Her hair tousled. Her teeth white. He blinks, squints then groans to hide the bad thought that popped into his head. ‘Okay, I’ll get up in a minute.’
‘Do you like Miri?’
‘What!?’
‘Miri. Do you like her?’
‘Safa, I literally just opened my eyes . . . Yes. Yes, she seems fine.’
‘I like her. Do you trust her?’
‘Oh, my god, Safa . . . Yes. Yes, I trust her.’
‘What about Tango Two?’
‘Huh?’
‘She seems alright, doesn’t she?’
‘What were you expecting?’ Ben asks with only one eye half-open.
‘Should I ask her if she wants to train?’
‘What the actual fuck?’ Ben blinks as the bad thought pops into his head again, and wishes she wouldn’t lift her top to scratch her back like that. ‘If I say yes, will you go away?’ He drops his forehead on to the pillow, making a point of not looking. ‘She is a prisoner though, Safa,’ he adds.
‘Yeah, but the bad guys tried to kill her . . . Okay, forget it, just an idea.’
‘Ask Miri.’
‘Miri? You awake? It’s Safa . . . Miri? Miri?’ Safa stops knocking and calling out to lean closer to the door and listen.
‘Help you?’ Miri says, standing in the doorway to her office, fully dressed and already holding a notepad and pen.
Safa spins round, stunned that someone wakes up earlier than her. ‘Can the prisoner train with us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because . . . What?’
‘Yes.’
‘She can?’
‘Yes.’
‘What, just like that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did they try and kill her?’
‘Working on it.’
‘Er.’ Safa pauses, expecting to have to argue. ‘She seems alright, doesn’t she?’ she adds in a rare show of deep thought.
‘She is a prisoner,’ Miri says bluntly.
‘Yeah, but, you know, seems okay for a prisoner,’ Safa says. ‘You training with us?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? We’ll go light. We’re all still a bit sore from . . .’
‘No. Anything else, Safa?’
‘Er . . . nope, don’t think so. We’re running out of food.’
‘I will re-supply today. Anything else, Safa?’
‘Malc and Kon . . . When are we . . .’
‘Goodbye, Safa,’ Miri says, walking back into her office. ‘The pistols are now secured in the last set of rooms by the exit door. I have fitted a clasp with a combination padlock. The number is 01899.’
‘That’s my collar number,’ Safa says. ‘In the police . . .’
‘I know. Enjoy your training.’
‘But . . .’
‘Train, Miss Patel. Train hard. I need your team fit and ready for deployment.’
‘Roger,’ Safa says, sensing she is being told to piss off.
Tango Two comes awake suddenly, the same rapid surge from deep slumber to wide awake in a few seconds. She sits bolt upright in bed as the knocking comes again.
‘Coming in,’ Safa says, pushing the door open to look at Tango Two. ‘Fancy training?’
‘What?’ Tango Two whispers, then coughs to clear her throat. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Training. We’re doing phys. You fancy it? Nothing heavy. We’re still sore.’
‘Right,’ Tango Two says, staring with the look of someone who has come awake too quickly. ‘I don’t have a bra.’
Safa nods. ‘Bouncy boobs, yeah, that’s not funny. We threw yours away. Had blood on it. Er, I’ve got a spare one, it might stretch a bit . . . Any good?’
‘Er . . . yes. Yes, thank you.’
‘Sports bra, so it’ll be stretchy anyway.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ll go get it.’
‘Okay,’ Tango Two says as Safa marches off, pulling the outer door closed behind her. This is very good. The bond is already starting to show. She suspects counter-cultivation is underway, but that’s fine. Spending time with them is exactly what she needs to do. Another thought pops into her head as she rushes into the bathroom. Safa was a police officer, Ben investigated insurance and Harry was in the Second World War. How can they be trained to a high level of counter-cultivations and manipulation?
It doesn’t matter. It means she gets time with Ben and Harry, and she needs to maximise that opportunity. Should she shower? Does she smell? She sniffs at her armpits, and has a shower.
‘OUT HERE,’ Safa calls through the door. ‘ON THE CHAIR.’
‘Thank you,’ Tango Two calls back. She washes, dries off, then winces as she puts the still wet knickers on. She washed them in the sink last night and they’re still damp. As she puts the grey tracksuit bottoms on, she realises the wet knickers will make the material of the trousers wet, and damp shows on grey cotton too easily. She frets for a second. Not wishing to be seen with wet knickers under her bottoms. Should she take the knickers off? But then she would be naked under the bottoms. She could ask for another pair and suspects being given only one set of underwear is part of the strategy. To ask for something leaves her open for leverage. She will have to suffer and try to look as good as she can with what she has.
She scowls at the bitterness that thought leaves in her mind. Mother tried to kill her. These people are being decent and nice. Is she worried about her appearance solely for the prospect of honey-trapping Ben or Harry?
Shit. No shoes. The bra is bloody tight too. She squeezes into it, giving what thanks she can for it being Lycra and stretchy. Oh, actually, it makes her boobs look huge. That’s a good thing, plus she can honestly say it’s not her fault as the bra is too small.
With a hundred thoughts in her head, and for the first time since joining the British Secret Service, Tango Two feels like a twat. Her boobs are squashed, her arse and groin are wet and she doesn’t have any shoes. She frets and berates herself as she waits for Safa to come back, then realises, with her mouth dropping open, that the main door isn’t closed.
She peers out into the corridor. Bending forward from the waist to look down. ‘Hello?’
‘COME DOWN,’ Safa shouts.
Tango Two blinks. Ponders for a few seconds, then waddles down the corridor with one hand plucking at her wet knickers through the jogging bottoms and the other tugging at the bra under the vest top. She has to look as good as she can with what she has. Switch on and work now. ‘Er . . . hi?’ she says meekly.