‘No. Surprisingly. She is healing and appears physically healthy. She is eating. She is drinking fluids. She undertook physical training with the others. I have no concerns for her. She is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as they say. Right, so, as her medical practitioner, I would like to know what your cunning plans are, eh? Cunning, I bet. Cunning and secret. Oh yes. Why did her own side try and kill her?’
‘Ria’s mental state.’
‘Ria is consumed with grief,’ he says in an instant change to a serious tone. ‘I will monitor that as she transitions from her normal life, taking into account her support networks have been taken away. Bertie is . . .’
‘Thank you, Doctor Watson. That will be all.’
‘Plans, Miri?’
‘Thank you, Doctor Watson. I have work to do.’
‘Right, well, I shall go and count some pills.’
‘You do that.’
‘One thing I would say is that confining Tango Two to her rooms without stimulation will of course have a negative effect and potentially invoke a decline in mental health similar to that which Ben suffered. She is fine now. She has been here only a few days, and she is young and robust, but any length of time will not be healthy.’
Miri listens intently. Her eyes narrow with the slightest of motions that shows her attentiveness. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘Are you going to execute her, Miri?’ he asks quietly, all trace of joviality gone.
‘Thank you, Doctor. You have been very helpful.’
‘Helpful is my middle name.’ The joke falls flat. Silence, sudden and awkward. ‘It’s not. It’s Hamish actually, but . . . Ah, right, you are looking down at your desk, which indicates the conversation is now at an end.’
Miri thinks with her hands flat on the warm, wooden surface. The others pass the doorway, glancing in to see her almost frozen. Back and forth they go. Carrying weapons. Carrying boxes. Talking. Joking.
She takes one of the notepads from the desk before walking out into the corridor to stare at the bare walls, then down towards the main room for long seconds of deep thought. ‘Safa?’
‘Yep,’ Safa says, walking backwards carrying a heavy crate of ammunition with Ben.
‘I will be busy for the next few days and not always here. You are in charge in my absence. I want you fit and ready.’
‘We are fit,’ Safa says.
‘None of you are in peak condition. Increase your training to be ready.’
‘I beg your fucking pardon?’
‘Do not keep the prisoner confined to her rooms. She can come out if the weapons are secure. Train with her. She may have skill sets and practical knowledge that you are lacking.’
‘Lacking? What the . . . We are fit. We’re bloody fit as anything . . .’ Safa protests.
Miri holds the silence for a second. ‘Good. Then work harder.’
‘Where are you going?’ Ben asks before Safa can explode in righteous fury at being called unfit and lacking.
‘Train,’ Miri says, striding into the portal room. ‘Get better. Work harder . . .’
She smiles to herself at the bluster coming from Safa as she programs the tablet to bring the Blue back to life.
The game is underway.
Nineteen
Pressure can be described as continual physical force.
Mental pressure is the perception of continual force, although the force is not always apparent.
It’s not apparent now. It’s subtle and very suggestive, but by degrees it is increased, and with it the atmosphere within the bunker grows with each passing day.
Miri uses language like an artist with constant studied, deft touches.
The prisoner can be given more freedom. The prisoner can move about freely if the weapons are secure. The prisoner can eat with you. The prisoner should train with you.
Miri suggests one thing while meaning another to create a penetrating, yet unseen jarring sensation, while all the time working to shape a new reality. A groomer. A player. It’s what she is. It’s what she does.
The days roll on. You need time to heal and I am working. That’s the answer she gives when Ben asks what she is doing and why everything is taking so long. She suspects Ben knows a great deal more than the others, but she also knows that he is intelligent enough to keep those thoughts to himself – and she would know if he didn’t, because of Safa.
Safa is pure honesty. There is absolutely no deceit with that woman. If Safa thinks it, Safa will say it, and if Ben relayed his suspicions, then Safa would voice them. Safa has not voiced them, so therefore Ben has not spoken of them.
Work harder. Get fitter. Be better. Do more. Why are you relaxing? Why are you drinking coffee again? Work.
A team gels and excels when there is a defined hierarchy. Miri knows that. She pushes them to knit and bond with each other. She has to be careful though. Too much, and it looks tyrannical. Too little, and she runs the risk of over-familiarity. Good work today. Relax tonight. It’s a nice evening – you should eat outside with the prisoner.
To plan at this level means to see and know everything, and that takes time, but she has a time machine, and what would have taken her months to achieve in the past can now be done in weeks.
I want to see the surrounding area. The prisoner can come with us. Harry will arm with a Barrett rifle. Ben and Safa will arm with pistols. The prisoner will be given a pistol, but not a magazine. A spare magazine will be carried by Safa and given to the prisoner in the event of an incident serious enough to warrant the use of live rounds. Do you all understand?
That was exactly two weeks after Cavendish Manor. Fourteen days since Tango Two was taken captive. Miri gave them the brief and watched as they kitted up and made ready.
The weather was changing. The humidity was growing stronger every day, the precursor of what Harry and Miri recognised as a rainy season. They set out after breakfast. Doctor Watson tagged along too, dressed in a sleeveless fishing jacket, baggy khaki shorts, long socks pulled up to his knees, rugged walking boots, a floppy hat and a pair of huge binoculars hanging from a strap round his neck.
They were all sweating by the time they walked up the steep bank to the plateau above the bunker. Insects buzzed and lifted in swarms as they moved slowly through the long grass. The huge Barrett fifty-calibre rifle was strapped to Harry’s back. All of them save the doctor armed with a pistol in a holster.
Miri spent a long time in that clearing. Walking back and forth. The doctor moved here and there, studying insects, flowers and plants, and staring through his binoculars. The other four stayed together, chatting easily with hands resting on butts of weapons.
‘Bet I can draw faster than you,’ Safa said after growing bored at Miri and the doctor pissing about.
‘Bet you can’t,’ Tango Two said, smiling back at her.
‘I so bloody can.’ Safa pulled her pistol from the holster to eject the magazine and the round in the chamber. ‘Safe, unloaded.’ She showed the weapon to Tango Two before sliding it back in.
‘Seriously?’ Ben laughed, taking the magazine from Safa.
‘Ben, count down from three,’ Safa said as Tango Two pulled her own pistol out to check.
‘Safe, unloaded,’ Tango Two said.
‘I know it is,’ Safa said.
‘I know you know, but I’m just confirming,’ Tango Two said.
‘Whatever. Ready?’
‘Ready.’