Chapter Seven
Oxford
The same day
Ben surfaced slowly from a murky sleep filled with threatening dreams, and his mind drifted back into focus. He remembered now. He was in his new flat. Oxford was hardly a strange city to him, but it felt weird actually to be living here again after so many years. He wouldnt be home in Ireland until December.
Fighting away the numbing torpor that made him want to crawl back deep under the covers, he kicked his legs out of the bed. He shrugged on a tracksuit top, walked through to the living room, stepped over the mess of half-unpacked luggage that was in there and headed for the kitchen. The flat was tucked into a secluded block of apartments in the quiet northern end of the city. It felt modern and compact, so different from the rambling old seaside house in Ireland, with its stone floors and draughty fireplaces.
He listened to the twitter of birds and the distant traffic rumble as he made some coffee. No milk, no sugar, nothing to eat. He left the radio off. He wasnt interested in whatever might be happening in the world. He sat for a while at the small table in his kitchen, the coffee cup hot between his hands, emptying his mind, trying not to think about things. Most of all, trying not to think about the two bottles of ten-year-old Laphroaig in his suitcase and how easy it would be to walk over there and open one of them. Too easy. He knew hed get there in a moment of weakness, when the demons came. But this wasnt it.
At three minutes to eight he stood up, walked back to the living room and found the fabric Tesco shopping bag hed left on one of the armchairs the night before. He picked up the heavy bag, carried it across the room and dumped the contents out across his desk. Books spilled everywhere.
There were over twenty theology textbooks in the heap, and hed set himself the task of reading them all in the next few days. Acres of Hebrew and Latin to pore over. Thousands of pages of abstruse philosophy. Aristotle. Spinoza. Wittgenstein. Stacks of essays and interpretations of Bible scripture. It was a mountain of work, and he relished the prospect. It would keep his mind occupied and get him in training for when term began in October. Nineteen years was a long time to catch up on.
He worked for six straight hours, stretched and stood up and then headed for the tiny bathroom. After a quick shower he pulled on a pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt, and ate a stale tuna sandwich that hed bought at a filling station on the M40 the day before. Sometime after two he left the flat and did the half-hour walk into the heart of the city in twenty minutes. He headed straight towards the Bodleian, the Universitys grandest and oldest library, just off the city centre.
He worked for six straight hours, stretched and stood up and then headed for the tiny bathroom. After a quick shower he pulled on a pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt, and ate a stale tuna sandwich that hed bought at a filling station on the M40 the day before. Sometime after two he left the flat and did the half-hour walk into the heart of the city in twenty minutes. He headed straight towards the Bodleian, the Universitys grandest and oldest library, just off the city centre.
The sun was beating down strongly. As he walked, he took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder.
That was the moment, strolling through the old city under the clear blue sky, when it hit him.
What is this feeling?
He stopped. It was the strangest thing.
Im just a normal person. Im a student about to startcollege, walking to the library. Thats all I am.
Suddenly, and for just one wonderful instant, it all seemed possible. That he could live the simple life hed dreamed about, far away from the violence and ugliness hed been immersed in for what seemed like an eternity. That he could be happy again one day, that the pain would come to an end.
It was just a taste of that happiness, a simple taste of normality and freedom and the promise of some kind of life again. He knew there would be more bad days ahead days when he didnt even want to go on living. But here, now, for the first time in months, he could feel the sun on his face and he was thankful to be alive. Maybe the worst of the grief was over. Maybe he was coming through. Maybe he was going to be OK.
It was what she would have wanted, he thought. He saw her face in his mind, and felt the loss and guilt stab deep inside him. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Then she smiled, and it made him want to cry but smile too.
Oh, Leigh. Im so sorry for what happened.
I know, her distant voice replied in his mind.
He was still smiling sadly to himself as he walked through the stone archways of the Bodleian. The main reading rooms smelled of old leather and burnished wood. He approached the desk and showed his card to the librarian.
Twenty years before, the women behind the desk had been notorious battleaxes with intimidating stares that had frightened most of the students. Hed been idly wondering whether he was going to find them still here, greyer, fatter, and even more formidable.
The librarian flashed a smile at him. She was about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with sandy curls tied up loosely in a ponytail, little wisps hanging down and framing her face. It was a pretty face, open and natural. She glanced twice at his name on the card, and smiled again. He requested the book he was after, and she told him in a low voice that it would have to be fetched up from the bowels of the library.
He thanked her, and spent the next half-hour flipping through periodicals in a booth in the reading-room across from the main desk. Every so often, he was aware that the librarian was glancing over at him. Then another member of staff brought him the book hed come to read, and he didnt see her again.
It was late afternoon by the time he left the library. The heat and sweat of the bustling city centre was a strong contrast to the cool silence of the Bodleian reading rooms. He filled his lungs with the smell of the old city.
Well, Im back, he said quietly to himself.
Chapter Eight
Greece
The fourth day
Is this line secure? I have to talk to you.
Its secure. Why havent you reported sooner, Kaplan?
Weve had a problem here.
A pause. The girl?
Im afraid so.
You killed her, didnt you? You had strict orders to take her alive.
Shes alive.
Then what?
Shes alive but shes no use to us.
Youre trying to tell me you screwed up.
We had her, OK? She was right in our hands. But she was hard to catch. She was on a motorcycle. We chased her for about three miles, from the villa up into the hills. Those roads are twisty, and theres a lot of forest. We tried to head her off, but she panicked. She went off the road, where we couldnt follow. I left Ross and Parker in the vehicle and took Hudson with me. We went in after her on foot.
And she got away.
No. We got her. She didnt get far before she came off the bike.
Whats the damage?
No serious external damage. A few cuts and grazes. But she suffered a head trauma, and thats the problem. She was unconscious a long time, nearly thirty hours. Came round yesterday. But she has some kind of traumatic amnesia. She cant answer our questioning, because her memory has blanked out.
Youre sure you got the right person?
One hundred per cent sure.
How bad is she?
We cant really say. The amnesia might be short term.
Youd better hope so. Have you any idea how serious this is?
Its under control.
Doesnt sound much like that from this end, Kaplan. If she doesnt regain her memory soon, youll have to get her back here where there are proper facilities.
Theres another small problem.
You mean this gets worse?
All her things have disappeared from the villa. We went there to collect everything. Its not there any more. Luggage, papers. All gone. She wasnt meant to be leaving until morning. It means we have to replan. It cant look like an accident any more.
Nice work, Kaplan.
One more thing. There was someone at the party, some boyfriend, we think. Hed been hanging around. We didnt think anything of it. But then at the party he spilled her drink just after Hudson spiked it. Looked deliberate.
So he knows something. Who is he?
Just a local guy, as far as we know. One of her many boyfriends. Probably married, so he was real discreet. The villa has a linked garage, and he always parked his Mercedes there where we couldnt see it. Now we think he took her things away, in the car, earlier on. And were pretty sure she was RVing with him when we took her.
So he could know everything.
Basically. But there was no way we could have known that.
You have any information at all on this person?
Were working on it.
Youre going to have to rescue this situation quickly. Were on the clock here. People will start to miss her.
Well find him.
Youd better. And when you do, you contain the situation. There might still be a chance of saving this mess. This goes up in smoke, youre dead. Understand?
Chapter Nine
Oxford
The sixth day
After two solid days of study, Ben felt ready to breathe some air again. The sun was shining through his window, and he felt the tug of the outdoors. Back in Ireland, he made a point of running ten miles every day.
He put on jogging pants and a T-shirt and walked briskly into town, where he picked his way through the shoppers in Cornmarket and walked down towards his old college, Christ Church. Entering through the main gates, he found himself looking across the vast main quadrangle. He took a deep breath.
He walked across the quad, gazing around him at the regal old sandstone buildings as they caught the gold of the sun. Distant memories flooded back. In the centre of the quad, surrounded by neat lawns and perched above an ornate stone fountain, stood the familiar statue of Mercury the winged messenger. He walked past it, trotted up some steps to the far side of the quad and headed for an arched entrance. Tucked away behind it was the smallest cathedral in England, which doubled as the college chapel. Ben hadnt planned on going in, but now he felt himself drawn to the place. He slipped in through the door.
At the far end of the cathedral, a morning service was in progress. Ben didnt recognise the priest in the pulpit, but he was sure hed be meeting him sooner or later in the course of his studies. The mans voice was solemn and gentle as he read from the Gospel of St Matthew. His words echoed off the thirteenth-century columns and walls and drifted up to the magnificently ornate ceiling. The small congregation was clustered near the front, listening attentively.