Fear of the Fathers (48 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Up until last night you seemed quite disgusted by the thought of these ‘kept women'.”

“Well, I can't bothered any more. I'm fed up with being fed up, if you know what I mean. Besides ‘when in Rome…'.” A high-pitched squeal of laughter came from one of Oggi's adoring fans. “Come on,” said Stella. “Let's go and have a game of pool and leave Hugh Hefner here with his bunny girls.”

Jennings followed her over to the pool table. There was a bounce in her step that he had never witnessed before, and he smiled at the thought of her being happy.

She set up the balls and broke off, potting two yellows in the process.

“Not bad for a chick,” said Jennings.

Stella poked her tongue out playfully and proceeded to put away another two balls. Jennings watched from a sofa at the side, and took in every detail as she moved around the table. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, and an equally close fitting white-strapped cotton top; a simple and effective combination that showed off her devastating curves. Her dark hair flowed loosely over her shoulders, almost perfect in its contained disorder, with a sultry wisp suspended over her left eye. Her lips were pink and full, and when she smiled they revealed a set of piano-white teeth that hadn't yet succumbed to her forty-a-day habit. But best of all, thought Jennings, was her laugh: it was a laugh that resounded through his very being like a wave of electric sunshine. It had been difficult enough hiding his feelings from ‘miserable Stella', but now she'd begun to rediscover herself it was going to be nigh on impossible. She was quite simply, the most beautiful, sexy, vivacious creature he'd ever had the fortune to meet, and his heart ached for her.

“Are you going to take your go or not?” she said, disturbing his reverie.

“What?” said Jennings.

“It's your go Walter Mitty. You're in a world of your own there, aren't you?”

“Sorry,” said Jennings. He got up and took a cue from the rack. As he strode to the table their bodies made the lightest of contact. That, combined with her dizzying, voluptuous smell, nearly sent him over the edge. He took a deep breath and resisted the sudden urge to go ‘John Wayne' and grab her and kiss her hard on the lips.

The shot she had left him was relatively easy, but she sat down directly in his line of sight and with a disturbing inevitability he missed it completely.

“Come on,” she laughed. “My Grandma could have potted that – with one hand tied behind her back, reciting the complete works of Shakespeare; backwards.”

“I think the table moved,” said Jennings. “We're on a submarine for Christ's sake.”

“Funny that. It didn't seem to be moving when I took my shots. I was informed by our host that the floor was self-correcting.” She returned to the table. “Come on, out of the way. Let a professional show you how it's done.”

Jennings sat impotently as Stella cleared the rest of her yellows and then the black. She looked so pleased with herself that he wondered if he should let her win every game just to see her face light up. But it occurred to him that any more emasculation would not only crucify his competitiveness, but also reduce his standing in her eyes still further. Stella didn't want a lapdog, she needed an equal.

They continued to play for the next couple of hours and the honours were more or less even. Jennings suspected that he was a few frames ahead but let it pass. The rest of the day was spent drinking champagne and cocktails and eating luxurious food.

In the evening Kandinsky joined them for a game of cards. Whilst Oggi, Stella, and Jennings played poker with their host and Anatol, Stratton disappeared and wasn't seen for the rest of the night. Somehow Jennings ended up winning a few thousand US dollars and he left the table a more-than-happy man, although he wasn't too sure when he'd get to spend it.

At an indeterminate hour both Stella and Jennings decided they'd had enough. Kandinsky and Anatol had retired, and Oggi had disappeared for a spot of ‘room service'. They finished their drinks and said goodnight to the barman.

“I'll see you tomorrow then,” said Stella, as they stood outside her room. “That's if it's not tomorrow already.”

“Or the day after,” added Jennings. “I've already lost complete track of time. But it's kind of good in a way. It's liberating.”

Stella looked up into his eyes, and for a brief moment he felt a connection. It was the first time he'd caught a glimpse of anything other than platonicity from her. He gazed back, his head flipping through a million different scenarios, all of them ending with them sharing that first intimate kiss, the one that changes the dynamic of a friendship forever. But before he could act the moment was gone and, with a slight awkwardness, Stella had averted her glance.

“Well then,” she said, touching his arm affectionately. “I'll see you later. Have a good sleep.”

Jennings watched her into the room then headed for his own. On the surface his situation hadn't changed, but inside he started to feel a glimmer of the cruellest master – hope.

Their days on the submarine passed happily and all too quickly. On the rare occasions she wasn't out drinking with Jennings, Stella had taken advantage of Kandinsky's extensive library and indulged in some quality reading time. Jennings had spent most of his stay accumulating a large bundle of US dollars, mainly courtesy of Anatol and Kandinsky. When not at the bar Oggi was frequently ‘unavailable' in his room. Of all of them only Stratton had kept a clear head, dividing his time between sitting with Titan, chatting to Kandinsky, and seeking solitude in his quarters.

The night before their departure Kandinsky called everyone together for a farewell meal. “Eat well my friends,” he said. “For tomorrow you will be heading into the wilderness, and living from ration packs.” His words were sincere but failed to dampen the spirits of the group who, for the most part, were still surfing on a wave of heavy intoxication.

Jennings was seated opposite Stella, who was sat next to Stratton. Although he tried his best to mind his own business, he found himself unable to resist the occasional peek across the table to see how the two of them were interacting. The past ten days had been a bit of a blur, but he'd enjoyed every second of the time that he and Stella had spent together. Stratton's absence for most of the voyage had left her at a loose end, with Jennings picking up the mantle of escort. Now that Stratton had reappeared Jennings was relegated to the sidelines, and even though he knew there was no reason for it, he suddenly felt hurt and used.

“Are you alright?” Stella asked him.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “I'm just a bit tired. All this good living's catching up with me. I need a good night's sleep, that's all.”

Stella gave him a brief, unreadable look, and returned to her food.

“How's Titan doing?” Oggi asked Stratton, as he wolfed down his beef Wellington. “Is he alright to be let loose?”

“Yeah, he's fine now. Dr Vashista's done a really good job with him. In fact he's getting a bit agitated at being cooped up. He'll be glad to get some fresh air into his lungs. But then I suppose all of us will.”

“Don't count on it,” said Oggi. “I could quite happily stay here indefinitely.”

“I'm sure you could,” said Stratton.

“I take it you have enjoyed your stay then?” said Kandinsky.

Oggi lay down his cutlery and lifted his glass. “Arman,” he said. “This has been the best two weeks of my life. You are without doubt the most gracious, attentive, fabulously brilliant host that ever lived. May the universe bless you.” The rest of the table followed suit and toasted Kandinsky's health.

“Thank you my friends,” he said. “It has been a great pleasure having you on board. I have thoroughly enjoyed your company. I am sad that the journey has come to an end so soon. But we will meet again, of that I am certain.”

“Let's hope so!” Oggi toasted.

Anatol, who had been slightly conspicuous by his absence, finally turned up just before dessert.

“Aha! There you are my friend,” said Kandinsky. “I was beginning to wonder where you had got to. I was about to send out a search party.”

Anatol apologized to the table for his tardiness and explained that he had been organizing a boat to pick them up from the submarine and ferry them to the mainland. “It is difficult getting these people to understand,” he said. “They seem to speak English well enough, but they do not listen properly. You say one thing, then they repeat it back as if they have listened to a completely different conversation.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jennings, laughing. “I've spent enough hours talking to call centres in Mumbai to last me a lifetime.”

Stratton, meanwhile, had been watching Anatol's face closely. He wasn't one for making snap judgements about people, but there was something about the guy that didn't sit well. He got the impression that there was more to his lateness than he was letting on. Stratton wouldn't be sorry to see the back of him.

It was just before dawn and the street was quiet. In the small row of detached houses only one light broke the darkness. A shadow moved back and forth behind the kitchen roller-blinds. Annie watched intently from the hedge outside. If she was right, then he would be leaving any minute. For nearly two weeks she'd logged their movements – husband, wife, child – and she now felt ready to move, confident in her window of opportunity.

Sure enough, at exactly 5.30am, Stone exited the front door and went to his car. She waited patiently as he performed his usual ritual of checking each tyre and wheel-arch in turn with a torch. As he came up from the last one the beam inadvertently flashed across her eyes, and she had to make a quick dive to ground. She lay there with her head in the dirt, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for the sound of the car door and then the engine. Instead, what followed was a long, intense silence, interspersed with the occasional soft footstep on the lawn. But just as she felt sure she was going to be collared, the footsteps padded away. The car door slammed and the engine started.

Only when the car had faded into the distance did Annie eventually rise to her feet. She brushed herself down, walked over to the garage, and slipped down the side-passage. Producing a pen-light from her pocket she scanned the brickwork carefully, running her fingers over it, feeling for a change in surface. She quickly found what she was looking for and manoeuvred the false brick until it revealed its little secret. Stone may have been the Prime Minister's most trusted security man but his home protection was more than a little lax.

Spare key in hand she checked the street for movement and shot to the front door. Once inside she typed the four digit code into the alarm and caught her breath. So far, so good.

She opened up her small rucksack and pulled out a roll of duck tape and an eight-inch hunting knife. She removed her shoes and, with the lightest of feet, climbed the stairs. After stopping briefly at the top to steady herself she turned left and crept down the landing towards her first target.

The door opened noiselessly. On the bed in the corner, her arm cradling a
Care Bear
, the little girl slept peacefully, unaware of the intruder. Annie paused for a moment and gazed at the innocent little face, briefly overwhelmed by a sense of remorse at what she was about to do. But any penitent thoughts were immediately stubbed out by the bloody image of her beloved David being butchered.

She continued across the room and stood above the bed. With one hand on either side she brought a piece of tape slowly down to the child's mouth and gently covered it. The girl opened her eyes. A sleepy squint suddenly turned to a bulbous, bewildered stare as, realizing the woman in her room was not her mother, her cheeks puffed out in an attempt to scream. Annie looked down at her coldly, knife in hand, and put a finger to her mouth. The girl started to cry.

Once the child was securely bound with tape Annie moved up the landing. The door at the end was slightly ajar and she peeked in before venturing any further. In the grey light she could just make out the woman's figure, spooned on her side facing the window. She tiptoed across the thick carpet keeping her eyes fixed on her slumbering prey. With her concentration elsewhere she didn't notice the shoe lying on the floor, and when she stepped on it her ankle buckled, sending her sideways and forcing her to hold on to the end of the bed.

The woman started at the shudder and bolted upright. Without thinking, Annie leapt across the bed and pinned her down, punching her in the face to force a submission. The woman screamed loudly, piercing Annie's eardrums. They struggled noisily until Annie eventually had her subdued, with a knife at her throat.

“Make another sound and you're dead,” she hissed. “You
and
your daughter. Do you understand me?”

The woman nodded. Frightened tears rolled from her eyes.

“Good,” said Annie. “Now let's tie you up before you get any funny ideas.”

The sun blazed brightly in the cloudless sky. Beneath it, on the shimmering turquoise ocean, the small launch chugged away lazily making its slow way to the distant shore. Jennings lay back, staring up into the eternal blue, and took deep, clearing breaths of sea air to combat his post-binge depression. Oggi and Stella were similarly disposed, and of the group only Stratton appeared relatively calm and cheerful. He sat at the front of the boat with Titan, his hair waving lightly in the rejuvenating breeze.