Although hungrier than imagined he could do no more than pick at the deliciously tasting meal. Conversation between them was virtually non-existent throughout, though Catherine appeared to exhibit little objection to his continued muteness. Eventually, he had to ask.
“Was it because of me, the amateurish attempt at surgery?” he asked.
“Rosa’s infertility?” she replied.
“Yes.”
“No. If anything her medical team espoused the view your prompt action probably saved her life.”
He nodded and picked again at the food on the plate.
“The meal is not to your taste?”
“The meal is fine. I’m not hungry, that’s all.”
He could feel her eyes watching him intently.
“It is a difficult decision,” she said.
He looked darkly into her eyes.
“I should be with them not going up against them.”
“Except you agreed to stop interfering with our project,” she said. “And in return Gratia was granted her freedom was she not?”
“There was nothing in the agreement about me helping you to implement your plan.”
“Think of it merely as an exercise in helping to maintain the status quo.”
Matt returned to silently prodding the food on the plate, conscious of her steady gaze on his face.
“Do you now regret making the agreement, keeping Gratia out of prison?”
The fork prodded and nudged the finely chopped carrot a few millimetres around the edge of the plate to nowhere in particular.
“I can’t go up against Rosa,” he said.
“Of course not, and neither do we want you to. We seek a peaceful settlement and you are our best option.”
“Options, that’s all people are to you, Catherine.”
“I do not believe so.”
“So what exactly is it you do believe in then?”
She placed her knife and fork neatly upon the surface of the blue patterned place mat.
“I believe the planet is in great jeopardy, that the human race is far closer to the precipice than most people appreciate. And that the major cause for our ills is overpopulation.”
“There is no properly researched or scientifically agreed limit to the ideal population equilibrium.”
“You do not need a scientist to know millions are starving and an even greater number live in abject poverty. As our species increase in number, grow in size and live longer, the problem multiplies exponentially to the point we are unable to cope. This point is close, very close, and that is why we must take remedial action and actively reduce our numbers.”
The argument wasn’t lost on him.
“And you have the perfect weapon,” he said. “A serum which allows you to slow and manage the growth of mankind and which also permits the adoption of a selective approach to the process. The criminal element is your priority target group is it not?”
“Except we now have the other problem,” she said.
He thought for a moment.
“Do these people know of the antidote?”
“We believe so, but not of its side effects.”
“It makes no sense, if they believe you have an antidote.”
“Who knows their real objective,” she replied. “It is clear to both sides the financial demand could not be met. Perhaps it is the power, the ability to hold the world to ransom which motivates them.”
Francine appeared to clear the dishes, unable to conceal the frown exhibiting her disappointment at Matt’s barely touched meal. He smiled weakly in return as she gathered the plates and left. Matt refilled the glasses with the bottle of red, aware of Catherine’s sense of urgency.
“I’m not the right man for this job,” he said. “You said it yourself. They are a trained team of professional operatives while I’m no more than a gifted amateur who got lucky and had the good fortune to have Rosa Cain on his side at the time. I’m no super secret agent, just a bloke from out in the sticks of north east England who stumbled into something which was way over his head and came out the other end as Matt Durham. My real name is Michael Daniels.”
“And as Michael Daniels you were an army reservist sent to do a tour in Afghanistan.”
“Three months.”
“While on patrol you came under fire.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“The officers were wounded, unable to give instruction, and you took command and led your team to safety.”
“I saw an opening, that’s all.”
“An opening no-one else could see.”
“The others would have worked it out once they’d got their heads together.”
“But they didn’t. They looked for someone to take a lead, to follow, and they followed you.”
“There wasn’t time to think …”
“Tell me, why would a brash and arrogant, self-obsessed man by the name of Michael Daniels refuse a commendation for leading his team out of danger?”
“There’s no glory in war, no pride in killing a thirteen year old Afghan boy with a rifle. Don’t paint me as someone I’m not. And how the hell do you know all this stuff about me anyhow?”
“I know,” she said. “Perhaps Michael Daniels is not the man you really are. Maybe the truth is that it is the man in Afghanistan who is the real you. I believe Matt Durham is the man closer to the person inside. He is resourceful, courageous and calm under extreme pressure.”
“Spin it as much as you want. I’m not the right guy.”
“We have the right man,” she said.
“Ameera and Marius don’t share your confidence. You can see it in their eyes.”
“It is always difficult for employees to accept contractors.”
“You make it sound as though you’re running an everyday business.”
“Whilst the industry may be a little unique the issues over staffing remain much the same.”
He sipped at the full bodied red, doing his best to avoid her constant gaze.
“You should use Will. At least he would know what he was doing.”
The edgings of a smile appeared on her lips.
“No, I have the right man,” she repeated. “And Will is no longer in our employ, hasn’t been for some months.”
“What?” he said. “I didn’t think people were allowed to resign from your line of work.”
“We are not the complete monsters you believe us to be. Will is a good man who has served our cause well. He will be discreet throughout retirement.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She smiled again.
“Did he tell you he had resigned?”
“No.”
“Then I need say no more.”
He took a moment to digest the news.
“What made him do it?” he asked.
“Will has come to appreciate his life on the island. He has found a woman he wishes to settle with, likes the environment he lives in and the job he does … and he likes you.”
Francine appeared with dessert, offering him a hard scowl-like glare as she placed the small glass bowl in front of Matt and then filled it with fruit salad.
“Thank you, Francine,” said Catherine.
He noticed the discreet eye contact between the two women as he watched her leave.
“You must eat all of that.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Francine does not take kindly to personal insults.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“No, but neither did you eat the first course. Francine is a little sensitive about her cooking.”
“Really?” he said, and she nodded.
He responded by making short work of the collection of finely diced fruit, to Catherine’s amusement. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to ask her the direct question.
“So who is watching me now?”
“It is not Will,” she responded with a half smile.
“I can figure that out for myself. But who
did you replace him with?”
He could see in her eyes her mind was working to frame the response carefully.
“Will has persuaded me you no longer present a threat to our organisation, or intentions. He was no longer needed.”
Her reply lacked conviction, and she knew it. Before he could formulate his own response she changed the subject.
“You should forgive Stefan for his earlier comments. He is a little stressed.”
“Something of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded.
“Does he know all about your dirty little secret?”
This time she shook her head.
“So his attendance here today was purely as the joker, the emotional blackmail card?”
She smiled.
“Has it worked?”
“Not really,” he said.
“It was always a long shot. I’d hoped his mental condition would stir the sympathetic side of your character. It is clear he remains very much in love with Rosa.”
He blinked unintentionally.
“So why has she done it, joined the others?”
Catherine appeared oddly reluctant to answer.
“And another thing,” he said. “Isn’t Rosa living under the misapprehension I’m dead? How will that play if I manage to catch up with her?”
“The perfect opportunity for you to show her you are alive and well. One more reason for you to accept the challenge I would have thought.”
The unexpected sounds of a baby’s cries startled him from deliberation. Catherine rose quickly and departed the room at speed, appearing moments later with something cradled in her arms. She proceeded to lower herself gently into one of the soft leather chairs, unbuttoning her blouse before unclipping the front of her bra. The lips of the infant avidly searched for and then smothered the erect nipple to suckle energetically for food.
“Is that yours?”
“She is mine. I have had the good fortune to be blessed with a second opportunity to be a good and proper mother.”
“But … how?”
His reaction caused her to laugh.
“You must be aware of the human reproductive process by now, Matt.”
“Yes, but …”
“Unplanned, but no less welcome,” she said.
He stared, transfixed, as the child energetically went about its business; its little hands kneading into her mother’s bosom. Matt had never witnessed breastfeeding in the raw before and was entranced.
“Isn’t breastfeeding supposed to shrivel them up?”
Catherine laughed aloud.
“It is clearly obvious to your naked eye this is the case.”
“Touché,” he said.
“How old is she?”
“Her name is Ilsa. She will shortly be three months old.”
“And the father?” he asked.
“A man,” she said.
“That much I guessed. But where is he?”
“He is with someone else.”
“Does he know, about Ilsa?”
“Her father has no feeling towards children.”
“Then how could you let it happen?”
“I told you. It was unplanned, though no less welcome for she has filled my life with joy.”
“You certainly know to pick them, Catherine, bearing the children of men who aren’t in the slightest part interested.”
“Ilsa has one devoted parent. That is enough. Every child should have at least one parent.”
Try as he may Matt couldn’t drag his eyes away, little mouth drawing with all its strength against the nipple.
“She does have her father’s eyes and, it would appear, his temperament,” said Catherine
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I have not arrived at a firm decision. Timing, and the right occasion, is everything in these matters,” she said.
“Talking about fathers what ever happened to Eva-Maria’s dad, James Kimber? When that reporter did his story on the original conspirators he named Kimber. All the other names in the original files might be dead but he’s still very much alive.”
“Jimmy has too much money and influence to be troubled by such conjecture.”
He continued to be enthralled by the unfolding scene.
“You have them for life, you know.”
“I would not have it any other way,” she instantly replied with motherly pride. “There is a special bond between parent and child. It is unique, hard to describe. They are the source of so much joy, and worry as they get older. Yet, without them, I believe a person’s life is forever unfulfilled.”
Matt thought back to the first time Catherine had shown love towards a child, the night in Brussels when he returned her first daughter, Eva-Maria, back into her care.
“Catherine?” spoke Francine’s voice through the half opened door.
“It is alright. I have her.”
What struck Matt most about the occasion was the sheer joy he could see in Catherine’s eyes. He couldn’t imagine being as close to one of the things never mind having it draw fluid from your body.
“I suppose its all part of the female psyche, broodiness and the desire to give birth,” he said.
“Oh, there is far more to it.”
“Such as what?” he asked.
“A woman does not search to have any child, but a child by the man she chooses.”
“You reckon?”
She started to laugh.
“What other reason would a woman have to punish her body so brutally? Not for the process of giving birth, but for the love she holds for the man she has chosen.”
“So what’s your excuse, for Ilsa?”
“There is the odd exception, though I believe Ilsa’s father to have special qualities.”
He dwelt on her words for a while.
“I can’t help thinking your view of motherhood is a little too simplistic.”
“I have some firsthand experience,” she said with a gentle smile. “Certainly I am better qualified to judge the emotions of women than you.”
“Love, eh?” he said after a pause.
“For a clever man you reveal a remarkable inability to see the glaringly obvious, what is right before your eyes.”
A furrow erupted on his forehead to accompany the half laugh and slight sigh.
“I have said something amusing.”
“No, you’ve just repeated the exact words Gratia said to me before I left Victoria.”
“You mean Grace.”
“No,” he said after another short pause. “She will always be Gratia to me.”
Catherine dropped into silence, appearing to concentrate on the task in hand. Not that there was anything Matt could see she needed to do other than hold the child to her bosom.
“Your attachment to her is strong,” she said.
“I should leave you to it,” he replied.
“No, don’t get up. You will disturb Ilsa.”
He looked at the tiny bundle, ending its task.
“What is it you find to be so compelling? You have seen my breast before,” she said with barely contained amusement.
He realised he’d been staring.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, glancing away.
Her amusement broke out into a gentle laugh.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, nodding towards Ilsa.
“No.”
“How long do you have to do it for?”
“I don’t have to do it at all. I choose so.”
The noise of a ringing phone broke the subsequent silence. Catherine rose and stepped towards him. Without warning she deposited her daughter into his lap and grinned.
“I need to take the call,” she said.
“What are you expecting me to do?”
“Not to drop her.”
His jaw gaped open at the sudden responsibility.
“Don’t worry, she will not bite. Not unless I tell her too.”
Matt, eyes magnified in ho
rror, found himself unable to mutter any kind of response. He remained mute as she stepped away to pick up the phone and then stride out of the room to talk. He blinked several times to try and get his mind to think rationally. A small hand rested on his chest, a tiny foot on his abdomen, and the little head covered in blonde hair tucked against his shoulder. His immediate reaction was to consider leaping from the seat. Fear prevented him from moving. He remained speechless as the infant pressed its fingers into his neck, and then slowly moved up towards his chin. The touch of her hand against his skin felt soft, almost weightless, an incredible sensation.
“Crap,” he whispered.
The head moved again and his eyes widened in amazement at the gentle motion. He looked down at the tightly clasped eyes and her light breath brushed his cheek, dozing in perfect contentment.
“She has taken to you,” said Catherine, quietly re-entering the room.
He made to move, in an effort to return her daughter to the bosom of its mother.
“Stay,” smiled Catherine. “She is content being next to you. Enjoy the moment.”
“This is enjoyment?”
“Methinks thou protests too much,” she said.
The Austrian woman laughed at the strained expression of panic on his face.
“It is Ilsa’s way of letting you know you will make a good father someday.”
The child snuggled closer to his chest. For some reason this relaxed him. Whilst he couldn’t liken it to real enjoyment, there was something about this strange situation which felt … different.
“Why did you pick the name Ilsa?”
“Its meaning, God’s promise,” she replied.
“Since when have you been in any way religious?”
She smiled.
“The moment I became aware I had conceived. Someone had looked upon me kindly.”
“The father, during conception I suspect,” he quipped.
He felt her eyes studiously observing him.
“Was it them?” he asked.
“Yes. They would like your answer.”
He decided to go for broke.
“There will be a price, non negotiable,” he said.
“Speak.”
Matt told her of his request. She listened intently, her eyes and facial muscles unmoved by his demand.
“They will not agree to this until the mission is complete.”
“No agreement, no mission.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“There is insufficient time to organise such a thing.”
“Then make the time.”
He could tell her mind to be in deep contemplation, the glazed expression in her eyes giving it away.
“How can we be sure you will do it?”
“It’s Rosa,” he replied. “Of course I’ll do it, you already knew I would.”
Her eyes told him this was true.
“And I need something else.”
“Such as what?” she asked.
“Two doses of the antidote. One for me and one for Rosa, in case anything goes wrong.”
“You can have one.”
“One?” he questioned.
“We cannot risk the antidote falling into the wrong hands. It will be hard enough to secure the release of one dose.”
He soon worked out what she meant.
“You’re under some pressure?”
“It goes with the role. Should they agree I can confirm to them you will operate to my instruction?”
“Yes,” he said after a slight pause.
“I will make the call.”
Catherine reached to retrieve the phone and disappeared from the room. Her movement disturbed the tiny frame and Ilsa’s eyes opened to stare innocently up. He expected her to burst into sorrowful tears at the sight of his face. Instead she tightened the grip of her small hand on his shirt and spread a little foot over his waist
“Well, what do you think, Ilsa?” he said. “Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?”
She kept her gaze on him for a short while and then closed her eyes to settle back into sleep.
“Guess I’ll have to work that out for myself then,” he said.
Within a few minutes Catherine returned. She approached the chair and gently lifted the little bundle into her arms.
“You have managed to survive,” she said. “Clearly not quite the ordeal you expected.”
And it hadn’t been. Not much of an ordeal at all.
“What did they say?”
“The objective is to locate and return the inventory in full by whatever means necessary.”
“Sounds carefully worded.”
“It is the language they use.”
“And what about Rosa?” he asked.
“She must be returned unharmed.”
“That’s not part of their plan though, is it?”
“I feel responsible. It was I who introduced her to Stefan. Do you accept the terms?”
Matt recalled her apparent look of contempt towards the man during his brief visit and found this additional request odd to say the least. He took a deep breath and nodded.
Chapter Eight
A Thousand Times