With his backpack slung over one shoulder, Josh got through the ground-level entrance, despite its being locked, climbed up to the top-floor hallway, and knocked on Suzanne's front door. Then he stood waiting, unable not to smile.
The door opened. Suzanne looked at him.
"Hello?"
He said nothing.
"Look, who are you and what do you-? Josh? My God, Josh."
"You're not supposed to recognise me."
"I almost didn't. That's so spooky."
"You want to make out with a stranger? We could switch the lights off."
"Come in. For God's sake, come in before Mrs Arrowsmith sees you."
After he was inside and Suzanne had locked the door, he said: "Who's Mrs Arrowsmith? The neighbour?"
"Yes, and I've got a reputation to uphold, Mr Cumberland. Strange men coming in and out at all hours would not be much help."
"Well, I'm certainly strange."
"You are, in fact. You weren't thinking of not taking that stuff off, were you?"
"I wasn't… Was that some kind of psych trick?"
"What do you mean?"
"The way you said something about what I wasn't thinking of."
"Ah, so you have been paying attention."
"To you, definitely."
"Then go in the bathroom and remove that disguise right now."
"Yes, ma'am."
Afterwards, he came out looking normal but smelling like turpentine. He went out to the kitchen.
"Hi," he said. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking us supper, because you're staying the night, in case you hadn't realised."
"Ah."
"So what have you been up to? And where did you get that disguise?"
"A friend of mine, works in an interesting place."
"What kind of interesting place?"
"Do you know" – he stared at her brown eyes – "I forget. Really. When I'm looking at you."
"Hmm. So why the disguise, if you won't tell me where?"
"So no one recognises me afterwards. After I confront Zebediah Tyndall on camera."
"In the middle of this knife-final thing?"
"In the middle of this thing" – Josh blew out a breath – "that millions of people will be watching in realtime, yes. On the day of the general election, when a large chunk of the population are expected to vote online in the evening."
"Right. And that will help how?"
"Well, you know, when people are watching sports events, they have all sorts of secondary panes popped up: fighter stats, you name it. Panes that could show any number of interesting things instead, to do with political corruption."
"And how many people will be with you?" asked Suzanne.
"Like I said, millions of folk watch the-"
"No, how many people are helping you to carry out this insanity?"
"I'm still ironing out details. Six to nine, probably."
"Is that enough?"
"The tighter the perimeter, the fewer people you use to infiltrate."
"All right." Suzanne placed peppers and an onion atop a chopping-board, then picked up a kitchen knife. "And no one's going to stick one of these in anyone?"
"I hope not."
"Does that mean you'll have guns?"
"Probably not. Gunpowder gives off a detectable signature when you-"
"And you'll have nine men with you. They are men, I'm guessing. No women?"
"Women are far too sensible." Josh stared into space for a moment. "Apart from my friend Hannah, maybe. She's probably up for it."
"They'll be inside with you all the way?"
"Er… Inside, it'll just be me."
"No." She put down the knife. "No, Josh Cumberland, that's not good enough. You cannot go in there by yourself. I won't allow you to."
The obvious response was: How can you stop me? But she looked serious.
And she was pulling up her sleeve. Beneath the kitchen lights, the long scars were white-and-silver, and very bright, with a near-liquid sheen.
"That's what happens when someone leaves me alone."
"Suzanne…"
"My brother Gerard went out to check the banging sounds from outside, thinking the neighbourhood toughs were setting light to cars again, and he was supposed to come right back but he never did. I never saw him again, only his coffin which they kept sealed. They wouldn't let us look at him. Not after what had been done to him."
"Oh, Suzanne. But if you never… What happened?"
"You mean these?" She stared down at the scars, her mouth turned down. "They're all about fighting back, cutting deep, causing hurt because it's the only way to be alive."
"Who cut you? Who were you fighting?"
Because if they still lived, he would hunt them down; and they would suffer slowly.
"Don't you get it, Josh?"
Things turned inside his mind.
"Oh, shit."
I should've seen it.
"Right. When you're helpless, there's only one enemy you can turn on, and that's your own weakness. Only one person who's soft and weak enough to deserve the way it cuts into your muscle, the skin stinging but the insides feeling weird, more than anything, and the little globules of grey fat soaking in your own red blood."
It happens in prisons, among prisoners who lack the ability to fight the others off.
"You cut yourself?"
"It was the only thing I could do."
"Oh, my dear Suzanne."
"I'm sorry." She sniffed back tears. "I'm really sorry. But that's why I'm going in with you. Why I can't let you walk out, promising you'll come back, when maybe you won't. And I couldn't stand that, Josh Cumberland. I could not stand that."
He didn't know what to tell her. Observation posts were not made to be comfortable, and few people could remain still and undetected for days on end.
Once, he had set up an OP in the loft of a family home, keeping watch on a house across the street, while using plastic scent-absorbing containers for bodily waste, spending most of his time holding still. And all during the five-day op, a boisterous family went on with their lives in the house underneath, never once suspecting the presence of Josh Cumberland in their attic.
Was this the kind of person Suzanne wanted in her life? The kind of person she could act like, even for a short time?
"You'll need to remain a non-combatant. They set the thing up as a sort of street scene, the final. A bit of urban chaos. Women don't fight if they're not carrying, and don't have to fight even if they are. Carrying a knife, I mean."
"What happens when you make your move?"
"Once it kicks off… it'll get crazy."
"So. In that case" – she looked at the inside of her forearms, then at him – "I may need to protect myself, once you kick over the rules. How long do we have before going inside?"
"Twenty-two days."
"That long?" Her smile was like a child's, shining from inside. "You've heard of accelerated learning?"
"Training is my business, and it's a large part of what the Regiment does: teach elite groups around the world."
"So you use intensive techniques?"
"Sure we-"
"Josh, my lover. You ain't seen nuthin' yet."
On the first day of preparation, Josh cleared the lounge floor as he had with Richard, then he faced Suzanne in the centre of the room, and told her to put her hands out in front of her, keeping elbows bent. Placing his wrists against hers, he pressed gently.
"So, here's the game. As I move my hands, you keep your wrists pressed against mine."
"You said you were going to teach me how to fight."
"Trust me. Here we go."
He began moving his hands independently of each other, in slow motion at first. An observer would have seen a kind of tai-chi waltz, initially with feet static, then with slow footwork as he began to move and Suzanne reacted. There was no need to tell her to pivot rather than backstep: with this low intensity, the reaction was natural, coming from a place of calmness.
"This doesn't seem much like-"
"Let me up the pace a little."
His hand pressure became harder as well as faster, increasing by increments so she kept pace. And then his hand motion became more directed, left and right still moving independently, but occasionally curving or thrusting toward her face or ribs, liver or spleen. All the while, her wrists remained glued to his, absorbing and redirecting the force vectors, protecting the vulnerable parts of her anatomy.
Finally, he called a break.
"That's amazing." Suzanne was breathing. "Suddenly, it clicked, and I understood what we were doing."
"Wax on, wax off."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind. Do you do much dancing? Because you handle your bodyweight pretty well."
"Yoga," she said. "I do a bit of yoga."
"Hmm. You know the Salute to the Sun?"
"Of course, but I'm surprised you do, Josh Cumberland."
"All right, we'll stretch and get warm with that, followed by some Indian wrestling exercises that sort of come from yoga. Then we'll chi sao a bit more."
"Chi sao?"
"With the wrists, sticking 'em together. Chinese term. The Okinawans call it kakie."
"All right. What else are we doing today?"
"How about I show you how to break a person's neck?"
"Oh, goody."
On the third day of preparation, it was nearly noon when Suzanne turned from the coffee machine and stood with hands on hips.
"Josh? Weren't your friends supposed to be here an hour ago?"
Leaning against a wall cupboard, Josh answered, "The RV was your place, right here, at eleven hundred. Fifty-seven minutes ago."
"RV?"
"Rendezvous. I believe that's a French word, cherie."
"Ouais. I had the impression your punctuality was a professional habit."
"We're never late for an RV. On operations, a few minutes late can mean disaster, so we learn to be on time."
"But fifty-seven minutes late, and you don't look worried, Josh."
"I'm not."
"I don't-"
At that moment a shape unfolded itself from behind the couch, and another rotated around a corner from the bedroom door.
"Merde! Qui etes-vous? Espece de-Josh? Who are they?"
Suzanne backed up against the cooker.
This handsome reprobate is Tony." Josh gestured. "And the lady over there is Hannah."
"I…" Suzanne's hand was at her throat. "That's not… How long have they been there?"
"Since 11 o'clock," said Hannah. "Like your boyfriend says, we're never late for an RV."
"Merde," murmured Suzanne.
"Sacred blue," said Josh. "Cause I'm too polite to say shit."
"You know, you're sensitive and intelligent and overwhelmingly observant-"
"Ta lots."
"-and there's a part of you that's incredibly creepy. Did you know that? All of you?"
Tony advanced, holding out his hand. "Sorry. Professional habit. I'm really pleased to meet you, Dr Duchesne."
Behind him, Hannah said: "I'm looking forward to hearing about Josh's creepy part. Is it as small as everyone says it is?"
Suzanne giggled and Tony laughed, failing to shake hands; then the four were in hysterics like schoolkids.
"Even smaller," said Suzanne eventually, and set them off again.
On the fourth day of preparation, Suzanne taught Josh, Tony and Hannah how to put each other into trance. They took it in turns, two sitting at right angles to each other, while the third observed.
"Remember to synchronise your voice with their physiology," said Suzanne. "And use tonal marking as I told you."
Hannah was the best with voice control, leading Tony into a deeply altered state.
"That was amazing," he said when he came out of it.
"It's a slow process, this trance induction," said Josh. "I mean, there might be uses in preparing your mates for a contact – a firefight – and for the post-traumatic stuff. But you can't sit an enemy down and talk them down like that."
"If you think of them as an enemy," answered Suzanne, "you'll never lead them into trance. Hannah, did you realise that you were going into an altered state along with Tony? Actually, ahead of him?"
"Er… Yeah. My vision went a little weird, yet I was totally focused."
"Exactly."
"But Josh is right, "said Hannah. "It takes a while, doesn't it?"
Yet there were other approaches to combat than fast and hard. Josh remembered the single aikido class he had trained in, where most of the people practised exaggerated sweeping attacks, and when grabbed, they went with the flow of every technique instead of wrenching away. Few looked as if they could stop an angry ten year-old; but the instructor had forearms like a bear, and an attitude that was implacable. He stepped straight into the centre of rotation when his students attacked – the concept of irimi, entering the heart of the whirlwind – and slammed them in all directions.
It was strange that he thought of aikido with its wristgrabbing techniques, because just then Suzanne reached for Tony's hand as though about to shake it, but when Tony started to respond she twisted his hand, pushed it against his face and said one word:
"Sleep."
Tony's head rocked back and he was under.
"Holy fucking shit," said Hannah.
Josh looked at her; she stared at Josh. In the automatic choreography of amazement, they all turned to Suzanne.
And you thought I was scary.
On the seventh day, Vikram came to visit, wearing a thin raincoat and mild disguise. Tony had taken the disguise kit back to the Docklands apartment, and this was the result. Suzanne led him inside.
"I thought you were just going to materialise like a ninja," she said. "Isn't that what you guys do?"
"Not me. I'm a tech-head." Vikram grinned. "And a mere mortal."
"But he's OK, all the same," said Josh. "So what goodies have you brought us?"
Vikram opened his coat. "I feel like a flasher."
"But I like what you've got, darling," Josh told him. "A rather beautiful pair."
Under each armpit hung a small, neat handgun.
"I thought you said…" Suzanne stopped. "Something about gunpowder being detectable, wasn't it?"
"That's right." Vikram removed his coat, then struggled out of the shoulder holsters. "These electromag babies are strictly illegal. All ceramics and superconductors, no gunpowder involved. You'll want to use them only if necessary."
"We're going to be in front of cameras," said Josh. "I don't want viewers having any reason to think of special forces."
"Uh-huh. Cop hold of these." Vikram gave Josh the weapons, then turned back to his raincoat and pulled open the lining. "Here's your shirts, neatly folded. Hannah guessed your size, Suzanne."
"That's nice. Dark blue, not black?"
"So you could pass for an innocent person and still hide in the shadows." Vikram held up the shirt by the shoulders. "See those nice buttons?"
"Sure."
"They're fake. Josh?"
Josh took hold of the shirt-front and ripped it open, accompanied by the sound of Velcro.
"Very stylish," said Suzanne. "But what's the point?"
"You'll wear the shoulder holster under the shirt," answered Josh. "If you need to use it, you'll tear open the shirt and whip out the gun."
"Oh."
"So wear a bra," said Josh. "Unless you really want to distract them."
"I'll never remember how to do that. Not under pressure."
"Sure you will." Josh smiled at her. "I'll teach you."
On the eighth day, Tony returned. Josh got him to hold up an impact pad on each hand as a target, while Suzanne whipped palm strikes and punches into them, using plenty of hip twist.
"Whoa," said Tony. "That's what I call power."
"She's doing all right." Josh winked at Suzanne. "Really good."
"Thanks to my teacher here."
Josh wasn't so sure. She had deconstructed what went on inside his head when he fired off techniques, then reproduced his state of mind inside herself.
"When I hit the pads," he said now, "I hear Lofty's voice inside my head telling me to hit harder. Though I'd not been properly aware of it."
"So…"
"So Suzanne does the same thing, hears someone encouraging her on."
"Auditory hallucination," said Suzanne, "if you like."
Tony looked at the pads he was holding.
"That sounds nuts, except I've never known a beginner hit that way. There must be something in it."
Suzanne smiled at him.
"Josh tells me you were one of the best shots in the Regiment."
"One of the best?"
"He also said you were modest."
"Ah."
She picked up a coffee mug, walked to the far end of the room, and held it up.
"Imagine you were going to shoot this."
"All right."
"Really imagine it, as if you were holding a weapon."
From nowhere, Tony drew a real gun and pointed it. Josh remained relaxed.
"Interesting," said Suzanne. "How big is the mug?"
"About ten inches. But my wife would say three and a half."
"Yes, but how big does it really look?"
"It… Jesus." Tony lowered the gun. "It looks about four feet tall, but only in my head, you know? My mind's eye."
"Hmm. That's a common strategy among top marksmen," she said. "But I'd only read about it. You actually use it. Hallucinating – visualising – the target bigger than it is."
Tony looked at Josh.
"And you've been in this woman's company day and night for how long now?"
"I've lost track."
"When Amber moved in with me first, remember how she rearranged my furniture?"
"Er, yeah."
"At least she didn't refurbish the insides of my head. On the other hand, I didn't need it, whereas you clearly did, old mate."
Josh looked at Suzanne, whose reply was a beaming smile, full of innocence and wicked intent, all at the same time.
"Have you tidied up my mind," he said, "just cause you're a neuropsych and you can?"
"Oh, no."
"Well, thank God for-"
"It's because I'm a woman."
Tony laughed.
"She's well and truly got you, mate."
On the tenth day, after laying anti-surveillance kit throughout Suzanne's flat, Josh popped schematics up onto the wallscreen. Tony, Hannah, and Vikram watched from the couch, while Suzanne fetched coffee.
"There are five different possible OPs," Josh said. "We could lay up here, this crawlspace, which is the closest to the action, but the hardest to keep quiet in."
He had analysed the hiding places in various ways: ease of access – getting in without tripping alarms even he could not subvert – and ease of exit on the day, to get close to the action; the acoustic properties, for silence was going to be key; ventilation and the amount of room available. All were part-way reasonable; none of them was perfect.
"Not bad." Tony leaned forward, pointing. "What about going in through the-?"
"Hold on." Hannah looked at Suzanne. "Didn't this all start with your friend Philip Broomhall? And isn't he stinking rich?"I don't think Broomhall considers me a friend," said Suzanne. "But he is rich, yes."
"Well, what kind of person lives in the Barbican?" asked Hannah. "It's your city financiers, and a bunch of rich actors, all that kind. That's who."
"So-?"
"So what kind of friends does Broomhall mostly have? You think maybe rich ones? Could be, he knows someone who lives there."
"That's not bad," said Josh.
"Come off it," said Hannah. "It's fucking genius."
"Yes, you are." Tony saluted her. "We bow down before you, oh great one."
"Good. Just keep that adulation coming, minion, and we'll get on fine."
On day thirteen, amid the greenery of Hampstead Heath, Suzanne ran five kilometres straight for the first time since schooldays. Back at her apartment, Josh used so-called pattern interrupts for rapid hypnotic inductions, dropping both Tony and Hannah into trance in less than a second.
"We're getting there," Josh said.
"Yes, we are," said Suzanne.
The fifteenth day was a nightmare for Josh, in contrast to everyone else, who performed superbly on the assault course.
"What's up?" asked Tony afterwards.
Suzanne said: "He didn't come to bed last night. At all."
"Josh?"
"Call me a geek." Josh shrugged. "I went through the subversion ware from start to finish, and re-edited the data archives. Philip came through with good stuff."
Combining Philip Broomhall's corporate awareness with Josh's tech knowledge had paid dividends in triangulating on footage that neither the prime minister nor the Tyndalls would want the public to see.
"So it's going to make an impact?"
"Oh, yes."
On day seventeen, they were in a converted Georgian house, surrounded by its own grounds, in the heart of Herefordshire. It was a training facility, normally rented out to companies teaching management techniques; but occasionally the people who hired it were ex-Regiment, and the training that took place was light-years removed from anything an MBA would expect.
When a dark-clad figure grabbed Suzanne's shoulder from behind, she spun and slammed a palm-heel into a visor-protected chin, slammed a shin-kick into a padded thigh, and knocked the man down with a curving elbow strike.
"Nice," said Josh.
Suzanne looked down at the half-prone man.
"Not now, Kato," she said.
They spent the rest of the day either springing out on people to ambush them or else being the target, reacting to random attacks as they wandered through the building. She called it Clouseau training, a reference that Josh failed to catch, which meant an evening of watching old Pink Panther movies when the day's work was over.
Her viewing was interrupted by a call from Peter Hall, her client who had cancelled on the day she met Adam and later Philip Broomhall. Peter was distraught, and she calmed him down, taking him to a more resourceful neurophysiological state, able to cope with the sudden loss of his job that had triggered the reaction. By the end of it – including a trance induction over the phone – Peter had coping strategies in place. He would be ready for jobhunting tomorrow, while managing his emotions.
Finally, she closed down the call and looked at Josh, Tony, and Hannah.
"That wasn't just a wandering conversation, was it?" said Josh. "We sort of appreciate how you did some of it, at least. Now we know the basics, that was a bit of a masterclass."
Tony nodded, while Hannah said "You rock, girl."
"Thank you."
On day twenty-two, in darkness, in front of the training house, Suzanne hugged the others farewell, Tony, Hannah, and the others she had met only five days before, Raj, Brummie, Ron, and Morio. Josh's way of saying goodbye was more in the way of wry smiles, punches to the upper arm or touching fists, and a final inventive insult that was returned in kind.
There were four cars, already packed with kit. Josh and Suzanne climbed into the first together, and drove off. The others would leave at intervals, dispersing rather than forming an obvious convoy. They would rendezvous tomorrow morning, coming together from different directions.
"Three days left," said Suzanne. "And yes, I know. We've got to get through tomorrow first."
"Good job we're ready," said Josh.