Imogen placed a finger to my lips.
‘It’s behind us. Let’s leave it there, Joe. Let’s leave everything there.’
Everything.
She wasn’t talking about the recent attempt on her life, or any of the other times she’d been in danger because of her attachment to me. Neither was she talking about the fact I’d walked out on her leaving Hartlaub and Brigham to pull her out of the fire. She was talking about Kate. If I’d thought about it too long, then maybe my answer would have been different, but right then, right there, I had only one way of showing her everything would be OK between us. I took her in my arms and kissed her again.
The cabin was no place to take a lady, so we strolled down by the river, out from under the prying eyes of the CIA men. My clothing was damp from my exertions, but I didn’t feel the cold. Neither of us did as we took up where we’d left off that night in Maine before our rude interruption. Afterwards we sat side by side and watched the water flow by. I found the soothing pull of the river easier to lose myself in that time.
‘Hartlaub and Brigham are going to stay with me until you’re through.’
‘They’re good men,’ I said.
‘They’re killers.’
Yes, they were, but that’s the type of men I needed watching over her. I looked at her studying me. Maybe she was reassessing exactly what I was.
‘Once I’d have found that abhorrent,’ she said. ‘But now…’
Hers was a moral dilemma I’d often struggled with: in a civilised world there should be no need for men like me, or her CIA minders, but civilisation was just a veneer. Despite four thousand years of supposed development we were no more than a rung above our savage forebears. Actually, I’d often thought that we’d taken a step back down the ladder and were worse than the beasts that only killed to survive. There was nothing in nature like Tubal Cain, I was certain. And, as long as something like him lived, it vindicated my existence.
Changing the subject, I asked, ‘Whose idea was it to come here?’
‘Whose do you think?’
I rolled my neck. ‘I thought Walter was behind it.’
‘Walter tried to put me off. He said it wasn’t appropriate. He was wrong. It’s shown me exactly the kind of life you have to… endure.’ She laid a hand on my forearm and her expression was earnest. ‘But I wanted to see. It has helped make my mind up. It doesn’t matter to me where you go… what you have to do… I want to be there for you, Joe.’
‘They showed you what happened inside?’ Even after a clean-up crew had sanitised the room, I hoped that Imogen hadn’t been exposed to the pall of violence that still hung over it.
‘No. But I didn’t need to see that. It’s enough that I can imagine it. You shouldn’t have to deal with things like that alone.’
‘I’m not alone. I have Rink and-’
Imogen cut me off. She put her hand against the side of my head. ‘I’m talking about up here, Joe. I’m talking about you carrying the burden inside your mind. I want to help take some of the pain away.’
I held my palm on the back of her hand. It was soothing, but I doubted anything could take away the guilt I carried. Her offer was generous, though, and not one I wanted to turn down. Finally, I twined my fingers with hers and brought down our clasped hands on to my thigh. ‘Thank you. I want that too. But… well, there’s still things I have to do alone.’
‘I understand. I just want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you when you come back. OK?’
‘OK.’
We leaned in and kissed, gently this time, as if sealing a pact. Then we stood, straightening our clothes. Imogen jammed her hat down over her mussed hair. Now it was no kind of disguise. Anyone who looked at us would guess exactly what had gone on. We smiled like abashed teenagers.
‘Come on,’ I said, leading her by the hand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think I need a shower.’
Just like last time, it seemed that our lovemaking heralded future dramatic events and that my shower would have to go on the back burner. No sooner had I made the suggestion than my cellphone bleeped. I dug it out of my sweats and looked at the screen. It was Walter. He knew I was out there making amends with Imogen and there could be only one reason for disturbing me. Cain had made contact.
Chapter 35
Tubal Cain studied Jennifer Telfer with detachment. He did not see her as human but as a tool to cut the heart out of her husband’s chest. To him, she was as important as the Recon Tanto or the Bowie knife he carried on his belt.
Because his plan relied on Jennifer being alive and relatively healthy, he couldn’t allow this ill-treatment to go on. Leaving her in squalor, unfed and without proper sanitation, was akin to allowing his blades to tarnish. Cain regularly oiled and sharpened his knives, and this woman should be afforded the same treatment.
He peered through the letterbox-sized slot in the door, noting how Jennifer huddled in the corner for warmth. She was done with crying for now, probably from dehydration, because Cain knew she hadn’t been given water since her arrival. Or maybe she’d finally realised the futility of weeping; it engendered little response from pitiless men. There was a bucket in the corner of her cell, and judging by the smell wafting through the opening she had availed herself of it. It needed emptying. Jennifer required nourishment.
The fat man sitting at the end of the narrow corridor seemed less inclined to leave his porn magazine than see to either task. Cain paced along the corridor, taking a single step in time with each measured exhalation. It was a process to calm himself, so that he could communicate with the dirt-ball without allowing his urges to overwhelm him: he so wanted to slash the pervert’s sweaty face to ribbons. It also helped calm Cain’s stomach, as the floor lifted and fell with each swell that the container ship rode.
Coming to a halt he waited for the fat man to thumb over another page. He was an ‘ass man’ by all accounts, because the big-breasted woman spread over two pages didn’t hold his attention long. He flicked a glance up at Cain, then turned back to another page where a svelte young thing was hiking up the hem of her dress.
‘What would you like to do to her, huh?’ asked the fat man, smoothing his fingers over the woman’s backside.
Exactly what I’d like to do to you, Cain thought. There was nothing erotic in the idea, but he had to concur that hacking away the flesh to find what lay within was very sensual.
‘Feed the woman and give her water.’
‘What the fuck am I? A fuckin’ nursemaid?’ The man went back to his skin mag.
Cain exhaled, and this time it had nothing to do with the nauseating movement of the ship.
The man sneered at another young woman, this one in an even more revealing pose. ‘Fuck, you can see what the bitch had for breakfast!’
‘I told you to feed and water the woman.’
‘You ain’t my boss. Fuck off and leave me in peace.’
Cain stood impassively. ‘You do know who I am?’
‘Do I look like I give a flying fuck?’
‘No, you look like a piece of crap with a cesspit for a mind. It would explain the bile that flows from your mouth.’
The man pushed up out of his chair. Sitting down, his fat had been bagged around his middle. Standing, he tightened himself, spreading his shoulders so that he loomed over Cain like a grizzly bear. He had twice the girth and at least three inches on Cain. He pressed a thick finger smeared with printer’s ink to Cain’s chest. ‘Just who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’
Cain shook his head sadly. ‘Like I said… cesspit, crap, bile. Take your pick. If you don’t understand any of those words, I’ll gladly explain them in simpler terms.’
The fat man mulled Cain’s reply over in his mind. ‘You’re making a joke, right? Only I’m just not getting it.’
‘So do something useful; go and feed and water the woman.’
