Chapter Fifteen
Jane
It sounds strange to say it, but I was lucky that I was so badly hurt.
General Blythe was convinced that I was some sort of post-apocalyptic spymistress running covert ops at home and abroad, using specially recruited and trained kids like Lee.
'One boy, about eleven-years-old we think, single-handedly killed seven of my men during the attack on Salisbury,' drawled Blythe in his broad American accent.
'Is he alive?' I said, dreading the answer.
'Oh yeah. We captured him. He's a tough little nut – the only person I've ever had in my custody who lasted more than fifteen minutes of waterboarding. And of course you know how effective that method is at extracting information.'
'No I don't, you sick fuck. Because I'm not a spy!' I shouted.
'When he did break, he told us a pack of lies that had us chasing our tails for a week. Someone trained him, Miss Crowther. You don't expect me to believe that a eleven year-old gets that kind of resilience out of nowhere, do you?'
'Believe what you like.'
'Thank you, I will. And I believe that you are a player. My first instinct was to kill you. But I need to know the details of all your current ops. Do you have people in Russia, the US?'
'Go to hell,' I spat.
'Undoubtedly, Miss Crowther, but hopefully not for a while yet. Having instructed my surgeons to save your life, I find that you are too weak to endure our interrogation techniques. They tell me that a single session on the waterboard would kill you, that you need at least a month of bed rest before undergoing any kind of strenuous activity. I'm not willing to sit around waiting for you to get better, but neither do I want to kill you until I'm absolutely certain you've told us everything you know. What to do, what to do?' He was smiling as he said this, toying with me like the sick sadist he was.
'Ah-ha!' he snapped his fingers and smiled. 'Got it! I'll torture your friend. Why didn't I think of it before?'
'What friend?' I tried to make it sound mocking, but my fear was too strong to conceal. Had he got Jack? I hardly knew the boy, but I wouldn't sit back and let him be tortured. And what if the others from the school had got tired of waiting for me to come back? Were all the children and staff being held captive somewhere in the house, the guards taking their time choosing which of them would be first for the rack?
The general nodded to the soldier on the door and he left, returning a moment later pushing a woman. She was chained with one of those American prison chain things that loops from feet to hands to neck, so she could only shuffle, and she had a hessian sack over her head. But I knew instantly who it was. The soldier pulled the bag off to reveal Mrs Atkins, our beloved dinner lady. She had a black eye and a bruised mouth, but she stood defiant, her eyes blazing with fury. Then she noticed me, and her reaction told me everything I needed to know about what kind of shape I was in.
'Dear Lord, Jane, what have they done to you?' she whispered.
'We saved her life,' said the general. 'You'd better hope she's going to save yours.' Then he nodded again, the sack was replaced and Mrs Atkins was led away. As she shuffled away she shouted: 'You be strong, love. Don't tell them a thing!' Bless her, but that was the worst thing she could have said, merely confirming in the general's mind that I was hiding big secrets.
'I have a few things I gotta get done back at Salisbury,' he said. 'So I'm going to fly back there now and give you a night to sleep on it. But midday tomorrow, my men are going to go to work on your friend there, and you're gonna have a front row seat. So you think carefully, Miss Crowther. You think very carefully. Indeed.' He rose to leave.
'Where's Rowles?' I asked desperately.
'Who?' he asked as he reached the door.
'The eleven year-old boy you captured in Salisbury. What, you couldn't even get him to tell you his name?' I laughed. 'You need better torturers, General.'
He flashed me a look of warning. I didn't want to push this man too far.
'He's fine. We got him locked up. Collateral.'
'And the girl?'
'Girl?'
I bit my lip. Stupid.
'I'll get my men to look for a girl. Thank you for the tip.'
'And the others? The soldiers who were based there?'
But he just shrugged as if to say 'what can you do' and walked out.
It took me a second to believe it, but I knew deep down that he'd killed them. All of them. The British Army had been routed.
The guard left the room with the general, and I was left alone in the wheelchair. I'd lost Sanders; Rowles and Mrs Atkins were captured; Caroline was missing, and all that faced us was torture and death.
I tried to rise from my wheelchair, to push myself up, walk to the door, but I was too weak. I couldn't even muster enough strength to turn the wheels and push myself to the bed. And so there I sat, defeated, broken and scared, watching the general's ugly military helicopter rise from the field where the children used to play football.
As night fell there was a knock on the door. I didn't bother replying, after all I was the prisoner. After a moment, the door was pushed open and I was confronted by a young woman in military fatigues.
She stood in the doorway holding a tray on which rested a steaming plate and a glass of water. The woman seemed unsure about whether to enter or not.
'Miss Crowther, may I come in please?' she asked. Her soft accent, Deep South, made her seem polite and diffident.
'Suit yourself,' I muttered.
The woman came in, placed the tray on the small bedside cabinet and switched on the main lights. The soldiers must have refuelled the generator. The woman then pushed my chair to the bed and lifted me out off it with surprising ease.
'You're strong,' I said as she wrestled me on to the bed.
'I spend most of my time lifting bodies of one kind or another,' she said flatly.
When I was settled and tucked in, she stood over me and offered her hand. 'I'm Susan, Sue.' I looked at her hand and snorted contemptuously. She withdrew it then sat beside me and lifted the bowl of soup from the tray. 'It's beef. You need to keep your strength up. It's going to be a long recovery.'
I considered spitting it in her face, but what would have been the point? I opened my mouth and gulped down the broth. We sat there not speaking as I ate the food and drank the water. I studied her. By almost anyone's standards she was unattractive. Her figure was short and square, her hair was muddy brown, and she had a flat nose, receding chin and piggy little eyes. She was flat-out ugly, but her brown eyes were kind and her voice was gentle.
'Is there anything else I can get you?' she asked.
'A gun,' I joked.
'Small or large.'
I sniffed. But she just sat there, waiting for my response.
'Small, please.'
'Ammunition?'
I laughed. 'Oh, loads.'
She smiled and nodded. 'I'll see what I can do, Miss.' Then she stood, collected the tray, and left.
What an odd little encounter that was, I thought, as I closed my eyes and drifted into a haunted sleep.
It was still dark when I jolted awake, my heart hammering urgently in my breast. Something had disturbed
