‘What can’t you talk about? I don’t understand?’
She heard him say something to the other person in the background again. It sounded like ‘Shit,’ and then, ‘What do I tell her?’
‘Hello,’ she said, panic beginning to mingle with the fear.
‘Mrs Munro,’ the voice came back. ‘Someone’s going to come around and see you right away.’
‘If something has happened to my husband please tell me,’ she demanded.
‘Mrs Munro,’ he said, pausing a moment to compose an answer. ‘Your husband is missing.’
‘What do you mean, missing? How could he be missing?’
‘I’m very angry that no one has contacted you,’ he said. ‘This is damned absurd.’
‘Will you please tell me what’s happened!’
‘I can’t. Not over the phone. I must stress that we believe he is all right, that he’s alive. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you right now. I’m sorry you had to hear about it this way. You should have been told.’
His words echoed through her head, suggesting horror but making no sense. ‘Told what?’ she said. ‘Told what?’ Kathryn was growing angry.
‘Mrs Munro. I want you to remain calm and stay where you are. Everything is going to be just fine. I’m going to have someone come around and see you immediately. Do you understand, Mrs Munro?’
‘Are you or are you not going to tell me what has happened to my husband?’ she said with finality.
‘I can’t. Not over the—’
Kathryn slammed the phone into its cradle and held it firmly while her mind raced. Something terrible had happened to Hank. She was flushed. Her heart was racing. Her soul felt like it had been stabbed.A thousand horrible thoughts flooded her mind. She processed a myriad questions in seconds. Was he dead? What would she do if he were? She wouldn’t have to stay in England. No, it’s not right to think like that. Images flashed across her mind: Hank laughing, playing with the children, saying something sweet, like forgotten photos in the attic. She took hold of herself. She couldn’t stay and wait for someone to come to her. If they couldn’t tell her anything over the phone then she would go to them.
The phone started to ring again but she ignored it, grabbed her car keys and a coat, and hurried out of the room.
Kathryn slammed the front door and hurried to the car. She climbed in, nearly bent the key trying to push it into the steering column, and started the engine revving it wildly as she crunched it into gear. The car screeched down the steep drive, the sump thumped into the sidewalk, she turned sharply on to the road and accelerated down it.
Kathryn’s mind was racing as hard as the engine. Her subconscious had taken over the driving and navigating while she dealt with the situation.
The fifteen-minute journey to the camp seemed to take an age. It was as if every slow driver in Dorset had been waiting to pull out in front of her. She honked her horn and cursed everyone who impeded her progress. It was not until she turned the corner at the bottom of the hill leading up to the camp that the road cleared of traffic and she could put her foot down. She took the final corner to the camp entrance much too fast, her screeching tyres drawing the attention of the main gate sentry. He stepped from his cubicle in his camouflage fatigues and green beret, his SA80 assault rifle cradled comfortably in his leather-gloved hands, and watched her speed towards him. She jerked to a stop at the barrier a few yards before him and wound down her window.The sentry casually walked to her without any haste.
‘I need to see the commander of the SBS,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s urgent.’
The sentry appeared not to have heard her and peered into the car, checking the front and rear seats.
Kathryn exhaled tiredly.‘Did you hear me?’ she said.‘This is an emergency.’
‘Do you have a pass?’ he asked casually.
She started to search automatically then stopped, realising she had nothing. ‘My name is Kathryn Munro. My husband is Chief Petty Officer Munro, US Navy SEALs.’
‘Do you have a pass?’ the sentry repeated like a robot.
‘What kind of pass?’
‘One that gets you into the camp, miss.’
‘I don’t know anything about a pass.’
‘I can’t let you drive into the camp without a pass.’
Kathryn gritted her teeth, snapped open the glove compartment, and searched it. She found nothing that looked like a pass amongst the logbook and bits of paper. She flipped open the compartment between the front seats and rummaged through that. ‘I don’t have a pass . . . My husband must have it. Look. This is an emergency. I need to see the commander of the SBS immediately.’
‘You see that lay-by over there,’ he said, pointing to the other side of the road before the barrier.‘Park your car there, then pop into the guard room just there and see the guard commander, all right?’
Kathryn searched over her shoulder to identify the lay-by. She turned back to the sentry but he was already walking back to his cubicle. She mumbled a curse as she crunched the gears into reverse, looked over her shoulder, screeched back a few yards, found first gear and turned sharply into the lay-by, her front wheel mounting the kerb. She stopped sharply, ripped up the handbrake, stalled the engine and climbed out of the car slamming the door shut. She walked smartly past the barrier and up a couple of steps to the single-storey guardroom not much bigger than a volleyball court. There was a small alcove with a ticket-style window and she peered in to see a soldier seated at a desk the far end of the narrow room reading a newspaper. She rapped on the window. ‘Hello?’ she said.
He looked up at her, casually put down the paper, got to his feet, straightened out his combat jacket as he crossed the room, and slid open the small window. ‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I need to see the commander of the SBS.’
‘What’s this about?’ he asked, with a little more feeling than the sentry, but not much.
‘My husband is Chief Petty Officer Munro, US Navy SEALs. He’s posted here. I have to talk to the commander of the SBS. It’s very urgent.’
‘Is he expecting you?’
‘I doubt it but I promise you he’ll see me. Can you get someone to take me to him.’
‘Do you have a pass or ID?’
‘I’ve been through that with your guy over there. I haven’t got a pass.’
‘You can’t get into the camp without a pass, miss.’
‘So it would seem. But I need to see the SBS commander. It’s urgent. I have a right to.Will you please take me to him. I’m not a terrorist, okay. I don’t have any bombs or guns on me, I promise.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, miss. I’ll call the headquarters building and let them know you’re here. What’s the name again?’ he asked as he took a pencil and licked the end.
‘Chief Petty Officer Hank Munro . . . ’
‘
‘Kathryn Munro. Look, I received a call, and, well, I know they’ll want to see me—’
‘I can’t let you into the camp, simple as that,’ he interrupted and walked over to his desk and picked up a phone.
She reined in her frustration and held herself in check while she watched him talk into the phone. A minute later he walked back to the window.
‘Someone will be up to see you shortly.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘They’ll probably be coming from HQ block.’
‘So how long will that take?’ she repeated irritably.
‘It’s on the other side of the camp. If he walks, about ten minutes, if he drives, a couple.’
She sighed deeply and held herself as if she were cold.
‘You can wait inside if you want to,’ he said.
‘No . . . ’ then changing her mind. ‘Yes. I’ll wait inside.’ He walked to the back of his office, through a door into the hallway, and to a door the other side of the alcove and opened it. She stepped inside. He led her to a room where half-a-dozen Marines sat in chairs and on bunks watching a television. Rifles were stacked in a rack near the door and fighting orders hung on hooks along a wall. The Marines, all dressed in combats as if ready to leave at a
