Casey said, ‘If you feel that strongly, why did you agree to come along?’
‘I’m only here because of Mike,’ said Bowman in an undertone. ‘He was one of the best officers they’ve ever had at Hereford.’
‘You’ve had better luck than me, then,’ Loader scoffed. ‘Most of my officers were bleeding idiots.’
‘Mike’s a friend. He’s in trouble, and he needs our help. That’s all I care about.’
Loader finished packing the mags into his webbing, then moved over to the luggage compartment to check on the rest of his kit. Casey remained quiet for several moments as she reassembled her Glock pistol. When she was sure they were alone, she said, ‘Do you really think this mission could go wrong?’
‘There’s a chance,’ Bowman admitted. ‘We’re rushing in. That’s when mistakes get made.’
‘Six doesn’t think so.’
‘That’s just the typical Foreign Office mindset. They’re academics.’ Bowman spat the word out. ‘They don’t know how it works in the field. They think we’re a bunch of super-soldiers.’
‘I hope you’re wrong.’
‘Me too,’ Bowman said. He nodded at her. ‘What’s your story, anyway? How did you end up in the Cell? I’m guessing you had a nice upbringing.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘What you really mean is: What’s a privileged middle-class woman like you doing here?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘It’s fine.’ She sighed. ‘I’m used to it. Everyone else asks me the same question. Or they think it behind my back. Which is basically the same thing, I suppose.’
She set down the Glock, stared at it in her lap.
‘I never planned on joining the army,’ she went on. ‘I was what you might call a geek growing up. My days were spent in the library, burying my head in books. I’d always assumed I would follow my father into teaching. Or maybe even academia.’ She gave him a look.
‘What happened?’
‘I woke up one day and realised it wasn’t my dream after all. Oh, I enjoyed studying and so on, but the prospect of spending my career in some stuffy corner office in a university, writing papers for obscure academic journals, wasn’t for me. I decided to quit my degree and enlist.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘When I told my parents what I’d done, they almost hit the roof. They’re both teachers, you see. We had a big argument. Some unpleasant things were said.’
‘Why the army, though? You could have had the pick of any career you wanted.’
‘My grandfather had served in Korea. He fought at Imjin River, with the Gloucestershire Regiment. He never said a word about it until one day I sat down with him and asked him for the full story for a paper I was working on. He talked for hours. A whole afternoon. For some reason, that story stayed with me. That idea of being part of something bigger than myself, you know? So I thought, why not join the army?’
‘It’s as good a reason as any,’ Bowman said. ‘I’ve heard worse.’
‘I’m sure.’ She sat upright. ‘Anyway, the army proved the making of me. I realised I was much stronger than I’d assumed. One thing led to another, and here I am. I’ve never regretted my decision. Although my father and I don’t talk anymore.’
Bowman tried to think of something comforting to say. ‘I’m sure your old man is proud of you. Even if he won’t say it.’
Casey smiled sadly. ‘Somehow, I doubt that’s true. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him. In his mind, I’m just the pig-headed daughter who threw away a promising future just to piss him off.’ She angled her head at Bowman. ‘What about you? What made you enlist?’
‘I grew up in a rough area,’ Bowman said. ‘Everyone was in a gang or knew someone involved in one. I had a choice between the army, or a life of crime. I chose to fight.’
‘Smart choice.’
‘I reckoned so at the time.’
‘What about your parents? Siblings?’
‘Mum and Dad have been dead for years. The cancer took my mother when I was seventeen. Dad joined her a year later. Heart attack. I’ve got a sister, but we’re not really in touch these days,’ he added, remembering the promise he’d made to Mallet back at the interview in London.
Casey paused and bit her lower lip. ‘The others told me about your family,’ she said. ‘What happened to your wife and little girl.’
Bowman lowered his gaze to the floor. He thought again about the blood. The bodies. For a fleeting moment, he saw them lying on the kitchen floor. The way he’d discovered them when he came home from the job. Amy with the bullet hole in her head. The wide gash in his daughter’s throat. He saw, too, the face of the man responsible. The Albanian mobster. His monstrous scarred face, his cruel laugh. Bowman set his jaw as a hot current of anger stirred inside his guts.
‘I’m sorry,’ Casey said hastily. ‘It’s not my place.’
‘You’re right,’ Bowman growled. ‘It isn’t. And I don’t need your fucking sympathy.’
Casey mumbled a hasty apology, made an excuse and left him alone. Bowman sat in silence, checking his kit, tortured by the images seared into his memory. He suddenly craved another pill. Bowman waited a while, slipped into the toilet and snuffed two of Lang’s yellow pills. He felt better, but not by much. The tablets weren’t as potent as the synthetic opioids he usually took. The effects wore off much more quickly. Which was a problem, he knew. He’d have to sneak off more often. One of the others might notice sooner or later.
He dropped into his seat, and then the attendant brought over food for the team. They tucked into sandwiches, crisps, biscuits, chocolate bars. Loading up on calories, because they didn’t know when they’d next have a chance to eat. Bowman
