Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) Read online

  “You're very different from the Dr Curtis I spoke with earlier today.”

  “That was Dr Curtis. Here I'm just Jan.”

  “Jan?”

  “It's short for Janus. Please don't call me that.”

  “I promise I won't. You sounded like you were getting a hard time from that woman. Sorry that's probably none of my business.”

  He nodded. “Rich addicts. They treat the hospital like a drug dispenser.”

  “What's the drug of choice this side of the border? It's methamphetamines in S'aven.”

  “Well here they cut their crystal with a new type of cocaine. Blue crystals that melt on your tongue. They put it in drinks too. Keeps your teeth white.”

  “That's important,” Rachel added.

  “They call it sapphire, highly addictive and if you take enough of it your organs will burst out of your chest.”

  “Nice. It's good to see humans are the same whatever they've got in their wallets.”

  Jan agreed. “St Mary's is quite a place.”

  “You know it?”

  “I volunteered there for a while.”

  She was impressed. Not even patients went to St Mary's by choice.

  “Why'd you leave?” he asked.

  It was a good question and only the truth would be convincing. Rachel rapped her fingers against the table. “I was tired of losing. There's just too much to do there and we're getting nowhere. There's no funding, half the doctors are crooks. The good ones are pushed too far, working insane hours for free. You try for years but after a while you just give everything you have and there's nothing left.”

  He seemed to understand. “So you came to London to work in Great General?”

  “God no.” She paused for time, sipping her soda. “My brothers had work here and got me a pass. The shifts are just convenient. I was always curious to see what it was like on the other side.”

  “And you're disappointed by what you see?”

  She took a sip of her soda, deciding it was best not to answer. He may have relaxed a little but it was still his hospital.

  “You know it used to all be for free. Back in the old days. It nearly ruined the country. Now everything has to be paid for. And when money is involved people always set out to make a profit.” Their food arrived – a pasta dish in a cream sauce with real chicken. He waited until they were alone again before he continued. “It's very hard to make a difference, even when we want to.”

  The light had changed in the bistro. Jan seemed brighter, clearer even. Rachel was struggling to believe that this was the man she was at war with earlier in the day.

  “So you think something has to be done?”

  He pursed his lips. He'd said more than enough. They both knew that. She thought that would be the end to his big reveal, but he surprised her.

  “I'm in a very powerful position Rachel, you realise that don't you? The decisions I make don't just affect Great General, they affect everything. Do you know what happened to the man I replaced? He's in hiding abroad. Spain they think. Ran off with one of his nurses with a lot of debt around his neck. I'm just here filling in, the most competent around who will stand in until they find a yes–man. For the briefest of moments I have power, and it has to be used correctly before they take it from me.”

  In between the lines of his sentence was so much more than he dared to speak aloud. He reached for his glass, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him, as though looking up would make everything he said real. Rachel let the silence elapse. He had revealed his flaw – he wasn't in favour of what they were doing at Great General. If she told Charlie, they would be able to find some way of using that information. She looked up – it all seemed a bit too easy.

  “Can I ask you something? Why'd you invite me here?”

  He couldn't meet her eye. “I don't really know. You impressed me today. The last person I remember screaming about patient care was me.”

  “I'm sure you did it with more eloquence.”

  “I don't think I called all my colleagues murderers, I'll give you that.” He gave her a wink and on most men that would make her cringe, but with him she liked it. “Honestly, though. You were new to the hospital and you didn't throw yourself at every doctor around you. Instead you held your ground and stood for what you thought was right. I respect that. Also I started getting complaints from the patients about certain things you weren't willing to do.”

  “What can I say, I was brought up a good Catholic girl.”

  “You were?” He was surprised. To find someone brought up in a house of faith was like uncovering a savage in the jungle.

  “In a convent,” she added, seeing he was interested. “Which would probably upset the patients even more if they knew.”

  “I'd say. My father was a pastor, which is why I'll only hold onto this position temporarily. They wouldn't have given it to me at all if they weren't desperate.”

  “Who'd have thought we'd have so much in common?” The flirting was starting to come easy. Too easy.

  Roxy slipped some clothes on and wandered, barefooted through the ward. It was a quiet night. There was the odd moan from one of the rooms – a moan of pleasure rather than pain – as the doctors and nurses went about their night time duties. He took the stairs instead of the lift, stopping at each floor to assess the staff numbers. There were security cameras dotted over the wards, but, keeping to the far right, Roxy avoided them.

  He pressed himself up against Curtis' office. He tried the door first – he wasn't about to spend several minutes picking a lock that was open – he'd learnt that mistake the hard way. Then he set about teasing the lock open. It took longer than usual with his arm injured, but it was open in four minutes. He pushed the door and listened. Just because it was locked did not mean it was empty. There was nothing but the sound of a fish tank pump bubbling away.

  First he poked his head through. There was no sign of cameras – another good sign. With more confidence he strode in and closed the door behind him.

  The room was uninspiring. He slipped the dupi into the computer and set to work on the rest of the office. The filing cabinets were mainly filled with employee files. Curtis was keeping his own personal record on lots of the staff working under him. It looked as though he were building cases against them – maybe to blackmail them, or maybe to just make a better hospital. Roxy didn't care either way. He scanned the information quickly, picking out nothing useful.

  There was a picture on the desk – a white man and a black son. He assumed the son was Curtis. The paperwork on the rest of the desk was just admin, but the top desk drawer was locked. Roxy touched it with avarice fingers and then set to work opening it.

  Inside were more papers. He sorted through them. There were a few invoices, mainly pharmacy based. Then there was a formal warning from Westminster. Roxy sat at the desk and read the curt letter with interest. Parliament was not happy with Curtis and wanted to remind him that his temporary position could very quickly be revoked. Someone had drawn a smiley face at the bottom of the page.

  There was a letter from a Birmingham work camp informing Curtis that his father had passed away. That was no surprise. Everyone in Britain knew someone in a work camp. Roxy knew half a dozen intimately. The dupi beeped at him. He removed it and slipped it into his pocket. As he went to close the drawer he felt something beneath the drawer itself. There was a book concealed on the underneath. He slipped it free and opened it up. Inside was just a list of numbers, most had been crossed off.

  He couldn't make any sense of it, which was a good sign it was important. Curtis would miss it so he had to take a copy. As quickly as he could he scrawled down the page of numbers on an empty notepad, replicating it as best he could. He checked the clock on the wall. Break–ins should be quick and this was anything but. With the list copied, he replaced everything with a meticulousness that would have pleased even John Smith.

  Locking the desk took seconds. In less than a minute he was locking the door. With
a whistle he returned to the stairs, hoping to find one of the nurses to celebrate with.

  Rachel was slightly giddy leaving the restaurant. The clean living had lasted half the meal and then Jan had suggested they share a bottle of red. It was a good one too and, although she felt a warmth within her, she was still mercifully in control of all her faculties. They walked down the street discussing old patients. Jan had a sense of humour that appealed to her. He was passionate while still being careful. She could identify with him and the more they talked the less she remembered she had a job to do.

  His fleeting comments about the state of the hospital and how he would like to change it were more than idealistic dreams. He was already putting himself in a dangerous position and, with what Rachel had learnt alone, she felt that she had more than enough to blackmail him into giving Riva a yes vote. But the more they walked, chatting like friends, the more she wanted to encourage his rebellion, not condemn him for it.

  They reached the end of the road.

  “I could walk you home.” It wasn't a pick up line. She could tell that instantly. He wanted to see her home safely, nothing more, and she appreciated the sentiment.

  “Don't worry. I'm from S'aven, I'm ten times scarier than anything you Londoners have to offer.”

  He laughed. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure. Of course, if you're worried, I can walk you home.”

  “I think I can take care of myself.” He held out his hand.

  She took it and became absorbed in the warmth of his palm. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He must have thought she was going to do the same because he pulled away as sharply as she did. She forced a laugh to ease the tension. It wasn't enough to ease his discomfort.

  “I should get going,” he said.

  “Me too. Thank you for dinner and such witty conversation,” she teased.

  “Likewise.”

  He walked away first, pausing to look back at her just once. She watched him disappear down the street and exhaled. It had been a weird evening. There was so much to tell Charlie and so much to keep from him.

  When Jan was out of sight she realised she was a long way from the apartment and the city looked very different at night. She was about to move and she felt eyes on her. On the opposite side of the road a man was watching her. She could just about make out his wild hair and beard in the shadows. He tipped his head to her and started to walk off the way Jan went. She couldn't afford to take any chances. You can't see me, she thought to herself, over and over until she made it back to Roxy's.

  33

  A light lit up the end of the street. The corner house was prone to false alarms. Nobody paid any attention to the warning beacon. Two shadows moved against the building. One figure was lithe and quick. The other slower, more cautious. But all four feet moved expertly through the first garden and then the second. Six houses guarded the colonel, all manned with ex–military personnel. But each retired soldier missed the silent assault happening in their backyards.

  Charlie replaced his crutch with a slim cane. He used it like an oar, propelling himself after his brother. John scanned the pathway ahead before moving, all Charlie had to do was concentrate on staying vertical and keeping up.

  The colonel's garden had been gravelled over. Their steps automatically lightened. John moved towards the house without making a sound. Charlie was less graceful, but his steps were luckily muffled by a car starting in the house opposite. He hurried to the side of the house and pushed himself against the wall beside his brother. John gestured above them. The entire house was fitted with a sophisticated alarm, but they already knew all they needed to about that.

  Charlie reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pliers. This was the part of the job he was less keen on. He nodded at his brother and braced himself. John lifted him at the knees. He was strong, making Charlie feel practically weightless in the air. He cut the wire to the alarm siren. The police cable and the cameras would stay on and that suited the Smith Brothers just fine.

  John lowered Charlie down and, with more confidence, they reached the back garden. The door was electronically locked. John took out two pistols while Charlie put his palm to the handle. The mechanism wouldn't just open, it would have to be blown. Focusing his energy, he flexed his fingers and listened as the electrics shorted with a satisfying hiss. The door creaked open. He glanced at his brother for half a second, then they were moving through the house.

  The call to the cops would have already been made. If the colonel had paid his bills on time they could respond in five minutes. Plenty of time. The first camera Charlie saw was in the hall. He turned to face it before moving up the stairs.

  The colonel lived alone. He'd been married once, for a brief fleeting moment, and somewhere out there he had a daughter. There was one picture of her at the top of the hallway, sandwiched between medals and achievements. If Charlie glanced at it when he went passed it didn't stick in his mind. What he did see was the picture of the science lab. Six familiar faces posed for a rare moment what seemed like a life time ago.

  Of those six the colonel was the only one alive. He'd stood by while the others were executed, escaping the death sentence only because he was military. Charlie could still see him watching the firing squad dispatch the experiment in the courtyard of the Institute building. The colonel, then a mere captain, clearly relieved at his own luck, glanced away from the slaughter and looked up into the treeline where two boys made their escape.

  That moment preyed on Charlie's mind as John kicked down the bedroom door. A shot was fired but both brothers dodged it easily. John fired his own shot, hitting the colonel's hand and rendering it useless. If they had more time they would have dragged it out. History clawed at both brothers. Revenge was something to be savoured after all. But for the sake of the job they had to be quick.

  The colonel sat up in bed. He was fatter now, his toned physique lapsed with time and easy living. He cradled his bleeding hand, suffering the pain without making a noise.

  “So it's you, is it?” he said, almost with a sneer. “The ones who got away.”

  John raised his gun, aiming for the head.

  “Funny, I always thought it would be the others.” The colonel shuffled into a more upright position. “So what's this then boys, payback?”

  “This is redemption,” John replied.

  He fired twice and, in the same movement, gestured to the ornate bedside cabinet. Charlie was already moving towards it. He pulled back the cabinet door and smiled at the electronic safe it was concealing. He could open safes like that in his sleep. He pressed his hand against the lock. The fuse shorted, the door opened, and Charlie and John stood back. It was packed with cash.

  “I guess he didn't believe in banks,” Charlie said and grabbed a bloody pillowcase from the bed.

  They were forty grand richer as they slipped out the house. Three minutes and eight seconds. The sirens of the forthcoming police were a distant tinnitus. Tracing their old footsteps through the gardens, they retreated. A stolen car awaited them two streets down. John took the driver's seat and for a moment both men paused. Even with the money the job felt wrong.

  “What others?” John asked.

  That was bothering Charlie too. They'd avoided the Institute since their escape. And it raised a question: what had they missed?

  John started the car. He was grinding his teeth again – never a good sign.

  34

  It was midnight when Rachel got back. She felt unsettled and at the same time foolish. Walking home alone shouldn't have been such a trauma and she didn't want to feel like John and Charlie had to escort her everywhere. They already thought she needed constant protection, it would kill her if they were right. She tiptoed into the flat, expecting Charlie to launch into the big brother routine but the flat was empty. She poked her head into the bedroom and resisted the urge to cheer victoriously. The bed was hers. She leapt on it, her exhausted limbs sighing in relief. Roxy may have lived in a
pigsty but his bed was the most comfortable thing she had ever slept on, providing she didn't think about all the things he had done on it.

  She was too tired to worry about John and Charlie and where they'd got to. Her eyelids started to drop before she had time to even wonder how long they'd be. Suddenly a banging shook her awake. She sat up and listened to the frantic knocking on the door. John left a snub-nose by the bed. She picked it up, it felt big in her hand.

  “Charlie!” a male voice called. “John!”

  Rachel frowned. Nobody else knew where they were apart from Roxy and it definitely wasn't him panicking in the hallway. Keeping the gun in her concealed hand she opened the door. The man on the other side was almost as small as she was. He stared at her, his mouth unable to form anything coherent.

  “Who are you?” he finally asked, the accusation rich in his voice.

  “You first.”

  “Where's Charlie?”

  “Why'd you ask?” Rachel replied.

  He didn't seem to know what to do. He glanced behind him at the empty hallway. Clearly he didn't want to turn back.

  “I need to see Charlie. Or Roxy, is Roxy here?” He was getting flustered.

  “You tell me who you are first.”.

  “Jay,” he conceded, irritably.

  Her hold on the gun relaxed. “You're the computer guy?”

  “I am not the computer guy, I'm the computer guy.”

  She opened the door to let him in and he barged through ungratefully. He carried a heavy case, knocking Rachel's knees as he went past. She slammed the door closed in annoyance. Jay had already commandeered the sofa. His case was open and he was hooking up a paper thin screen to several boxes.

  “Who are you?” he asked, concentrating on his wires.

  “Rachel,” she said and yawned.

  “Where're the others? Where's Roxy?”

  “In hospital,” she said.

  Jay stopped what he was doing.

  “John shot him.”

  He went back to it.