The sun arrived right on cue. It streamed in through Frank Diggory’s slatted glass window, easily penetrating through his thin curtains and quickly lit up the room. Within seconds, it’s glow fell on Frank’s weary eyes and jolted them awake.
He grinned.
The darkness had fled from his room. The nightmare had gone.
He needed no alarm clock, or cockerel, to tell him it was morning.
He was awake. Wide awake.
And ready for another day in Paraiso.
He followed his routine to the letter. He almost danced downstairs just out of sheer relief. He knew who he was. He knew how he had got here. He knew the man he wanted to be. He knew the love of a beautiful woman.
What could possibly go wrong?
He got washed quickly, singing loudly and out of tune. Then he darted upstairs to get dressed. As usual, he put the radio on.
But this time, Fairground Attraction wasn’t playing. Instead, it was some maudlin Tagalog love song he didn’t understand.
How odd, he thought to himself.
But still, no biggie. He could cope with less than perfect today.
He put on his work clothes – the same work clothes he always wore. But this time, with a huge mischievous grin on his face. He and Emet had a plan. He would go to work. She would follow on a little later on her motorcycle. He would go to the office, but sneak out the back door. And then they would play hooky from work together and go to Cuatro Islas, which Emet had assured him were stunning.
He couldn’t wait.
He got ready and ran across the empty road, past the drowsy dogs, for breakfast.
Again, something was a bit odd. He was expecting to hear an overture of Wet Wet Wet’s cover of The Troggs’ ‘Love is All Around’. Instead, he heard another maudlin ballad.
He opened the door of Kainan Paraiso. It dinged the same as it always did.
That was strangely comforting.
He greeted Alberto and Andrea, the same way he always did, using the one phrase of Bisaya that he had learned, ‘Maayong buntag!’
They greeted him back.
‘Sir Frank, what will be your order for this morning? I should tell you, there may be a small delay as we haven’t got anything prepared for you.’ Alberto told him.
‘I think I'll have a tosilog this morning, please, Alberto.’ Frank told him.
Frank's eyebrows raised in surprise. He wasn’t used to this afam ordering Filipino food. ‘Okay lang, tosilog it is.’
‘Oh, and would it be possible to change the music, please? I’d like to hear Wet Wet Wet’s “Love is All Around” while I eat.’ Frank told him.
‘I like that one. I sing it a lot at videoke. Usually when Ma’am Luz is in the CR. No problem, Sir Frank. I will also change the music.’ Alberto told him, before disappearing into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, the first few chords of ‘Love is All Around’ could clearly be heard from the restaurant speakers. Frank sat back and enjoyed the wonderful song, while gazing longingly at Emet’s front door.
Where was she?
The song played through to the end. Alberto knew how Frank liked his breakfast, so the song was on repeat. By the time the song was less than halfway through, Frank’s tosilog (spiced fried pork, fried egg and rice) was on the table.
But no flowers. Not even a vase.
Frank ate his meal while the song continued. Three times. Four times. Five times. Even Alberto was getting a little sick of it.
Still no Emet.
Frank was really worried by now. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He wiped his mouth, thanked Alberto and Andrea and crossed the street to Emet’s house.
Anyway, his bus hadn’t arrived. Which was also odd.
He stood in front of Emet’s door, took a deep breath, and rapped on it gently.
Pastor Josh came to the door. ‘Oh, hello, Sir Frank. How can I help you?’
Frank cleared his throat. ‘I had an arrangement to meet with Emet today for breakfast at the restaurant. She didn’t show. I just wanted to check if she was okay.’
Pastor Josh’s face betrayed some concern. ‘She sometimes works odd hours, but it’s strange she didn’t meet you. Let’s see. Come in.’ He beckoned Frank inside, before asking his wife Judy to check on their daughter.
Judy gently knocked on Emet’s door. No response. She quietly opened the door, thinking Emet might be sleeping.
And screamed.
Josh and Frank ran to her side. ‘She’s gone, Josh! She’s not here!’
Frank could feel his heat beating faster. His adrenaline stirring. His every fibre tingling. His head spun like a top. It spun and spun and spun. He grasped Emet’s doorframe and shook his head sharply with eyes closed.
And then he opened them.
The room was steady once.
And Detective Chief Inspector Frank Diggory was awake.
Frank held out his arms to block then from going any further. ‘Better not go in. This could be a crime scene.’ he told them.
‘Sorry? Who are you?’ Pastor Josh asked him.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Frank Diggory, Police Scotland, seconded to the PNP as part of Operation Barium.’ Frank explained quickly.
‘Huh?’ Judy exclaimed in surprise.
Frank surveyed the room. ‘Okay, the room is a little untidy.’
‘That’s normal, I’m afraid.’ Judy told him. ‘She’s a bit messy.’
‘Nothing a few years of marriage can’t fix.’ Frank quipped. ‘The bedsheets on the floor makes it look as if she was dragged a little, or lifted from the bed, but there’s no blood or broken items in the room, so no sign of struggle. I think she was unconscious when they took her.’
‘But she is a light sleeper.’ Judy argued.
Frank spotted something on the floor. A rag. ‘Mrs Manalo, do you have rubber gloves, or those cellophane gloves people use to eat letchon?’ he asked her.
‘Yes. Hold on.’ Judy rushed to the kitchen and found a pair of yellow rubber gloves. She gave then to Frank.
‘What is it?’ Pastor Josh asked.
Frank put the gloves on, squatted down and reached out his hand, before grasping the rag. He pulled it to himself and sniffed it. ‘Chloroform. They knocked her out.’ He told Emet’s parents. ‘Do you have a zip lock bag at all? This is evidence.’
Judy quickly got one from a kitchen drawer. Frank deposited the rag into it and zipped it up.
‘So who has her? And where is she?’ Pastor Josh asked.
‘I don’t know. But whoever it is, I don’t think they intend to harm her.’ Frank told them.
‘How can you say that?’ Judy asked.
‘I have a feeling she wasn’t the target. Besides, they gassed her. No struggle. No fight. My guess is she’s a bargaining chip for them, for something bigger. Or someone.’
‘What?’ Judy asked.
‘Me.’ Frank told them. ‘Or at least, what I know.’
‘I don’t understand. How did they get in?’ Pastor Josh asked, his face betraying his confusion.
Frank strolled through their lounge to the front door, swung it open and closely examined the lock. ‘It’s not exactly Fort Knox here, so my guess is... Yes, they picked the lock. See the scratches around the keyhole? They did this at night, probably by torchlight.’ He looked around. He could clearly see a few CCTV cameras suspended from streetlight poles, mostly aimed at his house. But he had a gut feeling they may have caught more than that.
‘Were those installed by Ethan Peteros?’ Frank asked, pointing at the cameras.
‘Yes, but he installed then to spy on you, not us.’ Pastor Josh pointed out.
‘They may have seen something. Any idea where he is? We popped round his house earlier this morning and he wasn’t in.’ Frank told them euphemistically, without letting slip that he and Emet had been there at around 2am and had broken in.
‘No. I mean, I saw him and Captain Bautista leave on her motorcycle yesterday, but it was late on. They left south, towards Merida.’ Judy replied.
‘I wonder if they were after us.’ Frank mused.
‘Why? Where you?’ Pastor Josh asked him.
‘That unpronounceable island beginning with a “K”.’ Frank replied.
Judy smiled wryly. ‘Kalanggaman?’
‘Easy for you to say.’ Frank stated.
‘I know. I just said it.’ Judy replied.
‘But that’s crazy! They would have been there for barely five minutes before they would have to come back.’ Pastor Josh pointed out.
Off in the distance, but gathering in volume, they could hear the deep, imposing growl of an approaching high powered motorcycle, too powerful for most people in the Subdivision to afford.
‘That’s Captain Bautista.’ Judy enlightened them. ‘She does like to make an entrance.’
‘It’s her exits I worry about.’ Pastor Josh muttered. ‘And the mess she leaves behind.’
Sure enough, there was traffic on the road – one piece of traffic: Captain Bautista with her ‘hog’, being clung tightly to by Ethan Peteros, who looked exhausted, but still smiled like the cat who got the whole cow, not just the cream.
Frank urgently flagged them down.
Captain Bautista stopped the motorcycle, slowing and silencing its internal combustion growl.
Frank hurriedly introduced himself: not that they didn’t know, but because he wanted to tell them that he knew: ‘Detective Chief Inspector Frank Diggory. Police Scotland. Seconded to the PNP as part of Operation Barium.’ He jabbed his finger towards the CCTV camera. ‘I need to see what’s on that camera between 2am and 6am this morning.’
Ethan was sleepy, and quite taken aback. ‘Eh, I'm going to need some ID.’
‘You spy on every detail of my life and now you want to see ID?’ Frank spat in frustration.
Captain Bautista waved at Ethan to be quiet. ‘Why do you need it? What’s happened?’ she bullet pointed.
‘Someone has taken Emet. I want to know who and I want to know where, because she us coming home, unharmed.’ Frank stated determinedly.
Captain Bautista nodded surreptitiously at Ethan. ‘Okay. We’ll help you. Come with me.’
Ethan and Captain Bautista led Frank, trailed by Pastor Josh and his wife Judy, up the hilly pathway to Ethan’s home.
‘See, I told you there would be no problem?’ Captain Bautista whispered to Ethan. ‘Driving while tired is only like two cans of beer. I’ve been doing that since I was fourteen.’
Ethan shushed her. ‘Don’t say things like that around him. I mean, you’re a cop, but he’s a... cop. He has a big fancy title and everything. And he's Scottish. They are famously judgemental. Don’t talk yourself into jail.’ he warned her.
They reached his house. Ethan let them all in, chivalrously opening the door for his beloved. ‘Get the computer on, dummy!’ she scolded him.
Ethan squeezed through the door before everyone else, much to their confusion, ran to his couch, leapt over it until he was seated at the keyboard and manoeuvred it and the mouse until he found the motion sensor logs for the camera on the lamp post. ‘Okay, the sixth at 3:23am.’ he muttered. Then he accessed the camera memory, located the file, fast forwarded it and breathed triumphantly, ‘Got it!’
‘What are we looking at?’ Frank asked.
‘A bunch of men breaking into Emet’s house.’ he told them. He fast forwarded the video slightly, then wound it back a little. There, coming out of Emet’s house, were three men, dressed all in black, with scarlet red bandanas tied over their noses and mouths. One of them led the other two, who were carrying Emet between them.
‘No way! I think I know that guy!’ Captain Bautista exclaimed.
‘Who is he?’ Frank asked.
Captain Bautista told him right away. ‘Conrad Lim. He’s a local commander of the New People’s Army. Has the advantage of being a Chinoy. He can get money from their CCP paymasters easily. Picked him up last year while he was attempting to blow up a mobile mast. Idiot!’ She turned to Ethan. ‘Lover, can you run facial recognition on him, to be sure?’
Ethan shivered. ‘Still gives me chills to hear you call me things like that. I’ll try, but with only the eyes to go on...’ He pressed some buttons. It took his computer seconds to confirm it. ‘Well, hooray for a scarred retina and a birthmark under his left eye! It’s him, alright, darling.’
Captain Bautista shivered too. ‘I feel your chills too, lover.’
‘Are you two alright? Do you need to quarantine or something? What exactly is going on here?’ Frank thundered.
Captain Bautista showed off her ring finger. ‘We’re engaged! He’s going to make an honest woman of me!’
‘All this and he works miracles.’ Pastor Josh muttered.
‘Aye, very good. I’m happy for you. But what do we know about Emet's kidnapper?’ Frank asked, becoming quite irritated at their antics.
‘This is not their MO. The NPA do not do kidnap for ransom. They’re mainly disgruntled, ill-educated farmers with an AK47 and an axe to grind.’ Captain Bautista told Frank.
‘So, basically the Countryside Alliance with fewer horses and trust funds.’ Frank quipped dryly. ‘Well, they’ve kidnapped someone here. So, why? Money?’
‘They’re communists, not capitalists. They may be functionally illiterate, but they have principles.’ Captain Bautista argued.
‘Never known a communist who wouldn’t violate their principles for money or power.’ Frank told them. ‘Same hypocrisy; different brand. And I’m from Glasgow. I’ve had a big sample size. But where did they take her?’
‘Communists? Kidnap for ransom? That reeks of Mindanao. But they drove towards Merida, not Ormoc.’ Captain Bautista calculated.
‘Then Samar. It has to be Samar.’ Ethan told them.
‘In my experience it’s always summer here.’ Frank interjected. ‘Never been a day when I forgot to sweat.’
Ethan corrected him. ‘No, I mean Samar island. I think they went there. I mean, yeah, we have a big old interior here with jungle and mountains and what have you. But Samar? Much bigger. Lots more supporters there. Plenty of places to hide. Has a history of NPAs. They are there. They have to be.’
‘Okay, okay. But if I call this in and get the army involved...’ Captain Bautista began.
Frank interjected. ‘The army? Come on! They’ll shoot first and ask questions later! They’ll commit human rights violations. There will be an inquiry. And then another. It will get so messy.’
‘This is the Philippine Army.’ Captain Bautista argued. ‘Not the American. We will not extradite innocent people to a third country, torture them and then send them home damaged decades later having never established their guilt. These people are armed and dangerous, Frank. With assault rifles. And mga bolo. This is too big for us. But before we call them in, I need proof. Cast iron proof. I can’t have them invading a village just because someone looked a bit funny and starting a war. This isn’t Afghanistan. So how do we get proof?
‘There’s only one way to get to Samar from here: the San Juanico Bridge. There are guard posts. Both sides. Maybe one of them saw something.’ Ethan suggested.
‘Good thinking. Whole bunch of men crossing a bridge with a comatose women? That’s got to count for something.’ Captain Bautista noted.
‘Yeah. As if they’ve graduated from “The Hustler’s University with Honours in Misogyny.’ Frank quipped under his breath.
‘I’ll make a call.’ Captain Bautista told them, before addressing Ethan. ‘Darling, in the meantime, do you have a drone we could use?’
‘Four K camera? AI directed? One hour air time? You bet I do!’ Ethan burst out enthusiastically.
Frank held up his hands. ‘Hold on, Sherlock and Watson. How far away is Summer?’
‘That’s a question you ask a lot in Scotland, don’t you? Because the weather is so bad.’ Ethan quipped. Much to Captain Bautista’s amusement. ‘Oh, you mean Samar. I would say a decent three-four hour drive.’
‘Then she’s not there.’ Frank told them flatly.
‘What do you mean?’ Captain Bautista asked him frustratedly. ‘I mean, no offence, but I’ve served hear for years. You’ve barely learned enough of our local dialect to say “Good morning”.’
‘Think about it: what value is Emet to them?’ Frank asked them. ‘I mean, to me, she’s everything, but what does she mean to these NPAs?’
Captain Bautista and Ethan looked at each other. ‘Not much, I guess.’ Ethan admitted.
‘So they want something from her.’ Frank told them. ‘My guess is that it’s me, and whatever I know.’
‘Yeah, yeah! The world revolves around the white guy. Nothing unusual there.’ Captain Bautista said sarcastically.
‘He might have a point.’ Ethan thought. ‘But how can we check it out?’
‘I’ll call it in. Maybe the mga tanod have seen something.’ Captain Bautista volunteered.
‘I’ll get my drone.’ Ethan almost sung, as if he was delighted that his nerdy, techy ways were finally being put to good use.
‘I’ll just sit here then, will I?’ Frank asked rhetorically, not really expecting an answer, while pointing to Ethan's couch.
While the others were off doing their thing, Ethan reviewed the video of Emet being taken. Then he rewound it and watched it again. And again. And again.
He saw something. Something that stood out like a sore thumb. Something that was so unusual.
These NPAs – whoever they were – were meant to be poor.
So why were they driving a Toyota Hilux?
Captain Bautista rushed back into the room, having made the call outside. ‘Guys, no-one has seen any NPAs, but the tanod at Barangay Cambalog saw a black Hilux he’d never seen before heading into the bukid.
‘I didn’t understand half of that, but those NPAs were in a Hilux. It has to be them.’ Frank replied.
‘Okay, so what do we do?’ Ethan asked, terrified of the answer.
‘We go there and we get her back.’ Frank told him, as if it was the most obvious, and simple, thing in the world.
Captain Bautista rebuked Frank’s keenness. ‘Hold on, cowboy. I’ve called it in. There’s an Infantry patrol on rotation at Ormoc. They'll be here in an hour. I think we go there, set a forward base and use Ethan’s drone to find out what we’re dealing with. Then we let the army rescue her.’
Ethan piped up. ‘Last I heard, Pastor Josh had a church plant in Cambalong. I’ll call him. Maybe they can give us somewhere to work from.’
The others agreed.
Within thirty minutes, they were zipping off to Merida and then to Cambalong on Captain Bautista’s motorcycle and a motorcycle borrowed from Pastor Josh. Emet’s dad was afraid of their plan. He was afraid of any plan that meant attacking a group of people known as terrorists. But Frank had promised him that he would get her back unharmed.
And he believed Frank.
Somehow.
So he did as Frank wished.
He called ahead to the church in Cambalong.
One of their members was overseas, working unbearably long hours on a Middle Eastern construction site, and was in the process of building a home for himself and his family. It was nothing: just a bare concrete shell. But it would serve their purpose.
Frank, Ethan and Captain Bautista entered the house through the empty doorway. They launched the drone through a glassless window and watched it fly in the direction where the Toyota Hilux had last been seen.
Ethan and Captain Bautista stared intently at Ethan's mobile phone, which was paired with the drone. After ten minutes, Captain Bautista said, with restrained excitement, ‘Okay, we have the Hilux. Looks quite new. Relatively clean.’
‘Still don’t understand how poor farmers lay their hands on a Hilux.’ Frank told them.
‘Same way anyone does.’ Captain Bautista told him, while thoroughly distracted by the pictures coming from the drone. ‘Steal it. Buy it second hand. Maybe relatives from abroad paid for it.’
‘Maybe they inherited from a rich parent. Who knows?’ Ethan interjected. ‘Oh! Hold on! What’s that?’ he asked, with far less restrained excitement than his lover.
Captain Bautista slapped down his excitement. ‘It’s just a payag.’
‘What’s a payag?’ Frank asked them.
‘A traditional thatched wooden cottage.’ Ethan told him. ‘A wooden cottage suspiciously close to a go-anywhere Hilux and... an armed guard. Look!’ Ethan pointed to his phone, where a clearly disinterested man in a camouflage uniform and a scarlet red necktie was sheltering beneath a palm tree from the fierce heat, carrying with looked suspiciously like an AK47 assault rifle.
‘I don’t think he uses that to shoot clay pigeons.’ Frank quipped. ‘We need to confirm she’s there. Can we get any closer?’
‘Not too close, darling. We can’t let them hear it.’ Captain Bautista told him.
‘This thing has an excellent zoom.’ Ethan told them, with not inconsiderable pride. He aimed its camera at a window and zoomed in. ‘I think three, maybe four people in the payag. One of them... Frank, it's her!’ Ethan announced with adrenalised excitement.
‘Let me see.’ Frank demanded.
Captain Bautista stepped back. The screen was a little pixilated, but sure enough. Emet was there: her feet and hands bound with what looked like rope; her mouth bound with what seemed to be a red bandanna. ‘It’s her.’ He confirmed. ‘Better recall your drone. Who knows what’s about to go down?’
‘Got it.’ Ethan confirmed and manipulated a controller attached to his phone.
‘Frank, the army patrol is five minutes away. I’ll let them know. They will get her out of there.’ Captain Bautista told him.
‘No. It’s not their place.’ Frank told her, determination leeching from every pore. ‘It has to be me.’
‘Why, so you get to play the role of “white saviour”?’ Captain Bautista sneered at him scornfully.
‘No.’ Frank replied, almost choking up with guilt. ‘Because she saved me from myself, and she should not have to pay for my sins.’
Ethan pleaded with him to see sense. ‘But they’ll kill you!’ he yelled.
‘So be it.’ Frank snapped as he bolted from the house. ‘I have no life without her anyway.’
Captain Bautista got on her phone urgently and called her police station. ‘This is Bautista. Tell the patrol: Diggory has gone in alone. He must survive. He and Manalo must survive.’ She looked at Ethan, who was backing the drone away at speed. ‘What are you doing, lover? You recorded his every movement. Why not this?’ she snapped.
Frank ran down a lane with houses on every side. The houses soon stopped. Then the jungle began. But he could see the tracks left behind by the Hilux. He followed them swiftly. Lightly. Ducking into the trees to remain undetected. He soon saw the vehicle. And then the guard. Who wasn’t paying attention. He clearly either wasn’t expecting anything to happen or didn’t care.
Either way, Frank knew how to get past him.
He snuck into the brush. Darted behind one palm tree. Then another. Then another.
The guard had not seen him.
He seemed young. Inexperienced. Pre-occupied with a video on his phone.
‘Gotta love Gen Z.’ Frank chuckled. ‘Brilliant work ethic.’
Soon Frank was almost at the payag. Less than a few metres away.
He knew what he had to do.
He ducked quickly out of the brush and yelled, ‘Lim! Comrade Lim! I know you want me, not her. She is of no value to you. Let her go! Take me instead.’
He could hear the click of safeties being removed from assault rifles in front and behind him. He raised his hands in surrender. ‘Lim! I’m here! I’m yours! Just let her go!’ he repeated.
‘What makes you think that I want to capture some crazy Americano?’ a Chinese-Philipino voice called out from inside the payag.
‘Because I know what you want. Or what you've been paid to want.’ Frank called out.
‘And what is that?’ Comrade Lim asked him.
‘Information.’ Frank replied. ‘Information I have. Or once had. Information Emet Manalo does not have. And I don’t know what gave you the idea that she had it. So I want to make you a deal, Lim: you take me until my memory returns and you release Emet. Me for her. Deal?’
Emet grunted and shook her head violently in the payag until the bandana around her mouth came loose and fell below her chin. ‘No! Frank, do not do this!’ she yelled. ‘They will kill you. If you can’t give them what they want, you’re a dead man.’
Comrade Lim laughed, mocking their plight. ‘This is so amusing: a man without backup or weapons offers us a deal his girlfriend does not want. So funny how naive and stupid the mga afam are. What is to stop us taking both of you?’
Crack!
A bullet whistled past the top of the payag. It clipped a little of the thatching, sending it flying into the air. Birds, terrified by the noise, took to the air with a terrified squawk, as if they did not want to witness what could happen.
The NPAs immediately fell into a defensive formation, assault rifles aimed outwards, eyes scanning the jungle with deep intent.
Frank lowered his hands. ‘Oh, I have backup. Bigger backup than you could ever know. You are in deep trouble, comrade.’ He replied.
All around the payag, leaves rustled. Twigs snapped. Paranoid NPAs spun this way and that and back again.
‘You will get no information from Emet. You might get something from me. Someday. The question you have to ask is: is it worth it?’ Frank asked them. ‘Or, if you like, you could discuss this with the 19th Infantry Battalion, who are, right now, taking up positions around you.’
The NPAs peered through the empty window holes of the payag. From around them, red lights started to dance on the jungle floor. They gradually, and ominously, crept up towards the payag, climbed its wooden walls in an instant and rested on their foreheads.
‘I’d drop your weapons and surrender, if I was you. Seems like those fellas mean business. Better not give the undertakers around here any more work, huh? Not yet anyway.’ Frank told them.
Weapons clattered to the ground all around the wooden payag. Weather-worn hands raised to the sky towards a God they said they did not believe in. Soldiers from the 19th Infantry Battalion, in their jungle camouflage, emerged from the bush, their faces painted with mud and an iron determination. They grabbed all the NPAs, cable tied their hands and shoved them roughly from the payag.
Their commander nodded to Frank as he passed him.
Frank dashed into the payag and untied Emet, whom he hugged tightly, but who, to his surprise, did not reciprocate.
‘Thank you, Frank. You saved me.’ She whispered. ‘But I don’t know why you did that.’
‘Because I love you.’ he told her, holding her arms gently and running them to heal them of the rope bruises. ‘I won’t let anyone harm you. Ever.’
‘Again, thank you. I appreciate it. I really do. But the Frank I know would never do that.’ she said softly. ‘The Frank I know is gentle and kind and a little unsure of himself. He is my hero.’ she told him.
‘I guess I'm just who I need to be right now.’ he told her as he led her by hand out of the payag, to the cheers of everyone who assisted with the operation.
Except Emet's.
They rode back to Paraiso in triumph. Emet had been checked out by an army doctor and cleared to return home. Her mum and dad greeted her at the entrance to their home and hugged her tightly, sobbing as they did so, and mouthing ‘Thank you’ to Frank.
At Ethan’s invitation, they all headed back to his place for a party. Emet wasn’t altogether in the mood, but thought she should go anyway. After all, she was one of the guests od honour. As she made her way up the hill with Frank and her parents, Ethan already had the music pumping loudly, and Captain Bautista was roaring with laughter at her nerdy boyfriend, ill-fitting backwards baseball cap perched precariously on his head, DJ-ing with his computer.
Ethan spied Frank and Emet coming through his door. ‘And now, in honour of the British hero of the hour...’ he announced to a very bashful Frank and Emet, with Frank about to raise his hand to stop him, Ethan pushed a button on his laptop and threw his hands into a folded-arm rapper pose, which caused Captain Bautista to double up in raucous laughter once more.
Frank recognised the song. He had heard it somewhere before. He knew it. He just couldn’t place it. It was punky. Spiky. Aggressive. But almost regretful.
And then the lyrics started:
He remembered.
Tondo.
The raid.
The crash.
His head spun like a top.
It became light. Lighter than air.
He felt like all the oxygen was draining from the room. He clutched his mouth. Choking.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head.
‘Frank!’ Emet cried in desperation.
It was too late.
He fell backwards.
He was gone.
And in his head, everything was on rewind.
The van flew backwards onto the road.
The Clash sung in reverse. Fast.
The prisoner’s complaints were backwards. Faster.
They walked backwards into the webcamming building. They set the laptops down on the table.
The laptops!
The nightclub. He fell upwards. The wound healed. The man walked backwards away from him. The woman lifted her hand from his face.
But why were they there?
They backed out the nightclub. He hit stop. Turned up the volume. Played the conversation.
‘We have to find her.’ he heard him say to his colleague. ‘She knows who is in charge.’
That’s it! Who was in charge!
The hotel room. He gave the woman something from his wallet. The condom packet.
The packet! That was it. What had she said about it?
He hit rewind. The woman stood up from the bed. He hit play once more. She sat back down. ‘I want out of this, Diggory.’ she told him in her low, husky, cigarette and cannabis-smoked voice. ‘I really want out. And this is the key.’
Frank paused the memory.
The key! That condom wrapper contained the key!
But where did he put it?
He hit play once more. He saw himself place it carefully in his wallet.
In his wallet! That was where!
But where was that wallet? He hadn’t paid for a thing since arriving here!
His memories hit rewind again. Fast rewind.
That beating behind the Glasgow casino. He saw his fists and feet flee from the man as if he had a deadly virus. Instead of throwing him down, he seemed to help him up. And what was it the man said? What did he say, in that thick Turkish accent of his? Frank almost said it with him: ‘Do what you like to me, pig. Because you know where the power lies. You know we are untouchable.’
‘Where the power lies... untouchable...’ That had to mean something, right? I mean, surely?
His memories rewound again. Faster. Faster. His hand bounced off the black Transit vans. Once. Twice. The women clambered out. Scampered back into the misery cages. The hoodlums rose from their bloody puddles on the ground. Dodged backward blows from baseball bats. Ran backwards into their defensive positions. Frank and his team got backwards into their vans. Reversed at breakneck speed through the rain-soaked streets of Glasgow. Parked backwards. Ran back up the stairs of a long abandoned office building. Sat down again on broken office chairs. Frank trotted backwards in front of them. But what had he said? What did he say?
He pressed play on his memories. ‘Remember to leave your warrant cards and anything else that could identify you behind. And make sure your face is concealed at all times. This is a strictly unsanctioned operation.’ he told his team.
‘Strictly unsanctioned operation?’ How could an operation to rescue women and girls from the abject misery of trafficking by a serving police officer ever be unsanctioned?
Frank’s memories rewound again. At speed. It looked like he removed the cable ties from the priest’s wrists; lifted his fists from his face; helped the priest get back up; walked backwards with him into the confessional booth.
But what had he said? What had triggered the assault?
Frank pressed play on his memories once more.
‘Forgive me, Father, for you have sinned.’ he said to the priest.
The priest corrected him wryly. ‘I guess you are not Catholic, my child. You come here to confess your sin. Not mine.’
‘Oh, I've got plenty of sins to confess.’ Frank told him. ‘And one day I'll confess them to God, not you. But you have sinned, “Father”. You passed information from one criminal gang to another that led to the death of an innocent woman. You need to confess it.’ Frank replied.
The priest tried to deflect. ‘None of us is innocent in the eyes of God.’ he blustered nervously.
‘Oh, I am definitely not. And neither did you. So tell me, “Father”, who took that information? Confess your sins and I might forgive you.’ Frank spat frustratedly.
‘I cannot. The confidentiality of the confessional booth cannot be violated.’ The priest stammered. ‘I am a man of God. I cannot do this.’
He sensed the danger. He got up to leave. Suddenly.
Frank was on him like a flash. ‘Then forgive this!’ he snapped, and threw himself on the priest. ‘Tell me who gave the information! Confess! Or you’ll be taking your place in the crypt today.’ he snarled, as he wrestled and beat the priest. ‘Was he Albanian? Turkish? Tell me!’
‘British! He was British! Well dressed. Politely spoken. Fashionable suit and a tie.’ the priest pleased through the blows. ‘Don’t kill me! Please!’
Frank struck him one more blow.
The priest blacked out.
Frank cable-tied him and left him on the ground.
He rewound the memory. Pressed play again.
‘British. Well-dressed. Politely spoken. Fashionable suite and tie.’
Not the ordinary clothes of a people smuggler.
His memories rewound again. Faster. Faster than before. Further back than he had gone for a long time. Before the car bomb. Before Iona.
Back to a squeaky-clean office. Blue, short-pile carpet. Glass walled meeting room. Empty whiteboard. Empty projector screen, apart from the Interpol logo. He was seated. Seated beside six others. In front of him were two people. He recognised their faces from the video call. They introduced themselves: Cerys Hughes, M16; Moise Kaplan, CIA.
Cerys said something. What had she said?
Frank turned the volume up on his memories again and pressed play: ‘Welcome to Operation Barium.’ She said, smiling politely. ‘You are the best and most trustworthy officers, the Met, GMP and Police Scotland could find. We are looking forward to working with you. Please note: the information we are about to share is to be treated as highly classified. You may not take notes or pass this information to anyone outside of this room. To do so is a violation of the Official Secrets Act, the maximum penalty for which is instant dismissal, without pension, two years imprisonment and an unlimited fine. Are we clear?’
‘Yes, Ma’am!’ everyone else in the room, apart from Agent Kaplan, chorused.
She nodded to Agent Kaplan. ‘You may proceed.’
Agent Kaplan pressed the button in the controller in his hand. A male face appeared on the screen: swarthy, clearly tanned with the sun. Grey hair caused by lifestyle stress barely covered up with hair dye. The man looked deeply concentrated. Focused.
Evil.
‘This is Orhan Osman. Turkish smuggler. Trafficker. Gun-runner. Sanction-buster. Famously supplied arms to his own people and the PKK. Currently making a fortune from the wars in Ukraine, Syria, Gaza and Yemen. He has no moral fibre. Happy to make money wherever and however money is there to be made. He’s One Bad Apple. The problem is: this guy is protected. Someone is preventing him from being prosecuted. Your job is to find out who they are. And then eliminate them from the equation. By any means necessary. You will be exonerated for any misdemeanours you may commit to this end. We just want him gone.’
Reality hit Frank like a stone. This was it. It had cost him Iona. It had cost him his conscience. It had cost him everything.
Operation Barium had to end. Now.
Before it cost him his life.
But what else could he remember?
His memory sped forward again. Fast. Breakneck speed. Almost out of control. It stopped again at each vital point as if on some form of high speed slide show:
Operation Barium.
Well-dressed, well-spoken man.
Unsanctioned operation.
Untouchable hoodlum.
Condom wrapper.
Laptops.
There had to be something in it all.
But his memories sped forward.
Faster.
Bright operating theatre lights.
Hospital corridors.
Squeaky gurney wheels.
Ambulance.
Airport announcements. Confusing. Barely audible. Was that a list of names? Of people who needed to go to their gate? Repeatedly?
Cabin lights.
Gurney.
Ambulance. On windy country roads.
And then.
And then.
And then.
Flickering eyelids. Bright sunshine. Bright, blinding sunshine. His fingers, rubbing his eyes.
Then paranoia. Deep, dark, sweaty, feverish paranoia.
Where was he?
Why was he here?
He had no idea.
He had a secret.
A secret people were looking for.
A secret they could not know.
A secret he had to hide.
He patted his pocket. Good, it was there.
He sat up on his bed. Span around.
No-one was watching. Not as far as he could see.
Where could he hide his secret here?
Pillow?
Bed?
Wardrobe?
Night stand?
Too obvious. Too easy.
He ran out the room into the room next door. Surveyed the room.
Not good. Too obvious.
He left the room and stood in the hallway. The room was fuzzy. Spinning. He needed to lie down.
But he had to guard his secret.
He slapped his left hand onto the wall. It felt cold. Hard. Real.
In front of him he could see a staircase. A wooden staircase.
He could hear no-one at the bottom of the stairs.
He was alone.
The stairs were steep. He grasped the rail on his right, leant against the wall on his left, and stumbled down the stairs, before somehow steadying his ungainly frame at the bottom.
He scanned around the room. Wooden cabinets. Kitchen cupboards. Sofa.
Too obvious. Too easy.
His furtive eyes glanced towards the back door of his house.
And there he saw it.
Where his secret could be concealed.
Frank’s eyelids flickered wide open.
Frank was awake. Widely awake.
He knew exactly who he was.
And what he should do.
Frank raised himself quickly to his feet. He ignored the pain in the back of his head. He ignored the nausea. He ignored the dizziness. He ignored the voices of the people who cared about him, including Emet’s, asking if he was fine and what was going on. He ignored them all. He silently got to his feet and quickly scampered out the house and down the hillside.
Emet and the others were all utterly perplexed. They followed him, agog at what was going on. They kept up with him as best they could. Even Ethan’s cries for help on the way down as he stumbled and thought he had sprained an ankle went unanswered.
Frank ran to his house. ‘I know where it is. After all this time, I know where it is.’ he muttered.
Captain Bautista overheard him and gasped. ‘This is it! He’s remembered!’
Frank unlocked the door. He bolted towards his kitchen cutlery drawer, took out a knife, closed the drawer and made a beeline for the last floor tile before his back door.
Carefully, he poked the blade of the knife under the tile. The cement gave way.
He was right.
‘This is it.’ he muttered to himself. ‘I’ve remembered. It’s over now.’
He eased the tile up and stared inside.
And gasped.
He could see how, in his utterly paranoid, deeply medicated state, he had dug a little cubby hole for himself where he could hide his secret.
But he turned to his friends, his face as pale as a sheet, and told them, aghast, ‘I don’t understand. There's nothing here!’
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