fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2012-05-30 06:05 pm
fredbassett) wrote2012-05-30 06:05 pm
Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 82
Title : Silk and Steel, Part 82
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Leek, Lyle, Lorraine, Ditzy.
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lester has a difficult task to perform.
Warning : Slave!fic.
A/N : The links to all previous parts can be found HERE.
The knock on the door took Lester by surprise. He glanced at his watch. It was now 3.30pm and somehow an entire day had vanished while he’d done nothing more than lie on his bed and stare into space. He hadn’t passed a day like that since he’d been a teenager. Even the distant sound of the ADD alarm a short while ago had done little or nothing to arouse his interest.
He stood up, ran a hand through his hair in lieu of a comb, and delivered his standard response. “Enter.”
The guard, one of Thomson’s men, saluted smartly. “Mr Leek has asked if you would attend him in his office, sir.”
Lester was tempted to ask what would happen if he declined, but he wasn’t really in the mood for games. He slipped on his shoes, wondering with a degree of wry amusement how much of a stir the old jeans and cashmere sweater he was wearing would cause amongst his former subordinates, most of whom had never seen him in anything other than a suit.
The members of staff he passed in the corridors seemed subdued and none of them met his eyes. He paused at the head of the stairs and stared down into the atrium. A nervous-looking technician was sitting in Connor’s chair, staring at the bank of screens and for once, the atrium was devoid of soldiers.
Lorraine Wickes looked up as he entered her office and did her best to smile. The skin under her eyes looked like dark bruises in stark counterpoint to her usually flawless complexion and he knew she had spent much of the previous night crying.
Lester returned her smile before preceding the guard into the inner office that had previously been his own domain. Oliver Leek came to his feet with more alacrity than Lester had expected. Lyle, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up and gave a discreet nod to the guard, clearly giving him permission to leave. Lester noted with a degree of detached interest that Thomson’s men appeared to be taking orders from Ryan’s former second-in-command. As the guard closed the door behind him, Lester glanced up at the CCTV camera in the corner of the room. The small red light that indicated when the camera was in use was not apparent.
Leek waved a hand at the chair in front of the desk. “Sir James, thank you for coming.”
Lester allowed a small sigh to escape his lips as he sat down, crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Cut the crap, Oliver.”
The ingratiating manner fell away from Leek and a wry smile quirked the man’s thin lips. “Coffee?”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day, so yes.”
“Unless Thomson’s men have been signally lax, it should have been the only offer you’ve had all day.”
Exactly on cue, Lester’s stomach rumbled. Leek opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a packet of chocolate biscuits. “Lyle gets cranky if I deprive him of regular snacks.”
Lyle’s grin held an easy intimacy that made Lester wonder, not for the first time recently, about the nature of the two men’s relationship. He took one of the proffered biscuits and waited while Leek poured three mugs of coffee from a large jug. It appeared bodyguards were granted coffee privileges as well.
“This establishment is to remain under the military control of Section 42,” Leek announced, without further preamble. “Captain Stringer heads the anomaly response teams and Captain Ryan’s men will work with him. There will be no reprisals against anyone for the events of yesterday.”
Lester raised his eyebrows. He’d more than half-expected Owen to have been forced to take Ryan’s place in the Punishment Room. The medic had taken a hell of a risk… in more ways than one.
“We have Captain Thomson’s intervention to thank for that result,” Leek continued, holding the biscuit packet out again.
Lester helped himself to two more. He had no intention of enquiring into his own fate. Leek would no doubt get to the point in due course. His former assistant glanced up at the security camera as though to reassure himself that it had indeed been disabled.
“James, I know perfectly well that Ryan did nothing to compromise the security of the ARC, so does Thomson. Your own integrity is also beyond all reasonable doubt and we hope to prove that very shortly. What we don’t know is the identity of the real culprit.”
“But you mean to find out.” It was statement, not a question.
Leek nodded. “I hope I can rely on your full co-operation with Thomson’s investigation, James.”
Lester raised one eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem to matter to Thomson whether he has co-operation or not. Am I to be subjected to the same methods employed to extract information from my former Head of Security?” Lester was surprised by how difficult he found it to say Ryan’s name. He wondered whether Leek would notice his weakness.
“No, of course not.” Leek ran a hand through his thinning hair. He hesitated, then added, “I know perfectly well what you think of me, and I’d be the last to deny that I am indeed ambitious, But believe me, after the events of the last few weeks, ending up with your job is not exactly the sort of career move I’d envisaged.”
“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” Lester murmured. “Think of the pension prospects, Oliver.”
“The PM told me to assure you that yours will be unaffected,” Leek said.
“The PM has the integrity of a syphilitic stoat.”
Lyle did a monumentally bad job of stifling a snort of laughter, which did more than anything to convince Lester that the room wasn’t bugged.
“The Home Secretary is no fucking better,” Leek said heavily, confirming that view.
Lester narrowed his eyes. He’d always suspected the Home Secretary of being among Leek’s backers, but now he wasn’t so sure. The whole political situation was a tangled mess and Lester was nowhere near working it all out. The only thing he was certain of was that Section 42 reported directly to the PM and they had clearly been behind his replacement by Leek, a move that no doubt hadn’t gone down well with Helen Cutter. She’d been given the Science Director’s job over her ex-husband’s head, but she now been forced to play second fiddle to Leek, which would no doubt have increased her frustration. As ever, the denizens of Westminster were weaving a tangled web and the identity of the spider at its centre still wasn’t clear, but he was beginning to have his suspicions. Too many things were revolving around Helen Cutter for his liking.
Another thought suddenly crossed Lester’s mind. “Where does our esteemed Chancellor stand in all this?” he asked, beyond the point of caring whether he sounded suitably casual or not.
“Creating merry hell in an attempt to get you reinstated, by all accounts.” Leek grinned. “She’s gone out on a limb for you, James.”
Lester allowed himself a small smile. The woman was his eldest daughter’s godmother and he’d had a brief, tempestuous affair with her when his marriage had turned sour, but Angela Houston, the first female Chancellor of the Exchequer, wasn’t normally one to allow sentiment to rule her head.
“She’s demanding your reinstatement.”
“That’s rather putting the cart before the horse,” Lester commented.
“She’s confident you’ll be cleared of all possible complicity in the sabotage.”
“Angela never lacks confidence. I shall certainly co-operate in your investigation, Oliver, as long as it doesn’t involve the application of water to my nostrils or anything equally unsavoury.”
“I’ve made it plain to Thomson that I want this dealt with in a civilised manner.” Leek glanced out of the window at the pouring rain. “I’m told that Sergeant Miller is currently undertaking a personal check on the entire perimeter fencing. Hopefully that will dampen his enthusiasm for water-based activities. You have my personal guarantee that he will not be involved in any way in matters.” Abruptly, Leek stood up and poured more coffee from them all before sitting down and announcing, “Ryan’s personal effects need to be dealt with.”
The change of subject caught Lester unawares and Leek’s words caught him like a punch in the guts. He opened his mouth to reply but closed it without speaking. He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice not to break. A raised eyebrow was the best he could manage, even though he was conscious of over-using the gesture.
“Lyle thinks Ryan would have wanted you to take care of his things.”
Lester bought time by slowly finishing his coffee. When he’d regained enough composure, he nodded. “Thank you, Oliver.” Lester turned to Lyle, hoping the soldier wouldn’t notice the way he was attempting to distract himself by digging the nails of his left hand into his palm. “Are you sure this isn’t something you’d prefer to handle yourself, Lieutenant?”
Lyle shook his head, but didn’t speak. The soldier’s expression gave nothing away. Lester knew the two men had been close friends but he was sure that Lyle was in total ignorance of whatever had happened, which was interesting in a great number of ways. Lester stood up, placing his coffee cup carefully on the tray on the desk.
“Thank you for your consideration, Oliver. Dare I hope that this is something I can be allowed to do without supervision?”
Leek nodded. “I have already issued an order allowing you freedom of movement in the residential areas of the ARC without supervision. Just stay away from the armoury and the operational centres, including the laboratories, until the investigation is concluded, James. A guard will remain on your rooms for your own protection, but that’s all. Naturally, I expect you to remain within the building. If you feel the need for fresh air, take the guard with you.”
It felt strange to walk out of his former office without one of Thomson’s men dogging his footsteps. Lester’s confinement had lasted less than two days but it already felt like a lifetime. He hesitated by Lorraine’s desk. “Are you all right, my dear?”
She looked up at him, compassion in her dark eyes. “Thank you, Sir James. I’m fine.” To his relief, she said nothing more.
Lester made his way to the accommodation wing. Leek’s order had clearly already been circulated. The soldiers he passed in the corridors betrayed no surprise when they saw him unaccompanied. Thomson’s men simply avoided his eyes and went about their own business, but as he passed two more on their way to the recreation room, one of them - the young soldier the others called Kermit - stopped and saluted him, and the other, a man he didn’t recognise, followed suit with barely any hesitation. Lester acknowledged them with a nod.
He pushed open the door to Ryan’s room, hesitating on the threshold as he took in the Spartan surroundings. As head of security, Ryan had occupied a room of his own, close to the barracks area where the rest of the military contingent had their sleeping accommodation in little more than bunkrooms, but if truth be told, Ryan’s room wasn’t much better.
A single bed was pushed against one bare, white-painted wall; a simple wardrobe unit of mass-produced plywood in pine veneer was in one corner, a desk and chair in the other. The room had a small window that overlooked one of the outside car parks, the cream-coloured blinds pulled back to allow early spring sunlight to fall on the only splash of colour in the room, a deep crimson woven blanket, shot with splashes of gold and black thread, that looked like it had been brought back from one of Ryan’s travels. Lester closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking deep, steadying breaths. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in the smell of polish mixed with the faint, but recognisable tang of the citrus shower gel Ryan always used. He pushed himself blindly away from the door, glad no one was present to witness his weakness as tears finally started to escape his eyes.
Lester sat down heavily on the bed and fisted his hands in the coverlet, pulling it up and inhaling deeply as he buried his face in the soft material. The tension of three interminable days finally broke free and Lester started to shake uncontrollably as tears ran down his face. He had no idea what had happened, whether Ryan was alive or dead. His initial hopes had finally given way to doubts, doubts that he’d been unable to dispel no matter how hard he’d tried. When he’d last seen Ryan alive the soldier had been sporting an angry red burn on the inside of his wrist, a self-inflicted brand in the shape of Lester’s initials. The dead body he’d seen in the lower corridor on the way to the Punishment Room had carried no such mark. But that still wasn’t enough to convince him, although there were other factors to consider.
Ryan had been tortured and raped by Sergeant Miller, a man who, according to Lyle – and apparently also Blade and Norman – had borne an uncanny resemblance to a cleaner killed during the siege. A cleaner no one had recognised and who did not appear to have been on the staff of the ARC, and whose body had subsequently disappeared without trace.
Incomprehensible thoughts had buzzed around in his head like angry wasps throughout a long night and an even longer day, leaving Lester no nearer to any conclusions. The sound of passing footsteps in the corridor outside finally intruded and Lester sat up straighter, using the blanket to wipe his eyes. There was a small sink in one corner of the room, with a blue towel hanging from a rail underneath it. Lester splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his own sleepless night and he realised to his horror that he had forgotten to shave that day. No wonder Lorraine had looked at him with such compassion. His stubble was dark against a pale, drawn face and his reputation was no doubt as tattered as his composure.
Lester drew in another deep breath and opened the wardrobe. It mostly appeared to contain several sets of black uniforms: jackets, shirts, trousers, equipment vests and boots, all in immaculate condition. The shelves held a small selection of other clothing: mainly jeans, casual trousers, tee-shirts and sweatshirts, with the usual collection of socks and underwear. Lester reached out a hand and tentatively stroked the only luxury item in there, the black silk dressing-gown he’d given Ryan several months ago. He slipped it off the hanger and rubbed the silk against his cheek, inhaling Ryan’s own scent, something that in the past had never failed to arouse him. Tears pricked at his eyes again as he folded the garment neatly and laid it on the bed.
A black rucksack on a shelf inside the wardrobe caught his attention and he picked up the silk robe again, stowing it away inside the pack. What he’d do with it, Lester had no idea, but it wasn’t something he felt able to discard. He glanced around the room and, after a moment’s hesitation did the same with the vivid coverlet.
The desk drawers yielded a couple of paperback books, the kind of trashy thriller that the soldiers devoured – and ridiculed – in their off-duty hours, together with a bundle of papers held together by an elastic band. Lester’s hesitation was more pronounced now, but eventually he slipped them free of their binding and let them fall onto the desk top.
A series of solicitor’s letters told the stark tale of Ryan’s divorce, culminating in the court order that had denied him access to his daughter. There were also copies of some letters from his wife’s solicitors. Lester put them all back in the envelopes to keep. They would be useful if he ever needed to make good his promise to track down Ryan’s daughter. The final envelope contained photographs. A baby wrapped up in a white shawl, eyes screwed firmly shut. The next one showed a blonde-haired toddler smiling up at the camera, clutching a toy rabbit. In another picture she was playing in a garden with the same toy. In all of them, the child looked no older than two. There were ten photos in total, all well-thumbed and a little battered around the edges, seemingly all Ryan had been able to salvage out of a marriage that had quickly turned sour.
Lester dashed away the tears that were threatening to fall again and stowed the photographs carefully in the envelope, adding them to the contents of the rucksack, along with the dressing gown and the woven blanket.
He pulled a black shirt out of the wardrobe, running his fingers over the soft cotton. Black had suited Ryan and this was a shirt he’d often worn off-duty over a pair of faded denim jeans. It had been several sizes too large for him but Ryan had clearly liked it. So had Lester, although he’d never told the soldier that. He folded it carefully and added it to the pack. A well-worn blue tee-shirt followed it. Ryan had worn that on the day he’d arrived at the ARC. He’d come hard on the heels of another mission, one Lester hadn’t had the security clearance to be told anything about. His new head of security had been unshaven, looking like he hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours, a huge Bergen slung over one shoulder like it had weighed no more than a woman’s handbag. Lester had looked down into the atrium as Ryan had entered from the internal garage…
Lester pushed the memory away. He had a job to finish.
Five minutes later, a soft knock on the door made him jump. He debated saying nothing and hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but a moment later the door opened to reveal Second Lieutenant David Owen, Ryan’s unit medic, the man who had apparently shot dead his own commanding officer.
The man his colleagues referred to as Ditzy, for no reason that Lester had ever been able to discern, stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind him. His brown eyes were wary and a day’s growth of stubble covered his cheeks. Lester was beginning to wonder whether anybody apart from Oliver Leek had bothered to shave that day.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” The medic’s tone was as wary as his eyes.
“It was an opportune arrival, Owen,” Lester commented, resolving to make a virtue of necessity. He waved a hand at the wardrobe. “What do you suggest I do with these items?” He rested a proprietorial hand on the rucksack, making it clear that its contents were the things he had chosen to keep.
“Waste not, want not, sir,” Ditzy replied. “The lads’ll find a use for most stuff. Would you like me to deal with it?”
Lester inclined his head. “Thank you.” He held the medic’s gaze, not giving him the opportunity to look away. “You’re a brave man, Owen. I’m told you nearly ended up taking Ryan’s place.”
The haunted look in Ditzy’s brown eyes told Lester that the soldier had been all too aware of that risk. Lester knew he had a girlfriend and wondered what she thought of his actions.
“I believe I have Captain Thomson to thank for the fact that I didn’t,” Ditzy said quietly.
Lester nodded in acknowledgment. Leek’s news on that score had surprised him. He hadn’t expected Thomson to put himself on the line for one of Ryan’s men, especially when Downing Street had no doubt been on the look out for a replacement sacrifice to appease their allies. “And I believe I owe you a debt of thanks as well, Lieutenant.”
To his credit, Ditzy’s eyes remained steady, his face as impassive as a graven image. “I did what anyone in my position would have done, sir.”
“Your actions were commendable,” Lester said, wondering if there was a serious possibility that Ryan’s room had been deemed worthy of being bugged. The medic had obviously decided there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.
“Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” Ditzy asked. “Are you having trouble sleeping? I could give you something to help.”
You can tell me if the man I love is alive or dead, Lester thought, not allowing his gaze to waver. Aloud, he said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, but no. I suspect I shall need full possession of my faculties while Captain Thomson continues his investigations into the sabotage of the Anomaly Detection Device.”
Ditzy grimaced. He’d clearly seen quite enough of Thomson’s methods.
Lester smiled. “I’m told there will be no water involved.” He stood up, and on impulse held his hand out to the soldier.
Ditzy’s grip was firm, his skin cool. He squeezed Lester’s hand and smiled slightly.
Lester just wished he knew for certain what message the man was trying to convey but asking a direct question was clearly out of the question. He returned the handshake and then picked up the backpack from the bed. Ditzy held the door open for him and Lester left his lover’s room without a backward glance.
The game was back on. And Lester had every intention of playing to win. After all, it didn’t look like he had anything left to lose.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Leek, Lyle, Lorraine, Ditzy.
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lester has a difficult task to perform.
Warning : Slave!fic.
A/N : The links to all previous parts can be found HERE.
The knock on the door took Lester by surprise. He glanced at his watch. It was now 3.30pm and somehow an entire day had vanished while he’d done nothing more than lie on his bed and stare into space. He hadn’t passed a day like that since he’d been a teenager. Even the distant sound of the ADD alarm a short while ago had done little or nothing to arouse his interest.
He stood up, ran a hand through his hair in lieu of a comb, and delivered his standard response. “Enter.”
The guard, one of Thomson’s men, saluted smartly. “Mr Leek has asked if you would attend him in his office, sir.”
Lester was tempted to ask what would happen if he declined, but he wasn’t really in the mood for games. He slipped on his shoes, wondering with a degree of wry amusement how much of a stir the old jeans and cashmere sweater he was wearing would cause amongst his former subordinates, most of whom had never seen him in anything other than a suit.
The members of staff he passed in the corridors seemed subdued and none of them met his eyes. He paused at the head of the stairs and stared down into the atrium. A nervous-looking technician was sitting in Connor’s chair, staring at the bank of screens and for once, the atrium was devoid of soldiers.
Lorraine Wickes looked up as he entered her office and did her best to smile. The skin under her eyes looked like dark bruises in stark counterpoint to her usually flawless complexion and he knew she had spent much of the previous night crying.
Lester returned her smile before preceding the guard into the inner office that had previously been his own domain. Oliver Leek came to his feet with more alacrity than Lester had expected. Lyle, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up and gave a discreet nod to the guard, clearly giving him permission to leave. Lester noted with a degree of detached interest that Thomson’s men appeared to be taking orders from Ryan’s former second-in-command. As the guard closed the door behind him, Lester glanced up at the CCTV camera in the corner of the room. The small red light that indicated when the camera was in use was not apparent.
Leek waved a hand at the chair in front of the desk. “Sir James, thank you for coming.”
Lester allowed a small sigh to escape his lips as he sat down, crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Cut the crap, Oliver.”
The ingratiating manner fell away from Leek and a wry smile quirked the man’s thin lips. “Coffee?”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day, so yes.”
“Unless Thomson’s men have been signally lax, it should have been the only offer you’ve had all day.”
Exactly on cue, Lester’s stomach rumbled. Leek opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a packet of chocolate biscuits. “Lyle gets cranky if I deprive him of regular snacks.”
Lyle’s grin held an easy intimacy that made Lester wonder, not for the first time recently, about the nature of the two men’s relationship. He took one of the proffered biscuits and waited while Leek poured three mugs of coffee from a large jug. It appeared bodyguards were granted coffee privileges as well.
“This establishment is to remain under the military control of Section 42,” Leek announced, without further preamble. “Captain Stringer heads the anomaly response teams and Captain Ryan’s men will work with him. There will be no reprisals against anyone for the events of yesterday.”
Lester raised his eyebrows. He’d more than half-expected Owen to have been forced to take Ryan’s place in the Punishment Room. The medic had taken a hell of a risk… in more ways than one.
“We have Captain Thomson’s intervention to thank for that result,” Leek continued, holding the biscuit packet out again.
Lester helped himself to two more. He had no intention of enquiring into his own fate. Leek would no doubt get to the point in due course. His former assistant glanced up at the security camera as though to reassure himself that it had indeed been disabled.
“James, I know perfectly well that Ryan did nothing to compromise the security of the ARC, so does Thomson. Your own integrity is also beyond all reasonable doubt and we hope to prove that very shortly. What we don’t know is the identity of the real culprit.”
“But you mean to find out.” It was statement, not a question.
Leek nodded. “I hope I can rely on your full co-operation with Thomson’s investigation, James.”
Lester raised one eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem to matter to Thomson whether he has co-operation or not. Am I to be subjected to the same methods employed to extract information from my former Head of Security?” Lester was surprised by how difficult he found it to say Ryan’s name. He wondered whether Leek would notice his weakness.
“No, of course not.” Leek ran a hand through his thinning hair. He hesitated, then added, “I know perfectly well what you think of me, and I’d be the last to deny that I am indeed ambitious, But believe me, after the events of the last few weeks, ending up with your job is not exactly the sort of career move I’d envisaged.”
“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” Lester murmured. “Think of the pension prospects, Oliver.”
“The PM told me to assure you that yours will be unaffected,” Leek said.
“The PM has the integrity of a syphilitic stoat.”
Lyle did a monumentally bad job of stifling a snort of laughter, which did more than anything to convince Lester that the room wasn’t bugged.
“The Home Secretary is no fucking better,” Leek said heavily, confirming that view.
Lester narrowed his eyes. He’d always suspected the Home Secretary of being among Leek’s backers, but now he wasn’t so sure. The whole political situation was a tangled mess and Lester was nowhere near working it all out. The only thing he was certain of was that Section 42 reported directly to the PM and they had clearly been behind his replacement by Leek, a move that no doubt hadn’t gone down well with Helen Cutter. She’d been given the Science Director’s job over her ex-husband’s head, but she now been forced to play second fiddle to Leek, which would no doubt have increased her frustration. As ever, the denizens of Westminster were weaving a tangled web and the identity of the spider at its centre still wasn’t clear, but he was beginning to have his suspicions. Too many things were revolving around Helen Cutter for his liking.
Another thought suddenly crossed Lester’s mind. “Where does our esteemed Chancellor stand in all this?” he asked, beyond the point of caring whether he sounded suitably casual or not.
“Creating merry hell in an attempt to get you reinstated, by all accounts.” Leek grinned. “She’s gone out on a limb for you, James.”
Lester allowed himself a small smile. The woman was his eldest daughter’s godmother and he’d had a brief, tempestuous affair with her when his marriage had turned sour, but Angela Houston, the first female Chancellor of the Exchequer, wasn’t normally one to allow sentiment to rule her head.
“She’s demanding your reinstatement.”
“That’s rather putting the cart before the horse,” Lester commented.
“She’s confident you’ll be cleared of all possible complicity in the sabotage.”
“Angela never lacks confidence. I shall certainly co-operate in your investigation, Oliver, as long as it doesn’t involve the application of water to my nostrils or anything equally unsavoury.”
“I’ve made it plain to Thomson that I want this dealt with in a civilised manner.” Leek glanced out of the window at the pouring rain. “I’m told that Sergeant Miller is currently undertaking a personal check on the entire perimeter fencing. Hopefully that will dampen his enthusiasm for water-based activities. You have my personal guarantee that he will not be involved in any way in matters.” Abruptly, Leek stood up and poured more coffee from them all before sitting down and announcing, “Ryan’s personal effects need to be dealt with.”
The change of subject caught Lester unawares and Leek’s words caught him like a punch in the guts. He opened his mouth to reply but closed it without speaking. He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice not to break. A raised eyebrow was the best he could manage, even though he was conscious of over-using the gesture.
“Lyle thinks Ryan would have wanted you to take care of his things.”
Lester bought time by slowly finishing his coffee. When he’d regained enough composure, he nodded. “Thank you, Oliver.” Lester turned to Lyle, hoping the soldier wouldn’t notice the way he was attempting to distract himself by digging the nails of his left hand into his palm. “Are you sure this isn’t something you’d prefer to handle yourself, Lieutenant?”
Lyle shook his head, but didn’t speak. The soldier’s expression gave nothing away. Lester knew the two men had been close friends but he was sure that Lyle was in total ignorance of whatever had happened, which was interesting in a great number of ways. Lester stood up, placing his coffee cup carefully on the tray on the desk.
“Thank you for your consideration, Oliver. Dare I hope that this is something I can be allowed to do without supervision?”
Leek nodded. “I have already issued an order allowing you freedom of movement in the residential areas of the ARC without supervision. Just stay away from the armoury and the operational centres, including the laboratories, until the investigation is concluded, James. A guard will remain on your rooms for your own protection, but that’s all. Naturally, I expect you to remain within the building. If you feel the need for fresh air, take the guard with you.”
It felt strange to walk out of his former office without one of Thomson’s men dogging his footsteps. Lester’s confinement had lasted less than two days but it already felt like a lifetime. He hesitated by Lorraine’s desk. “Are you all right, my dear?”
She looked up at him, compassion in her dark eyes. “Thank you, Sir James. I’m fine.” To his relief, she said nothing more.
Lester made his way to the accommodation wing. Leek’s order had clearly already been circulated. The soldiers he passed in the corridors betrayed no surprise when they saw him unaccompanied. Thomson’s men simply avoided his eyes and went about their own business, but as he passed two more on their way to the recreation room, one of them - the young soldier the others called Kermit - stopped and saluted him, and the other, a man he didn’t recognise, followed suit with barely any hesitation. Lester acknowledged them with a nod.
He pushed open the door to Ryan’s room, hesitating on the threshold as he took in the Spartan surroundings. As head of security, Ryan had occupied a room of his own, close to the barracks area where the rest of the military contingent had their sleeping accommodation in little more than bunkrooms, but if truth be told, Ryan’s room wasn’t much better.
A single bed was pushed against one bare, white-painted wall; a simple wardrobe unit of mass-produced plywood in pine veneer was in one corner, a desk and chair in the other. The room had a small window that overlooked one of the outside car parks, the cream-coloured blinds pulled back to allow early spring sunlight to fall on the only splash of colour in the room, a deep crimson woven blanket, shot with splashes of gold and black thread, that looked like it had been brought back from one of Ryan’s travels. Lester closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking deep, steadying breaths. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in the smell of polish mixed with the faint, but recognisable tang of the citrus shower gel Ryan always used. He pushed himself blindly away from the door, glad no one was present to witness his weakness as tears finally started to escape his eyes.
Lester sat down heavily on the bed and fisted his hands in the coverlet, pulling it up and inhaling deeply as he buried his face in the soft material. The tension of three interminable days finally broke free and Lester started to shake uncontrollably as tears ran down his face. He had no idea what had happened, whether Ryan was alive or dead. His initial hopes had finally given way to doubts, doubts that he’d been unable to dispel no matter how hard he’d tried. When he’d last seen Ryan alive the soldier had been sporting an angry red burn on the inside of his wrist, a self-inflicted brand in the shape of Lester’s initials. The dead body he’d seen in the lower corridor on the way to the Punishment Room had carried no such mark. But that still wasn’t enough to convince him, although there were other factors to consider.
Ryan had been tortured and raped by Sergeant Miller, a man who, according to Lyle – and apparently also Blade and Norman – had borne an uncanny resemblance to a cleaner killed during the siege. A cleaner no one had recognised and who did not appear to have been on the staff of the ARC, and whose body had subsequently disappeared without trace.
Incomprehensible thoughts had buzzed around in his head like angry wasps throughout a long night and an even longer day, leaving Lester no nearer to any conclusions. The sound of passing footsteps in the corridor outside finally intruded and Lester sat up straighter, using the blanket to wipe his eyes. There was a small sink in one corner of the room, with a blue towel hanging from a rail underneath it. Lester splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his own sleepless night and he realised to his horror that he had forgotten to shave that day. No wonder Lorraine had looked at him with such compassion. His stubble was dark against a pale, drawn face and his reputation was no doubt as tattered as his composure.
Lester drew in another deep breath and opened the wardrobe. It mostly appeared to contain several sets of black uniforms: jackets, shirts, trousers, equipment vests and boots, all in immaculate condition. The shelves held a small selection of other clothing: mainly jeans, casual trousers, tee-shirts and sweatshirts, with the usual collection of socks and underwear. Lester reached out a hand and tentatively stroked the only luxury item in there, the black silk dressing-gown he’d given Ryan several months ago. He slipped it off the hanger and rubbed the silk against his cheek, inhaling Ryan’s own scent, something that in the past had never failed to arouse him. Tears pricked at his eyes again as he folded the garment neatly and laid it on the bed.
A black rucksack on a shelf inside the wardrobe caught his attention and he picked up the silk robe again, stowing it away inside the pack. What he’d do with it, Lester had no idea, but it wasn’t something he felt able to discard. He glanced around the room and, after a moment’s hesitation did the same with the vivid coverlet.
The desk drawers yielded a couple of paperback books, the kind of trashy thriller that the soldiers devoured – and ridiculed – in their off-duty hours, together with a bundle of papers held together by an elastic band. Lester’s hesitation was more pronounced now, but eventually he slipped them free of their binding and let them fall onto the desk top.
A series of solicitor’s letters told the stark tale of Ryan’s divorce, culminating in the court order that had denied him access to his daughter. There were also copies of some letters from his wife’s solicitors. Lester put them all back in the envelopes to keep. They would be useful if he ever needed to make good his promise to track down Ryan’s daughter. The final envelope contained photographs. A baby wrapped up in a white shawl, eyes screwed firmly shut. The next one showed a blonde-haired toddler smiling up at the camera, clutching a toy rabbit. In another picture she was playing in a garden with the same toy. In all of them, the child looked no older than two. There were ten photos in total, all well-thumbed and a little battered around the edges, seemingly all Ryan had been able to salvage out of a marriage that had quickly turned sour.
Lester dashed away the tears that were threatening to fall again and stowed the photographs carefully in the envelope, adding them to the contents of the rucksack, along with the dressing gown and the woven blanket.
He pulled a black shirt out of the wardrobe, running his fingers over the soft cotton. Black had suited Ryan and this was a shirt he’d often worn off-duty over a pair of faded denim jeans. It had been several sizes too large for him but Ryan had clearly liked it. So had Lester, although he’d never told the soldier that. He folded it carefully and added it to the pack. A well-worn blue tee-shirt followed it. Ryan had worn that on the day he’d arrived at the ARC. He’d come hard on the heels of another mission, one Lester hadn’t had the security clearance to be told anything about. His new head of security had been unshaven, looking like he hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours, a huge Bergen slung over one shoulder like it had weighed no more than a woman’s handbag. Lester had looked down into the atrium as Ryan had entered from the internal garage…
Lester pushed the memory away. He had a job to finish.
Five minutes later, a soft knock on the door made him jump. He debated saying nothing and hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but a moment later the door opened to reveal Second Lieutenant David Owen, Ryan’s unit medic, the man who had apparently shot dead his own commanding officer.
The man his colleagues referred to as Ditzy, for no reason that Lester had ever been able to discern, stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind him. His brown eyes were wary and a day’s growth of stubble covered his cheeks. Lester was beginning to wonder whether anybody apart from Oliver Leek had bothered to shave that day.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” The medic’s tone was as wary as his eyes.
“It was an opportune arrival, Owen,” Lester commented, resolving to make a virtue of necessity. He waved a hand at the wardrobe. “What do you suggest I do with these items?” He rested a proprietorial hand on the rucksack, making it clear that its contents were the things he had chosen to keep.
“Waste not, want not, sir,” Ditzy replied. “The lads’ll find a use for most stuff. Would you like me to deal with it?”
Lester inclined his head. “Thank you.” He held the medic’s gaze, not giving him the opportunity to look away. “You’re a brave man, Owen. I’m told you nearly ended up taking Ryan’s place.”
The haunted look in Ditzy’s brown eyes told Lester that the soldier had been all too aware of that risk. Lester knew he had a girlfriend and wondered what she thought of his actions.
“I believe I have Captain Thomson to thank for the fact that I didn’t,” Ditzy said quietly.
Lester nodded in acknowledgment. Leek’s news on that score had surprised him. He hadn’t expected Thomson to put himself on the line for one of Ryan’s men, especially when Downing Street had no doubt been on the look out for a replacement sacrifice to appease their allies. “And I believe I owe you a debt of thanks as well, Lieutenant.”
To his credit, Ditzy’s eyes remained steady, his face as impassive as a graven image. “I did what anyone in my position would have done, sir.”
“Your actions were commendable,” Lester said, wondering if there was a serious possibility that Ryan’s room had been deemed worthy of being bugged. The medic had obviously decided there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.
“Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” Ditzy asked. “Are you having trouble sleeping? I could give you something to help.”
You can tell me if the man I love is alive or dead, Lester thought, not allowing his gaze to waver. Aloud, he said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, but no. I suspect I shall need full possession of my faculties while Captain Thomson continues his investigations into the sabotage of the Anomaly Detection Device.”
Ditzy grimaced. He’d clearly seen quite enough of Thomson’s methods.
Lester smiled. “I’m told there will be no water involved.” He stood up, and on impulse held his hand out to the soldier.
Ditzy’s grip was firm, his skin cool. He squeezed Lester’s hand and smiled slightly.
Lester just wished he knew for certain what message the man was trying to convey but asking a direct question was clearly out of the question. He returned the handshake and then picked up the backpack from the bed. Ditzy held the door open for him and Lester left his lover’s room without a backward glance.
The game was back on. And Lester had every intention of playing to win. After all, it didn’t look like he had anything left to lose.
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And ooh - Miller is the cleaner?
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My lips are sealed!