– honest. I can change this for whatever. Diamonds would be well good.”
Sam kept the lens on her. The teenager’s attitude was the weirdest he had encountered so far. She babbled away like a Valley girl, not letting the banal chatter drop for a moment. She fired off questions then gabbled over the answers and her mother chipped in whenever there was a pause for breath. The longer this went on the better, thought Sam, because Kate had slipped quietly away.
Kate Kryzewski made it to the hire car without any hindrance. Market stalls displaying food fit for a medieval banquet had been set up right in front of it. This ye olde bake sale formed the perfect screen. The car was completely hidden from view.
Once inside, she quickly typed the explosive email that would jump-start America and the UN into action.
“Blue touchpaper well and truly lit,” she told herself as she clicked on send. But there was no wireless signal.
“Failure to launch. Damn you, Sam for being right.”
The reporter frowned and thought calmly. Maybe there just wasn’t any coverage in this nowhere place anyway. She slid across into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over. She’d drive to the nearest village or town, until that little graphic began to blink on her laptop.
Kate glanced in the mirror to reverse out, but braked sharply. While she had been typing, a large wooden wagon loaded with hay bales had been wheeled directly behind, blocking her in.
“Unbelievable!” she seethed impatiently.
There was nothing for it but to get out of the car and get the wagon moved. But there was nobody near it and no one she asked had seen who put it there.
“The carter’ll be having a mug of ale, most like,” a pie-seller told her. “Try asking over yonder, at the brewer’s stall. There’s a tidy crowd there.”
Kate glanced across, but it was too close to where the Ismus was being monopolised by that teenage wannabe.
She returned to the wagon and pushed against it. The thing wouldn’t budge. How did it even get here? There had to have been a horse pulling it. She ran back to the pie-seller. He was a big, beefy man with thick forearms and looked strong as an ox.
“Hi again,” she said, with her most winning smile. “I wonder – could you please do me a massive favour? I don’t want to disturb the wagon guyif he’s having a beer. I’m sure if we both push, that thing’ll move out of the way and I can get my car out.”
The man stared back at her blankly.
“I can’t leave my pies unattended,” he told her. “Not when the Jack of Diamonds is about. He’ll nab the lot soon as my back is turned. Beggin’ your pardon, Mistress, but you won’t find none here in the market who’ll neglect their wares whilst Magpie Jack’s around.”
Kate understood. No one was going to help her. The wagon had been put there deliberately to keep her inside the camp.
“Fine,” she uttered. “Just fine – dammit.”
But it wasn’t fine. The unspoken menace here was mounting. She’d been in tight spots before, but this, this was something else. She wished she’d brought a truck full of US troops with her instead of one laid-back Californian cameraman. Why did she always think she could handle any situation on her own? Why did she think she was Teflon-coated?
For the first time in too long she thought of her father. He had served in the military all his life. By the age of nine, she had lived in half the US army bases in the world. Kate hadn’t spoken to him in three years. Their political views were poles apart and the last row had been nuclear with lots of fallout. Still, if he was here now, he’d have broken the Ismus’s jaw before those blacked-up bodyguards had guessed what was coming. At that moment, Kate would have given anything to see that. She smiled faintly at the thought and promised herself that, after this, she’d make the first move and call Lieutenant Colonel Pete Kryzewski and say, “Hi, Dad.”
She took off
Sam kept the lens on her. The teenager’s attitude was the weirdest he had encountered so far. She babbled away like a Valley girl, not letting the banal chatter drop for a moment. She fired off questions then gabbled over the answers and her mother chipped in whenever there was a pause for breath. The longer this went on the better, thought Sam, because Kate had slipped quietly away.
Kate Kryzewski made it to the hire car without any hindrance. Market stalls displaying food fit for a medieval banquet had been set up right in front of it. This ye olde bake sale formed the perfect screen. The car was completely hidden from view.
Once inside, she quickly typed the explosive email that would jump-start America and the UN into action.
“Blue touchpaper well and truly lit,” she told herself as she clicked on send. But there was no wireless signal.
“Failure to launch. Damn you, Sam for being right.”
The reporter frowned and thought calmly. Maybe there just wasn’t any coverage in this nowhere place anyway. She slid across into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over. She’d drive to the nearest village or town, until that little graphic began to blink on her laptop.
Kate glanced in the mirror to reverse out, but braked sharply. While she had been typing, a large wooden wagon loaded with hay bales had been wheeled directly behind, blocking her in.
“Unbelievable!” she seethed impatiently.
There was nothing for it but to get out of the car and get the wagon moved. But there was nobody near it and no one she asked had seen who put it there.
“The carter’ll be having a mug of ale, most like,” a pie-seller told her. “Try asking over yonder, at the brewer’s stall. There’s a tidy crowd there.”
Kate glanced across, but it was too close to where the Ismus was being monopolised by that teenage wannabe.
She returned to the wagon and pushed against it. The thing wouldn’t budge. How did it even get here? There had to have been a horse pulling it. She ran back to the pie-seller. He was a big, beefy man with thick forearms and looked strong as an ox.
“Hi again,” she said, with her most winning smile. “I wonder – could you please do me a massive favour? I don’t want to disturb the wagon guyif he’s having a beer. I’m sure if we both push, that thing’ll move out of the way and I can get my car out.”
The man stared back at her blankly.
“I can’t leave my pies unattended,” he told her. “Not when the Jack of Diamonds is about. He’ll nab the lot soon as my back is turned. Beggin’ your pardon, Mistress, but you won’t find none here in the market who’ll neglect their wares whilst Magpie Jack’s around.”
Kate understood. No one was going to help her. The wagon had been put there deliberately to keep her inside the camp.
“Fine,” she uttered. “Just fine – dammit.”
But it wasn’t fine. The unspoken menace here was mounting. She’d been in tight spots before, but this, this was something else. She wished she’d brought a truck full of US troops with her instead of one laid-back Californian cameraman. Why did she always think she could handle any situation on her own? Why did she think she was Teflon-coated?
For the first time in too long she thought of her father. He had served in the military all his life. By the age of nine, she had lived in half the US army bases in the world. Kate hadn’t spoken to him in three years. Their political views were poles apart and the last row had been nuclear with lots of fallout. Still, if he was here now, he’d have broken the Ismus’s jaw before those blacked-up bodyguards had guessed what was coming. At that moment, Kate would have given anything to see that. She smiled faintly at the thought and promised herself that, after this, she’d make the first move and call Lieutenant Colonel Pete Kryzewski and say, “Hi, Dad.”
She took off
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