10. Owning the skies by Emma Harding

I come to slowly. There’s a ringing in my ears and my head’s pounding. I open my eyes cautiously. Light floods in, blinding me for a moment. Eyesight adjusts as I take in my surroundings. I’m in my hotel room, but the place has been thoroughly turned over. The mattress has been stripped of its cover and pulled half off the bed, the dresser drawers are upturned on the floor. The chair next to me is lying on its side. I am sitting on its pair, my arms hanging by my sides, feeling heavy as hell. 

What time is it? What day is it? I shake my head, trying to dislodge the ringing noise but it only seems to get louder. I stare at the prone chair beside me and then I remember. Where is Valerie?

…

I’d been out early, getting provisions. On my way back, I’d spotted her. She was walking arm-in-arm with a man, heavy-set, dark suit. I sped up after them - there were a few choice things I had to say to her. 

It had not been easy, getting back to the city from the apartment where she’d left me, half-drugged and without transport. I’d walked, stumbled and eventually hitched a ride, dehydrated and dusty. Since then, I’d been lying low, just venturing out in the cool of the early morning. Trying to work out how to get the microfiche back.And now here she was, within accosting distance. 

As I drew closer to the couple I noticed the firm grip the man had on Valerie’s arm, how he was forcibly propelling her forward and at the same time holding her up. She leant into him, her legs not her own, as if drunk. I couldn’t help a feeling of schadenfreude but it was quickly replaced with concern. Something was very wrong. I slowed my pace but continued to follow the pair, keeping to the deep shade at the side of the narrow street.

A few yards ahead, the couple stopped. The man said something to Valerie who nodded her head at the building on their right. With shock, I realised that they were contemplating the very hotel where I was staying. I stepped out into the sunlight.

At that moment, Valerie looked back over the man’s shoulder and our eyes met. There was a blue-purple bruise on her cheek. But she looked clear-eyed. She held my gaze, trying to tell me something I couldn’t decipher. Then she slumped forward, forcing her companion to focus all his attention on her as he pulled her back to her feet.

Oh, she’s good, I thought, beginning to back away. Better that they discovered I wasn’t at home. But my retreat was halted by the sensation of something sharp, hard and metal digging into the small of my back. 

‘Mr MacRae,’ said a voice in my ear, breath hot against my neck. ‘How opportune to meet like this, when we were just coming to see you. Shall we go and join your lady friend?’

…

‘What is it you want?’ I asked. Valerie and I were each tied to the chairs we were sitting on, in my room, facing the older guy who was clearly in charge. The other man, Valerie’s erstwhile companion, was perched on the bed behind her, peeling an orange with a small knife. There had been no formal introductions, but I’d got a pretty good idea who I was dealing with.

‘I think you know exactly what it is I want. It was clever of you to split the package so that one half is useless without the other. But it’s time for the halves to be reunited.’ 

‘Yes, I had worked that out,’ I said. ‘But what will you do with it?’ 

‘We shall own the skies, Mr MacRae.’ The man’s eyes gleamed. ‘My comrades will build the finest, fastest, safest aircraft the world has ever seen.’

‘It’s a commercial arms race,’ Valerie muttered, the first thing she’d said since I had been driven towards her at the end of a gun.

‘Indeed it is, my dear. One we shall win. I would have thought it was something the pair of you would appreciate. After all, you both trade other people’s secrets for money, do you not? I must say, I am surprised at you, Mr MacRae.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘The French,’ the Russian continued, wafting his hand dismissively in Valerie’s direction, ‘have always looked after their own interests, but the English? Are not the English more honourable? King and country and all that?’

Queen and country. And I’m Scottish, you idiot, I thought but did not say. Instead, I shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ I said. ‘But given my mercenary inclination, why don’t you stop all this nonsense - ’ I gestured, as best I could, at my bound hands and shot a glance at the man on the bed, ‘ - and just make me an offer. All it will take is the right price.’

‘As simple as that? Ok, here’s my price. Dimitri.’ His colleague rose, stood behind Valerie, pulled her head back by the hair, she gasping in shock, and placed his knife against her pale throat. 

‘I prefer cash,’ I said quickly. ‘She’s no concern of mine.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr MacRae, but I don’t buy that for a minute. A mercenary you may be, but you don’t want this woman’s death on your conscience.’ Dimitri pressed a little harder with his knife and Valerie winced, but said nothing. 

Unfortunately, that was true. Whatever Valerie had done to me, I was not going to see her hurt. Perhaps, despite my better judgement, I was more of a gentleman than I thought. Maybe we only get to see who we truly are when the chips are down. But I’m still ashamed of myself for telling the Russian where the papers were. When I did, Dimitri moved away from Valerie, she started swearing at me in French, then there was a loud crack, a scream and I remember nothing more.

…

The ringing in my ears has finally ceased. But now someone’s banging on the door, shouting my name. It’s the hotel manager, a small weaselly man with just a thin scrape of hair combed across his scalp. 

‘A telephone call for you, Monsieur,’ he say, his eyes agog at the state of the room. I head down the hall towards the phone booth. The receiver is resting on the top.

I take a deep breath. ‘MacRae.’

‘Alan, is that you? It’s Bernard. Where on earth have you been? Listen, R’s mad as hell, wants to see you pronto. Meet Cairo embassy, Monday.’