Page 38 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

TWENTY-NINE

“You are lucky to be alive, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’m acutely aware of that,” Rhys replied acidly. The pain had dulled to a steady throb, as long as he didn’t make any sudden moves. He could only take shallow breaths, but thankfully, his ribs didn’t appear to be broken.

“Do you require a doctor?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine, if you’ll pardon my saying so. You’ll need some painkillers at the very least to get through the next few days.”

Rhys couldn’t argue with that. He’d gladly take some pain tablets, a dose large enough to treat an elephant, if he could get his hands on it. He had a headache as well. He’d spent the past twenty minutes answering questions about his abduction, the sum total of his answers being “I don’t know.”

Eric Hallam, Attaché to the British Embassy in Kabul, was what Rhys liked to think of as an everyman.

He was the type of person who was so physically average, he could blend into any crowd, penetrate any organization without ever being noticed, and melt away as if he’d never been there at all, but Rhys was sure that he was anything but ordinary when it came to intelligence.

You didn’t get to occupy this type of position if you were a middling bureaucrat.

“Where is Jo Turing, Mr. Hallam?” Rhys asked, tired of answering questions.

“Resting in a shallow grave, I imagine,” Hallam replied. “And so will you, if you persist in conducting this investigation.”

“Why aren’t you conducting this investigation? ”

“Because no one has reported her missing.”

“Her agent has. Mr. Charles Sutcliffe.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe called the embassy last month but didn’t initiate a missing person’s report. He simply indicated that he hadn’t heard from Ms. Turing in several weeks and was concerned. He never rang back, so we assumed she’d turned up.”

“I need to speak to the Americans,” Rhys said. “Someone high up. I don’t want to have to explain this to some low-level flunky.” He took several careful breaths, playing hide-and-seek with the agonizing pain in his ribs.

“Good luck with that,” Hallam replied.

“You can get me an appointment,” Rhys said, leaning back in his chair to indicate that he wasn’t about to be ushered out.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hallam said, gathering several papers to indicate he was a very busy man and it was time for Rhys to take his leave.

“No time like the present.”

“Mr. Morgan, I would strongly advise you to go home to London and leave the business of Ms. Turing to us.”

“And I would strongly advise you to pick up the phone and call your American counterpart. Work the special relationship.”

“It hasn’t been especially fruitful of late.”

“Make the call,” Rhys growled, tired of the verbal fencing.

If the Americans had found Jo, alive or dead, surely, they’d have no problem turning her over.

Or perhaps they already had. Rhys suddenly had a thought that nearly made him laugh out loud.

What if Jo was MI-6? Then real life would truly be stranger than fiction.

“Mr. Hallam, is Jo Turing an agent of the Crown?”

“No. ”

“Are you quite certain?”

“I am.” Hallam looked momentarily exasperated but picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Linda, get John Smith on the line for me.”

“Is that his real name?” Rhys asked, trying unsuccessfully to suppress an eye roll.

“Believe it or not, it is. John, good morning,” Hallam said into the phone.

He sat down behind his desk and a bland expression slipped over his irate features.

“Yeah, good. And you? How’s the family? Right.

Can’t say I blame her,” Hallam said, possibly commenting on something John Smith had said about his wife.

“So, she’s stateside? Lucky lady. I wouldn’t mind taking a break from the wonders of Kabul myself. ”

After several moments of banal banter, Hallam finally got to the point.

“Look, John, I have a bit of a situation here. Need your help. A British journalist has gone missing and is believed to have been a victim of an ambush in the mountains. I have it on good authority that your boys found her and her hapless guide. No, I don’t know if she’s alive.

Is there someone who can fill in the blanks?

Right, thanks a million. I owe you one.” Hallam disconnected the call and turned to Rhys. “He’ll make enquiries.”

“And how long will that take?”

“As long as it takes.”

“And what am I to do in the meantime?” Rhys asked. He knew his belligerent attitude was a defense mechanism. He was frightened, and the thought of being alone in Kabul for even one more day scared the wits out of him.

“Mr. Morgan, as a rule, most people don’t get a second warning, or even a first, for that matter. They don’t want to kill you, whomever they are, but they will if you disregard their message. ”

“And who are they, Mr. Hallam?” Rhys asked. He still had no inkling who’d want him out of the way, and why.

“Most likely, they’re drug traffickers, who are protecting their turf.

Going into the mountains on your own wasn’t a smart idea.

Whatever Ms. Turing might have stumbled on had clearly upset someone enough to have her and her guide shot at.

The IED was an added bonus, I should think, or maybe an intentionally planted deterrent. ”

“So, what am I to do?”

Hallam sighed. “You are to sit tight. Do not go anywhere until you hear from me. The hotel is the safest place for you right now. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Rhys replied.

Rhys made to rise, but Hallam held up his hand.

“We have a doctor on staff.” He made a call.

“Giles, do you have a few minutes? Yes, I have someone here who’s run into a bit of trouble with the locals.

Right. I’ll send him right over.” Hallam hung up.

“My PA will walk you over. Giles is an excellent physician. Nice chap too. He’ll fix you up. ”

Rhys thanked the attaché and stepped out into the outer office, where Hallam’s assistant was already waiting for him.

“This way, please, Mr. Morgan,” she said pleasantly and began to walk. She slowed her pace when she noticed that Rhys was struggling to keep up. “You poor man,” she said, shaking her head. “What have they done to you?”

What they had done to him was beat the shite out of him, as Dr. McCallum put it. He bound Rhys’s bruised ribs after examining him extensively, then supplied him with a full bottle of painkillers. “Take as needed, but don’t get carried away.”

“Are these addictive?” Rhys asked, studying the label .

“Only if you start popping them like sweeties. Do not exceed three a day, and make sure there are at least four hours between doses. Here’s my direct number. Call me if you don’t feel better in a few days. I sincerely hope you will be back in England by then. See your own GP when you return home.”

“Thank you, Dr. McCallum.”

“My pleasure. Feel better, old son.”

Rhys chuckled. Dr. McCallum was around thirty-five.

He hadn’t expected to hear the outdated expression from a man his age.

“Will do,” Rhys replied and left the doctor’s office.

He wasn’t surprised to find Linda waiting outside.

They would never allow him to wander the corridors on his own.

He might be a spy. It was an amusing thought.

Rhys followed Linda down to the foyer, where he said his goodbyes and left the embassy.

It was broad daylight and there were guards posted outside the gates, but Rhys’s whole body tensed as he looked from side to side, almost expecting the black van to come racing around the corner.

He hated the thought of being cooped up in his tiny room, but Hallam was right; the hotel was the safest place for him.

Although, if someone wanted to get to him, a hotel full of foreign nationals wouldn’t stop them.

All they had to do was walk in, find his room, break down the door, and put a bullet in his head.

They clearly knew where he was staying and had most likely been watching him to make sure he’d heeded their warning.

Dear God , Rhys thought as he drove back to the hotel, I know I don’t talk to you often , but if you allow me to get out of this hellhole alive, I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again.

Well, for at least six months. Maybe three.

But please, don’t let me die here , Rhys prayed as he parked the Jeep in the car park and practically sprinted to the hotel entrance.