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by jackie thomas
part one
Josh took the underground from Knightsbridge to Holborn. He found his way by the spider’s web Tube map the hotel receptionist had given him, travelling on trains still half-empty before the Monday morning rush hour truly started.
He glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes to spare and he stopped outside the station to understand his surroundings. The grey offices and bright shop fronts, the bustle of people on their way to work should all have given him a sense of familiarity. And though there was nothing alien about the scene, he found himself lost as if he had emerged not into a London street but into a different universe.
He paused for too long amid the stream of people and behind him a man talking into a cell phone put a hand on his arm to move him out of the way.
“Sorry,” he said standing aside as the oddly gentle touch drew him back to earth.
The man continued his conversation and disappeared around the corner without glancing back. He had black hair and a suede jacket so as usual Josh looked twice and as usual he was disappointed.
The last time he had seen Sam he had touched Josh’s arm in almost this way. To say goodbye before they went to their separate meetings. A small, familiar gesture when his decision must already have been made.
His hand in his pocket closed around the note and he pulled it out to look at it. ‘Smith’s café, Kingsway, Holborn. Monday, 7.30am’. He shivered as his coat failed to keep out the knife-edge of icy February wind and he read the sentence again.
Since yesterday when the note arrived at the hotel the words had haunted him. Holding the poetry of the unfamiliar they had soon lost their meaning and become a code he couldn’t break. But now looking up at a street sign Josh saw he was standing in Kingsway and was almost surprised to find it a real place. Here it met another main road called High Holborn so he was sure the café couldn’t be far.
He had no further directions to follow so he turned right at random and started walking. There was nothing clever about what he was doing, there was plenty that was risky and foolish. A typed, anonymous note left at the hotel for him and here he was. Under normal circumstances he would have handed it to the nearest Secret Service Agent and not given it a second thought. The only thing that stopped him was the name of the café.
He crossed High Holborn and walked along looking at both sides of the road at the names of the many cafes and bars. Half way to the top of the street a grey, modern box of a hotel called The Grange loomed into view and the street signs now said Southampton Row. He turned and walked the other way.
Black cabs glided passed as he walked and he thought about hailing one. If he set off now he might be at the hotel in time for his breakfast meeting with senior staff and no one would even guess he had strayed from the schedule. But he knew he would not turn back, he knew that the possibility of what he might find was enough to keep him walking.
Once, when they had just fallen in love they decided to take a weekend away together. Josh had been struck by the clandestine purpose of their trip and had booked them into the hotel under the names of Smith and Jones. This despite the fact everyone knew they were going away together, just not the true purpose of the weekend and despite the fact that he had taken the precaution of booking two separate rooms. Sam had never let him hear the end of it and insisted on calling him ‘Jones’ for the whole of the weekend. Since then the assumed names had stuck, in private at least.
The memory of that weekend came back to him as a knife twist of painful nostalgia. He was sure Sam had been happy. Happy, right up until the moment he disappeared taking nothing with him but the clothes he stood up in and leaving nothing but a cryptic note that many people, though never Josh, had interpreted as a suicide note. Six months had passed and Josh tried to accept there was little hope of seeing Sam again, not alive at least. And yet, someone had summoned him to Smith’s Café.
He noticed the Starbucks and the Coffee Republic on the other side of the road before he noticed the tiny café squashed unhappily between them. It was in a space barely wide enough to accommodate its name on the sign above the door but it was the one he was looking for.
He crossed the road, pausing before going in. The place looked welcoming enough, nothing about it seemed strange or dangerous. A sign outside advertised cappuccinos and English breakfasts and the smell of cooking bacon and the sound of a Mediterranean love song drifted invitingly out. He made a last decision to keep the appointment and went inside.
The café was a narrow corridor, half-panelled in an ancient looking dark wood but otherwise freshly painted. The art on the wall all had a Don Quixote theme which added to the appealing cultural confusion. There was a counter to his left. Staff behind it made toast and rolls and produced hot drinks from an Italian coffee machine.
Beyond the counter was a row of small round tables. At one a suited man read a newspaper and ate toast. At another a woman glanced up from her paperback, momentarily meeting his gaze before looking away. Neither showed any interest in him and there were no other customers.
He ordered coffee from one of the waitresses, a young girl who spoke with an Eastern European accent he couldn’t identify. He must have looked lost because she directed him with smiles and hand signals to take a seat. He went to the table at the furthest end of the room, near a tiny kitchen, where he could see anyone who came in.
The coffee, when it arrived, was hot and bitter and warmed him immediately. The suited man folded his newspaper and left. His table was quickly occupied by three workmen who drank mugs of tea while they waited for breakfast and talked about how they couldn’t get any work done yesterday afternoon because of President Bartlet clogging up the streets.
Josh realised then he had been on this road just yesterday. The London School of Economics must be nearby and there had been a ceremony there to honour the President, one of the more successful former students. It reminded him of the recklessness of his actions in coming here. What if an activist student had seen him as he left the event yesterday, followed him back to the hotel afterwards and summoned him back for some personal agenda.
He cursed his stupidity and decided not to compromise himself further. But before he could get up and leave, a deliveryman came in carrying an unstable pile of boxes of potato chips. He stopped next to Josh, shouting ‘Morning girls,’ into the kitchen while the tower leaned precariously. Josh waited for the inevitable box of hula-hoops to land on his head. But the man was admitted to the kitchen without event. But then, as Josh stood, a second man in jeans and denim jacket stopped at his table.
In the moment it took for Josh to look and look again and realise this was not a hallucination, this really was Sam he had gasped out his name and clasped him into his arms.
“Thank God,” he held him tightly. “Thank God.”
“Ssh, ssh.” Sam kept saying. His arms around Josh trying to comfort him and also, Josh eventually realised, to keep him calm.
Sam soon drew them apart. He glanced nervously around and Josh followed his gaze. Everyone was politely not noticing this astonishing display of emotion so early in the morning. Apart from one of the workmen on the next table whose tea they had upset who muttered, ‘don’t mind me, mate’ to Sam’s quick apology.
“Sam, what happened? Where have you been?” Josh said when he could speak again. “That note you left.”
“Ssh, just wait,” Sam said. “Can we…let’s get out of here.”
Sam kept his hand on Josh’s arm as he left a handful of coins he couldn’t identify on the counter and then, with an urgent hand at his elbow, led him out of the café.
Sam didn’t speak as he guided them swiftly across Kingsway and down a side street and all Josh could do at first was follow him.
The street opened out into a square with a park at its centre which Sam took Josh into.
“I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d get Smith’s,” Sam said.
He kept them walking, deeper into the park, looking around to satisfy himself they were alone.
“Sam, just stop a second,” Josh said. “Speak to me.”
“Just a little further. How long before you have to get back?”
Josh stopped then, forcing Sam to do the same. “You’re coming back with me.”
Sam’s eyes met his for the first time and then his gaze flickered away to watch a homeless man make his way along a different path. “I can’t.”
“Sam. I’m not leaving you.”
“Don’t use my name here,” he said. “How long have you got?”
Disorientation had numbed him and he couldn’t have said whether he had half an hour or half a day before his next meeting.
“Come this way,” Sam said, giving up on the answer to his question.
A few steps away there was a planting of bushes and trees, green despite the depths of winter. Sam led them in, and they were concealed on either side from both the road and the path.
Sam looked away from Josh to watch a woman walking her dog pass by. Josh touched Sam’s face to draw him back. Sam gazed at him for a moment then pulled him into a kiss. It was deep and desperate, his hands finding their way around Josh, his body pressing against him.
He only stopped the kiss when Josh could no longer control the sobs that had risen in his throat the moment he saw Sam.
Josh hadn’t cried. Through all those months when Sam didn’t come back, when people started to talk about him in the past tense, when the long days ended in a glass of scotch and an empty bed. Crying was too much like grieving and he had refused to do that when he was sure Sam was alive. Now all the stored up pain was escaping in sobs that hurt his throat and wrenched him in two.
“Don’t Josh, it’s okay.” Sam cradled Josh against the grey warmth of his sweatshirt, held him like that until the sobs subsided. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
When he could speak again Josh lifted his head. “How did you get here? Sam, what happened?”
Sam stood close, his fingers wandering through Josh’s hair, his thumb brushing across his cheek to smooth tears away. He kissed Josh again, but softly.
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Why not, Sam? You can trust me. Why don’t you trust me?” This question had much occupied his thoughts over these months but Sam dismissed it.
“Its not a question of trust…Josh, you should know that. It’s a question of...” He hesitated. “I shouldn’t even have done this, its dangerous for both of us.”
“But Sam…”
“I just couldn’t stand that you thought I was dead…”
“I didn’t.”
“I couldn’t stand being so close and not seeing you but I’ve put you in danger just by meeting you.”
“I don’t care.” Josh practically screamed at him. He lowered his voice as Sam gestured to him to quieten down. “You have to tell me what’s been going on. Whatever it is we can deal with it. But you have to come back with me.”
Sam didn’t speak, just shook his head.
“Come on, don’t do this.”
Sam’s hands dropped down to take Josh’s and Josh realised he would not speak. “Jones,” Sam breathed, falling easily into their private language. “I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”
Josh looked more carefully at Sam now. Whatever it was he had been through in the last six months had taken its toll. He was thinner and his clothes were cheap and shabby, his hair untidy with flecks of grey, his eyes lined in weariness. It seemed to Josh the Sam he knew was fading away.
The aimless, homeless man they had seen before ambled blindly passed them on the path, two joggers followed. Josh brought one of Sam’s hands up to kiss its palm. “Are you…have you got somewhere to live? Got some money?”
Sam half-smiled and nodded. “I don’t want you to worry anymore,” he checked himself. “That’s dumb. I apologise for that. But I’m alive, I’m safe,” he brightened a little. “I’ve even got a job.”
“What job?” Josh asked dazedly, guessing from the unfamiliar calluses on Sam’s hands it was some kind of physical labour.
“Just a job.”
Shock had left Josh drained of energy and the ability to rationalise but he noticed minutely how cold Sam’s hands were in his. Josh was wearing his heavy winter coat over his suit and released Sam to take it off. Sam resisted at first but then let Josh help him into it.
Sam dropped his head on to Josh’s shoulder and Josh put his arms around him. They stood like this for a long time.
Finally Sam lifted his head, “You’ve got to go back.”
“Let me stay with you.”
“You can’t Josh, you’ve probably already been missed. How long are you in London?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“Can you get away tonight?”
“Yes,” he said without being able to recall a single detail of the President’s evening itinerary.
“Then we can meet.”
Josh nodded. “Where?”
“Here. No this’ll be locked up.” Sam smiled suddenly. “I know, come with me. I’ll show you where we can meet. Then you can get a cab back to Knightsbridge.”
When they left the park, there were many more people about on their way to work and Sam took his hand from Josh’s and instead rested it on his shoulder. He led them passed elegant Georgian terraces and public buildings with pillars and domes and a solidity Josh couldn’t begin to match.
He found himself in a passageway coming off the square. Sam stopped in front of a tiny shop which had apparently arrived in tact from the sixteenth century.
Sam’s eyes twinkled and a little of his old self surfaced. “We’ll meet here. It’s the Old Curiosity Shop. Seriously. Well probably. Whatever, it’s from the sixteenth century. From before the Great Fire. Jones, it’s the oldest shop in central London. We’ll meet here.”
Josh looked up at the irregular structure, its overhanging upper storey, the strange art in the windows.
“Am I hallucinating this entire morning?” He asked. It was a genuine question.
“I can’t believe you’re here either,” Sam said and his eyes wandered over Josh again, then he blinked. “What time can you get away tonight?”
Josh tried to focus on reality. “There’s a thing. A reception at the Embassy. I’ll get out of it at 9.”
“Okay, bring money. We can maybe get a hotel room. Bring cash.”
Josh smiled weakly. “We can be Smith and Jones again.”
“You’re such a dork,” Sam said tenderly.
Josh thought of something then. “Can I just ask you one thing?”
“Josh.”
“Not that. What’s Rough Magic?”
Fear flickered across Sam’s eyes again but he shook his head. “I don’t know, is it from Shakespeare?”
Josh hadn’t slept for two nights when Sam had first disappeared. On the third night he went back to his apartment and had fallen into bed. When he woke he noticed a scrap of paper, a torn page from a notebook. It was on the night table on the side Sam usually slept when he was able to stay. The words Rough Magic were written on the paper in Sam’s handwriting. He had no idea of their significance but felt they held the key to Sam’s disappearance.
“Anyway you should…” said Sam, changing the subject deliberately.
Josh nodded, “All right.” Sam began to take off the coat Josh had given him but Josh stopped him. “Keep it.”
“Thank you,” he looked down at it, it was just a little too long for him and was hanging loosely because of the weight he had lost. “Thanks.”
Sam went through the pockets of the coat and handed Josh his phone and wallet. In one of the pockets Sam found the note he had left at the hotel.
Josh handed it back. “Write down where we are or I’ll never find it again.”
Sam hadn’t changed that much. He was never without a pencil. He took one out of the pocket of his denim jacket. Josh saw but didn’t register the words ‘Grange Hotel, Holborn’ in gold letters printed on it’s side.
“You’re in Holborn,” Sam said. He pointed to the square. “That’s Lincoln’s Inn Fields, this is Portsmouth Street. The LSE is round there - where you were yesterday.” He scribbled down the address and pushed it into Josh’s pocket. He touched Josh’s arm. “You won’t tell anyone anything will you, Josh? I mean, this is dangerous enough…seriously.”
“I won’t say anything. But Sam…you’re safest with me. You’re safest at home.” The thought of Sam at home brought the tears brimming again to his eyes. He swallowed them as Sam’s touch turned to a discreet caress.
“Its not just me who’s in danger, believe me,” Sam stopped himself as if even this was revealing too much. “Just promise you won’t say anything. We’ll talk a bit more tonight.”
Then he guided him back to Kingsway where he hailed a cab and deposited Josh inside, giving instructions to the driver when Josh didn’t seem able to.
~*~
Donna was waiting in the hotel reception and talking into her cell phone. “Its all right, he’s here,” she said and disconnected. “Josh! Ohmigod. Where have you been?” His phone had been ringing but he had ignored it.
“I uh, went for a walk. Where is everyone?” The traffic had crawled and now it was almost nine.
“A walk! You just got out of a cab. Josh what happened? Leo was about to call Scotland Yard. You missed senior staff and now you’re missing European finance ministers.”
“Oh, right.”
“Oh right!” she pinned him with an accusatory stare. “Are you okay? You’re not okay. Have you been crying? You haven’t been listening to Bach have you?”
“Donna, help me,” he said hopelessly. “What am I supposed to be doing?”
She looked at him for a moment and then switched into assistant mode to give him a detailed account of his next twelve hours. By the time she had finished he had managed to focus his thoughts, put what had happened aside and steel himself to do what Sam had asked him to and not let anyone suspect anything.
He collected himself to the extent that when he arrived at his next meeting he generated only a glare from Leo and a raised eyebrow from Toby but no further comment.
~*~
An hour had been scheduled in the afternoon for a meeting in Whitehall at the Foreign Office involving a representative of the Amaran government, a British civil servant and Leo and Josh.
The meeting was informal, designed to start off negotiations between the US and Amara to improve diplomatic relations and lift economic sanctions.
The war, which started when a US military aircraft was shot down over Amara, had ended a couple of days later with an attack by the US on Amara’s capital. This happened eleven years previously and President Bartlet thought it high time the wrongs of that era were put right. The British were involved as the old colonial power and because they were as anxious as the President to resolve the situation.
The Amaran representative was a white bearded gentleman, casting a benign presence over the proceedings.
“I am very pleased to meet you Mr McGarry,” he said as he took his seat.
“Please call me, Leo.”
“Leo. We always remember how President Bartlet spoke against the attack on our country when he was governor and we were grateful.”
“It’s an honour to meet you. The President has asked me, Mr Adjei, to convey to your government that he is anxious relations between the US and Amara are normalised as soon as possible.”
“You must call me Sa’ad. This is the wish of our government also but of course we are in your hands.”
“On the contrary, Sa’ad.”
Josh leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “We’re under pressure at home, sir. Any steps we take must be agreed with Congress and that’s even before we go to the United Nations.”
“And your congress is still in the thrall of the old regime and wishes to keep Amara subject to the United States.”
“Well…” It was an interesting way of expressing the problem. “Congress is republican at the moment, like President Paterson’s government. It won’t countenance any easing of sanctions or relinquishing of military influence without Amara admitting responsibility for the attack on the aircraft and the death of our servicemen.”
Adjei’s expression darkened. “Josh, 131 of every thousand babies born in my country die before they are five years old. Before sanctions began the number was 30 and yet we were not responsible for your soldiers’ deaths. We did not shoot them down. We did not.”
The young Londoner representing the British government stirred his coffee and asked, “Is there room here for an agreed form of words?”
Leo shook his head, “Anything that looks like a fudge will just harden the positions.”
“Even if the Amaran government allowed the US to maintain a military base in the area and granted favourable trade terms?”
Mr Adjei eyes twinkled. “You wish us to hand over our country Raymond?”
“Of course not, Sir. Would your government be amenable to a face-saving admission for the attack?”
“We too have politicians with a public to appease. Our people believe the US takes these harsh measures because we are strategically valuable and because we are rich in minerals and must sell cheaply to the West to survive.”
Josh privately thought the same thing.
Raymond looked at him. “Perhaps the United States has something to offer that may make an admission of guilt easier to swallow.”
Josh said, “A negotiated package of aid and assistance in rebuilding the infrastructure and, of course we would urge the United Nations to lift sanctions.”
Mr Adjei made a gesture of reluctant acquiescence. “I will take these discussions back to the Prime Minister.”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Margaret with a message for Leo. He read the note she handed him and stood.
“My apologies. Will you excuse me? Josh, will you…”
“Sure, Leo.”
Leo shook hands with Mr Adjei, “Sir, I know it’s hard to believe but we do want to move this forward.”
Adjei smiled, “I do appreciate the difficulties you face. I fear we are in the same position.”
After Leo had gone they talked around the issues for a little longer. Josh could not understand why the Amarans were so adamant they would not admit responsibility for the attack. Even the barely concealed offers to buy them off were not working as they normally would. But it was ridiculous, who else could have fired at the plane? Why not admit to an accident or a rogue element in the military and the first steps could be taken?
Mr Adjei spoke to Josh when the meeting came to end. “Josh,” he said. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, sir.”
“92/132. Do you recognise this combination of numbers?”
Josh frowned. “In what context?”
“We think it is an American code of some sort relating to Amara.”
He shook his head, it meant nothing to him. “Sorry, I don’t recognise it, but I’ll ask around.”
Josh found Donna waiting for him outside the meeting room with a message from Leo. He wanted him to go directly to the hotel to meet him there. Leo had also instructed Donna to arrange immediate flights back to the States for herself and Josh but he had not told her why.
When Josh arrived at the hotel Leo was involved in another meeting but left it to talk to Josh. He insisted they spoke in Josh’s own room and his manner was uncharacteristically gentle.
“I’ve had some bad news,” he said. Josh stared at him wandering what else could possibly have happened. “A body’s been found.”
“Sam?” Josh whispered.
“No, not Sam,” Leo said. “Josh its Mandy. They found her off Route 11. She had been shot in the head and buried in wasteland.”
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