A Delicate Truth A Novel

unnecessary risks.’
    Jeb takes a sip of his beer, closes his eyes, and plunges quickly on.
    ‘House number seven it’s supposed to be. Well, we thought: let’s take six and eight too while we’re about it, one house per man and me the back-up, it’s all a bit daft anyway, what with Elliot at the controls there. All a bit Mickey Mouse, frankly, half the equipment not working the way it ought, what’s the difference? There’s no way they’d teach you that in training, is there? But the targets weren’t going to be armed, were they? Not according to Elliot’s brilliant intelligence. Plus we only wanted one of them, and the other we can’t touch. So go into the three houses simultaneously for the surprise, we say, and do a room-by-room. Catch your man, make sure he’s the right man, bundle him over the balcony to the shore party, keeping your feet at all times planted firmly on the Rock. Simple really. We had the layout of the houses, each the same as the other. One nice living room with big balcony on the seaward side. One master bedroom with sea views and one cupboard-sized second bedroom for a child. Bathroom and kitchen-diner below, and the walls paper-thin, which we knew from the estate agent’s particulars. So if you don’t hear anything apart from the sea, assume they’re hiding or not there, employ extreme caution at all times, plusdon’t use your weapon except in self-defence and get the hell out in double-quick time. It didn’t feel like an op, why should it? More a silly ghost walk. The boys go in, one house each. I’m outside keeping an eye on the open staircases down to the seashore. “Nothing there.” That’s Don in six. “Nothing there.” That’s Andy, house eight. “I’ve got something.” That’s Shorty, in seven. What have you got, Shorty? “Droppings.” What the hell d’you mean, boy, droppings? “Come and see for yourself, man.”
    ‘Well, you can fake an empty house, I know that, but house seven was truly empty. Not a skid-mark on the parquet floor. Not a hair in the bathtub. Kitchen the same. Except for this one plastic bowl on the floor, pink plastic, with bits of pitta bread and chicken meat in it, torn up small like you would for’ – he is searching for the right small creature – ‘for a cat, a young cat.’ But cat’s not right: ‘Or a puppy or something. And the bowl, the pink bowl, warm to touch. If it hadn’t been on the floor, I suppose I would have thought different. Not cats and dogs but something else. I wish I had now. If I’d thought different, maybe it wouldn’t have happened, would it? But I didn’t. I thought cat or dog. And the food in the bowl warm too. I pulled my glove off to put my knuckles on it. Like a warm body, it was. There’s a small frosted window overlooking the outside staircase. The latch is loose. You’d have to be a midget to squeeze through a space like that. But maybe it’s a midget we’re looking for. I call up to Don and Shorty: check the outside staircases, but no going down to the shore, mind, because if anyone’s going to tangle with the boat party it’ll be me.
    ‘I’m talking slow motion because that’s how I remember it,’ Jeb explains apologetically, while Kit watches the sweat running down his face like tears. ‘It’s one thing then the next thing for me. Everything single, like. That’s how I remember it. Don comes through. He’s heard this scuffle. Thinks there’s someonehiding down on the rocks underneath the outside staircase. “Don’t go down there, Don,” I tell him. “Stay right where you are, Don, I’m coming right up.” The intercom’s a proper madhouse, frankly. Everything’s going through Elliot. “We’ve had a tentative, Elliot,” I tell him. “Exterior staircase number seven. Underneath.” Message received and out. Don’s standing sentry at the top, pointing down with his thumb.’
    Kit’s own thumb, as if unknown to him, was making the same gesture as he told Jeb’s story into the flames.
    ‘So I’m going down the outside staircase. One step, pause. Another step, pause. It’s concrete all the way, no gaps. There’s a turn to the staircase, like a half-landing. And there’s six armed men on the rocks below me, four flat on their bellies and two kneeling, plus two more back in the inflatable behind them. And they’re all in their firing positions, every one of them, silenced semis at the ready. And underneath me – right under my feet here – there’s this