Dangerous Liaisons

Echoes

Jonathan woke with a start at the sound of his phone. Who the hell would be calling at this ungodly hour? He sat up, freeing himself from the sweat-soaked sheets.

He'd been dreaming of her again. As he did most nights. Well, not dreams exactly, more nightmares.

That day in Marseilles, before the capture, having to listen to Price hitting her. He'd wanted to kill Price. Fortunately for all concerned, Angela had come good on her plans and he never got the chance.

They'd gone out as colleagues, and come home as lovers. It had all seemed so simple. It was far from that. At first, they had played it cool, kept it quiet, but soon it was far too hard. They'd been spotted, hand in hand, a kiss here and there. Murmurs had reached the wrong ears. Kate's father's ears. Who just happened to be Jonathon's handler while Angela was on maternity leave.

Alex Dempster had read him the riot act. Kate was off limits professionally AND privately. There was too much to lose. He couldn't - wouldn't - risk his daughter's life like that. No amount of arguing, cajoling and promises to keep her safe would appease him.

The choice was simple:
Dump Kate or she was fired. Either way, she could no longer be a soft target.

Jonathan couldn't do it to her. Force her out of a job she'd actually come to love? And was damned good at? No. Reluctantly, regretfully and with a heart made of lead. Oh, and one last coupe de grace - absolutely no contact. Ever.

Jonathan felt that one particularly hard. Like a stiletto blade piercing his soul. To keep her safe, he had to appear to be a complete bastard.

He'd ghosted her. Just simply disappeared.

She texted, she called, she came to his flat in London. He deleted her texts without reading; he ignored the missed calls and he sat with the lights out on the floor when she hammered on the door crying, knuckles shoved in his mouth to silence his own tears.

He was though, eventually to her mind, the cold hearted bastard her father wanted him to be. Alex moved him to another team. He never saw her again.

That was two years ago. Not a day had gone by that he didn't think of her. Didn't miss her. He knew she was definitely still in the service until about a year afterwards, but even that trail went cold when Angela came back and he no longer had any contact with Alex.

Now, he sat sweating and shaking at 430am looking at Angela's contact picture as she called him.
"Morning - I think?" he murmured into the handset trying to compose himself. "You do know it's 430am!?"

"Yes. Yes I do. Bloody hell Jonathan, you took your time, busy were you?" Angela almost barked Into the phone.

"No. You know I'm not. I don't do that" he said in a measured tone "not anymore."

"Oh yeah that's right you're a bloody monk these days" she said sarcastically "Well you better start saying your prayers Mr Pine. Alex is dead."

No preamble, no niceties. just cold facts. Being completely honest, he preferred it that way. Less to misunderstand. But this? This was different. Alex was close to home.

"Shit. How?" He sat up now, wide awake.

"Execution. We found him an hour ago. Anonymous tip-off told us to go to his home. Jonathan this was personal."

"Execution generally is Angela." He replied drily. Had anyone told Kate he briefly wondered?

"No, smart arse, I meant to you." She didn't sound as fierce as she might and he was puzzled.

"What DO you mean?"

"Jonathan, I'm sorry but..." she took a breath, "they took her. They took Kate."

"Fuck."

"They left a message, clearly aimed at you. We need you to come in. Now." He sat, frozen in place, mind racing. "Jonathan? You there?"

"Yes." He began to dress, phone now on speaker thrown onto the bed.

"I said, you need to come in." She had the tone of a patient teacher explaining a complex equation. "It's not safe. You're not safe."

"I'll be there in 30" he replied flatly hanging up. He stood for a minute, just looking at the picture on his dresser. A man and a woman, on a beach sitting on a log, windblown and laughing. The last time they'd spent the day together. The day he'd decided he would... stop it Pine! He pulled himself up short. This wasn't doing any good. He had to stay focussed.

Walking into the bathroom, he picked up his toothbrush and looked at the haunted face staring back. How could she still do this to him after all this time? How, after all the tears and the bitterness that life wasn't fair, could she still make him ache for her? He knew why but he wasn't about to let it back in. Not yet.

God he hoped she was still alive. Where kidnap was involved and, more importantly revenge, it was never a given. He had to find her and soon. First though he had to work out who was behind it.

So who WAS behind it? Price? He was still in jail - or so he believed. He was a small time crook, he wouldn't have the balls or the contacts to carry out something like this. No, it had to be someone with MUCH bigger balls and a comprehensive web. Someone Price would turn to. Someone who would make the most of the opportunity for revenge. Against the "establishment" and against him personally. The added bonus of having Price owe them a favour would be a mere lucky addition. There was only one man that Jonathan knew hated him that much. The man all this had been about in the first place.

Richard Onslow Roper. Currently detained in Her Majesty's Prison Belmarsh. And he blamed Jonathan Pine for putting him there.

Roper sat in his cell, smoking a cigar, drinking a fresh espresso from his personal machine and reading the paper. No-one was going to tell him what to do in his own prison. He was still slim, still well tanned and still disgustingly powerful. So far, they had found precious little evidence of the fortune he'd made and expertly covered up.

Now, unlike the other prisoners, he wore his own clothes. Unlike the other prisoners, he had a cell to himself and unlike the other prisoners he 'owned' half the Screws in the place. Prison life, in all it's many facets, was as good as it was possible to be for him. The next few years - well, until his lawyers managed to get the appeal through - would be as comfortably rewarding as it had always been. Just in a different way.

There was a knock at the door and a familiar face appeared. "Ah Frisky old man! How are you? I heard you were being released today. Come to say goodbye? "

The burly Scot nodded. "Aye sir. Sure am. Just brought a wee bit news for you too. Ah think you're gonnae like it!" he smiled and Roper nodded.

"Go on. Make my day!" he put down the paper and gave his old security chief his full attention.

"Dempster's dead."

"No. Really? How... tragic. Whatever WILL become of his little girl now?" Roper's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Maybe someone should offer her a place to stay until a responsible adult can be persuaded to come for her? Someone she knows well I would imagine. Don't you Frisky? Be a good chap, when you get out, please do check on her and give her my regards wont you?" he smiled and stood up. "Now, I do believe I have a meeting with my lawyer in five minutes. All the best old man, be sure to keep in touch won't you?"

They walked to the landing and Roper shook his hand, as he did so, he leaned in and said in a low voice. "By the time Pine shows up I will be out. Make sure you keep them alive till I get there. This time I'm going to finish him - them both - myself."

"Right you are Boss, see you later."

With that Frisky walked away to the outside world. Roper watched him with a satisfied sneer, he knew Pine would come for her, this was way too personal to ignore. Revenge was a dish best served cold and there was no-one, not one single person, colder than Roper. He took pride in that.