Fortress

39

It was the call to Delphine that settled it.

‘Please, Tom. I need some time with my family. I’ve been too long away from France.’

Tom decided not to argue. He knew only too well how stubborn she was. In fact, he respected her for it. They were kindred spirits in that way, though he realized now, with a stab of regret, that it worked against them as a couple. His mother’s words echoed in his head: Don’t rush her.

He raised his seat to upright and gazed down at the Texas landscape as the 747–400 started its descent towards George Bush Airport. When he’d called to accept his invitation, the founder of Invicta had let out a huge sigh of relief.

‘I knew I could count on you. I hope it won’t be too onerous. You’ll have to press a lot of flesh, wow the crowd, spin a few yarns about your time in the field. They need to know we’re for real. And they want to feel reassured that I’ve got the right people around me.’

Rolt clearly felt Tom was doing him a favour. The man was hard not to like. And so far he had seemed to be completely straight with him, which was more than he could say for Woolf.

‘We’ll keep this to ourselves, shall we? With all the heightened tension around the hostel, we don’t want any unnecessary attention, do we?’

‘Fine by me,’ Tom told him.

On his iPad was the file Rolt had sent him. It was sketchy: a profile of Skip Lederer, boy genius and founder of Oryxis, a dramatically expanding software start-up, and a bit about the chairman, Aaron Stutz, a seasoned operator with a raft of business interests, including oil exploration, risk management and private security. He was more than twice Lederer’s age. Quite what their interest in Invicta was he would have to find out. Even after he had digested the details, Tom was hardly any the wiser about that aspect of it. And Rolt had not revealed how much he was hoping they would invest.

‘It’s a very large figure,’ Rolt had told him, ‘but I don’t want to tempt Fate by telling you. All you have to do is make them want to open their pockets just that bit more. Also,’ he added cryptically, ‘they may put you through a few hoops. But nothing you’ll be unfamiliar with.’

Tom had made a few notes for his speech, and chosen a mission from his past, which he thought would be just the sort of thing they’d want to hear. In 2006, as part of a four-man squad, he had sprung a CIA operator from a heavily defended house in Kandahar. Using the rescue drills they had perfected under live fire back in Hereford, they had fast-roped onto the roof from a Black Hawk, blasted the occupants with flash-bangs, and snatched the chained and blindfolded agent from right under the noses of his captors. It was a do-or-die operation in the best tradition of the Regiment, all done and dusted in under twenty minutes. He would leave out the fact that the American was a total arsehole who had demanded to know what had taken them so long — and that they had been seriously tempted to boot him off the deck of the Black Hawk as soon as they were in the air.

At the arrivals gate there was a line of drivers holding up name cards. As he scanned them, a tall young woman with a 1000-watt smile came towards him, as if out of a dream. She was blonde, gorgeous and, even allowing for the heels, close on six feet, most of which was legs. Her silky hair was in a ponytail, her lips heavily glossed, as if with varnish. Her red skirt was tight but not so short as to attract the wrong kind of attention, and the crisp white shirt was open to show enough cleavage to stimulate interest without looking what his mother would doubtless have called ‘inappropriate’.

‘Hey there, Tom! Beth Adams. Welcome to the Lone Star State!’

How had she recognized him? Everyone in the Regiment closely guarded their image.

‘Delighted to be here.’

‘We’re very honoured to have you visit us this day.’

As they stepped out of the arrivals hall Tom was mugged by the summer heat and, for a moment, he tensed. But it wasn’t the same as Afghanistan’s debilitating, angry heat, and accompanied by the big Texas sky, it invited him to relax and pretend he really was on holiday. Beth lowered the sunglasses that had been perched on her head and clicked across the parking lot in her vertiginous heels. Oppressive, troubled London already felt a long way away.

She gave him a big grin as if they were about to embark on a ride at Disneyworld. ‘We’re all really excited about your visit. So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna run you up to Skip’s compound right away. He’s dying to meet you. You can freshen up there. Then we’ll take you back downtown and get you checked into your room. The reception’s in the same hotel. Oh, and Mr Stutz will be there to greet you.’

‘And he’s dying to meet me as well?’

There was a beat as the irony failed to penetrate, then she giggled to fill the vacuum. He had limited appetite for this level of enthusiasm, however long the legs that went with it. Maybe after a few bourbons she would mellow.

She marched him towards a gleaming metallic black Chevy pick-up, sporting a Don’t Mess With Texas bumper sticker. She remotely popped the tailgate, which lowered in time for him to drop his bag on the deck.

‘That all your stuff? I do hope you won’t be leaving us too soon.’

He shrugged. ‘I guess I’ve been trained to travel light. So, tell me, what’s your role at Oryxis?’

‘Oh, I just help out.’ She giggled childishly. ‘Look after Skip and stuff. He’s a really fun guy. You’re gonna love him.’ She laughed again.

It was impossible to know how much of it was genuine. Tom reminded himself to behave and resist the temptation to provoke her with any more arsy Brit cynicism. Her laugh was full of sunshine and optimism, and he found himself smiling back as he opened the passenger door. ‘I’m sure I will.’

He climbed in beside her. The seats were upholstered in something reptilian. ‘I assume a lot of snakes were harmed in the making of these seats?’

Again she laughed, but was clearly baffled.

The engine growled thunderously, and they were engulfed by a gale of aircon and country music.

‘Everything you heard about Texas, it’s all true.’ She turned to him with an even bigger smile as she threw the shift into drive. The truck leaped forward.

‘So, tell me about the event. Who’s coming?’

‘Aw, it’s just, y’know, guys networking.’

‘That’s a bit vague.’

‘They’re all friends of Oryxis. And they’re just dying to hear what Invicta’s doing for y’all.’

‘I just like to know who my audience is. In case they’ve heard it all before.’

She laughed yet again, probably to cover up the fact that she didn’t have a clue what he was on about.

On the way he quizzed her more but her answers were all frustratingly vague: ‘Aw you’ll see,’ or ‘The guys’ll fill you in,’ each accompanied by her sunny laugh. So he just let her talk, pointing out roadside features, like a drive-through liquor store called Beer Barn, which was, unsurprisingly, styled to resemble a barn, and Freakin’ Pecan — ‘The best place in the universe, like ever, for pecan pie. Don’t you go and leave without trying it now, y’hear?’

‘Okay, promise,’ said Tom, his resistance wilting in the Texas sun.

Despite feeling carpet-bombed by her enthusiasm, he had fewer problems with Americans than some of his fellow Brits had. He admired the can-do mentality, the refusal to compromise and even the tendency towards overkill, which could make British methods seem tentative and half-arsed. As he considered this, he realized how detached he had become from his roots. In the space of just the last few days he had already begun to change his thinking. But whereas before he had felt angry and disillusioned, he now felt energized and refreshed. The Texas sun, the country music, Beth’s enthusiasm — and her long legs — were working their magic.

At an intersection they pulled up behind another pick-up with a gun rack carrying a Mossy 500A and a Winchester 94.

Beth grinned. ‘Betcha don’t get to see a lot of that back home.’

His thoughts drifted back to the Invicta campus, and to Woolf’s claims about Vestey. What would his hosts make of the hostel bombing and Rolt’s views about dealing with the current crisis back home? Just as he was deciding to put those thoughts aside, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket: a text — from Woolf.

He was tempted to delete it without reading it, then decided to leave it for later.