The Nameless Dead by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page B

of peanut butter on brown bread.
    ‘You don’t have to do that,’ I said, encircling her girth with my arms. ‘You need all your strength to make those horrible sandwiches.’
    That got me two elbows in the midriff, and they hurt a lot more than before Quincy had put me through the grinder.
    ‘Aren’t peanuts supposed to be dangerous for small children?’
    ‘After they’re born, idiot. I don’t know, I act like the good housewife cooking your dinner and all I get is mockery.’
    I didn’t want to tire her out with a bout of verbal sparring that would end in inevitable victory for me, so I let that go. We ate and retired to the sofa. She fell asleep not long afterward, so I went over to the computer, flexing my fingers. It was weeks since I’d typed. There wasanother problem. Would I be able to remember all the passwords for the firewalls I’d set up to keep Sara out of my life? As it turned out, my memory worked fine, suggesting that Dr. Rivers was right about the conditioning wearing off.
    I managed to dredge up the email addresses of my family and friends from my memory as well and sent them all messages, hoping that Sebastian’s team wouldn’t censor them. My family had been advised by the Foreign Office that Karen and I were well but out of contact until further notice—the press hadn’t been given the details of our involvement in the cathedral action.
    My in-box was full of unread messages. Over a year before, I’d instituted a daily reporting regime to ensure Sara didn’t pick us off one by one. My mother and thirteen-year-old daughter Lucy were frantic in their earliest messages. Even my ex-wife Caroline, Lucy’s mother, was fairly concerned. My closest friends had also been climbing the walls, convinced that the Soul Collector had made a move when they didn’t hear from me for so long. It was good to reassure them personally that we were well, not that I could tell them anything specific. I didn’t think we’d be allowed visitors anyway.
    I thought about Sara. In the past she’d managed to access all my various communication systems, though more recently I’d had a high-level security system applied to my computers and phones. Even if she used other methods to find me, she’d struggle to get into the camp. On walks around the place, I’d noticed a very large amount of razor wire, as well as sophisticated monitoring gear of all kinds; and large numbersof personnel, both in FBI jackets and army camouflage gear, all toting firearms. Which reminded me, if we were heading toward release, I’d need some time on a firing range. Even back in the U.K., with its zero tolerance policy toward handguns, I’d managed to equip myself with pistols. We’d have no chance against Sara without them.
    I leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. Maybe Peter Sebastian wasn’t really planning on cutting us loose. He only knew about the Soul Collector by reputation, but he’d had experience of what Heinz Rothmann and his brainwashed mob could do with guns. With Rothmann still out there, Karen and I were targets if we were going to be staying in the U.S. until we were sent for trial—if that ever happened. Could it be that the Americans and the Brits had done a deal and we were going to be allowed home? Given what Karen and I had tried to do to the President, I didn’t think that was very likely.
    When I looked up again from the computer, I noticed it was after midnight. I woke Karen up and walked her to bed. She was only semiconscious, but she managed to press my hand against her abdomen and kiss me before sleep swallowed her up again. I stood watching her, a stupid smile on my face. Then I remembered how it had been when Lucy was newly born—never more than an hour of sleep at a time, deafening wails, the endless changing of diapers. Soon I’d be going through that again. I had never thought I would, but the prospect didn’t induce panic. To my amazement, I was actually looking forward to it. How old would