Chapter 3

When a bomb goes off, there are several ways you can die from the resulting explosion. There’s being at the epicenter, where the blast will simply shred anything in its way, blowing limbs from torsos or in extreme cases, simply vaporizing some or all of the body. There’s burn potential, where the extreme heat of an explosion will scorch and destroy skin or clothes. There’s being struck by shrapnel, which depending on the composition of the explosive device may be more or less likely. Fragmentation grenades are designed to shred apart and make the fragments deadly, and lots of homemade devices are packed inside of packs of bolts or nails, - anything that can fragment easily and fly out at velocity.

But one of the ways of being affected by a bomb that is hardest to see but most deadly is the compression wave. When an explosion happens, the immediate center of the blast super heats the air, and that creates a pressure wave that expands outwards. If you are close to the center, this wave can not only break bones and limbs, but also the wave passing through the body can do immense internal damage to essential body organs. Further away, and the compression acts differently, slamming the body against walls or the floor, or into other debris being blown up by the explosion. It’s this that kills and injures the most people on the periphery of a blast, and it was this that slammed into April and Morgan microseconds after the backpack’s detonation.

There were two factors that saved them from devastating injury or death. The first was that at the time of the bomb going off, April and Morgan were almost already horizontal. Morgan slamming into April pushed her backwards and off balance, and Morgan was on top of her, trying to cover her body with his. Both fell backwards and were almost flat on when the bomb went off, - this meant the compression wave didn’t hit them flat on, but had to travel up the body from toes to head.

The second was that they were on the edge of the building, the last table at the front. At their corner was an alleyway that led down the side of the block where the restaurant was located, and Morgan’s abrupt push of the two of them, making them stumble back before falling, had pushed them around the side, shielding them from the majority of the blast. They were lucky, the building the restaurant was a part of was an old Spanish building, made with stone and marble, not one of the more recent additions that were all thin girders and glass. Because of the solid makeup of the building, the blast itself bounced back off the wall, wreaking even more havoc on the other unlucky people having lunch and those just passing by.

In the aftermath, smoke and stone dust everywhere in the air, the screaming began.

April looked up at Morgan, whose body was on top of hers. She could see blood trickling down from his ears, and she realized, in an almost drunken way, that she couldn’t hear anything apart from a slight ringing. Morgan was out cold, and she was trembling furiously.

She gently pushed him off, trying to get to her feet, unsteadily. She peeked around the corner and was stunned at what she saw. It was a scene from hell that would forever be burned in to April’s mind. There was blood everywhere, body parts lay strewn around the area in a grisly tableau of death, where people had literally been blown apart. There was a massive burn mark where the backpack had rested, and all around where the twisted remains of tables, chairs and other pieces of debris, some burning, giving off black clouds. Glass littered the area, from the exploded windows, and people were laying in contorted positions as far as the road, along with cars pushed out of position on the road itself. There was smoke and dust in the air, making it thick and choking, and making visibility difficult. Her own handbag was gone, along with its useful contents, including her phone.

Looking back at Morgan, she crouched, to see if he was still breathing, and to check his pulse. He was breathing, she could see that, and his pulse felt steady, even if hers felt like it was racing. She judged he was going to be okay, and would recover, and so she got to her feet again, and tottered around the corner to see if there was anyone she could help. She imagined she must look horrendous and scary, - white faced from the dust in the air, her hair doing god knows what, and probably covered in blood, from wounds. That was a thought, - did she have any wounds? She hadn’t thought to check. The shock she was feeling was omnipresent, - what else had she not done? What else had she missed? She quickly checked her body, but felt no telltale pains or bloody areas.

At the epicenter of the blast, there was obviously nothing to be done, - no one had survived that, - or was even in one piece. Even as far as thirty feet out, there didn’t seem to be anyone alive. Further out, there were people who looked like they were moaning, if only she could hear them.

She knelt down to a couple, where the man had levered himself up, but his companion was obviously more severely injured. There were broken bones, April judged, and a wound that was bleeding copiously on her leg. April gestured to the guy who looked at her wonderingly, until April just reached out and started undoing his belt. The man was obviously as shell shocked as she was and just looked at her, uncomprehendingly, until April got the belt away from him, and then hooked it under the thigh of his woman companion, pulling the belt together as a makeshift tourniquet. Once that was completed, she looked over the rest of the woman, and noticed another wound in her stomach, that was also pumping blood. Looking around, she found a torn knitted jacket on the ground, picked it up, and then pressed it into the man’s hands, then pressed them into her wound, to stem the flow of blood.

“Keep the pressure on!” she screamed, desperately trying to hear her own voice, and not even considering that the man probably didn’t speak English.

He looked at her, and then down at the wound and nodded, obviously glad there was something he could do.

April felt something on her shoulder, and looked around, looking up from her kneeling position into Chris Morgan’s eyes.

He stared at her, questions obvious in his eyes. She shook her head and gestured at herself, to indicate she was relatively unscathed. She still couldn’t hear anything, apart from a ringing in her ears, but she could see fine.

He gestured to her, pulling at her shoulder, trying to get her to stand. The urgency he was displaying was evident, - she could see him trying to say something. Shouting even, but she couldn’t hear the words.

She looked around at the scene again, mudded mind trying to work out what to do next. Morgan plucked at her again, and then he squatted down, and physically drew her up, hands under her armpits.

When she was vertical, she looked at him quizzically, and he took her hand, pointing at the corner they’d survived in. His inference was unmistakable. He wanted to leave and leave immediately.

April looked around again, desperately, as Morgan dragged her to the corner, imploring her with his eyes and shouting something. April was starting to hear again, - the sound was muffled, but she could make out words. “Go,” “Danger”, “Leave”, “Nothing we can do”.

Suddenly April realized what was being communicated. They were in danger. Morgan believed they were exposed, and wanted to leave, and, given her situation with him, she had to go along.

She shrugged, hoping he’d understand the gesture and stopped fighting him, taking one last look at the site of the explosion and whispering a silent apology at not staying to help. She could tell her hearing was slowly restoring, because she could now hear the distinctive European style sirens off in the distance, indicating impending help arriving.

And then she turned to Morgan, who was looking expectantly at her, she nodded.

Morgan reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. Giving her a quick glance, he dropped it on the floor, and ground his foot into it, shattering it. Then he reached out, took her hand and lead her away from the scene, down the narrow alley.

They hustled along the side alley, and out into another thoroughfare, with pedestrians running down to the corner, towards the main road junction that took them back to where the bomb went off. The side alley juked a few times, so it wasn’t obvious from one end or the other that the alley went through, from one main road to another. Later on, April did wonder what kind of a sight they looked, caked in dust and soot from the smoke, and apparently not listening to anyone as they ran.

Morgan, obviously less shaken up than April, did a few surprising things. He ducked into a department store three roads down from the site of the bomb, and then pushed April into a toilet, after buying her a new hat, glasses, a brush, a new jacket, - taken straight off a display manikin, and paid for hurriedly, - and told her, “Get cleaned up, change your jacket.”

When she got into the bathroom, April saw what he meant. She was pale and covered in white powder, eyes wide with delayed offset shock. April was a therapist, and she knew exactly the stages she was going through, and for once, she was in them rather than talking about them. She found that knowing what was happening didn’t actually stop it happening, or her having a reaction to it. She’d found that once before, after events in London, where she’d been abducted and raped, both physically and neurologically, and she’d had to kill to escape. She’d known the theories behind her reactions then, too, but also found that it didn’t stop those reactions from happening.

She felt cold, shivering, and she used hot water on her face and hair, as hot as she could stand, to combat the shock she was starting to feel. She brushed her hair, to get some of the dust out of it, then put it up in a ponytail, putting the baseball cap over the top of it, and then struggling into the new jacket, which was slightly smaller than it really needed to be. She needed to be warm, and for some reason, Morgan wanted this.

After five minutes of rapid breathing exercises, to try and get her beating heart under control, she exited the bathroom, to find Morgan waiting for her. He was half lounging unconcernedly on the opposite wall to the bathrooms, and half radiating anxiety, with his eyes, flashing as she walked out. He had also had a change of jacket, his hair slicked down and a baseball cap adorning his head. Glasses on, they walked out of the department store, and more calmly, down the street.

She had no idea where they were going, and only asked once they got on a street car. Morgan had led her down streets, done several right turns, loitered in a large store’s lobby, and even gone through one hotel and then out the back. He was obviously looking for a tail, and she could gather he didn’t think they had one.

When they got on the street car, she did ask, glad that her hearing had returned to almost normal. “Where are we going?”

Morgan stopped scanning the other people on the transit car and glanced her and just said, “Somewhere safe,” before returning to his relentless environmental observation.

In some ways, this was the breakthrough April had been waiting for. He was obviously taking her to where she most wanted to go. But the reaction to the bombing had really started to set in, she was starting to shake and her reactions were off. She wasn’t in control, and right at the moment, she was totally content to let Morgan take the lead. This wasn’t what she was trained for, and he obviously was.

Eventually they arrived at a block of apartments, fairly far from the Novotel, if April was any judge. Even when they arrived, Morgan insisted on sitting in a café across the road, and forcing a brandy on April, and then a coffee, and watching the foot and car traffic for almost an hour before he allowed them to enter the building.

By then, April had started to calm down. The brandy and the coffee had started their work, allowing her reactions to be more measured and controlled. She was still far from her usual behavior, but she wasn’t panicking every second and having tiny attacks any more. She could actually survive when not holding onto Morgan’s hand for dear life.

On the other hand, while she was calmer, she was also cold, - almost shivering, - and she knew this was the onset of another stage of shock. She was just surprised she’d lasted as long as she had before this came on. She’d had this happen before, and she knew what it was. But like the emotions she was starting to feel for Chris Morgan, while she knew what they were, the knowledge didn’t give her the ability to side step their effects. Being rational is not the same as being emotionless.

The building was fairly old, - no elevator, old rickety stairs, and no built-in air conditioning. The corridors were narrow and had decorative wooden paneling, all overpainted in white.

Eventually they stood in front of a door and Morgan turned to her and said, “Okay, April. We are going to crash here for a while. There are some people in here. Some ... friends. I am going to bundle you up and get you a drink and then some sleep. It’s,” he checked his watch, “almost five thirty now, and the shock is starting to hit you. You can’t see how white you are, but you need to crash. You’ll be fine in the morning, but right now, you need sleep. Trust me?”

The smile at the end was almost heartbreaking to April. She nodded, grabbing his hand tighter. She was a professional herself, but this day would take it out of anyone.

“How are you doing?” she asked, concerned. If anything, Morgan’s smile got wider.

“Oh, fair to middling. I’d be in your state if it was the first time I’ve been in something like this.”

“Your military history?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ll talk more about it later.”

He opened the door, knocking complicatedly first. When the door opened and April was ushered in, she could see a large room, with several computer stations set up at one end of the room. There were large windows, with blinds on them, plunging the room into twilight, - several lights scattered around the room gave pools of light. Along one wall were several large plastic pelican cases, some open with items strewn around, - cameras, a couple of hand guns, several stun guns, radios, and several boxes of unboxed cheap phones. A rack of clothes was along one wall.

On another wall was a large flat screen TV, tuned to a local TV news station, showing footage of the bomb blast, muted for sound.

There were four people in the room, - two women and two men. One of each were sitting at the computer stations, the other man was cleaning a pistol and the woman was standing by the door, clutching a shotgun, aimed clearly at them. Tall, ramrod straight posture, short black hair, wiry body, - all the hall marks of ex-military.

There were tables and chairs in the room, a mixture of easy chairs and stools.

April looked around with interest, - she was finally in the heart of the operation that Chris Morgan was running, and she was doing her best to commit what she saw to memory. Having a task was better than the shivering.

The woman with the shotgun let out a huge sigh of relief on the sight of Morgan, and lowered it, muttering, “You gave us a heart attack.”

Morgan looked at her sympathetically, and replied, “Believe me, we are just glad to be here.”

“We were worried. The bomb blast, we felt it from here. Were you... ?” said the woman at the computer desk. She was shorter, larger in frame and with a colossal bust, April couldn’t help noticing. A pretty face, framed with curly hair.

“Yes, we were in the middle of it. I’m pretty sure...” Morgan let the last statement drop.

“She with you?” the woman with the shotgun demanded, using it to gesture at April, who was standing behind Morgan.

“Yes,” said Morgan, glancing back at her.

It was interesting to April. There was no surprise at her presence. Chris had obviously clued his little gang in on her existence.

“Well, we need to debrief. Now,” insisted the tall woman, stepping forward, all business.

April did wonder what she meant, - her body language and verbiage was basically hostile and she did suspect she might actually have to defend herself, for a moment.

Morgan raised his hand, “No, not tonight. We are all shell shocked. We were literally sitting across from the bomb, and right now, I think we all just need a good night’s sleep.”

“But Chris, now is the time. While she’s all shook up... ?” pleaded the woman, annoyance leaking into her voice.

“Tomorrow,” Morgan said, firmly. “We need a hot drink. And sleep. Beatrice, go set up the bed in the third bedroom. Lindsey, go make us something hot and sweet. You know, with the good stuff in it.”

He looked meaningfully at the woman sitting at the computer table who nodded, and headed off towards the kitchen area.

“Fine!” exclaimed Beatrice, putting the shotgun down carefully. She was pissed off and didn’t care who knew it. April watched her body language carefully, trying to judge if this was attitude was driven by sexual jealousy or not. It was hard to tell, only just having met.

“You. April. Come.” She said, staccato, and then walked off to one of the side doors, not bothering to see if April followed. She knew her name. They did know all about her.

April looked at Morgan, enquiringly, who smiled at her gently and put his hand on her shoulder. “Go with her, April. There’s a decent bed in there, and you need sleep. I know I do. It’s the last stages of shock. You need to be warm and sleep a bit. I’ll be in in a bit, and you can talk to your people and let them know that you are okay in the morning, fair enough?”

“If you say so,” replied April, wearily. She desperately wanted to get hold of one of the phones she saw on the table and call the operations center, to let them know what had happened. Right now, all they knew is that they had left for lunch, where the bomb had gone off, and hadn’t been back. They’d be searching for her phone by now, and would have seen it was offline.

In the meantime, she had to go along with the program. No sense in making a scene and making life difficult for herself before she had to.

She followed Beatrice into the small bedroom, and found a basic room. Bed, light, wardrobe, window, table with lamp by the bed, side chair, and not much else.

“You can sleep here,” nodded Beatrice, at the bed. “Bathroom is through there.” She pointed at a door that was opened to a small bathroom, obviously shared with the room next door.

Now that she thought about it, April did need the bathroom.

“I’ll get you bathroom stuff,” murmured Beatrice, as she exited the room.

April sat down and took stock. Clothes, smoked and torn, hair looked terrible. Face still somewhat caked in dust. She needed a shower.

So she got up and had one. While she was in the shower, she heard someone moving around, and when she got out of the steamy water, she found toiletries on the counter, and a large T-shirt, - probably one of Morgan’s, she guessed, and a fluffy bathrobe, with the monogram “Hotel Flamenco” on it.

The shower had been long, hot, and she was feeling a lot more human once she dried her hair and put on the T-shirt and robe. Now she just felt tired. But, there was work to do. Information to pry out of this little group. She yawned and checked her watch, - seven-forty-seven, - was that all it was?

There was a knock on the door, and a hesitant, “Are you decent?” call from outside. April couldn’t help but smile. It certainly wasn’t Beatrice out there.

“Come on in,” she replied and the door opened, with a concerned face of Lindsey peering around it.

“Are you okay?” Lindsey inquired, moving into the room and carrying a cup of something obviously hot.

“I’ll be fine,” replied April, doing her best to put Lindsey at her ease.

“We made you this. Horlicks. From England. Chris said he picked up a taste for it. It’s supposed to be good for sleeping.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lindsey,” replied April, gesturing for Lindsey to put it down. “Here, sit with me. Talk to me. Beatrice scares me a little.”

It was a good opening line. Get her physically comfortable, admit something personal and something she could probably relate to. Make her want to confide.

Lindsey nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, she does that. Heart of gold inside though. Just, very protective. Of us. Chris. All of us. With what she’s been through...”

April just looked at her quizzically. Lindsey wanted to talk and she absolutely wanted to listen!

“I don’t know that I should be telling you this...” whispered Lindsey, conspiratorially, leaning in as she sat down.

“Then don’t,” said a stern voice from the door way. Chris Morgan stood, looking down at Lindsey.

Lindsey just stood, cast her eyes down and scurried around Morgan, leaving the room.

“You need rest,” said Morgan. “Drink your Horlicks.”

April smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see him, even if he had just scuttled a good interrogation prospect. She patted the bed and as Morgan sat down, took a sip of the drink. It was milky, sweet, and had a very slight almond taste. She’d never had it in her time in the UK but had heard of its sleep bringing properties.

“Very nice,” she said, forcing herself to pay attention. All she really wanted to do was have him put his arms around her and let her drift off in his arms.

“Look, April, I know you have a lot of questions. To be honest, so do I. But tomorrow is another day, and we’ll have time to go over things, and work out what happens next, okay?”

He still hadn’t sat down, and April yawned again. Boy, she was tired. So hard to keep her eyes open. So very tired. She had no idea she was that tired...

Her last waking thought was of the hot drink, and how it tasted of almonds, and how that reminded her of something.

April woke in the morning, to sunlight slitted across the bed where she lay, from where the window blinds hadn’t been closed completely. She awoke suddenly, with complete awareness, not something that happened to her very often, if at all.

She knew where she was, and recalled the events of the past day clearly. She even remembered she’d been drugged. There was no way she’d have crashed in quite that way, and the almond taste was reminiscent of various sleep-inducing drugs.

They’d drugged her! She was instantly rigid with a flush of anger, but careful not to show it. She stayed put, straining to hear if there was any conversation in the next room she might overhear. Why would they drug her? Oh, so they could talk about her, of course. Obviously.

She also wanted time to think. What to do next? She needed to contact her people, - explain what had happened. Get some people out watching her and the rest of this group. She’d want to stay with Chris for the time being, but she needed backup. People who could extract her if need be. Their modus operandi denoted that active agents always had a way out. They weren’t the CIA, and no one was meant to be in place too long. Their covers weren’t good enough for that. They were therapists, not secret agents, even though sometimes April felt she could play one on TV without too much trouble.

Thinking furiously, she lay there, thinking about her next move, how to present herself, the story to tell, the emotions to try and induce, when a voice spoke.

“I can tell you’re awake. Your breathing changes. Well done on not reacting though.”

‘Shit, ‘ thought April. That opened up a bunch of avenues of conversation she didn’t particularly want to go down right now. Like, why would she be doing that? And how had she mastered that art?

“Come on, time to get up,” Chris Morgan’s voice commanded, brooking no argument. “I think there’s quite a lot to talk about.”

April smiled ruefully to herself. She’d quite like waking up to that voice under other circumstances. Well, one last try.

She rolled over slowly, and just managed to find herself in a sultry pose, her body splayed out, some of it under covers and some not, with her hair framing her face, covering half of it.

“Nothing you see you’d like more, sailor?” she asked, giving him her best flirtatious half smile. An offering, one she didn’t make to many people.

Chris Morgan was sitting on the chair by the bed, one leg up on the other knee, a can of diet coke in his hand, smiling back at her but without a trace indulgence in it.

“Any other time, April, you know I would. Time to get up. Time to answer some questions. Don’t take long, I am having trouble holding the hordes back as it is.”

He got up and took one long approving look at her, and then walked out.

April groaned. This was going to be hard, her on the balls of her feet, so to speak, trying to work out what to tell them or not.

Then, as she was climbing out of the bed, she considered. Why not just tell them the truth? She wasn’t in the middle of this, - whatever ‘this’ was, exactly, - by choice. She was hired for a job, one that was a little unsavory when sitting in a room being interrogated by the target, but a job none the less. The events of the previous day couldn’t have been targeted at them, regardless of the coincidence of them being there, no matter what Morgan’s paranoia told him.

She didn’t judge him as really dangerous, at least not to her. She just didn’t get that vibe from him, and she was a very good judge of character. In her line of work, you had to be.

“Fine. Let’s see what the day holds, and if nothing else, the truth will out,” she decided.

There were new jeans and underwear, - all of which fit exactly, she noticed, - and her boots where cleaned, as well as the jacket she’d been bought. Of her explosion damaged clothes, there was no sign.

At least she felt better. She may have been drugged, but at least she’d got the rest she needed, - none of the shakiness and cold of the night before, from shock. Her body and mind had had time to process and she was, once again, a full field agent from Ingrams and Associates with full control of her faculties.

She used the bathroom, then walked out into the main room. It was already set for an interrogation, she noted. Chair in the middle of the floor, and no matter how casual everyone else tried to appear, they were formed in a semi-circle around it, with Chris the only one standing, arms folded, behind Beatrice, who was seated with the chair back facing forward, her legs astride it, arms laid along the back, staring at her.

She looked at everyone, one after another, a sardonic eyebrow raised, and with a heavy theatrical sigh, she sat in the chair.

“No light in my eyes?” she asked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “I mean, you let me sleep, isn’t that against the rules of a good interrogation? Is there a bucket ready for water boarding?”

No one laughed, although Lindsey did hide a smile.

No one spoke for a moment, and then Chris said, “As I’m sure you can imagine, we’ve been up half the night, talking about you.”

April put a hand to her chest, making a ‘little ole me?’ expression, and Chris’s face hardened.

“Let’s not waste time here, April. I don’t think either one of us has much to burn. One third wants to let you go. One third wants to take you in a car and drop you as far away from us as possible, and the other third wants to, as you say, water board you for information, and then bury you in a shallow grave somewhere. They believe you were the reason someone tried to kill us, - me, - yesterday.”

There was silence for a moment, before April said softly, “Which third are you?”

“That depends on you.”

April glanced at Beatrice. No doubt which third she was in. She’d probably want to dig the grave personally, thought April.

“So, let’s start with who you are?” said Morgan, stepping forward, so he was in front of Beatrice.

“I’m April Carlisle,” April protested, calmly, “nothing more, nothing less.”

“Good answer. Gives nothing away,” said Morgan, grimly.

“Okay, fine, that’s the way you want it. Lindsey, what do we know?”

“April Carlisle. It’s her alright. We found kids pictures of her. Dad was some hotshot Indiana Jones type, mom in a love triangle with her uncle, left him for her Dad. She was raised in the Phoenix Arizona area, went to college there, obviously training for some law enforcement type job, with a heavy on psychology. Then she graduates, does some post grad courses, renames herself in honor of dear old Uncle,” she paused, and then stared at April, as if trying to will the back story of that event out of her, “and ... Vanishes off the face of the earth. Nothing more. For years. And yet here she is.”

Normally Ingrams would have prepared a much deeper cover for April, but for this job, given its nature, - find and forget, - they hadn’t bothered. What was interesting is that April knew they’d scrubbed all traces of her from the time of employment onward, but she was less aware that they’d left the rest of her details alone.

“Let’s talk about what happened yesterday, April. I would love to hear what you think about it?”