25. Maria
Maria
It’s late—very late—by the time we finally go to bed.
I don’t want to be on my own, so I sneak in with Regan, who pulls back the sheet without saying a word.
We don’t make love. We just hold each other.
I’ve come to love them all equally, but each man is different.
Each man has his own qualities. Of the three men, it’s Regan who is perhaps the most sensitive.
The one who comes closest to understanding my emotions.
The next morning, we’re all gathered in the kitchen for breakfast by half past seven. We’re all agreed that we want to try to make things feel as normal as possible. That we need to maintain the discipline of our daily routine if we’re going to get through this thing.
I make the coffee, whilst Regan fries the bacon, and Abe cuts English muffins in half and toasts them under the grill.
Grant is drinking the coffee I’ve brought him and playing on his laptop.
“We need to draw up floor plans from all this information,” he says. “We’ll never remember it all otherwise. Remember that architectural drawings software package we purchased when we were building this place, three years ago? I think I can remember how to use it.”
“Oh yeah. Perfect!” Regan says, nodding. “Good call, Boss.”
“Thanks. So that’s my task this morning. Perhaps you can help me, Maria, since you’re the one who actually knows the place.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. I made notes yesterday, but I can’t recall absolutely everything you told us, and besides, you might find there’s other stuff you can add as we go along.”
“What about me’n the big guy?” asks Regan as he piles the fried bacon slices onto a clean plate and puts the plate down in the center of the kitchen table next to the English muffins and various condiments, ready for us all to help ourselves.
“Weapons,” says Grant, in between mouthfuls of coffee and bacon muffin. “A complete inventory of firearms, ammunition, and other equipment. I want to know what we’ve got, how much of it we have, and what condition it’s in, okay?”
Regan and Abe—both busy eating—just nod to this.
“When you’ve done the inventory, start on maintenance. I want each weapon stripped, cleaned, greased, and re-assembled. All of them, understand?”
Nods again.
“Good. Kitchen is GCHQ. Anyone with any intelligence to provide, or with questions, or who’ve finished their tasks and needs something else to do reports back here. Okay everyone?”
We all agree to this, and I am beginning to understand Regan’s point the other day about how much easier it is to get on with things if you have someone competent whom you trust to make the decisions for you and give the orders.
It doesn’t mean any of us couldn’t have challenged Grant, and indeed I’m sure Regan or Grant would absolutely do so…
if they thought Grant was getting it wrong.
But Grant isn’t getting it wrong, so just like me, they’re more than happy to follow his lead.
The day goes by with all of us hard at work. We all understand the urgency. We have three days maximum to get ready and to act. That’s not long, and we’ve already consumed one of those three days as we sit down to our evening meal—pasta bake this time.
After we’ve finished eating we again gather around the table to discuss progress.
“Right, team,” says Grant. “How have we gotten along?”
Abe hands Grant a neatly handwritten list.
“Here you are, Grant. All firearms are checked, cleaned, and reassembled ready to go.”
“Fantastic. Now let’s see, what have we got?” He checks down the list.
Sidearms
3 x Glock 19
1 x SIG Sauer P226/P320
4 x suppressors
16 x magazines containing 15 rounds each
Primary Weapons
2 x AR-15 platform carbines
12 x 30-round STANAG magazines
2 x short-barreled rifles (Sbrs)
10 x 30-round compact magazines
1 x suppressed HK416 rifle
6 x 30-round magazines
Precision / Overwatch
1 x SR-25 with thermal optic and night vision scope
7 x 20-round detachable box magazines
Shotguns
1 x Benelli M4 tactical shotgun
20 x 12-guage buckshot cartridges (7 preloaded)
Non-Lethal / Tactical
10 x smoke grenades
10 x flashbangs
zip ties/flex cuffs
4 x tactical breaching charges (small)
3 x lock bypass kit
1 x bolt cutters
4 x ballistic helmets
4 x plate carriers/body armor
4 x night vision monoculars.
4 x individual first-aid kits
1 x mini-drone with 4k camera
1 x jammer
“Jesus Christ… you could take on a small country with that lot!” I’m reading the list over Grant’s shoulder. Regan laughs.
“It looks like more than it really is,” he says. “You’d be surprised how much equipment is needed. Luckily for us though, we’ve got Abe to carry it all.”
I smile at the quip, but my stomach is fluttering. With all these weapons, anything could happen. And the more guns going off, the more chances of someone getting shot—killed even. And I realize that I really don’t want Grant, Regan, Abe or Papa killed.
Nor myself. I suddenly realize with an icy coldness of real fear trickling down my spine.
“And this stuff… it’s all checked and working?” Grant looks at Abe and Regan, waiting for their confirmation.
“Absolutely,” says Regan, and Abe nods.
“Alright. Then I just have one question.”
“Go ahead, Grant.”
“Why four sets of PPE and four first-aid kits? There’s only three of us.”
“Well,” says Abe. “We thought… or that is I thought that Maria?—”
“No.”
“What? What are you saying?” I lean forwards, suddenly listening intently. Who does Grant think he is, deciding whether I am going to help save Papa or not?
“Maria, be reasonable,” Grant gestures towards me with his hands held out and open.
“You don’t know the first thing about firing a weapon, much less actually killing someone.
What makes you think you’ll even be able to do it, when push comes to shove.
So no.” Grant turns away, as if the conversation is over.
“So don’t ask. Besides, what would your papa say?
“You know damned well what he’d say.”
“Well, there you go then. Answer’s ‘No’. You’re not coming, okay?”
“But,” I slam my fist on the kitchen table causing myself to jump as much as the others.
“It’s not Papa’s decision, and it’s not yours either.
It’s not any of your decisions. My Papa spent his whole life putting me first. His whole life.
Do you understand? He went hungry so I could get an education.
He borrowed from the mob to make sure there was a roof over my head.
Every meal I ate, every toy I played with, every schoolbook I owned, every item of clothing I wore…
I owe him everything. There is no way on Earth I’m not going. ”
It's only now that I realize I’m on my feet, muscles tense, fists clenched, and I’m shouting at the top of my voice. The three men are transfixed, rigid, staring at me, their eyes wide open.
Regan recovers first, and he gently reaches out an arm, puts it tentatively across my shoulders. “Alright girl, we hear you. Steady now, hey?”
I sit back down, my breathing heavy, muscles still tense, blood pounding in my veins, but I’m beginning to calm down from wherever it was I had just gone to.
“But look, Maria,” Grant tries again. “You’d only be a liability, not an asset. You’d slow us down. Instead of focusing on our jobs, we’d be worrying about you. Can’t you see that?”
“But I have to be there.” Tears well in my eyes. “I need to play my part. I can’t just wait at home, not doing anything. It wouldn’t be right. I have to come.”
“Yes, but—” begins Grant, but he’s interrupted by Abel.
“She can come with me,” he says.
“That’s all well and good, but I’m still?—”
Abel stands up. “Yes, Grant. You’re still in charge. But this is her father. Put yourself in her shoes. Anyway, it’s decided. She’s coming with me. I’m off to bed now.”
And without waiting for a response, he opens the door and steps outside, shutting it closed again softly behind him.
Day Two arrives all too quickly. It’s seven thirty and we’re sititng around the breakfast table, drinking coffee and eating grits.
“Alright, listen up.” Grant calls us to order, and we all stop talking and listen in.
“I wish we had more time, but we don’t. So—if you haven’t already guessed—we have to go in tonight. Or to be precise… in the early hours of tomorrow morning.”
Grant and Regan simply nod, like this was what they were expecting. But I am stunned.
“Why so soon? Are we… are we ready?” I ask tentatively, the idea of “action” coming so soon suddenly making everything a lot more real and a lot scarier.
“Think about it,” says Regan. “Deadline’s eight o’clock tomorrow evening, yes?”
“Yes.”
“So, if we want to go at night?—”
“And we do want to go at night,” interrupts Grant.
“Then it has to be tonight,” continues Regan. “See? No choice.”
“Oh. Yes, I guess so.” I think about it for a moment. “But won’t they know that too? Tony and his mob, I mean.”
“Yes and no,” says Abe, unhelpfully.
“What he means,” says Grant, catching the expression on my face. “Is that with luck they will actually be thinking that we will go the full three days and put in the call, like we agreed.”
“Yeah, like good boys,” sniggers Regan.
“So, if that’s the case… well, they won’t be thinking about this as being the last possible night for any rescue action. Instead, they’ll be seeing it as the waiting period before any action starts, and hopefully they will be thinking that any action taken will be by them, not us.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“Good,” continues Grant. “Because—since you insist on coming with us, and since I assume you know next to nothing about firearms—Abe’s task this morning is to teach you how not to kill yourself with one of those.
” He nods towards the pile of weapons on the far side of the kitchen table.
“And if possible—assuming he has time—to teach you how not to shoot any of us, as well. Okay?”
Abe frowns, but I quickly jump in, “Yes sir, whatever you say.”
Regan grins.