Lebanon. More after the break …’
Porter paused, enjoying the warmth of the hotel lobby. The Lebanon, he thought. More hostages.
It never bloody stops, does it?
A couple of ads flashed by, but Porter didn’t feel like moving. Where would he go, anyway?
The presenter came back on air, with an interview with Doug Freeman, the producer who’d been in the van when it was held up. It had been a short and terrifying experience,he said. They had been driving along a main road, when suddenly their way was blocked. There were six men in total. At first they thought it was a robbery – bandits were everywhere in the Lebanon once you got away from Beirut. But they didn’t want the cameras, or the van, or any of their credit cards. ‘They wanted Katie,’ said Freeman, looking straight at the camera. ‘They knew who she was, and they’d come to get her.’
‘Do you think they meant to harm her, Doug?’
‘I hope not,’ he replied. ‘Katie is one of the finest reporters I have ever worked with.’ He paused, wiping the sweat of his face. ‘Our prayers are with her this morning.’
Porter could feel a tap on his shoulder. As he turned round, a young girl was standing right next to him. She was wearing a Travel Inn uniform, and name tag pinned to her chest said Sarah. From the way her nose was wrinkling up, Porter could tell she was freaked out just to be standing next to him. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,’ she said.
‘One minute,’ snapped Porter.
‘I –’
‘One minute, I said.’
He looked back towards the screen. The words ‘breaking news’ were flashing on the screen once again.
‘And now we can go over live to Downing Street, where Sir Peregrine Collinson, the Prime Minister’s special envoy to the Middle East, will be speaking live to Sky’s Adam Boulton. Adam, what can you tell us?’
Porter kept watching. Collinson, he thought. The last time I saw you, you were puking up in the corner because you were too afraid to carry on with the mission. You should have taken the rap for what went wrong on that mission.
Not me.
‘As most viewers will know,’ began Boulton, looking into the camera. ‘Sir Peregrine Collinson is one of Britain’s most decorated fighting men, with a book of military memoirsstill on the best-seller lists. Now we learn that Sir Perry has been put in charge of securing the release of Katie Dartmouth.’
Porter watched as the camera panned out to show a tall man, elegantly suited, and with his dusty blond hair just a touch longer than would ever have been permitted when he was still in the army. It’s been seventeen years, reflected Porter.
‘What can you tell us, Sir Perry?’ asked Boulton.
Collinson pursed his lips and furrowed his brow thoughtfully. He conjured up an air of seriousness. ‘There’s only so much we can say at this stage, Adam,’ he began. ‘We don’t know who has taken Katie Dartmouth, where they’ve taken her, or what they want. But the PM has asked me to take full charge of the investigation, and I can assure you that every muscle we possess will be strained to bring Katie back safely.’
‘And you really don’t have any clue where she is?’
Collinson shook his head. ‘At this stage, I’m afraid there is nothing firm to go on. All of our efforts, however, will be devoted to getting her back. There may be testing hours and days ahead, but together we will pull through them.’
As Porter watched the screen, he pondered how much better the years had been to Collinson than they had been to him. After coming back from the raid in Lebanon, he knew he’d never been able to get himself back on the level again. The physical damage to his hand healed in time, but the mental damage remained as fresh and raw as if he’d been wounded only yesterday. He’d done his best to reintegrate himself back into the Regiment, but all the men seemed to know that Porter was the guy who’d spared the life of an Arab kid who had then killed