CONSCIENCE

 

(A Terry Thorne story)

 

By Kazlynh

 

Terry stood against the rail at the stern of the riverboat as they motored back down the Thames towards Greenwich. Eyes closed, his hands were clenched around the rail, anger and disgust coursing through him. The laughter and small-talk on the boat only added to the disconcertion, making him feel physically sick.

He’d had to walk away from Iain Havery, repulsed by his off-handed, sycophantic attitude.

I thought you might want a trip to the beach at Phuket…

Terry reached up, running his finger across the still-sensitive scar on his temple, a reminder that they’d left him swinging in the wind in Chechnya. Then they’d twisted his arm to go out to Tecala, after he’d warned them that he wasn’t mentally or physically ready to go anywhere… Only for them to change the goal posts and pull the rug out from under the Bowmans’ feet.

Octonal got quite put off by the whole adventure…

An indifferent shrug of the shoulders and that was that… That’s all Peter Bowman was worth.

Terry opened his eyes, looking down into the murky Thames water.

If he had ever doubted it, he knew now that Dino was right. Money was the bottom line. As long as the money came rolling in, Luthan Risk didn’t give a damn about the casualties.

And they thought that he could be bought off with a 'management' assignment. He was supposed to suck it up, wine and dine clients in some obscenely expensive hotel, then lie on a beach in the lap of luxury, soaking up the sun… and just forget that Peter Bowman had been left to die… because that’s what was going to happen.

Well, he couldn’t work like that any more!

Letting go of the rail he stepped back, turning to keep an eye on the other boat guests as he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and hit the speed-dial. He checked his watch as it rang, seeing that it was after seven, wondered if she’d already left the office and wouldn’t be able to help him.

“Stacy Evans,” she answered.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Terry purred. “Don’t you have a hot date for tonight?”

Iain Havery’s PA recognised the voice on the other end of the phone and rolled her eyes, telling him, “Not that it’s anything to do with a drunken, colonial, surf bum like you, but yes, I do!”

“So does that mean that you’re dripping wet in a towel?” Terry quipped. “Or are you still in the office?”

Stacy laughed, retorting, “Some of us don’t get invited to corporate champagne and finger-food, Mr. Thorne! I’m still in the office.” Unable to resist, she added, “But I am dripping wet in a towel! So, what do you want?”

Terry laughed softly then grew serious again, telling her, “I need a favour, Stacy…”

His voice was softer, as if he was afraid of being overheard, the frivolity gone. It wasn’t often that Stacy heard such a deadly-earnest tone in Terry Thorne’s voice and Stacy dropped, immediately into PA mode.

“And it might get you into trouble…” Terry finished.

“You,” she told him, “have been trying to get me into trouble since you first met me, Terry Thorne!” Then, once more all-business, she asked, “What do you need?”

Terry smiled, sending silent thanks to the heavens that even if Iain Havery was an arse, his PA was an angel. “I need a plane ticket, back to Tecala…”

Stacy couldn’t have told you where every agent in Luthan Risk was working, but there were a few that she kept tabs on. Terry Thorne was one of them. Add to that the fact that the office had been in disarray over the whole Tecala situation with Iain being called upstairs over it, and she remembered exactly where Terry had been operating.

“Didn’t you just get back from there?”

“That’s why it might get you into trouble, love,” Terry warned.

Stacy was a smart woman. Terry knew that she’d suss the situation without having to have it explained to her, so he wasn’t surprised when she asked softly, “Havery doesn’t know you’re going back?”

“Not exactly,” Terry admitted.

Stacy bit her lip, pondering the pros and cons of what Terry was asking. “You’re courting a P45 if you do this, Terry,” she warned. “Octonal threatened to pull our business over the Quad Carbon thing. If Iain finds out that you’ve gone back there, he’ll hit the roof. He’ll dismiss you.”

“Not if I leave a letter of resignation with you to give him once I’m on the plane,” Terry told her.

Stacy blinked. Then a slow smiled pulled across her face. Terry had called the office when he’d got the news that he had been pulled off the Bowman job, wanting to know why he’d been ordered not to have any more contact with the Bowman family, even to say goodbye. Stacy had had to field the call because Iain had been out on a do-not-disturb, let’s-do-lunch meeting.

Terry had not exactly been happy.

He’d have been even more unhappy, she knew, if he’d known how Iain had phrased the instruction for him to stay away from the Bowman family. Iain’s exact words had been, “And make sure he doesn’t see the wife again! If she spins him a bloody sob story, he’ll swallow it and the whole thing will escalate!”

Stacy had said nothing, simply nodded. Then, like a good PA she had reworded Terry’s orders and sent them out.

Now, however, Terry was asking for her help and she was damned if she was going to say no. Not to Terry…

“When do you want to leave?”

“You,” he replied, “are an angel. I’ll take the first flight you can get me tomorrow… And can you call Dino and let him know that I’m coming back?”

Stacy quirked an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I have that Yankee reprobate’s number?”

“Because I happen to know that you’ve been helping him out now and then,” Terry told her.

Stacy rolled her eyes, hearing the grin in his voice.

Dino had phoned her not long after leaving Luthan Risk, saying that he was stuck and could she help him out. It was only some research and she’d gladly done it for him, liking the red-headed American’s direct, no-nonsense manner. She’d helped him out a few times since then and Dino had obviously confided in Terry. Probably over a whisky or three, if she knew the both of them as well as she thought she did.

“Well, at least if you’re talking about me,” she said with a long-suffering sigh, “you’re leaving some other poor bugger alone!”

Terry chuckled, assuring her, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“It better bloody be!” Stacy shot back then said, “Otherwise I’ll be out of a job! Give me half an hour.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Oh,” she murmured suggestively, unable to resist teasing him, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to be an angel…”

Terry’s giggle was infectious and she found herself chuckling with him. “Give me half an hour,” she repeated. “I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks, love… I mean it.”

“I know you do. But don’t thank me yet. Half an hour.”

“I’ll be here,” he assured her.

~*~

Terry spent the next thirty or so minutes trying to fob off the more-than-slightly tipsy advances of Allegra Blanchard. She’d spotted him before he’d spoken to Iain Havery and had sought him out, flirtatiously playing with her long, dark hair, the tight-fitting, cream dress clinging to her athletic frame and leaving nothing to the imagination.

It was a game they’d played before… a game that usually ended up with him putting her into a taxi and sending her home before she got too drunk to remember what she had done. Her husband was an idiot to go out playing cards instead of spending time with her.

On the other hand, he had no idea what went on behind their closed doors.

Right now, though, he wasn’t in the mood to play or to party. To make matter worse, she had sensed his disinterest and was pouting.

His phone rang and he breathed a sigh of relief, apologising, “I’m sorry, love. I need to get this.”

Without waiting for her reply, he moved past her, answering his phone, announcing, “Terry Thorne.”

“Terry, it’s Stacy… Your flight leaves Heathrow, Terminal Four at twenty-one hundred tomorrow. British Airways. You can pick up your tickets from the ticket desk. And I contacted the Tecalan Embassy. They’re issuing a letter to make good your visa. They’ll fax a copy to your home and courier the original over here in the morning.”

“Stacy, I could kiss you!” Terry told her, relief lifting a weight off his shoulders.

“You can’t afford me!” she shot back.

Terry chuckled then asked, “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of me dropping into the office tomorrow without Iain seeing me?”

“He’s upstairs at a debrief,” she explained, drawing the desk diary towards her, turning the page to check the times. “Between two and three.”

“Good. I’ll see you then, love.”

“I suppose,” she asked lightly, “you want me to have a resignation letter ready and waiting for you to sign?”

Terry chuckled but assured her, “Thanks, but no. That I’m going to do all on my own.”

“Well, just remember,” she quipped, “there’s only one 'S' in bastard…”

Terry gasped in mock horror, “Such language from a young lady!”

“Who said anything about me being a lady?” she shot back then, before he could protest, she went on, “And now I have a hot date to meet for dinner. So bugger off!”

Terry laughed, telling her, “Buggering, as ordered!” Then he sobered, “Thanks, Stacy.”

“Just get Peter Bowman home to his wife, Terry…” she replied. “And tell Dino he owes me a dinner.”

“We both owe you,” he assured her. “And I’ll tell him, no worries. Take care.”

Closing the phone, Terry looked around the boat before taking a deep breath. Now that his decision had been made and Stacy had things in hand, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. All he had to do was get through the next few hours without giving into the impulse to tell Iain Havery exactly what he thought of him and Luthan Risk, and he would be free… free to get Peter Bowman out of the hello-hole he had been left to rot in.

Lifting a glass of bubbly from a passing waiter’s tray, Terry giggled then finally gave in gracefully as Allegra Blanchard made her slightly-wavering way back towards him. This would be the last time he would ever have to put her in a taxi…

And that was going to be a pleasure.

 

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