Catherine Steadman - Something in the Water - A Novel

The tall man reaches into his pocket and I strain to see what he’s reaching for, praying not to see a familiar glint of gun metal. “No copies of the files?” he asks Mark.

I notice I’m trembling; the leaves around my arms rustle ever so slightly.

Mark shakes his head. “No copies,” he says as he slips my phone safely into his pocket.

Is Mark acting? I don’t get it. I don’t understand what’s going on.

The tall man nods, pleased.

Something about Mark’s tone of voice. His posture. This is not right. He doesn’t sound scared. He doesn’t even sound worried. What is he doing? Doesn’t he know they will kill him?

Oh my God. I think Mark’s plan is to try to do the deal. How has he managed that? What happened before I got here; what have I missed? Why would they do the deal when they already hold all the cards?

The other man is on the phone now, talking in a language I don’t understand, his tone curt. When he seems satisfied, he hangs up.

“Done. Check your account,” he tells Mark.

Mark pulls out another phone now, slowly, demonstratively, showing that it’s not a weapon. He looks calm, fully in control. Every inch the businessman. Not one part of him scared, or panicked. I have this disconcerting thought. The two men look the same, the tall man and Mark. The same breed.

The man looks off into the treeline. “Where is she? Your wife?” he asks conversationally.

I catch my breath. Careful, Mark. Don’t be fooled. That man knows exactly where I am, where Patrick left me. Mark has no idea what they’ve done to me. No idea that Patrick attacked me and took everything. He knows they had my phone, though. He knows that’s how he ended up here; he tracked it here. He’ll know this is a trick question. Don’t let them trap you.

Mark scrolls and taps on the phone. He looks up briefly. “She doesn’t know anything. I’ve taken care of her. Trust me. She won’t be a problem anymore.” His voice is bored. His eyes flick lazily back down to the phone. That’s right, Mark. Well played. God, he’s good at this. I watch him as he scrolls away at his phone waiting for the payment to come through. So calm, so together.

But wait, hang on. Something’s wrong here. Why are they paying him? Why would they attack me and steal the coordinates and then still pay us? They have everything they want. Why pay Mark? I mean, Mark’s not pointing a gun at them or anything; why would they give him the money?

A depth charge of sadness surges through me, leaving in its wake an emptiness the likes of which I’ve never known. And all at once it all starts to make sense.

Mark didn’t come here to save me. He came here to stop me from making the deal. To take over the deal. He doesn’t care what they’ve done to me. He doesn’t care that they’ve hurt me. He doesn’t care about me at all. And now he’s doing the deal with them behind my back. Oh God. Mark has made the trade for just himself.

I want to cry out, I want to scream; I slap my gloved hand over my mouth. Because this man, standing here in the woods, is Mark, but it’s not my Mark. This man is a stranger.

My mind races over the facts. Who is this man I married? How long has he been lying to me? How did he do this? My mind retraces everything that’s happened over the past month. When did this start? Mark was the only one who saw inside the plane. What did he see in the wreckage? It was Mark who left a trail that led to the Sharpes. He’s the reason those people are dead. It was Mark who sent me to set up the bank account, sent me to meet with Charles. Mark insisted no one was looking for us or for the bag. He wanted to dump the diamonds. So he could sell them himself? He kept the voicemails about the USB a secret. He hid the USB from me. He wanted it for himself. He’s been covering his own tracks since we left Bora Bora, setting everything up so I’ve been the front man all along, but he can still access all the money without me.

I’m numb with shock. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I never even noticed. I never noticed any of it. But I loved him, I trusted him, he’s my husband, and we were supposed to be in this together. But then, I never really was very good at reading people, was I? And he always, always, was. Silly me. Silly Erin. I feel my heart thrashing in my throat as I realize. I don’t know this man at all. The man I thought I knew, the man I fell in love with, the man I married: he never really existed.

“It’s gone through,” Mark says, nodding, and he pockets the phone. The money has hit our Swiss account.

“Flash drive,” he says, holding it out at arm’s length to the tall man.

“You don’t mind if I check too?” the man asks, indicating the drive. He wants to make sure it works. He doesn’t trust Mark. But then, why should he? I don’t trust Mark now and I’m married to him.

The man walks away from Mark, careful not to turn his back on him. I see now he’s heading toward a black canvas bag left at the clearing’s edge. He bends. He pulls out a slim silver laptop.

With the laptop open in the crook of his arm, he inserts the flash drive. Both men stand silent in the woods as the sun rises and they wait for the USB to load.

The tall man finally looks up.

“You opened it, I see? But you didn’t decrypt it. Very wise. That makes things easier, right?” He smiles at Mark, a smile devoid of humor.

Mark smirks. So he’d lied to me about that too. He didn’t decrypt it either. He just guessed. He has no more idea than I do what is on the USB. He just knows it’s worth two million euros.

“None of my business. I’d rather not know,” Mark answers.

The other man seems momentarily distracted; he’s focusing on his computer. I wonder what he sees flashing up on that screen. I wonder what secrets worth two million euros look like. I suppose I’ll never know now.

“Happy?” Mark asks. The transaction feels like it’s coming to a close.

“Yes, happy.” The man places the laptop and USB safely back in his bag.

And it’s at this point I realize I’m never going to see Mark again. I’ll never get to touch him, kiss him; I’ll never fall asleep beside him ever again. We’ll never watch our children grow up; we’ll never move to the countryside and get a big dog; we’ll never see a film together or go for a drink. And we’ll never grow old together. Every good thing I’ve ever felt was a lie. And now there is no recourse. He took all of our life together from me. And now he’ll take the rest of it too. Not that it matters now really, but he has access to the Swiss account too. I haven’t checked it for days. He could have syphoned off all the money already, sent it to another account somewhere. That might be where he’s just had the two million euros sent.

And what was he doing in New York yesterday? He can’t have been planning to make an exchange with the Russians, because he didn’t take the USB with him. Maybe he was just trying to find somewhere to live? Maybe that’s where his new life will be? I wonder what he’s really been doing for the past three weeks.

Questions I can’t answer. I should have paid more attention. I should have been less trusting. Too late now.

Mark will disappear and I’ll be left alone, with nothing but an empty house I can’t afford.

Or maybe he will come for me. Maybe he’ll want to clear up the loose ends.

How long has he been planning this?

“I just need the other coordinates now.”

An awkward silence.

A bird screeches in the distance.

“What coordinates?” Mark is frowning.

Ha. Mark has no idea what the guy is talking about. I want to laugh. Schadenfreude. He doesn’t know the tall man needs the plane coordinates too. That last voicemail, the one I got yesterday morning—only I listened to it. Mark only knows about the USB exchange. He has no idea what coordinates the other man is talking about.