Shattering the Trust

by Sofia Grey

  “Exclusive, like how?” Tanner was equally scathing.

  “It checks your IP address, to make sure you’re in Godzone, before you can place an ad. Unlike eBay, where people claim to be in one country when they’re actually in another—”

  “When you’ve quite finished?” Aiden cut through the simmering tension. “I have an idea. Are any of you familiar with a process called steganography?”

  Jack recognised the word but couldn’t recall where he’d heard it. The others didn’t know either.

  “It’s the process of hiding one data stream behind another,” explained Aiden. “Several years ago, a U.S. journalist uncovered a series of ads on eBay that held a secondary data file. He worked on the theory that Al Qaeda were passing round information hidden in the ads. It meant using eBay as a modern form of a Dead Drop box, readily available to anyone with internet access, and completely secure.”

  Aiden’s face was impassive. “If we look on TradeMe, my guess is we’ll find these same ads, but with subtle differences embedded. If I’m right, we can compare the two versions—usually it’s encoding within the images—and see what comes up.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Aiden’s theory was looking good. Seemingly identical versions of the two ads were listed as current auctions on the trading website.

  To give him his due, Casey perked up a bit. “Sweet. How soon can you crack it?” The cynical smirk flicked back into place. “Assuming you can crack it?”

  Jack would rather be cracking Casey’s face with his fist. Repeatedly. Sadly that wasn’t an option.

  He had to play nice instead. For the moment.

  *

  Fucking typical. The UK picked now to have the heaviest snowfalls in twenty years. All the airports closed, and no way to escape the country. As Charlie stared at the departures board, it didn’t seem likely he’d be flying out from Manchester Airport anytime soon.

  Maybe he had a better chance from Heathrow? There’d be a wider choice of flights available. Failing that, if he took the Eurostar to Paris, he could try to outrun the snowstorms. He transferred to the rail network and ended up on a train from Manchester Piccadilly station, heading toward London Euston. He pulled the beanie further down, hunched in his seat, and flicked mindlessly through a free newspaper, while listening to music on his phone. After hearing Shihad and Enmity play at their concerts, he’d downloaded their entire back catalogues. That should keep him occupied for the three-hour journey to London.

  Over the years, he’d developed a simple coping mechanism. Don’t Think About It. As a principle, it worked well, but he was having difficulty coping with the enormity of this particular issue. It lurked at the back of his mind, pulsing and thrashing, ready to unleash at any moment. Right now, right this minute, he couldn’t think about it. He’d do that later. In the meantime, he needed some form of distraction.

  Dope was a no-no, as smoking was banned on the train. If he was caught smoking in the toilet, he’d be thrown off at the next stop. Likewise, alcohol wasn’t his best choice. He needed a clear head, at least until he boarded a long-haul flight and didn’t have to move for the best part of twelve hours. Then, he’d think about it all. But not before.

  Movement caught his attention and he looked up. The other passengers were standing, gathering coats and bags. Charlie peered out of the misted-up window. They were at Milton Keynes. Was everyone getting out here?

  Shit. There must have been an announcement over the P.A. and he missed it.

  “Excuse me,” he said to a passing woman. “Is there a problem with the train?”

  “There’s been a derailment in the snow, love.” Her chirpy Liverpool accent made him smile. “The driver’s kicking everyone out here. We might be moving in a few hours, but they’re going to bus people to the next station.”

  He nodded and thanked her. Great. Just what he didn’t need. It was approaching eight at night, and the prospect of sitting on a crowded bus for the next hour didn’t hold much appeal. Maybe he could find a hotel, and set off again in the morning? Yep, that sounded like a plan.

  Alas, he wasn’t the only person with this idea, judging by the length of the queue for a taxi. He browsed the posters and tourist information while he waited, still leaping from one mental distraction to another. The name of a local village caught his eye. It sounded familiar. He read the information sheet again. Shenley, made up of Shenley Wood, Shenley Lodge... He’d been to Shenley Wood before. He racked his brains to remember why.

  He’d visited AJ on one of his trips to rehab, somewhere near Shenley Wood. Big place. Uber-expensive. Was that where Joni was currently incarcerated? Frankie was a creature of habit, and if he recommended a facility for her, chances were it would be the same one.

  On a whim, he tapped out a text to Daisy.

  Hi. Just wondering which rehab Joni is staying in. Could u find out for me? Thanks babe.

  The queue moved up slowly, while he waited for her reply.

  Hi! It’s Halligans nr Milton Keynes. Is the funeral today or tomorrow? I can’t work out the time difference, doh! Any more snow? D x

  Halligans in Shenley Wood. He was right. As distractions went, this would pass a few hours. If Joni was the hot suspect as Callum’s stalker, maybe Charlie could do a little digging while he was here. He replied to Daisy as he stepped to the front of the queue.

  Thx! Funeral is tomorrow. It’s currently 8:30pm Monday. I’m not enjoying the heaviest snow in years. Looking forward to the sunshine again!

  He climbed into the cab and asked the driver to go to Halligans. He’d figure out a story on the way. He knew from visiting AJ that you needed to have a pretty good excuse to see a patient, especially out of hours.

  Daisy’s reply made him smile.

  It’s Tuesday morning here, v hot again. Wondered if you wanted fish & chips again when you get back. It was sooo good last time... :-0 Gotta go. Talk soon, D x

  Yeah, Daisy would be the best distraction of them all, when he finally got to Wellington. For now though, he had half an hour to come up with a suitably urgent reason for a late visit to Halligans.

  *

  Jack had a plan. As plans went, it was risky, but the higher the risk, the better the reward.

  Tanner was against it. Aiden was cautious. Casey was all for it, with a gung-ho enthusiasm. Did he hope it would all go wrong?

  In some ways, it would be simple. Jack would make contact with Yanni, deliver proof of Rashwan’s demise, and explain that the kid was planning to double-cross Yanni. He’d infiltrate the cell. Then he’d find out what the hell was going on and get the fuck out. Hopefully in one piece.

  They knew Yanni—aka John Calder—could be found at X-Cloud. Jack could try to make contact using his old code name, Serenity, and see if Yanni bought the story.

  As far as cover stories went, they needed a reason for Jack to drop off the grid, but that was also simple. Tanner would explain that Jack had been urgently recalled to the Houston HQ, and flights would be booked to make it look as though he’d left the country. Though Tanner didn’t want to admit it, this was their best chance of uncovering the cell and finding out why Yanni was so interested in Juli.

  How long would it take? Juli would only be in the country until next week, and then she’d be on a flight back to the UK. He’d known her a matter of days. Why did leaving her feel so wrong?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlie asked the taxi driver to wait outside Halligans, then concentrated on getting himself into the right frame of mind. It wasn’t hard.

  The po-faced woman on Reception was a dead ringer for Nurse Ratched, from the Jack Nicholson version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and how appropriate was that?

  Charlie guessed her objective at work was simple—to keep patients and visitors as far apart as possible. However, he’d bet anything that her training didn’t include how to cope with him. He howled and wailed, almost bent double with grief, and staggered to the counter where he sobbed some more. He deserved an Oscar. For goo
d measure, he waved a half-empty bottle of malt around—the other half had been poured on the ground outside—as he demanded to see the person in charge.

  When someone generated this level of fuss, it didn’t take long to be seen. A young woman appeared within minutes—a skinny thing with huge, dark eyes. She reminded him of Sylvie.

  “I’m Clare Talbot, the night manager. How can I help you?”

  Charlie clung to the counter, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and held back another sob. “I can’t believe it,” he cried. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” He adopted an Irish accent. He always thought the Irish sounded persuasive when they were drunk, and that was the impression he wanted to make—Drunk Dubliner.

  Clare tried to take his arm, probably to lead him into a quiet office, but he stayed put.

  “Who’s gone?” she asked.

  “I can’t believe it. I flew in from New Zealand, as soon as I heard the news.”

  Clare tried again to take his arm.

  He shrugged her off and gesticulated with the malt. “Tell me it’s a practical joke, please.”

  By now, the noise was attracting patients and staff alike, and clusters of people were gathering at a discreet distance.

  “I’m sorry.” Clare started to sound stressed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What joke?”

  He put down the malt and closed his hand around her arm “Please tell me she’s still alive.”

  “Who?”

  “Joni. I got a... message...” He pretended to be overcome and buried his face in his arm.

  Clare was becoming more concerned by the minute. “Joni? You mean Joni Dean? What message?”

  “For the love of god, please tell me it’s not true. I was told that she’d... oh God... died.”

  Clare’s eyes opened wide. “Died? No. How did you hear that?”

  Turning to face her fully, Charlie transferred his grip to the front of her white coat. “She’s alive? Saints be praised.” Was he overdoing the accent? Maybe not. He thickened the brogue. “But Clare, how can I be sure you’re telling me the truth? That this isn’t one huge cover up?”

  She smiled a little woodenly. “I can assure you Mr... er... that Joni Dean is alive and well. I saw her fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Please, let me see her. Please, Clare. I’ve travelled thousands of miles to be here now, and I need to be sure she’s still with me. And not just in here.” He banged his chest for emphasis.

  Was that a sheen that appeared on her forehead? Her discomfort told him Ms Talbot wasn’t used to strangers weeping all over her. “I’m afraid our policy is no visitors—”

  “Clare, Clare, Clare.” He had no qualms about interrupting. “All I want is two minutes, to prove to myself this has been one huge mistake. Please, let me see her, and then I’ll go away. My taxi is waiting outside.”

  She was about to refuse.

  He wouldn’t let her.

  He dropped to his knees and tugged the hem of her white coat. “Joni.” He wailed at the top of his voice. “I just need to know she’s alive.”

  The crowd of onlookers grew by the minute. Everybody wanted to see what had happened in the church-like Reception.

  Clare leaned across the counter and muttered something to Nurse Ratched.

  Yessss.

  Charlie stayed on his knees, still wailing for Joni.

  Moments later, Clare tried to release his fingers while talking to him in the soothing tones normally used on the elderly or the very sick. “She’s here now. You can see for yourself. Joni’s here. Come on, stand up.”

  He risked a quick glance in the direction she was pointing. Nurse Ratched was hauling an attractive woman along by the arm, in the direction of Reception. The patient didn’t look happy about coming to see him.

  “Now, then.” Clare was still soothing. “I’ll give you two minutes together, but that’s absolutely all. You can sit here.” She gestured to a clump of squashy-looking sofas and hauled Charlie to his feet.

  He swayed theatrically and staggered toward the first sofa, as Nurse Ratched shoved the woman into the seat opposite.

  “As you can see,” Clare sounded proud. “Joni Dean is absolutely fine.”

  He blinked. This woman looked fine indeed. But she wasn’t Joni Dean.

  *

  Jean-Luc stuck to Juli’s side all morning. Everyone else called him Lucky, but she preferred his given name. It was fun to talk French to him. She was bilingual from birth, and although Jean-Luc had grown up in the States, he’d lived in Paris until he was seven and spoke the language like a native.

  They schmoozed the delegates again for a couple of hours, and then listened to one of the speakers presenting an interesting approach to extending the run-time of batteries for electric vehicles. Jean-Luc spent the time playing Candy Crush on his phone, while Juli scribbled notes for things to check out later.

  It was her keynote speech after lunch. She was prepared, but nerves still bubbled inside. Her talk was an adaptation of one she’d used before, to great success, but every conference was different. The audiences had different expectations.

  She wouldn’t know until she was partway through her slides, whether or not the delegates were engaged. Whether they were paying attention or were more like Jean-Luc, playing with brightly coloured balls on their phones.

  There would be time to check her presentation again when the sessions broke for lunch. It had been loaded into the central system, but she could tweak her delivery. Ask additional questions.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t notice her phone vibrating on the counter, until Jean-Luc nudged her. “You gonna get that?”

  She had a missed call from Jack, followed immediately by a text message.

  Hi. Need to see you. Do you have 10 mins?

  Maybe he was free for lunch? She sent her reply.

  Yes! Breaking for lunch soon. My keynote is at 2pm. x

  His reply pinged right back.

  On my way. 10 mins. I need to leave and want to see you before I go. Wait there.

  Oh. She didn’t like the sound of that. Anxiety nudged at her. Where was he going? And why?

  “Everything okay?” Jean-Luc’s question dragged her out of her head.

  “I’m not sure. I just had an odd text from Jack. He’s leaving. Do you know why?”

  “He’s probably needed in Houston. He and Tanner own Griffon Security, so maybe one of them is needed back home. Some boss thing that can’t wait.”

  It sounded plausible, but she hated the idea of not seeing him again, and that in itself was unsettling. She’d known him four days. She wasn’t the impulsive kind, to get attached so quickly. Not even when Jack looked at her the way he did, with an intensity that probably left scorch marks.

  Not even then.

  “You sure you’re okay?” asked Jean-Luc.

  “Of course.” She spoke briskly.

  “You look as though someone kicked your puppy. What did Jack do?” Jean-Luc paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you and he a thing?”

  To her mortification, she felt her cheeks heating. “No.” Yep, her face was probably glowing now. “Not really.” She clapped her hands to her burning cheeks. Liar, liar, face on fire. “Well, a little. You know.”

  Jean-Luc sighed, and gave one of his expressive gallic shrugs. “I was gonna ask you on a date, but the boss moved in first. Typical.” He looked woebegone, and despite her anxiety, she couldn’t help smiling.

  “Sorry. I like you, but you’re not Jack.”

  “Mon coeur est cassé.” My heart is broken. He pretended to clutch at his chest and stagger.

  His playacting lifted her mood. “Idiot,” she murmured. Her neck prickled, as though someone was watching her, and she turned around to see Jack striding across the hall.

  He stopped at her side. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Jean-Luc held up his hands and walked backward. “Nope. I’ll be on the stand if you want me.”

  “Hey,” Jack said to her, in the rumbly
voice that turned her insides to mush. “Can we talk somewhere quiet?”

  “Sure. Let’s find a breakout room.” She headed down the corridor in search of an empty room, Jack at her side, his palm in the small of her back.

  He was leaving, but she’d be fine. Aloof. Dignified. Four days, she chanted to herself. It was impossible to fall in love in four days.

  *

  Charlie looked up at Clare Talbot. “Could I please have a glass of water? I need a moment.”

  She strode away. Nurse Ratched had slunk back to the counter, to stare from a distance. This was his chance.

  The pretty young woman sitting opposite, glared at him.

  With the staff safely out of earshot for a minute, Charlie leaned forward and spoke urgently. “Okay. I’ve known Joni since I was eight years old. Who the hell are you?”

  She stared, mute.

  There was still no sign of Clare. “Since they obviously think you’re Joni, if you want me to keep your secret, you’d better tell me what’s going on and where the real Joni is. Otherwise, I’ll tell the lovely Clare Talbot that you’re no more Joni Dean than I am.”

  Indecision raged across her face. She bore a superficial resemblance to Joni. The same shape face, with high cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and straight blonde hair.

  “She’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “I can tell her; it’s no problem to me.”

  “Who are you?” She whispered, and Charlie smiled broadly.

  “I’m Charlie, one of her oldest friends.” Okay, so he was stretching the truth a little, but hopefully she wouldn’t know. It was warm in here, and he tugged off the beanie.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened in excitement, and she reached forward to grip his hands. “It’s you. She’s left him.”

  “Huh?” For a moment, he was lost. “You mean...?”

  “Yes. She’s left Gregory. For you.”

  It was Charlie’s turn to go mute. What the fuck was she talking about?

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Clare Talbot approaching with a jug of water and two glasses.

  “I’m Bea,” said the woman. “I’m Joni’s personal assistant. She told me she was leaving Gregory for the love of her life, but she needed a few weeks to get away before anyone noticed. So when Gregory decided he wanted her to come here, I brought her, and we swapped places. It was easy. It’s just to give her enough time to get to you. But you’re here.”