by Asia Mackay
‘We have just over twenty-four hours until Peng leaves the UK.’ Hattie checked his watch. ‘Right about now she’s getting ready to leave the Embassy for Lord Wycombe’s shoot. Tomorrow it’s the Christie’s Asian art exhibition and auction, and straight after that we see her safely onto an Air China flight back to Beijing. We’re nearly there.’
He turned to Jake. ‘You chase down this van lead but if it goes nowhere, you have to let it go. Do you understand?’
Jake gave a curt nod.
‘It doesn’t pan out and you focus again on any leads we get on Peppa. We need to get to the people behind Tenebris. You want revenge? You find them and you can do what you want. I won’t stop you.’
Hattie looked at Geraint. ‘Has Cameron checked in again?’
Geraint shook his head. ‘Last we heard from her was fifteen minutes ago. She said –’ he leaned over his laptop to read out her message – ‘“Watching Peppa and kid in Gap. Trying on beige clothes. Target made no contact with anyone. Bored.”’
‘With any luck, whoever Peppa is meeting today will lead us back to Tenebris.’
Knowing how close we were to confirming her as the Snake, knowing how close we now were to the end couldn’t rouse us. Everything felt numb. I looked at the dining table. Robin’s coffee mug was still placed in front of his usual chair. I wondered how long it would stay there for. I wondered who would be the first to dare move it. The instant life could simply be over never ceased to amaze and terrify me.
‘After all this is over we will remember Robin properly. We’ll make sure he’s found.’ Hattie bowed his head. ‘We’ll carve his name under here.’ He patted the solid table. ‘We will mourn him. But now, now is not the time. We get to work and show them we won’t be stopped. Pixie and G, remember you don’t go anywhere alone until this is over. It’s not safe.’ He turned to Jake and me. ‘You two be careful out there. We’re not losing anymore Rats to those bastards.’
‘I’m leaving now,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll keep you updated.’
I watched him leave. If something happened to him too I didn’t know what I’d do. As if he could hear my thoughts he stopped halfway to the door, came back and wrapped his arms round me.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ll be fine. And we’ll find the fuckers who did this and make them pay.’
He let go of me and walked out. I took a deep breath and turned to Hattie.
‘OK, I’m ready. What’s the plan?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED as we made our way down the drive. After rounding the tree-lined bend, a seventeenth-century castle came into view. A fleet of Range Rovers had driven Peng and the delegation safely from the doors of the Embassy right up to Cherwell Castle’s entrance. Hattie had driven us down in a Platform-issue van, me beside him at the front, Geraint and Pixie in the back working on the van’s inbuilt computers. Tracking Peppa was now solely down to Cameron. We’d yet to hear from Jake. It crossed my mind we might never hear from him. And bodies would just start appearing. Jake unhinged and unrestrained was a dark, dark force.
Hattie parked the van round the back of the castle: the servants’ entrance. I got out and walked round to the front. I looked up at Cherwell Castle. It was lucky that Lord Wycombe ran a hedge fund. That kind of income would help pay the heating bills of a forty-room pad like this.
Hattie was going to undertake a full check of the fenced perimeter while Geraint and Pixie tried to hack into Cherwell Castle’s outdoor security feeds. Lord Wycombe had several old masters and his insurance company had insisted upon stringent security measures. The party tonight had also led to the hiring of extra security guards at the entrance. No vehicle was allowed in without its occupants being on a pre-approved list with photo ID confirmation. Wycombe’s castle was clearly pretty well fortified. Just not enough to keep a Coyote out.
Geraint and Pixie were running background searches on the hundred and fifty names on the list and inputting their photos into our system. The Coyote could have commandeered any one of the guests’ identity and be getting ready to walk across the drawbridge this evening in black tie. Geraint had also hacked the catering company’s records to get the full list of staff assigned to the event in case the Coyote was going to make a more subtle approach through the service entrance.
*
I was escorted into the castle’s drawing room. I had never been in a room with so much tweed. The Chinese had embraced the British shooting dress code with a passion. All of the delegation were suitably tweedily attired, while Minister Peng cut a particularly elegant figure in her tweed suit that was nipped in at the waist. I felt a little underdressed in black jeans, Hunter boots and Will’s old Barbour. Peng caught my eye and gave me a nod.
I scanned the room. There were no more than around forty people in attendance. This was the inner circle. The Foreign Secretary was here as well as a few MPs I recognised. All Conservative. All balding. Numerous uniformed staff flitted around proffering red wine. A couple of the men already looked quite flushed. Nothing like filling them up with alcohol and letting them loose with a shotgun.
I watched Frederick deep in conversation with Lord Wycombe and his wife. She was a round-faced blonde in a polo neck and tweed skirt. This was clearly Frederick’s set. He looked at ease here in his plus fours, hand daintily clasping a bone china teacup.
He spotted me. ‘Lex, come over here and meet Charles.’
I walked over to them, hand out, and received a vigorous shake from Lord Wycombe and a limp one from his wife.
‘Hi there.’
‘So you work with this reprobate, do you?’ Lord Wycombe had thinning hair and a protruding stomach. Looking between him and Frederick it was hard to believe they’d been in the same year at school.
‘I do indeed.’
‘We’ll make sure a place is set for you at dinner. No standing around with the rest of the heavies. And do you shoot?’
Out the corner of my eye I saw Frederick smirk.
‘Yes. Yes I do.’
‘Well, how about you share a peg with Frederick. You can get a few goes in.’
‘I’d love to. Thank you.’ I gestured round the grand room. ‘You have a beautiful home.’
He bowed his head slightly. ‘It may be our home for the moment but we are mere custodians for the next generation of Wycombes. It’s been in our family since the seventeenth century. If you look at the ceiling, you will see original engravings. We’ve just spent a fortune having them restored to their former glory. Something the National Trust wouldn’t be able to do with their dwindling budgets. No, the only way these grand houses can retain their glory is if the family who rightfully belongs in them remains in charge.’ He drew me to one side and motioned towards the tapestry on the wall. ‘This was woven by fifty local women a few hundred years ago. It portrays a battle that was held just twenty miles from here. This was the last standing port.’
I stared at the ugly tapestry in what I hoped was an appreciative manner.
‘When I think about the history of these many walls, I realise how truly privileged we are to be a part of its story. Blood, sweat, tears and . . .’ he clasped his chest, ‘love. I couldn’t give everything to this place if I didn’t love it as much as the child I hope to one day have.’
I made a note to never, ever compliment an Englishman on his castle again.
After a hearty lunch of game pie and mashed potato, I felt grateful that clean eating and no carbs had yet to reach the upper classes of Oxfordshire.
*
The air was crisp. The sky blue. I walked across green grass in picture-perfect Cotswold countryside, feeling the sun on my face, and took a deep breath in.
It was a beautiful day.
And Robin was gone.
We’d never see him again.
People walked alongside you. Until one day they didn’t.
It never got easier to accept.
I always thought I would die young. A fair enough presumption co
nsidering my line of work. It never really bothered me. But now it did. I didn’t want to leave Gigi. I wanted to see the person she was going to be, meet the person she might make a life with, hold the baby she may one day have. Everything that sounded so unappealing – the wrinkling, the ageing, the aches and pain – was irrelevant.
Accepting old age took bravery. That knowledge you were in your twilight years. That it wouldn’t be long until it was all over. Your time was about to be up and there was nothing you could do. Except wait. Wait and wait and go full circle. Ending life just as you started it: needing to be fed, unable to walk, a vulnerable bundle reliant on those who loved you. Before Gigi the thought of ageing depressed me because I couldn’t see the bigger picture. I couldn’t see what it meant. Now I would wear every grey hair, every wrinkle as a badge of pride. I was still alive. I was getting older. I was still here with my daughter.
Not like Robin.
Not like our poor Robin.
A fast blast of a life before he was taken out too soon. Before he really lived. I thought of the Northern line girl Robin had been seeing. He was all full of hope for what lay ahead. And now it was over. I couldn’t remember her name. I was dreading having to go through his messages, reading classic Robin lines where he was attempting to be flirty, to be funny. Invading his privacy. The final indignity. But I needed to track her down. I didn’t want her to think he was ghosting her. I’d do the right thing. Tell her and his parents a story about a heroic death and grieve with them.
The shooting party were making their way across one of Lord Wycombe’s fields to reach their respective pegs. The first drive was about to begin.
I scanned the land around us. There was a forest across the way where the beaters would be trundling through, raising the pheasants. If anyone came towards the shooting party we’d see them well in advance. Peng was laughing along with Lord Wycombe as they approached their neighbouring pegs. Peng’s bodyguard was with her. He looked as uneasy about the situation as we were.
Frederick arrived at our peg. ‘Gamekeeper has lent us a couple of shotguns.’ He passed me a gun and a bag of ammo.
‘Tenebris got Robin.’
I loaded the gun.
His eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Saying it out loud in the open air, not just down in the dark of the Platform, made it all seem so much more real.
‘I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry.’
‘Hello there, girlie.’ An old man all in tweed arrived to stand at the peg next to us. ‘You here for good luck? Come to load, have you?’
A flurry of pheasants flew over of us.
I aimed the gun and fired. Bang bang. Thud. Thud. I reloaded fast. Bang bang. Another couple of satisfying thuds as pheasants dropped from the sky.
The old duffer’s jaw dropped. He nodded at Frederick. ‘Your wife knows how to shoot!’
‘Better than me,’ said Frederick with a smile.
‘You taught her well.’
‘Actually, I’m not his wife. I’m his boss. And he didn’t teach me shit.’
The old man frowned and his mouth opened and shut, opened and shut. A fish out of water. An old man in a new world.
*
On the second drive, just after a few shots rang out, I heard it. The unmistakable female cries of, ‘No no no!’
I looked at Peng. Both she and her bodyguard had turned towards the sound but were unharmed.
I scanned the field. What was going on? Was this a diversion? Was an attack beginning?
‘Frederick, stay with Peng. I’ll go.’ I raced towards the sound, shotgun in hand, and reported in to my earpiece, ‘Potential hostile disturbance. Investigating now.’
The noise had come from the edge of the forest. I rounded the corner to see Lady Wycombe, clasping her pearls, staring down at the ground at a dead bird.
What the hell?
Was the lady of the house a secret vegan?
‘Is everything OK?’
‘No. Things are not. The gamekeeper clearly told everyone that guinea fowl were out of bounds on today’s shoot. But someone . . . someone has shot George.’ She motioned towards the headless bird.
‘You name your birds?’
‘Guinea fowl are on our family crest. We keep several on the estate that we have raised from birth for good luck.’
I walked away from a mourning Lady Wycombe.
‘False alarm,’ I said into my earpiece. ‘It’s a dead bird.’
‘But isn’t that—’ started Hattie.
I cut him off. ‘Don’t ask.’
*
We got through another two drives in two different locations with the only casualties feathered. I kept scanning the rest of the shooting party. It was a small group just made up of politicians and business associates. I couldn’t see any of them being the Coyote. They were too deep in their element to be anything other than the identities they claimed. If the Coyote was going to strike, it would have to be as an intruder or as a guest tonight.
We got back to the castle to see rows of dead pheasants laid out in lines outside the impressive entrance. A macabre presentation of the afternoon’s bloodshed. In case the castle and the dead birds weren’t quintessentially English enough, we were all then hustled inside for Earl Grey tea with jam and scones.
Ensconced in a window seat, I observed them all. The crackle of the drawing room’s large fire and the clink of fine china. The low murmur and chuckles of the guests in conversation. The thought of a wild Coyote intruding upon this quiet afternoon scene seemed too unlikely.
Frederick joined me. ‘What do you think?’ – he motioned towards the Foreign Secretary – ‘under the buffoon-like appearance he could be a dab hand with a weapon. A Coyote in disguise.’
‘With a speciality in boring people to death.’
We watched him gesticulating with a scone, a large dollop of cream at the corner of his mouth.
‘The Coyote will strike at the dinner tonight,’ I said. ‘Everything’s pointing to it. The botched invasion at Eight. Taking Robin. They were nervous we were getting close to what they were planning. Clearing the way for tonight.’ I looked round the room again. ‘I just can’t work out who or how.’
‘Have you managed to do a check on all the staff Charles has coming in for the dinner?’
‘G and Pixie are working on that now. If there are any red flags they’ll let us know. We need to check Peng’s room. She’s staying in the Mountford Suite.’
‘I’ve stayed here a few times before. I can go check it out now.’
I nodded. ‘They’re about to leave for the duck hunt. I’ll stick with Peng and see you out there.’
*
Dusk was coming in. As I walked towards the duck hunt I looked back towards Cherwell Castle; towering turrets and old stone basked in the orange light from outdoor spotlights.
Wycombe’s gamekeeper led me to my allocated hide: a rough and ready wooden bench sunk behind some reeds with a camouflage netting overhead. I dropped down, shotgun in hand, and waited. A stakeout. For ducks. And a Coyote.
Peng was in the next door hide with a couple of grey-haired men. I knew one was an MP and that the other was the CEO of Wycombe’s family aircraft manufacturing company. Peng’s bodyguard stood smoking outside it. This was no doubt one of the several meetings Peng referenced as being essential to have.
Frederick appeared from the surrounding trees. ‘Room seems clear. Peng’s is right next door to her bodyguard’s.’
He sat down next to me, laid his gun at his feet and blew onto his hands, then rubbed them together.
I looked over at Peng’s hide. The red glow of the bodyguard’s cigarette lit up the dark. ‘This is not a good set-up. The Coyote could be out there with a long-range rifle and we’d have no idea. Hattie, do you copy?’
Hattie crackled into my ear. ‘I’m here, Lex. We’re into the security camera feeds. No hostiles in sight. Staff are arriving at the castle to prepare for t
he dinner but no one in the area surrounding the lake.’
‘We get through this part and at least we don’t have to worry about everyone being armed at the champagne reception.’ Frederick picked up his gun. He looked over at me.
‘I’m sorry about Robin. I know from my army days what it’s like to lose a colleague. You never really get over it.’
‘He was a good guy. The annoying little brother I never had.’
Frederick reached over and squeezed my hand. And didn’t let go. His hand was cold.
I shook my head. ‘He didn’t deserve to go like that. Ambushed by a group of chickenshit Ghosts.’
I hoped it was fast. It was a painful waste of a good man.
‘He would’ve been a great Rat. He was a great Rat. Jake and I were idiots trying to hold him back, trying to keep him safe. Now look what’s happened. We lost him on our watch.’
‘You can’t blame yourselves. Robin knew what the job entailed. The risk he was putting himself in.’
There were a loud couple of shots from Peng’s hide. We dropped hands and leaned forward, guns raised. I heard laughter and Peng shouting, ‘Missed!’ A few ducks flew straight past us. Neither of us fired.
We stayed in position. But everything was quiet.
No ducks. No Coyote.
Just us with guns poised.
More waiting.
More loaded silence.
Frederick turned to me. ‘How’s your injury from the other night?’
‘It’s fine.’ He didn’t need to know about the steady flow of painkillers I was on to keep the aching at bay.
‘How do you hide things like that from your husband?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s easier than you think. He reckons I’m pretty dangerous on a bike as I seem to fall off a lot. When I was last shot we covered it up as a hit and run.’ I felt for the scar at the base of my neck. ‘Blamed the wound on me landing on a jagged piece of cracked windscreen.’
‘You’ve never been tempted to tell him the truth?’ Frederick paused. ‘Well, not the full truth.’ He understood exactly what Eight’s security protocols entailed. ‘But at least an indication of what your job really entails?’
