Now, lying in my apartment, I wonder if this whole ‘bringing me back into the fold’ is a ruse. A way of getting me to resign, and therefore letting them all off the hook. But I dismiss this thought: Ray doesn’t work like that: he’d be direct and would just fire me. Besides, they could have legitimately rid themselves of my services months ago because I was compromised. Instead, Ray had put me through therapy at the agency’s expense. And while I was talking about how bad the whole thing had made me feel, they’d probably been psychoanalysing me to see if I was still a danger.
After that my doctor must have reassured him that I wasn’t a risk. Even so, Ray must still have doubts. Would any of us ever get beyond this?
Several years of my life had been spent at Archive. Time in which I’d honed my skills and had given my best work. But I’d also done my worst too, by feeding Beech information that the Network could use to stay one step ahead of us.
I guess it isn’t much of an excuse in the end that I didn’t know I was doing it.
My shrink, Doctor Sheppard, has said many times that I wasn’t to blame, but deep down I didn’t really believe that. I thought instead that I was weak and pathetic. That it was degrading I hadn’t been able to fight the Network’s control. That I hadn’t been able to stop them conditioning me.
Sheppard said it was abuse in the extreme and I shouldn’t be hard on myself because I was only a child. But how could I claim the stripes of ‘survivor’ when I’d rolled over and played along? I hadn’t, of course, shared my guilt with Sheppard, but even so he’d said things that suggested he knew I felt it.
I consider calling Doctor Sheppard now in the hope he’d say some words of wisdom to ease my distress. But I didn’t want the call recorded and my colleagues to learn that I was experiencing anxiety. It might make them change their minds again. I am in something of a dilemma.
I should just give up and resign, I think. But I know I can’t quit. It is more important than ever to regain my colleagues’ trust and start to build my life again. What else would I do, after all? My job has always been everything to me.
That means of course, no Neva.
I get up off the bed and toss the phone into the drawer by my bedside.
No. I can’t meet her. It’s too dangerous for both of us. Besides, I’m still not sure I can trust her. Especially after her attempt at manipulation the night before. All of which my former Network operative side recognises.
I weigh up how I feel about Neva against the risks such emotions bring to someone in my position. I am torn between a desperate curiosity and the sure knowledge that having anything more to do with her would be utter madness.
My psychology degree taught me many things about the human psyche and I would have said that I could always overrule my heart with my head. But still, I waver. And all the rational thoughts I can summon don’t push away the irrational excitement I have at the thought of being with her again.
Chapter Thirteen
Beth
Beth puts on a crime scene suit over her clothing. Pulling the hood over her hair, she places a mask over her mouth and nose. It’s not perfect but the filters should help to reduce the overwhelming odour of rotted flesh. She pulls latex gloves over her hands to prevent cross-contamination, then she joins Leon and the forensic pathologist as they take their initial look at the body inside Angela Carter’s boot.
‘Talk me through what you see,’ Leon asks.
‘Judging by the level of decay, I’d say she’s been in here for a week or so. But I just won’t know until I do the autopsy,’ said the pathologist.
Beth is momentarily distracted by the fact that she doesn’t recognise the pathologist’s voice. She can usually identify them when they speak even when they are wearing all the gear.
‘Female. Early thirties,’ the man continues, talking into a recorder. ‘The body is in the boot of a Volvo Estate car…’
He gives the location and describes the body. The woman in the trunk has blonde hair and could be Angela Carter’s twin, except that her hair is longer. ‘She is gagged. Cable ties hold her wrists, knees and ankles together…’
‘She looks like she was put in there before she was dead. Why else would they bind and gag her?’ Beth asks when he finishes his taped description.
‘More than likely,’ says the pathologist. ‘But it could be they tied her up, killed her and left her like that for ease of moving the body.’
The pathologist takes several photographs as Beth and Leon wait.
‘Can you hold this for me?’ he says, passing Beth his recorder. ‘Press record and then I’ll start the second part of this examination.’
Beth does as he asks. Then the pathologist moves the woman’s head, examining her neck, and cranium for injuries.
‘No damage to her skull that I can see, nor does she appear to have been shot or stabbed,’ he concludes. ‘Let’s get her bagged and back to the mortuary for more detailed study.’
‘When can you let us know more?’ Leon asks.
‘I’ll start on her tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp. If you can stomach it, be there.’
The body is removed and then the forensics team enter the garage. By then several of them have dusted the apartment for prints and have taken all of Angela’s belongings, including the toothbrush, for further scrutiny.
Beth steps away from the bustle of the forensics crew, allowing them to get on undisturbed. She’s queasy: the sight of a decomposed body is something she can never quite get used to. She doesn’t know how the others do it. And it annoys her that she has to hide from Leon that the whole thing sickens her. What would he think about her squeamishness, after all? Would he see that as confirmation that she was just a woman and not as efficient as he was at dealing with death? Michael never made her feel that way. He always included her in everything he did, but after such a discovery, would also confide how grossed out he was by it all. Beth isn’t as bad as some of the young cops though. Especially the male ones, who go green around the gills at the mention of a corpse. Some people aren’t cut out for this sort of thing. Beth often wonders if she is one of them.
‘Great observation in there,’ says the pathologist. He removes his mask and Beth sees he is clean-shaven, mid-forties and has very kind eyes. As she’s never seen him before she assumes he is new to the department’s medical team.
‘Excuse me?’ Beth says.
‘My initial thoughts led me to believe she was alive when put in the trunk. You observed it was likely…’
‘Oh yes. That’s right,’ says Beth.
‘You have a good eye,’ he says. ‘Clearly not your first rodeo…’
‘No. I get to do this a lot,’ says Beth. ‘Sadly.’
‘Yeah. Hard to get used to,’ he says. ‘The smell is the worst part. Elliot Baker.’
Beth smiles at him.
‘Beth Cane,’ she says shaking Elliot’s hand.
‘So, are you going to join me?’ Elliot asks.
‘What?’
‘Tomorrow morning? I think your partner will opt out,’ Elliot says.
‘What do you mean? This shit never fazes him.’
‘Well, the pile of puke behind the garage would prove you wrong,’ says Elliot.
‘Seriously?’ Beth says.
‘Yep. Caught him as I drove up.’
Beth’s smile grows wider, though she tells herself off inside her head for gloating. At least she hasn’t vomited. Not even on the first outing. For the first time in months, she finds herself warming to a new face. She wonders now what her soon-to-be ex, Callum, will make of that.
‘You have no idea how much better that makes me feel,’ Beth says.
Elliot laughs.
‘So, I’ll see you again soon?’ he says.
‘Sure.’
Elliot turns away and gives instructions to his crew as they wheel the body, now in a black body bag, out to the waiting ambulance.
Beth glances at her watch. It’s almost 7 p.m. Callum has the boys tonight and so ther
e’s no rush or pressure to get back. She never thought it would be such a relief, breaking up after all these years together. In the end Callum was unwilling to play second fiddle to her job. He’d asked her to choose: Archive, or him. It hadn’t been that difficult a decision to make. The only complication was their children. Beth wants to be there for her two boys, no matter what. But Callum will need to play a very big part in their lives. She can’t do it alone, not working the hours she does.
Beth is ambitious and wants to prove she can do everything that Leon can. Her career has always been foremost in her mind. Her dedication was why Ray Martin recruited her to Archive in the first place. When it all comes down to it, Beth understands she isn’t cut out to just stay home and be a mother. That part of parenting has never excited her, and the reality is, she had the children for Callum. It’s a hard truth to acknowledge that she would have been happier childless. But Beth has explored this scenario many times. Not that she would be without the boys now that she has them. It is just that she can’t be the mother they should have and is disappointed with herself as this feels like a failure. She is perpetually remorseful.
Just like the slight flirty tone she’s detected from Elliot makes her feel bad too.
It’s nothing, silly, she tells herself. He’s just being friendly. Probably married or gay.
Now Beth remembers Hilary, Tate and Kent: all waiting in Kent’s apartment with a uniformed cop.
With a final glance at Elliot, she heads off back through the iron gate and around to the front of the building.
Inside the building, despite her own pep talk, she finds she’s still grinning. How could someone who didn’t even know her see and understand Leon’s low-level misogyny and take the sting out of it? She realises that Elliot is one to watch. Smart, observant and great at his job or he wouldn’t be working with MI5’s pathology team.
She just remembers to remove her smile as she reaches the top of the stairs and walks up to Kent’s door. It wouldn’t do for the general public to see her enjoying herself; that could be misconstrued.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael
To take my mind off Neva and her invitation to meet, I leave my apartment for the day and go to Covent Garden. I wander around the shops for a while, but I’m not really into shopping and the whole thing is boring. I’m aware of my tail, hanging around everywhere I go on the periphery of my vision, but I choose to ignore her. This woman is often on during the day at weekends. She stands out, though she’s trying not to be noticed. But that’s the point really; a good tail would blend in by being ‘normal’, acting as though they aren’t watching, and don’t mind being seen. It’s always more conspicuous when someone tries not to be seen.
Twelve noon comes and goes. I get lunch at one of the cafés and swig a couple of glasses of Chardonnay, making the day stretch out as long as I can. At around three I call into a small grocery store, buy some provisions for the weekend and then head back home.
As I enter my apartment block, I’m reluctant to go upstairs for another solitary evening. It’s tempting to go and find a bar and just sit drinking, letting the bustle of people around me wash away the deep-rooted loneliness, a void that Neva had once begun to fill. I think back to our brief reunion and how easy it was to be around her, to touch her. It was like … coming home. I shake myself for having such a ridiculous and romantic notion. Especially when, on our second meeting, she asked me to betray my colleagues again.
Can I see a future for us? I shake my head. It can’t be possible, not while I work for MI5.
The truth is I’d never know if she was with me because of the connection we formed or to learn what was happening in Archive.
Sleep was so slow to come the night before. The temptation to text Neva, have any form of contact, almost drove me out of my mind. I’d forced myself down, swigging brandy until two in the morning while I went through the problem in microscopic detail. Concluding in the end that this is not healthy. It’s not safe. I have to cut ties with her for my own sake, for my career and sanity. Otherwise, I’ll never deserve to win back the trust of my work mates.
At my front door I feel … odd. The hairs are up on the back of my neck and goosebumps shiver up my spine like the proverbial feeling of someone walking over your grave. The lock looks fine though, and the corridor is empty. All the other apartments are silent. It is still Saturday afternoon, after all, and most people are out and about doing their usual activities. Even so, I know something is amiss.
I turn the key in the door and enter the flat with caution. I’m not in the habit of carrying my gun when I’m out socially but I can handle myself even so. I step aside as I push the door open, then I see her. Neva. Sitting primly on the sofa, as though she is meant to be there, waiting for my return.
‘The camera system is off,’ Neva says.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ I say under my breath. ‘There is sound surveillance as well. They will know you’re here.’
‘At the moment you’re showering, then you’ll cook something in the kitchen. Shortly after that the TV will be switched on and they’ll hear you fall asleep and snore in front of it. I hacked into their systems and compiled sounds of you doing all these things into what they’re listening to now.’
I’m speechless. I close the apartment door.
‘How did you manage that?’ I ask as I turn back to face her.
‘If it’s on Wi-Fi I can hack it,’ she says. ‘You didn’t show today. I was concerned. Plus, someone found out where I was staying and I had to bolt.’
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘They tried to kill me, but I got away.’ She shrugs as if this is all normal.
‘How do you know you’re in the clear?’ I ask. ‘They could be still be tailing you.’
‘I did this for a living, you know.’ She smiles at me.
God, she’s beautiful! I feel my resolve slipping and start to steel myself against her and how her nearness makes me feel.
‘I’m glad you’re okay. But you need to leave. I can’t do this anymore, Neva.’
‘Michael, this is important. I have more news. About that flight.’
‘There is no flight. Nothing has been mentioned at Archive about it,’ I say. ‘I think you’re trying to manipulate me. And frankly I’m not up for being used by anyone anymore.’
Neva looks surprised by my words. ‘I’d never do that to you.’
I sit down on the chair opposite the sofa. I flick one of the blinds aside and look down onto the busy street below.
‘This is dangerous for me. I’m trying to claw back my life.’
‘They are following you, monitoring your calls, watching your every move. Is that really the life you want for yourself?’ she asks.
I put my head in my hands. I feel weak and confused. The strength and determination I had dissolve with her words. No, this isn’t what I envisaged for myself. But neither are my feelings for Neva.
I don’t speak for a while. This is hopeless. I’m depressed and sickened and I can’t see a way forward into a normal life again.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I say at last. ‘Maybe Archive will never truly be comfortable again. But what else will I do? Where will I go? My whole life is about this job. And I loved it a great deal … once.’
‘Part of your life was. The other part made you a trained killer,’ Neva says. ‘Like me.’
I look at her now. She looks fragile, but I know she’s anything but. She’s tall, willowy, beautiful: an anomaly of perfection. And so chameleonic. Did the Network really make her this way? Or is it all so natural for her to be the killer that she is?
‘Yes. I can kill,’ I say. ‘But it isn’t a natural thing for the real me to do. Not without good cause. I remember kills I’ve done for the Network under Beech’s influence, and though at first it felt like a dream, the guilt of it now is overwhelming. Don’t you feel that?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘It was always just a job to me. Yes, I was conditioned, bu
t later, when I left the house and was sent out there to do their dirty work, I saw it as employment. They paid me. The rewards were designed for us to need and want to continue doing the wet work. I saw the money as a means to be free. Most didn’t, they spent it, lived it up. A few of the assassins bought cars, houses, drugs. They lived as though they understood it could all be taken away. But a few years back, I had an epiphany. I saw what the future held as I took the life of one of us. Death was all that awaited us. There was no retirement except in a coffin. I no longer feared the wrath of my handler if I didn’t obey. What I dreaded was the endless, pointless journey to an ultimate and extreme ending. One that no one would mourn.’
I’m overwhelmed by her candour. I hadn’t thought things through the way she had. But yes, I can see how this is for her. ‘Retiring’ former colleagues, knowing that one day a younger, stronger assassin would come for her too, was a bleak and lonely life.
‘Mortality is something we all have in common,’ I say. ‘But when we are young, we consider ourselves invincible. And then, you realise you aren’t.’
Neva nods. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a serious conversation before and I’m not sure where it will lead, but having this insight to her psyche gives me a sense of closeness, and a sharper understanding of who and what she is. And strangely a little understanding into what I too might have become if Beech’d had his way. She isn’t what they made her, she’s what she remade herself into. Can we all be reborn this way and rise from the ashes of the burnt-out flame that was once the Network?
‘I was about to run. I’d planned it. But then you came into it,’ she says. ‘And now here I am putting myself at risk again just to see you.’
Her voice is matter-of-fact, though her words could be considered romantic. I study her face, looking for a sign of deception, but her expression is open and there’s such sadness in her eyes that it pulls at my insides.
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