‘Time to go,’ she says.
Now we leave the apartment and I discover Neva has a key for the service lift, and surmise this was her route to enter whenever she came looking for me.
We exit at the back of the building and there, under a stack of cardboard, Neva uncovers a motorbike that she’d hidden earlier. She hands me a helmet and climbs on the motorbike, turns the engine on and the Harley Davison purrs to life.
‘Get on and put your arms around me. I know you want to,’ she teases.
The surreal element of the moment is not lost on me. Surely in all good spy stories the man rescues the woman? But not in our story – Neva is the one that keeps protecting me. Thank God I don’t have an ego about it!
I put the helmet on and sit behind her on the bike. Within minutes we’re speeding through the early morning London streets.
She drives out of the city.
‘I have a temporary place here,’ she explains when we reach Kingston upon Thames. ‘But tomorrow we move on.’
She parks the bike up on the main road, leaves the keys in the ignition, and we dump the helmets back on top of the seat.
‘Won’t we need this?’ I ask.
‘No.’
I don’t ask her plan as we walk across the bridge that crosses the Thames to arrive at a sort of lido on the other side. She leads me then to a small cabin. As I reach the door, I recognise the view from the picture she’d sent me with the boats: she’d been here all along. So that confirms that she wasn’t at Stanners’s estate, just as she said she wasn’t. Her transparency is reassuring. Sending me a photo like this could have compromised her safety, after all. It wouldn’t take much for an experienced investigator to find her location from this photograph.
‘Come in,’ she says.
I follow her inside and see by the signs of life within that she has been holed up here for a while.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.
‘Let’s get some sleep,’ she says.
She strips down to her pants and pulls on a little vest top. I take it as a sign that I’m not invited to mess with her right now and sleep is all she has in mind. I feel exhausted. But I’m wired. My life has taken another weird twist, and the thought that everything I’d been working for is now lost to me pushes around the edges of my mind with paranoid insistence.
I strip to my underwear and we both get into the bed. I lie on my back, hoping she’ll curl up to me, but Neva stays on her side of the bed and is asleep in seconds. I listen to her breathing as the last dregs of adrenaline leave and my racing heart begins to calm down.
Everything is completely fucked up. I’m certain that my position in Archive is no longer tenable. And with the Network determined to pull me back in, I see no choice but to go to ground with Neva. The thought of being with her permanently doesn’t worry me. It’s the loss of everything I’ve ever known that does. I turn over in the bed and look at Neva’s beautiful face: the strain of the day has disappeared from her resting expression, and she looks young and sweet and innocent. I find myself daydreaming about who and what she could have been if the Network hadn’t got their hands on her in the first place.
With her grace she could have been a dancer.
As I drift off to sleep, in my mind’s eye I see her pirouetting. She’s on a large stage and the audience are on their feet cheering and clapping as she dances to the music of their applause. I take this into my dream, and find myself standing in the wings, watching and clapping along with everyone else.
It is afternoon when Neva wakes me. She’s up and dressed and I didn’t hear her move.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We have a flight to catch.’
I get up and shower and then find clean clothes in the bedroom, which I pull on.
‘Here’s your new passport,’ she says.
I pick up the passport, open it and see my photograph. I’m called Richard Ellison and I’m American.
‘That’s my real passport photograph,’ I say, rubbing my thumb over it. It’s a professional job and indistinguishable to me from a real passport. ‘It looks like you planned this?’ I say with a frown.
‘I’m always prepared,’ she says.
In the living room are two suitcases and two flight bags.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Amsterdam,’ she says. ‘First.’
‘Why there?’
‘I have a safe house,’ Neva says.
‘I can’t do this,’ I tell her. ‘I have to get in touch with Archive.’
‘We’ve been through this. You’re not safe,’ Neva says.
‘If there is a mole, like you say, they need to know there’s a spy among them,’ I say. ‘Again!’
‘Let’s get away first, and then perhaps you can send them information. When I know more,’ Neva says.
Another passport sits on top of one of the flight bags. As Neva pulls on her boots, I pick it up and take a look inside. Her picture – another identity. Neva as she really looks, not in one of her disguises. Here she is called Amanda Ellison.
‘We’re married?’ I say.
She shrugs.
‘Well? If I’m questioned, what do I say?’
‘Married, two kids who are with their grandparents while we take a second honeymoon. We’re doing Europe. Customs records show that we came into England a few days ago, and now we are moving on as planned.
‘How did you arrange all that?’ I ask.
She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘A girl doesn’t give up all her secrets.’
‘Seriously? You want me to trust you? Then tell me how all of this is possible?’
She zips up her second boot. ‘Entry into the UK is mostly computerised. Photographs of new arrivals are taken. If it’s on a computer network, it can be hacked. I have the best hackers working for me. Keep cool and we won’t be questioned. They aren’t interested in who’s leaving, just who’s arriving.’
I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The last thing I want to do is run away from my life. The thought of trying to leave the country on a false passport horrifies me, and yet I know already that these exist. It’s something Archive is likely to look into if a false identity is embroiled in a case, but otherwise not our area. And here I am planning to break the law I swore to uphold.
I look at the name tags on the suitcases and find that they belong to the Ellisons too.
‘What’s in there?’ I ask.
‘Just clothes,’ she says. ‘You can’t travel without essentials.’
I don’t take her word for it. Instead, I open one of the cases and check what’s inside. It’s neatly packed. Clothing, shoes, wash bag (I note that the shaving and aftershave brands I use are inside it).
I zip up the bag and then check hers. It’s the same innocuous luggage, only a female version with dresses, shoes and make-up.
‘What are you looking for in there?’ she asks. ‘Knives? Guns? Bombs?’
‘Well, you’re never without your knife,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ she says. ‘I have different ways of getting my weapons when I need them.’
I feel nauseous when she says this. I want to demand she tells me everything. But do I really want to know? The sheer organisation of this whole thing makes me uncomfortable. She was so ready. Despite my belief in her the previous evening, I’m suspicious. How did she know that the Network were gearing up to go after me?
I remind myself that if it hadn’t been for Neva, I’d be in their hands right now, but it doesn’t reassure me much
‘I can’t do this,’ I say again. ‘I can’t just leave. What about my sister? I haven’t even seen my niece yet.’
‘If I were you, I’d put all of that behind me. Michael, you’re on the run now, whether you like it or not.’
‘No,’ I say, determined to find an alternative. But for all my smarts, I can’t think of any way I can go back to normal after the attempt to take me from my home.
‘I don’t know w
hy you’re so resistant,’ she says. ‘It’s important that the Network never get to you. You know that. Michael, I don’t want anything to happen to you.’
I hear what she says but can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right with this whole state of affairs. Less than two weeks ago, she begged me to leave with her, and even though I’d said no, she’d prepared for it anyway. Why wouldn’t I be suspicious of that?
‘The taxi’s due to arrive soon. We need to get across the bridge with our luggage.’
‘Okay. But tell me the truth. How did you know they were coming for me?’
‘Janine has cameras on the landings. Yours and hers. She saw them come down from the rooftop. As it happens, I was waiting for you in your apartment. She messaged me. I went upstairs, saw the helicopter and knew what was happening. That’s why I put the light out in the stairwell and waited to ambush them. I told you she works for me. I’ve been trying to protect you.’
Her explanation is plausible. But I feel distrustful nonetheless. It’s all just so convenient and gives her what she wanted in forcing me to run. And then there is the motorbike too. Ready and waiting for our escape. Two helmets…
‘As for this… I knew you’d have to leave at some point. Especially when I had news of the mole in Archive. The Network are moving in on everyone that’s not towing their line. The only solution is you get out of Dodge.’
‘Everyone?’ I say.
‘Yes. There’s an assassin called Vasquez who’s been chasing me down for months. My informants tell me he got to some operatives that had used Beech’s death to skip away. After that the rest knew if they didn’t play along…’ She shrugs. ‘It’s kill or die right now, Michael. No one is safe. Not unless we go to ground, and I mean really lose ourselves. Now can we leave?’
‘Jesus. Mia!’
‘What?’
‘My sister. If I’m not safe, then neither is she!’
Neva looks away. ‘Shit. Why couldn’t this just be simple?’ she says. ‘Just for once.’
I take the burner phone she gave me and dial Beth’s number. She answers after a couple of rings.
‘Hello? Who is this?’
‘Beth? It’s me. The Network came after me last night. I believe they are now after Mia.’
‘Where are you, Mike?’ she asks.
‘Safe for now. But can you put a stronger detail on Mia? You’ve been keeping an eye on her, haven’t you?’ I say.
‘Mike … we … took detail off her months ago.’
I hang up. Neva takes the phone and goes through the usual process of removing the sim. I watch her do it, noting how she’s almost on autopilot and isn’t really thinking about what she’s doing. Then she goes outside. When she comes back the phone is gone.
She picks up her suitcase and flight bag. ‘You’ve done what you can: they know she’s in trouble. They’ll sort it,’ she says.
‘Where’s my gun?’ I ask.
‘Michael! You can’t go there! We have a flight… We are leaving now!’
I find my gun stowed in the bedside cabinet with my spare clip. I put it in my pocket and head for the door.
‘Shit!’ says Neva again. ‘Can’t we just phone and warn her? Send an email?’
‘You don’t understand, she doesn’t know anything. She’s not like … us. She won’t know how to hide or protect herself.’
I walk out of the cabin, leaving the luggage and flight bags and the new passport. A few minutes later Neva is following me across the bridge.
The bike is still where she left it: who knew that there were so few criminals in Kingston?
I pull on the helmet and take up the driver’s position. Neva reaches me as I switch the engine on. She takes the other helmet and pulls it on.
‘You know how to drive this?’ she asks.
‘I had the same training as you did,’ I say.
She climbs on the back behind me, and I turn the bike in the road, and head off in the direction of my sister’s home.
Even though it’s some time since I learnt to ride a motorbike, I know exactly what I’m doing. That’s one good thing about the Network’s conditioning, it can always be called on when I need it.
‘I hope you know I’m breaking one of my own cardinal rules here,’ Neva says in my ear. ‘I never use the same ride twice.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Beth
‘Michael? Mike?’ Beth says before she realises he’s hung up.
She tries to dial the number back but all she gets is a mailbox. The robotic voice that asks her to leave a message is not Michael’s.
Ray and Leon are both out, though no one has told her where, and so Beth is in the office alone. Sending a detail to Mia Cusick’s house is beyond Beth’s authority. She dials Ray but also gets voicemail. Then, because the urgency she’s heard in Michael’s voice worries her, she dials Leon.
‘Trace the phone number,’ he tells her when he answers. ‘Let’s find him and get to the bottom of this.’
‘But what about Mia?’ Beth asks.
‘I’ll speak to Ray when I can and get back to you.’
‘Where is Ray?’
‘Dealing with the local plods. Michael’s attackers escaped last night on the way to the police station.’
‘How?’ Beth asks.
‘Someone jumped the police van. It was found with the driver and the officer travelling with him tied up and in the back. They are okay, other than the discomfort of the pepper gas.’
Beth tries Michael’s number again from a landline, using a tracer. It goes to voicemail again and so tracing isn’t possible. Then she puts the number into their system. As expected, the phone isn’t registered to anyone but she can at least access service provider information. She tries to triangulate the last location from the call, but the information comes up inconclusive. Somewhere in Surrey just isn’t helpful.
She sends Ray a text, asking if he’s spoken to Leon. When she gets no reply, Beth looks up Mia and Ben’s address. It’s on the system, because they had been keeping an eye on Michael’s sister, but because the Network had left them alone all this time, they’d become complacent and believed that there was no reason to continue watching them.
The night before, Beth had sent out a crew to aid Michael, as well as the local police, but Michael’s disappearance had concerned Ray a great deal. That morning, Michael’s security access had been revoked. Beth had fought for him, again. But it was no use.
‘Why?’ she had said in the end. ‘If he’s been taken by the Network, that’s not his fault…’
‘Security is our priority, Beth. Besides we don’t know if the Network did take him. I have my doubts on that score,’ Ray had said.
‘What do you know that I don’t?’ Beth asked.
Ray hadn’t explained himself and Beth had been annoyed that he was keeping things from her when it was likely he’d shared all of his doubts with Leon.
But now, after speaking to Michael, she knew Ray was right: Michael had gone to ground as Ray had suspected. She could hear Ray’s response to this news as clearly as if he were speaking to her.
‘Unless he turns himself in,’ Ray would say. ‘We can only assume he’s gone rogue.’
Beth thought about how she would fight for Michael again, planning her speech to Ray when he got round to calling her back. She’d tell him that Michael was ‘running scared’ and no surprise since those bastards almost took him.
‘Really? But how did he get away?’ Leon would ask, always sticking the knife in and twisting just enough to cause significant damage.
Beth just wouldn’t have an answer for them this time. She’d be left out in the cold again, Michael’s unofficial cheerleader, because she wouldn’t be able to explain Michael’s escape. She could guess who was helping him though, and so could Ray and Leon.
Her phone rings again and Beth answers.
‘Hi,’ says Elliot.
‘Oh! It’s you,’ she says.
‘Expecting someone else?�
� Elliot says.
‘No. It’s just . . . I have an issue. Can I call you back?’
‘No problem,’ he says. ‘Unless this is, “I enjoyed last night, but I’m going nowhere near your penis again.”’
Beth laughs. ‘Oh my God. I’m sorry. That did seem like I was giving you the brush-off. But seriously, I have a work issue and I’m waiting for my boss to call me.’
‘Let him call the landline,’ Elliot says.
Beth finds herself smiling. Though it wasn’t official, she’d started seeing Elliot a few days ago and her life was already better. Even so she feels guilty about it. While the others were responding to Michael’s crisis, she’d passed the buck, claiming childcare issues. The truth was, she was in bed with Elliot, having the best time she’d had in years.
He’d invited her round to his place, made her bolognaise and then, when the trouble started, he’d pointed out to her that she was ‘off duty’. Sending in the cops was the only thing she could reasonably do after notifying her superiors.
‘It’s not always your responsibility,’ Elliot said.
He’d taken her mind off the guilt with a foot massage that worked up to her thighs and beyond. After that Beth had put Michael completely from her mind, only remembering a few hours later that he had been in danger. She’d checked in then and discovered that two perps had been arrested and Michael was missing – probably in the hands of the Network. The guilt was terrible. She felt she’d let him down, all to get laid. While Elliot slept, oblivious that she was still worried, she’d tried to call Michael’s mobile. It kept ringing out, then going to voicemail.
Worried, she’d made a few more calls and set in motion the trace element on his phone. She learned that it was still at his address. The cops found it outside, smashed up. After that she couldn’t go back to sleep. At that point it seemed to confirm that Michael had been abducted. Other MI5 officers had been sent in to search. His apartment was scoured, but there was no sign of him.
Kill or Die Page 20
