“So, how was Warick?” I asked.
“Fine. Keen to help,” Jason replied.
“And did he have any useful intelligence for us?”
Jason looked up, puzzled. “Well, we would hardly discuss that sort of thing at a public meeting at a café,” he answered. My mouth dropped open, but luckily Jason had already turned his attention back to his phone. I could hardly stop myself from shouting my accusations to his face there and then. That was exactly what he had just done! With my own ears, I had heard Jason himself discussing secret operational details where anyone could have heard them. As far as I could see, there was only one reason he would lie; because he and Warick had something to hide.
I took a deep breath. “Of course,” I said as calmly as possible. “I just wondered if he suggested he had anything that could help.” Jason shook his head.
I was about to head upstairs to my room to get rid of the tell-tale listening equipment, when a sudden movement caught my eye. Was that someone on the roof opposite?
Before I could speak, I heard the all too familiar crack of a bullet piercing the glass of the hotel window. There was a split second of silence before all hell broke loose. The receptionist and fellow guests started screaming, whereas Jason and I seemed to go into autopilot—our training kicking in without us even having to think about it.
I threw my rucksack containing Henri’s probably very expensive listening equipment to one side as we flipped over the sofa Jason had been sitting on a moment ago and hunkered behind it. I would just have to hope I hadn’t broken the machine into a thousand pieces—or, at least, that Henri would understand why I had to sacrifice his prized gadget.
I was unarmed, as usual. Despite what you see in the movies, those of us in the intelligence services very rarely carry weapons. We tend to rely on our brains, and the brawn of local law enforcement to get us out of difficulties. As I looked across to Jason to ask what we were going to do next, I saw that he had removed a handgun from his shoulder holster. Typical American, I thought to myself.
“Not much use against a sniper,” I muttered.
Jason turned his gaze to me in surprise. “It makes me feel better, all right?”
I turned my back on him and got onto my hands and knees, ready to make a dash for the other end of the room, where the receptionist and two guests were huddled behind the desk, crying with fear.
As soon as I darted from cover, there was another shot. It missed me by a mile and pierced the elevator doors with a metallic clang, but I still heard Jason shout out my name in horror. I got to the shelter of the reception desk and tried to figure which of the three civilians was in the best state to listen to my instructions. The receptionist was hysterical, screaming something over and over in French that even I couldn’t understand; the husband of the couple who had been in the process of checking in was absolutely ashen-faced with shock. Only his wife was staring about her alertly, as if looking for the escape route I had come to help them find.
“I need you to go into the back office and lock the door,” I told her clearly, taking hold of her shoulders in a bid to make sure she was paying complete attention to every word I said. I didn’t even know that she understood English. “If it doesn’t lock, barricade yourselves in with anything. Use the furniture if you have to. And then phone this number”—I gave her Henri’s card with his mobile number scribbled on the back —“and tell him Christine and Jason are being targeted by a sniper.” She looked at me in total panic. “Say that back to me!” I commanded. I needed to be sure that she understood; I needed to be sure that she was going to call the cavalry. If Henri and his team didn’t get here soon, I wasn’t sure how far Jason’s handgun would get us against a rooftop sniper.
“Barricade in the office,” she replied, speaking with a slight German accent. “Call this number and tell them Christine and Jason are under attack by a sniper.”
I nodded at her, and pushed the three of them toward the back office, and, hopefully, toward safety. Even if the sniper was targeting me and Jason, there was no guarantee that civilians wouldn’t be accidentally hit. Anyone could end up hurt. Henri and his team needed to be on the scene quickly to clear the street and drive the gunman from his perch.
I took a deep breath and made a dash back toward the cover of the sofa, where Jason—handgun cocked and ready—was taking tentative peeks over the top and around the sides, clearly trying to identify the location of the sniper.
“Roof opposite,” I said breathlessly as I made it back to safety.
“What?” Jason bellowed over the sound of another quick round of gunfire, aimed this time at our meager shelter.
“I saw movement just before he started shooting. I managed to get the others barricaded in the back office and I told them to ring Henri.” I paused pondering my next course of action. Take care of myself or work with Jason to get us both out of here? I didn’t know if I trusted Jason, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to die. Besides, if he died here, there’s no way I would get any answers.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, finally making a decision. Better the devil you know, right?
Jason nodded grimly and gestured toward the door to the staircase. “There could be stairs to the basement?” he volunteered.
“But there might not. We’re going in blind—and going upstairs isn’t a great alternative plan. We could just end up being trapped up there.”
Jason looked frustrated. “Well, what do you suggest then? Running out into the street?”
He was right. The staircase—either down or up—was our only chance. We were sitting ducks here. The occasional shot still rang out in what was now an eerily quiet street. I strained to listen for the sound of sirens that would herald Henri’s arrival, but they didn’t come.
Another shot hit the sofa, and this time we both felt the impact. Our shelter had taken a few direct hits and was clearly starting to fall apart. We were running out of time.
“Time to go,” said Jason, who stood and sprinted low toward the door to the stairs. A bullet splintered the wood just as he disappeared through it.
“Jason!” I called and, with a burst of energy I didn’t even know I had, I sprinted after him, waiting for the inevitable searing pain as the sniper hit his target.
It didn’t happen, and I found Jason on the other side of the door, unharmed but panting heavily. He smiled and pointed. Stairs heading down.
“You got lucky,” I told him as we headed downstairs into what was obviously the hotel’s breakfast room.
We both froze as we heard a noise coming from a room off to one side. “Kitchen?” Jason mouthed at me. I shrugged. Surely any staff who had been in the building would have cleared out when the shooting started? We had to assume anyone who was still in the hotel was a hostile.
Jason motioned for me to stay behind him as we made our way toward a door in the corner which appeared to lead to the room from which the noise had come. Suddenly, I noticed another door off to my left—an emergency exit. I tugged on Jason’s shirt, in an attempt to pull him back toward safety.
He shook his head, and I looked at him in confusion. He pulled me close to him, and the memories of our brief hour on the plane came flooding back into every cell of my body. He whispered in my ear, “You go—if this guy is staff, I need to get him out of here. If he isn’t, we need to bring him in. He might have information we can use to get to Al-Farook.”
I shook my head but he pushed me away, mouthing ‘go’.
I was torn. My head was crying out for me to take the safe option, to get out of here. I could make sure help was coming, I told myself. I’d be more use outside than in here, where I would just hold Jason back. I didn’t even have a gun! My heart, on the other hand, said that I couldn’t just leave Jason alone to deal with whatever was down here.
“I’ll fetch help,” I mouthed at him and he nodded as I turned and ran silently for the exit.
Once through the door, I found myself in a narrow alley strewn with dumps
ters and empty boxes. I stood for a moment to get my bearings and then turned left, away from the main street, fumbling with my phone and dialing Billman’s number as I ran.
Chapter 12
Jason
Sending Christine out of that emergency exit by herself was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. All I wanted to do was keep her close; keep her safe. I had no idea what was waiting for her on the other side of that door, but I had to assume it was going to be safer than a rooftop sniper or a gunman lurking in a hotel kitchen.
I couldn’t believe that she was working on an investigation like this without a weapon. There was no way CIA agents would even think about stepping out of the house without their handgun. Brits were so squeamish about these things. Unarmed, she’d be nothing but a hindrance to me—and I wouldn’t be able to do my job for worrying about where she was and whether she was safe. My only choice was to send her out of the hotel and hope that I could stop worrying about her long enough to deal with whoever had made that noise.
I was beginning to understand why she had been so keen to put some distance between us while we were still working the case. It was distracting to work with someone you cared about; it affected your decision-making, your risk assessment—everything that you needed when you were working in intelligence.
After checking again that my gun was loaded and ready, I moved slowly toward the door; as I approached, I noticed it was one of those swinging doors, and realized I had been right about my kitchen theory.
With a deep breath, I eased the door open a crack and tried to peer in. Nothing. No movement. No sound. I noticed I was holding my breath, obviously expecting the ping of a bullet at any moment. I slowly eased my way into the room, checking left and right for anyone lurking just by the entrance. Clear.
There. I heard the noise again. Was that metal against metal? Perhaps the sound of a gun being reloaded?
I crept a little further into the room, and caught a flicker of movement through the myriad machines and piles of kitchen equipment. I couldn’t get a clear look at who or what it was that was moving through there, and I couldn’t risk firing off a round with all these metal machines in here. I could take myself out with a ricochet. As I inched closer, I couldn’t help but regret some of the things I hadn’t said to Christine when I had the chance—and some of the things that we had said to each other during our earlier arguments. I couldn’t get over the fact that my last word to her might be “Go”.
I jumped backward as the person responsible for the noise suddenly came into view, and shouted loudly as I raised my gun. In the same instant, the poor kitchen porter dropped his tray of dishes in shock, shards of crockery and metal cutlery skittering across the floor. He lifted his hands, as I lowered my gun, and slipped it back into my shoulder holster. The porter slowly removed the giant noise-cancelling headphones he had been wearing and that also seemed to be pumping out dance music at top volume. They were clearly worth the money, if they could cancel out the noise of a sniper attack and all that screaming.
“Qu-est-ce que vous voulez?” the young man asked, his hands in the air.
“Nothing, nothing,” I replied. “Il y’a un… gunman?” I pointed toward the upstairs reception area. My French was terrible. I went to get my gun back out of my holster, in an effort to illustrate what I was talking about, but that only scared him further. “Allez!” I suddenly remembered. “Pas encore travail.” He nodded and darted down a corridor.
I pulled out my phone. Time to call in the cavalry. Christine would have called Billman first, so, if I wanted to know that she was OK and get to her as soon as possible, then that’s who I needed to speak to, as well.
I dialled Billman’s number; the phone was picked up almost as soon as it started ringing.
“Kern?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied as I sank, exhausted, onto the floor of the kitchen. “I’m OK.”
“I just spoke to Christine,” she told me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “She told me you went after a hostile alone, Kern. That’s against all protocol and—”
I cut her off. “It’s OK, ma’am. No hostile. Just a kid working in the kitchen. I don’t know who was more scared—him or me.”
“I want this done by the book, Kern,” Billman scolded. “You’re working under my supervision, and that means you work by my rules, understand? Any more heroics, and I might have to reconsider this arrangement.”
“Understood, ma’am.” I did contrition well. “Is the scene secure?”
“Yes, the Belgian police have the street sealed off. No sign of the sniper, I’m afraid.”
“Casualties?” I asked, thinking about the three people sealed in the back office.
“Mercifully, nothing serious. A few bumps and scrapes from people running away. The sniper seems to have had a very particular target.”
Christine and I had known that, though. Even without voicing it, we had known he was after us. We were getting too close to Al-Farook or whoever was behind his crimes. This attack, terrifying and worrying as it was, was also proof that we were very much on the right track.
“I’ve sent Christine to a safe house on the other side of the city. I’m going to send you the details in an encrypted message, including a marked map. Follow that route precisely; it’s different than the one I sent Christine. I need you to take a different route from her. It goes without saying that we are on full alert.”
“Of course, ma’am,” I replied, a little puzzled. Did Billman think I was so green that I didn’t know how to behave in these situations?
“That means I don’t want you to divulge the location of the safe house to anyone. Not any of your CIA colleagues or,” Billman paused, “any of your contacts.”
“Of course,” I replied grimly, very purposefully dropping the ‘ma’am’. Now I knew what this was all about. “I’ll make contact when I’ve arrived at the safe house.”
I hung up and pulled myself up from the kitchen floor. They suspected Warick! Christine must have said something to Billman when she checked in; that could be the only explanation for my little reprimand just then.
But Warick was in town to help me—to help the whole investigation, in fact. What possible reason could they have to suspect him? They would regret it if they tried to keep him away from the investigation, I told myself. He had been a vital asset to me, and we needed him if we were going to penetrate the closed-off world of diamond traders and get their help to trap the team behind Al-Farook. I started to head for the emergency exit where I had last seen Christine, running through my mind the events of the last twenty-four hours.
I paused outside the kitchen, realizing that if you didn’t know Warick as well as I did, then some of his recent behavior could seem a little odd, if not downright suspicious. First, he had known details about the London bombing that had not been released to the press—and that were still unknown to some of the agents working on the case. Then he had mysteriously turned up in Antwerp, claiming to have been in Paris on business, even though I was sure that he hadn’t mentioned such a trip to me.
It was just because they didn’t know him, I told myself. If I could just see Christine and explain how much he had helped me, not just on cases, but in my personal life, too, then she would understand that Warick wouldn’t—couldn’t ever betray me.
My blood ran cold as I suddenly realized that Christine’s sudden awkwardness around me could be due to a lot more than just embarrassment about our liaison on the plane. Did she suspect that Warick and I were in cahoots? That I was working with Warick on something, or perhaps that I was the one leaking information to him? That would explain a lot.
I needed to speak to her, put her mind at rest. I received the text message with the address and a map to the safe house. Once I had memorized the route I was to take, I deleted the message and slipped out of the emergency exit and along the alley at the back of the hotel.
By the time I made it to the safe house, Christine had been joined by a young offi
cer from Henri’s unit. We nodded a hello, and he very discreetly headed for the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Christine and me alone.
“Are you OK?” I asked, sitting next to her, and taking her hands in mine. She didn’t pull them away, but I could tell she was uncomfortable.
“Jason, who knew where we were staying?” she asked.
Ah, so we were going straight to the accusations, were we?
“Billman and my CIA contact. Henri’s team, maybe?”
A silence hung over us. I knew she was waiting for me to say Warick’s name. I thought about bluffing it out; pretending I hadn’t told him the name of our hotel, but when the truth came out—as it inevitably would—that would only make me look guiltier. Besides, I had nothing to hide—we had nothing to hide. There was nothing wrong with me telling Warick where we were staying; it was hardly pertinent to the investigation.
“And I think I may have mentioned it to Warick.” Christine closed her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say,” I went on hurriedly, determined to get my say in first. “And I know that he hasn’t exactly made the best first impression, but, Christine, you have to understand how important this man is to me. Not just professionally, but personally, too. He’s been a good friend through some hard times.” Christine remained silent.
I paused. “I trust him, Christine. I really do. And I wish that you could trust him, too, but if you can’t…”
I left the sentence hanging in the air. Christine had opened her eyes again, those searching blue eyes. I felt as if they were taking my measure and I wondered if I’d be found wanting.
Suddenly, it came to me. “Meet him,” I said.
“You’d let me?” Christine answered with just the hint of a smile. “I thought you said I’d distract him?”
Toxic Seduction (Romantic Secret Agents Series Book 3) Page 7
