Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1)

by Lewis Hastings

  “Your visa, how long do you have left?”

  “Five months.”

  “Then why not stay – please?”

  This was possibly the most reckless thing he had ever done; he’d met the girl twenty-four hours before, and now he wanted her to stay. She could be the world’s greatest con artist, a travelling international thief, but he’d ID her in a heartbeat, wouldn’t he?

  Surely she hadn’t exposed his gullible side? Right now, if he’d been offered a chance to invest in a West African bank, he would have taken it. ‘Yes, Mr Prince Sunday Blessings, you seem like a very fine man indeed, here is my account number and don’t forget the PIN now!’

  Reckless.

  But something deep within him said she was trustworthy, and his instinct counted for a great deal.

  For a moment he started to recall the early days of his doomed marriage, albeit one that had started well. They’d met as young people, she was two years his junior, he’d just joined ‘The Job’ – or as everyone else not connected to the world of law enforcement called it – the Police Force. It was a force then, and he liked that. As it gradually became a service he felt less inclined towards it.

  They did what most newly weds did, went out with friends, had what they thought was daring sex in daring places, struggled to make ends meet and slowly began to form a relationship. Sadly, like many in the law community, it would be doomed to failure. Fortunately, there would be no children as a result of the loveless union.

  Long hours, late nights, stress and limited opportunities to take leave meant that they started to drift apart – in the relationship and in the bedroom. Of course ‘she’ blamed him for everything; low income, low morale and in her opinion at least, a poor sex drive. If they weren’t at it like rabbits in the local park or trying to break into abandoned buildings to have frenzied sex, then frankly, she was not interested in him and may as well have been alone.

  She hated that he was so suspicious of everything, everyone and all this did was build up resentment, on both sides, but insidiously on his. As the marriage had started to decay the rows become more prominent, more acrimonious – somewhat awkward in spite of a continuing sex life.

  Somehow as much as she hated him from her side of the fence, he clearly wasn’t that bad and anyway, on his side he could always imagine he was doing it with someone else. That someone else was normally Kate Winslett.

  Unfortunately, try as he may he no longer loved her. He would look at her body, which ironically was similar to that of his favourite actress, but every time he moved his eyes slowly up her pretty impressive figure, it was her bloody face on Kate’s shoulders!

  He recalled one last argument before the inevitable separation occurred. He’d arrived home late – having been ‘up north’ on an investigation. He was tired, hungry and frankly just needed half an hour to unwind; whilst not a drinker, he could have done with a quiet one.

  Within seconds, she was confronting him.

  “So, why did it take so long to get home, was she good? Where did you do it? I doubt it was outside, you are awful at that – so scared, so bloody suspicious of everyone Jack, never relaxed, good old Jack Cade, a man for all seasons but never around for his wife. Good old Jack Cade…”

  It was evident that she’d beaten him to the bottle.

  “You always look for the bad in everyone, Jack; it’s so bloody tiring, so fucking, mind-numbingly, unbelievably…”

  “So leave. Pack your bags and leave. I won’t stand in your way. Oh, and for the record, I have no one else. You were my first and only – the only one I thought I’d spend the rest of my days with. We made a vow, remember? The fact that I don’t perform like a circus chimp every time you want to get your rocks off in someone’s garden is hardly my fault, go join a swingers’ club for Christ’s sake, at least then you’ll be happy. No doubt you’ll wear them out soon too – the poor bastards!”

  “At least I’d be happy, I’d rather do it with three men that were enjoying me than one who thinks about that bastard bloody Winslett all the time! At least they’d be bloody relaxed!”

  She stormed away as usual, normally upstairs to bed, and the night would end once more with him in the spare room, staring at the ceiling and questioning his existence. He’d drift off eventually, imaging life on a remote island in the South Pacific being served tropical fruit by a redhead wearing nothing but Chanel No. 5 and a smile. He loved redheads, hated blondes; she was blonde these days, ‘upstairs’ at least – the hideous cow.

  Perhaps she was right? Perhaps he was suspicious of everyone and everything. A turn of events had certainly offered a period of calm, a chance to get away from it all and start again. Life had been good since then. He’d paid her off – the spiteful whore – and now at last, in the present day, perhaps finally he was able to do as she commanded all those years ago – relax.

  His guard was finally down and it felt extraordinarily good.

  He watched Elena walk towards the bathroom, as she neared the door she loosened both straps on her dress and allowed it to fall neatly onto the ground, stepping out of it in one fluid movement she looked over her shoulder – did that thing again with her eyes – and walked into his bathroom, teasingly, deliberately perhaps, leaving the door ajar.

  His instinct was purely animal, but he knew he had to proceed with caution, so instead of following her with a hound dog expression and loitering outside the door, he remained on his lounger, which admittedly he’d repositioned ‘just so’. Just so he could admire her in the large walk-in shower.

  Moments later he was aroused from his daydream.

  He’d lasted four minutes and twenty-six seconds before he joined her. Four minutes longer than she had hoped for.

  Later he wrapped a large chocolate-brown towel around her and a matching one for her hair. He knew how to appeal to the innermost needs of a woman – if he’d learned nothing else from ‘her’ it was that a few throw away lines, a couple of compliments and an occasional admiring glance were often all that was needed for a quiet life.

  He wrapped another similar towel around his waist and walked towards the kitchen.

  “More coffee?”

  “Yes please. And I need to eat. My energy is…gone!” She giggled as she left the sauna-like bathroom, her handprints slowly vaporising on the smoked glass shower cabinet.

  She arrived in the kitchen ten minutes later, her hair still damp but now much lighter in colour, revealing the true redness, a colour which truly appealed to him. Once more she was wearing just a pair of white knickers and one of his business shirts.

  He found himself thinking that at this rate they would never get anything done. It made him smile – as if that was really a problem?

  “What Jack Cade, why make you smile?”

  “It’s what makes you smile.”

  “Nothing, what make you smile?”

  “Don’t worry, just a quiet thought, so what are your plans for today?”

  He asked as he still didn’t know enough about her to even begin to plan for the next hour, let alone the rest of the day.

  He knew how old she was, that her name was Elena and that she was in her late twenties. But why was she in New Zealand, and more than anything else he needed to know, still, why she was now sat on a chrome bar stool, in his kitchen wearing his favourite blue shirt?

  “So my Bulgarian beauty, what do you do?” She looked at him, slightly confused, “I drink your coffee and eat your muesli, it’s good, needs more fruit but you try some?” She offered him her spoon, laden with oats and dried fruit.

  “No, sorry, what do you do for a job? Where do you live? Do you…have a boyfriend? Family? Why are you in New Zealand?”

  “What are you, a detective or something?” She laughed and threw a dried cranberry at him. It bounced off his cheek and into the sink.

  Instinctively he grabbed it and like a schoolboy threw it straight back, down the front of her shirt.

  She laughed openly, “For later Jack?”

/>   “Something like that…so, come on, what do you do?”

  It was as if she had skilfully negotiated her way around that particular question.

  “Of course, sorry, you ask, I not tell. I am a secret agent for Bulgarian government, my grandfather was too. He taught me so many things; how to shoot, how to drive, how to kill a man with my bare hands, how to live in the forest, to escape, climb mountains, swim…”

  She quickly became aware of his changing face.

  “No, silly, I work for Bulgarian government; I am architect – a planner for the future of our beloved country!” She emphasised the latter, almost as if she were delivering a speech to the communist party.

  “So, Mr Cade,” her Bulgarian accent purred as she spoke, “what do you do?”

  “Well, I too am a secret agent, but for the British government. They taught me how to shoot, to drive, to make love to beautiful women, to cook, clean and how, most importantly to hunt down Bulgarian architects…”

  She threw another cranberry at him. This one hit him squarely in the eye. He gave chase; they danced, weaved and ducked around the stainless-steel island until she gave in. He lifted her over his shoulder and took her outside to the outdoor shower.

  Pinning her to the wall, he held the shower head to hers and demanded the truth.

  “Your last chance, Dimitrova. Tell me the truth or else…”

  “Or else what Jack Cade…you wouldn’t…it’s your best shirt!”

  She had a point.

  Sod it.

  He turned the water supply on to full. A powerful jet of ice-cold water shot out and hit her. She evaded his grasp and started to run but it was too late. He got her, gunning her down in cold blood. She disappeared around the corner of the building, squealing like a teenager.

  It was quite the most ridiculous game he had played, certainly since he was twelve anyway, but it made him laugh, so much so that he sank to his knees, the damp floor and capillary action quickly making his shorts wet.

  He looked up to see her returning, now on the counterattack, a bright green plastic bucket in one hand and a brush in the other. He knew that the contents of the bucket were destined for him; quite what she planned to do with the brush was anyone’s guess. What was clear was that she was quite the sexiest-looking cleaner he had ever laid his eyes on.

  With a deftly aimed shot the water left the bucket and hit him in the chest, she followed up with a swift one-two jab with the brush.

  “How dare you say I have boyfriend! You are my man now! I should kill you with my deadly…brush! Tell me, what you do?”

  She fell into his arms, and they continued to laugh. Standing there, both soaked, both laughing, it felt for all the world like they were a married couple, except this time Jack Cade was enjoying the experience, and somehow he too had avoided the real question.

  “I work for a company as a consultant on information security.”

  It was almost true. He did consult. He also did many other things. His real expertise was using his many years of knowledge and importantly even more years of connections to hunt down people groups, to find the thorns in the sides of what was known colloquially as The Five Eyes.

  She nodded pensively before hitting him with the brush, just a little harder than she had anticipated.

  It was clear she wasn’t happy with his explanation. The brush began to rise in her hand once more.

  “OK, OK, don’t hurt me,” he pleaded; in truth, he could have disarmed her of the deadly cleaning utensil in a heartbeat, but why? This was fun.

  “I spent some time working for the British government – my specialism was border intelligence, identity crime and people groups. There, now you know. I have told you something that not many people know. It had better be worth it.”

  What he had told her was about twenty percent of the total picture, but it was true nonetheless. His time with the British government spanned many years, covered many aspects of the criminal world, and saw him trained by a number of Commonwealth nations. He was what many governments referred to as an asset.

  It was what attracted his wife to him in the first place and yet Elena hadn’t known this, therefore, in his mind at least, she had been attracted to his personality and devilish good looks.

  The resultant full-on kiss showed that it was indeed worth it.

  An hour later and seemingly content with their answers they were once again dry and dressed, he in a clean pair of shorts and a black Hurley T-shirt, her in a different, but equally striking summer dress.

  They walked along the road, away from his house, admiring the yachts and motor cruisers en route to the beach. He discreetly checked his watch – a stainless steel Citizen Nighthawk Eco-Drive – it was almost four in the afternoon. Where had the time gone?

  They walked arm in arm along the sand as the chatter of oystercatchers filled the air, their distinctive flight a familiar sight to Cade but enough to make Dimitrova stop and stare.

  “This is so beautiful here, Jack. I do not want to go home. I didn’t before, but now…”

  Her words were consumed by the pounding surf which threw up a silky mist, causing the late afternoon sun to refract, throwing rainbow-like colours into the sky.

  He shouted back, “So don’t. Stay. We can work something out: live for now. I’ve spent too long looking over my shoulder and regretting things I have done, things I should have done. I have money; I can support you, even with your architect’s car…”

  “I have money, Jack, but thank you. I could get job here, no? I could work for you. I am very skilled, no?”

  “Absolutely Moneypenny,” he replied in a faux Bond accent. “Look, at least try to stay for a while longer, we could change your flight tickets, contact your department, tell them…I don’t know, tell them you are ill and that you need constant bed rest!” He winked at her, earning himself the second slap of the day.

  Over the course of the next few hours, they walked the length of the beach. By the time they reached the town they were hungry, weary and ready for a break.

  “Come on, let’s go and see Big Stan, he owes us a drink.”

  “He does. Jack?”

  “Yes, go on…”

  “Everything I have told you is true, what I haven’t told you is that I came here to do a particular thing, I can’t explain what this is, but now, I don’t need to anymore. It is done.”

  “OK.” It was all he could verbally offer.

  They walked into The Oceanside and up to the bar.

  Big Stan appeared, a cloth over his left arm and an inquisitive look upon his face.

  “Jack, how are you…both today?” he asked, nodding to Cade’s female companion with an encouraging smile.

  “We are fine thanks, Stan. Now, my usual and…a Pimms for the lady please, and make sure the recipe I gave you is followed to the letter. Mint leaves, cucumber, orange…none of that kiwi fruit or pineapple! We’ll be outside.”

  “Hello Big Stan, I have missed you, Jack tells me you find me sexy!”

  She smiled a confident, radiant smile and flounced across the sun-bleached wooden floorboards, her hips gliding from side to side, fiercely aware of their one-man audience.

  Cade beamed inwardly, knowing that his local landlord was furious with him, he’d got the girl alright, still not quite sure how, but he had and Stan, well Stan was bloody seething.

  Cade felt more alive than he had done since the delectable Jacqueline Clark had asked him to dance at the sixth form disco and that, as he recalled, had been a significant moment in his journey to adulthood.

  He tried not to stare at his newfound companion as they sat outside and watched the sun slowly align itself with the horizon, creating myriad colours that would amaze the gathered mix of local and tourist alike. All too quickly he realised that she was already staring at him, clearly she didn’t care so why should he?

  He paused for a second, “Seriously Elena, I know most rational people would think I am mad, but please stay. We have a few days; think about
my offer. You don’t need to work, you can’t, but you can stay here on holiday. Over the next few weeks, months, we could become really close.”

  Praying he didn’t sound a little too desperate, he chinked his glass against hers, causing the condensation to run off the stem and onto her radiant skin.

  She licked the water from her wrist and looked up at him.

  “I have known you for a long time Jack, we should get married.”

  It wasn’t quite what he had anticipated, but honestly, given the view, given the amazing allure of her, given, well given the last few days, why not?

  “OK. Let’s do it!”

  She looked bemused.

  “Jack, I, like you so much but it was a joke, I only met you a few days ago, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  He ushered her words away with a wave of his hand, almost embarrassed at his boyhood naivety.

  “Of course, I understand, I was only joking too. Phew, thank goodness for that, that was far too close!”

  He feigned a horror-struck facade but suddenly, deep within his psyche, he felt that actually it wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

  She stared out to sea thinking the same.

  The spell was broken a short while later when a waitress delivered their food and a refill for the now empty Pimms glass.

  After a few hours Jack suggested they should head home. He walked up to the bar to be greeted by Stan, leaving Elena to chat to some tourists.

  “Christ mate, how the hell did you manage that? I mean you must be twenty years older at least, if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have stood a chance!”

  “Indeed, Stanley but there’s no accounting for taste my good man, and if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a business, so what say you let me pay for the food and drink and if you are really good I’ll let you keep your job. Oh, and when your jaw has returned to its rightful place, you can watch her walk off into what’s left of the setting sun, conscious in the knowledge that only I know the answer to the next question upon your lips.”