High Pressure

by Sam Blake

  Dublin Airport had been typically busy as she headed to the bus stop outside. She’d kept her head down, trying to look invisible.

  From what she’d overheard of their conversation, she knew the network that Reiss Chanin had founded was growing; it was spreading across the UK, and there was every chance there were sympathisers in Ireland. Would he have people looking out for her in the airport? She was Irish; the most logical place for her to go if she was trying to vanish was home, where she blended in, where her accent didn’t stand out.

  But anyone looking for her would be working off a photograph taken when she looked totally different. With her short mahogany brown hair, ripped skinny jeans, and the fake tattoos Mike had found on Em’s dressing table, she wasn’t the same woman who had walked out of Selfridges Foodhall on Thursday. She’d be surprised if Brioni would even recognise her.

  But it was Brioni that had occupied her thoughts all the way here. Marissa’s heart broke a little more. She’d begged Mike to tell Brioni that she was all right, that she couldn’t get in touch but that she was alive. But he’d refused point-blank. It was a security risk, apparently. Marissa couldn’t understand that – how could Bri be a security risk?

  But now she was here; she was home and she was sure she hadn’t been followed. When they’d first met, Steve had had some sort of weird paranoia about her being followed, had taught her what to look for, how to shake off a tail, as he called it. She’d thought he’d been watching too many spy films, but if he’d been involved with these White Wolves then, it made a bit more sense. She’d humoured him, had found it adorable that he was so concerned for her safety. And now she was thanking her lucky stars that he had been.

  But Brioni? Brioni must be devastated right now. If Reiss thought she had been on the bus, then Brioni must think that, too. Mar couldn’t bear the thought that her disappearance could cause that much pain. She was such an idiot. She thought she’d be able to contact Brioni somehow, but Bri’s mobile number was stored in Mar’s old phone, and she’d never been good at remembering numbers – that was Bri’s area of expertise.

  Her only option was email, and she could be damn sure Reiss had hacked into her Gmail account and was watching her email traffic.

  Should she send a message? She’d been wrestling with the idea since she got on the plane. She couldn’t send a proper letter, or even a postcard, because it would take too long; the Irish postal system was painfully slow. She’d once sent Steve a postcard when she’d been visiting her dad and it had taken nine days to arrive.

  Mike had made her swear not to contact anyone, but as time had ticked on, as the bus had headed down the N11, the Wicklow mountains opening up in front of her, the slopes of the Great Sugar Loaf purple with heather, her heart had really begun to break. She’d watched the towns flash by – Bray, Greystones, and Wicklow. The new road took them away from Jack White’s pub, the place where they’d always stopped as children on visits to Dublin, she and Bri piling out of the car to find the loo while their father had a quick pint to sustain him for the rest of the drive.

  Ireland was home. It was family. There was no other country like it in the world, and every time she came back she knew why Ireland was so embedded in the psyche of those who’d left. It was warm and friendly and open and welcoming, and it really was fifty shades of green. Everything about being here brought back memories – of her and Bri snuggling up together on stormy nights, as the wind and rain lashed the windows, their running-away bags packed under their bunk beds. Of trudging across the fields from school in the rain, tired and soaked to the skin. Of the hares that played outside the house at night, of the sky so clear you could see every star. And every memory made her miss her little sister with a pain that was physical.

  Mar could remember Brioni’s email addresses. The main one might not be safe – Steve could have it in his computer – but she had another one that she had set up just for travelling, to book into hostels, and to give to people she might not actually ever want to see again. It had come in very useful, as it turned out. Right at the start of the trip, she’d forwarded Mar a hilarious email from some guy she’d managed to ditch in Kolkata, who had declared his undying love for her after a thirty-minute chat in a café.

  Marissa knew that there was no way she could use her own email, though; there was every chance that Steve – and Reiss – had accessed it. Brioni was always telling her to change her passwords, but of course she hadn’t.

  As the bus had eaten up the miles, she’d thought about Brioni’s travelling email address. If she set up a completely new, random email account, and used an internet café to send it from, she was sure she’d be safe. The message needed to look like spam to be super-sure. It needed to be something coded that only Bri would understand.

  The girl brought over her coffee and sandwich, and Mar realised she was starving. Mike’s pizza had been very welcome last night, but she’d hardly been able to eat, her stomach churning with anxiety. After a proper sleep and the relief of being home, she felt ravenous.

  ‘Thank you. If I need to use a computer, how does that work?’

  ‘You just pay at the counter – we give you a token and you can get started.’

  ‘Do I need an email address? I don’t have one I can use.’

  The girl looked at her slightly strangely. ‘No, you don’t need to log in or anything. Just open Google and off you go.’

  ‘Thanks so much.’

  On the bus, Marissa had worked out exactly what she’d send.

  Chapter 48

  2.15 p. m.

  Brioni was reaching across the broad wooden bar in Bloom’s Tavern to give it a final wipe when she felt her phone vibrate. They’d been busy earlier but it was finally slackening off, only a group of builders left, drinking Coke and playing with their phones in the corner.

  She pulled her own phone out of her jeans pocket, taking a quick look at it. The text was from Mike, saying they’d need to keep her suitcase for a bit longer but would get it to her as soon as possible. Brioni sighed; she’d managed this long, so a few more days wouldn’t hurt, but she still didn’t understand how it had ended up in Mar’s house. Had Steve or Reiss stolen it from the airport? The card inside it had been the only thing with an address on, granted, but it did seem very strange for an airport courier to drop it there without getting in touch with her.

  But then it was a week for strange, that was for sure.

  Brioni leaned on the bar and flicked open her email to see if Siobhan had been in touch about more work. She wanted to get as many hours as she could so she could afford some new gear for college. Even with her suitcase intact – assuming it was – Brioni couldn’t really imagine that the washed-out T-shirts that had looked grand when she was working in a hostel in Thailand would look the part in a high-tech classroom in London. The other students would think she was homeless. To say nothing of her freezing to death when autumn came.

  Brioni scanned her email. There was one from an address she didn’t recognise, sent to her travelling account. With no subject in the subject line. Thinking it was spam, she was about to delete it when she read the single line in the message.

  A dream it was that drew me here.

  She looked at it and read it again.

  That was too weird.

  It had to be spam. But there was something about it … She looked at the email address: sandylollipops@yahoo.com.

  Could it be …?

  Brioni glanced down the bar. It had gone quiet and she was due a break soon, but this couldn’t wait. She searched for Anna’s number; she picked up on the first ring.

  ‘It’s me. I need to talk, it’s urgent. Can you meet me? I’m due to finish at five, I’ll see if I can leave earlier. I’ll come to you.’

  Anna was sitting on a sea-green sofa in a bright corner, nursing a cup of tea, when Brioni burst into the Lighthouse Bar, breathless from her run from the Tube station. She fell into the grey velvet tub chair beside her.

  ‘What on earth’s
happened?’

  Anna raised her eyebrows as she pushed a strand of red hair out of her face and leaned forward, keeping her voice down. Brioni caught her breath, unable to prevent a broad smile.

  ‘I didn’t want to say on the phone or to text, but I’m sure I’ve had an email from Mar. Look.’ Brioni pulled out her phone and opened the email app to show Anna. ‘It was sent to my travelling address. I only used that when I was away, it’s not my proper email address.’

  Anna looked at her phone screen and then looked at Bri, confused.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not spam? It’s a bit weird.’

  Brioni pulled the cushion up behind her in the seat and smiled as she answered.

  ‘It’s a line from John Banville’s The Sea, it won the Booker. It’s set in Wexford. Our house is in Wexford, on the beach. We used to have these two mad cats called Sandy and Lollipops that hated each other. She’s there, I know she is. God only knows how, but she’s safe and she’s gone home.’

  Anna’s gilt link watch slipped down her arm as she picked up Brioni’s phone and looked at the message again.

  ‘Just think logically for a moment. You don’t know this is from Marissa – it could be some sort of hoax.’

  Brioni shook her head emphatically. ‘I know it’s her – nobody knows about John Banville. I mean, I know everyone knows about John Banville, but Mar had this thing about that book. I was only little but she used to read bits to me at night. In the summer she’d stand in the dunes, quoting pages of it. She was obsessed with it for years, and then … I don’t know, she went to Trinity and read other stuff.’

  Brioni paused. She could see Anna wasn’t feeling her excitement. Brioni leaned forward in her chair, keeping her voice low.

  ‘It’s her, really. I know it. I have to go … I have to go and see if she’s there.’

  Anna shook her head, her long earrings tangling with the loose strands of hair that had come adrift from her clip.

  ‘No. Really no – that’s mad, Bri. You can’t just up and leave. The police need you here as a witness, for one thing.’

  ‘I won’t tell them – I can be there and back overnight. She must be hiding from Steve. Perhaps she doesn’t know he’s dead.’

  ‘What if she killed him, Bri? He was making her life a misery. What if it was Marissa you interrupted?’

  Brioni’s mouth went dry. She could feel her face pale as she looked at Anna, shocked.

  ‘You can’t think that?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. But I know I’d be very close to the edge if I was in a relationship like that.’

  Brioni closed her eyes for a minute, the scene in the garden springing into her head.

  Could it have been Mar? Really?

  Then she shook her head. ‘No, it can’t have been. She’s not strong enough to lift him. And she wouldn’t have hanged him, she would have poisoned him, given him arsenic slowly over a long period of time like Flowers in the Attic.’ It was Anna’s turn to look surprised. Brioni rolled her eyes. ‘It was one of my mum’s books, we both read it secretly. I hated my geography teacher – plotting her death by arsenic was the only way I got through the Leaving. We used to talk about it, about ways to get her to eat it, like they did in the book.’ Brioni paused. ‘I have to go, just to see. And if she’s there, to make sure she’s OK.’

  Anna pursed her lips, thinking. ‘You can’t, Brioni, think about it. You’ll be leading them straight to her. If Reiss really did kill Steve – and don’t forget someone stole your suitcase and it ended up under Steve’s stairs – then he, or one of that group, could follow you. I can’t imagine they’ve managed all these incidents on their own. We don’t know how many people could be involved. Steve couldn’t have created the hoaxes in Wimbledon and Trafalgar Square, or put a bomb on the bus.’ She paused. ‘He definitely can’t have set the bomb, because we know he was at the embassy. Which suggests it might have been Reiss.’ Anna drew breath. ‘It’s possible he killed Steve. Think about it, Brioni. Marissa has disappeared for a good reason. Perhaps she knows what’s been going on, in which case she’s a threat to Reiss. If you suddenly vanish to Ireland, he could follow you and you’ll lead him straight to Marissa.’

  Brioni felt herself pale. Anna was right. Sitting there in her cool cream silk blouse, she was the epitome of calm, and she was right. Brioni fell back in the chair, all her earlier excitement gone.

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We tell Mike.’

  ‘But we need to check the house. Mike will notify the Gardai, and if Mar sees anyone anywhere near she could run again. She’ll think I called them … If it was safe to send me a message, she wouldn’t have encrypted it, so it must be important no one knows where she is. Even the police, or she would have gone to them to start with, surely?’

  A tear rolled down Brioni’s face.

  Anna had to help her; she had to have an answer.

  She knew what it was like to lose a sister. She, out of everyone, understood the cold, dark feeling of loss and all the mixed-up emotions that came with it – emotions you couldn’t turn off, that tripped you up at the most unlikely moments. Brioni knew she was strong, she was coping as best she could, but if it was Anna’s sister who had disappeared, what would she do? Before Brioni could say anything, Anna tapped the table with her manicured fingernail as if she’d made a decision.

  ‘I’ll go. My going back to Ireland is completely reasonable – I live there. Nobody will be following me. I can get a flight this evening and go down on the train first thing.’ Anna looked at her and smiled, reaching over to rub her arm. ‘You’ve got pink hair, Bri, it’s going to be hard to hide. At least I blend in.’

  ***

  From his balcony overlooking Canary Wharf, Reiss Chanin had a clear view of the complex on the other side of the river where his main apartment was located. With binoculars, from here, he could see straight into his living room. It was a protocol he’d laid down right from the start: Never shit on your own doorstep.

  His years in Afghanistan with the military had taught him so much about tactics, and he’d used his time well. He’d been a young graduate then, a computer whizz-kid who’d proved his worth on the front and then been whisked into intelligence. Some veterans struggled when they demobbed, but he’d gone straight into the tech start-up Steve was involved with, and all the pieces had fitted as neatly together as a jigsaw puzzle.

  Reiss moved his binoculars a fraction, resting his elbows on the balcony edge. Despite the apartment being in shade now, the steel rail was still hot. Using this apartment for any activity relating to the White Wolves meant they had a safe house that was totally secure. He’d hacked the building’s CCTV system to give him twenty-four-hour eyes, swept the place for bugs religiously. It was the perfect set-up. Or had been, until Steve had started to unravel. He’d been fully in support of the movement for so long, and when they were finally in a position to really kick some ass, he’d lost it. And after all the work, they couldn’t have a weak link in the chain, especially one at the top.

  Reiss turned into the sparsely furnished living room and picked up his laptop from the coffee table. Sitting down on the black leather sofa, he opened the camera in the apartment across the river. He scanned the living room, the bedroom. The apartment layout was almost identical to this one. Nothing was happening yet – the big, well-lit rooms were empty, caught on film as if waiting for something to happen. He’d left the bed unmade, clothes on the floor, a note for the maid to sort out the laundry. Made it look as if he’d just popped out for a minute.

  He stood up and, picking up the binoculars, headed out to the balcony. There was definitely something happening on the other side of the river; police vans were pulling into place at either end of the access road to the apartment building, blue lights flashing. Above him he could hear a police chopper.

  They must have found Brioni’s suitcase at Steve’s house by now. It would have been better if he’d had a chance to get rid of it, but the p
lan had changed when that punk bitch turned up. And things had started moving fast.

  It wasn’t a problem. He’d had a story worked out just in case Mar found it – if it was the police …? He shrugged mentally. The same applied. Marissa’s address was the only one inside it, on that card. It was logical enough that the airport would have contacted Brioni, and he’d say he’d assumed she’d told them to courier it to her sister’s house. He’d explain how he’d opened the door to the courier and that’s why his fingerprints were on it. He’d totally forgotten to mention it, had stuck it under the stairs because the cleaner was due and she needed the hallway clear. He could be very convincing, and keeping it at Steve’s house was a damn sight more sensible than bringing it here. One of their guys worked for the courier company the airport used. He’d entered the drop-off in the computer. If other parts of the data chain were missing, well, that was human error – and not his problem.

  Reiss lifted the binoculars to take another look across the river. The activity was intensifying. He stood watching for a moment, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair.

  He’d have one more look at Marissa’s email and then put his cover plan into action.

  Turning into the apartment and sitting down, he opened his laptop again.

  He had alibis for every hoax event: tickets for trains running in the opposite direction to the incidents that had occurred; receipts for coffee in the other parts of London. Time-stamped photos already loaded to social media that put him in locations consistent with the receipts. They were all in his apartment across the river. He just needed to walk right into the middle of the raid and look surprised. He clicked to open an incognito window and logged into Marissa’s email.