Only her ability to isolate and interpret the signals in her head, now almost second nature, reminded her tangibly that what had happened was no fantasy. Camp Hope and Professor Dixon were as real as she was. Thanks to them, Ella no longer suffered from headaches, or nausea or panic attacks. Now she could tune in or out of private electronic conversations at will, be it eavesdropping a lovers’ texted tiff at a café, or checking the speed of the electronic transfers being sent from her bank. From time to time, as her Swedish improved, she amused herself by tuning in to the police radio and following the dramas of drug busts or immigration raids as they unfolded in real time. Anything to distract her from her conflicted feelings about Athena, or from the total radio silence from Gabriel.
It was about two weeks after she arrived in Stockholm that Bob turned up. Ella found her old friend from San Francisco sitting waiting in the lobby of her hotel, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be there, a smiling, khaki-clad ghost from Christmas past, looking like every American tourist with his fanny pack and camera and his San Francisco Giants baseball cap, worn at a jaunty angle.
‘Hello, stranger.’ He smiled at Ella. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’
According to Bob he’d been contacted out of the blue by ‘a weirdo’, who from his description could only have been Gabriel, and who informed him where Ella was and that she was waiting for a signal that it was safe to return to the States.
‘He never explained why it wouldn’t be safe,’ said Bob, over an enormous plate of meatballs at the Julius’ Café. ‘He never really explained anything, in fact. He just wired me a boat-load of money, like, a lot, and an air ticket, and gave me the address of your hotel. So here I am.’
‘Joanie didn’t mind, you just taking off for Europe to find me?’ Ella asked, trying to picture the conversation between husband and wife. ‘And what about your shifts at the café?’
‘I was owed time off,’ Bob shrugged. ‘And yeah, Joanie thought it was weird. I mean, it is weird. But for the kind of money this nut-job was offering us, what were we gonna do, say “no”? Besides,’ he grinned, depositing the last of the delicious meatballs into his mouth and swallowing greedily before he went on. ‘Joanie’s missed you. We both have. I’m happy to be the guy who busts you out of Jonestown, or whatever kind of a mess it is you’ve been sucked into over here. I don’t suppose you want to tell me what the hell’s been happening since May? Or what this “danger” is that you were in?’
Ella shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Or you’d have to kill me, right?’ said Bob, cheerfully accepting that the conversation was now closed and showing zero inclination to press her. ‘But you’re cool to fly back with me?’
‘Yes,’ said Ella, partly because she was so very happy to see him, and partly because at that moment, she couldn’t think of a reason not to go.
The flight back was long and uneventful. Gabriel had sprung for first-class seats and, to her own surprise, while Bob watched back-to-back movies, Ella fell asleep almost immediately after takeoff and didn’t wake until the cabin lights came back on for the coffee service pre-landing.
Settling back into her apartment and daily life in San Francisco was harder. She didn’t need to find work right away. Helen Martindale, her realtor, had found a temporary renter for Paradise Ranch, which meant Ella had a modest but steady stream of money coming in.
‘I don’t know where you’ve been all this time,’ Helen complained, when Ella finally returned her calls ‘but I’ve had to turn down two huge offers from developers over the summer, wanting to build homes up there. If I’d been able to reach you—’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ said Ella. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m not selling, at least not yet. And certainly not to a developer.’
Some decisions, like that one, felt good. Easy. Black and white. Others – like what to do about The Group, and how to spend the rest of her life – were harder. Grayer. Part of her hoped that the decision would be taken out of her hands. That someone from The Group would contact her, either to congratulate her on completing the Petridis mission solo and try to coax her back into the fold, or to berate her for going rogue with Gabriel and banish her from their service for ever. But as the days and weeks passed and nobody called or showed up on her doorstep, it dawned on her that, as far as The Group was concerned, the ball was in Ella’s court.
When the invitation finally arrived in the mail – a stiff, formal card in a crisp white envelope, old fashioned and elegant, like something out of The Great Gatsby – Ella was astonished to receive it. It was from Mark Redmayne himself, inviting her to a ‘private lunch’ at his Hamptons estate, Oakacres, as if there had never been any problem between the two of them. Folded inside the printed card was a handwritten note, in beautiful cursive script.
Dearest Ella, it read. While your attendance is purely voluntary, I do hope you will come. I believe we would both benefit from discussing certain recent events in person. With warm regards, and in gratitude for your service, Redmayne.
There really wasn’t much to think about. Mark Redmayne was the one person who should be able to tell her where Gabriel was, or at the very least to reassure her that he was safe. That alone would make it worth the trip. But beyond that, after all this time, Ella was wildly curious to meet the elusive Mr Redmayne in person, this shadowy figure who seemed to be disliked by so many of his operatives, and yet whose authority almost everyone unquestioningly accepted.
‘Nearly there.’ The driver spoke over his shoulder to Ella, whose drumming fingers and bitten lower lip suggested growing impatience with the journey. ‘You know what Long Islanders are like in the rain. Everybody slows down to a walk.’
At last they turned off in front of a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates, which swung open to allow the car inside. A long, sweeping driveway led up a gentle slope to a classically designed, white clapboard house, vast and sprawling and with spectacular sea views.
‘Welcome to Oakacres.’ A uniformed manservant opened the door and took Ella’s coat, before leading her through a grand, marble-floored reception room to an elegant conservatory at the back of the house. Part sitting room and part dining area, the furniture was an eclectic mix of antiques and more modern beach pieces. There was a voluminous white sofa, covered in pretty silk cushions, an eighteenth-century card table set up for a game of bridge, and a charming round oak table laid with big bowls of salad and various platters of meat, cheese and poached lobster, already expertly cracked. Scattered around the room were a selection of ‘trophy’ pictures of Mark Redmayne and his attractive, expensive-looking wife, Veronica. In one they were shaking hands with the president in the Oval Office. In another they were laughing with Prince Charles at a polo match. A third showed Veronica by Angelina Jolie’s side at a UN conference. There were no children, Ella noticed, nor even any natural, happy, family shots. She found herself wondering whether Mr and Mrs Redmayne’s marriage was more of a business arrangement than a love match.
‘Ah, Miss Praeger.’ Mark Redmayne walked in, all smiles, and extended a manicured hand in Ella’s direction. ‘We meet at last. Welcome and thank you for coming.’
Ella shook his hand, her eyes scanning his features for anything that might fill in the blanks around his shadowy identity. He was attractive for an older man, handsome despite the lines etched at his eyes and across his brow, with a strong jaw and the straight white teeth and trim figure that spoke both of wealth and of discipline. He takes care of himself. Or perhaps his wife takes care of him. Ella had heard that Redmayne could be both charming and ruthless. Gabriel, in particular, had stressed the latter, but only the former was on display today as he fixed Ella a drink and pulled out a comfortable chair for her, before sitting down himself.
‘So. I suppose I should start by saying congratulations,’ he said, raising his glass to hers once they were both seated. A silent stream of serving staff seemed to have materialized suddenly, filling Ella’s plate while the
two of them toasted. ‘To your successful mission, even if the methods were a little unorthodox. Thanks to you, the world is finally rid of Athena Petridis. You’ve done a great service to mankind, Ella.’
Ella glanced uneasily at the servants.
‘It’s all right,’ Redmayne assured her. ‘You can speak freely here. Everyone on the property belongs to The Group.’
That struck Ella as a distinctly odd turn of phrase. Belongs. As if they were slaves, or property themselves.
‘Remember, I didn’t defeat Athena alone,’ Ella told him, running a hand through her still-short hair, grown out now to a rather fetching pixie cut. ‘Gabriel and I worked as a team.’
‘Yes,’ muttered Redmayne, his expression visibly darkening at the mention of Gabriel’s name.
‘I couldn’t have done it without him. Where is he, by the way?’ Ella asked bluntly. ‘I haven’t been able to reach him since I left Greece. Is he back in the States too?’
Mark Redmayne grimaced, stabbing a chunk of lobster meat with a tiny silver fork. Evidently things were already veering off-script. ‘No.’
Ella waited for Redmayne to elaborate, baiting him with silence.
‘He’s in London. On assignment,’ he said brusquely.
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Ella heard herself asking.
Redmayne sounded shocked. ‘Is that what he told you?’
When Ella didn’t answer, he went on. ‘Whether I like him or not isn’t relevant,’ he said pointedly – and not denying it.
‘It’s relevant to me,’ said Ella, deciding at last to throw caution to the wind. ‘I mean, it’s all very well you congratulating me on the mission now, inviting me out here to your beautiful home. But when Gabriel and I were out there, risking our lives, you did everything you could to thwart us. You were furious. You threatened us. You had us followed. If you’d had your way, Athena would have escaped. Again. And then where would we be?’
Mark Redmayne shook his head. He looked more wounded than angry. ‘That’s not true, Ella. May I call you Ella?’
‘Of course,’ said Ella, frowning. She mustn’t allow herself to be charmed.
‘I was furious with Gabriel. That much is true. I still am, as a matter of fact. But not with you. Your job was to gather data using your remarkable abilities, something you achieved to great effect. His job was to protect you. And he didn’t.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ said Ella.
‘You are,’ agreed Redmayne. ‘But no thanks to him. Believe me when I say I’m as delighted as anybody that Athena has been liquidated, and that you’ve returned home safely. But it could very easily have gone differently. I had sound reasons for wanting to abort your mission. As an experienced agent, Gabriel knew that.’
‘What reasons?’ demanded Ella. But Redmayne was on a roll, venting his anger at Gabriel, his fists clenched with tangible rage.
‘His insubordination, his arrogance … He took risks with your life that were not his to take, and that’s unacceptable in an organization like ours. Secrecy. Trust. These things are crucial to our work. You are crucial to our work, Ella.’
A suited man came in and discreetly tapped Redmayne on the shoulder, whispering something in his ear. He was rewarded with a look of intense irritation.
With great effort, Redmayne calmed himself before turning to Ella, a model of composure once again. ‘Will you excuse me?’ he asked smoothly. ‘I won’t be more than a few minutes.’ And he swiftly disappeared.
Ella glanced around the room. Waiting staff were still flitting in and out, which meant she couldn’t snoop around as much as she wanted to. But she did see that Redmayne had left his tablet lying on the desk near the window. Picking up a copy of Town and Country magazine, Ella pretended to read it while mentally scanning all the boss’s emails from today and yesterday, sent and received. There were a vast number, most of them business related. At first nothing leaped out at her. But after about a minute, she picked up an exchange between Redmayne and a [email protected] from late last night. KM. Ella wracked her brains and focused on the known identities within The Group … Katherine MacAvoy? The thread was entitled ‘EP meeting’. It was short but anything but sweet.
Mark Redmayne had opened the exchange. EP expected here tomorrow as you know. Any final briefing for me? M.
Camp Hope’s head took a full hour to send her first response. No further information, or contact with EP from our side. Surveillance reports as before.
Surveillance reports? Ella bristled. So they’ve been watching me. The fact of it didn’t bother her so much as the realization that she’d had zero idea she was being tailed. She hadn’t even thought to check, in fact. It was embarrassing, after everything she’d learned in the field, that she’d allowed herself to switch off like that. To go back to the naïve young woman she had been before Gabriel, before The Group, before any of it.
But Redmayne’s next message quickly jolted her out of her self-reflection.
In your view, then, the deception has been successful?
And MacAvoy’s reply. Yes, sir. EP unaware, you are good to go tomorrow. Good luck.
Ella’s stomach lurched and a shudder of nausea ran through her. For a moment she feared she might vomit, but thankfully the physical sensations passed. Mentally, however, she was still in shock. She re-scanned the messages twice, to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. But no, the words were there in black in white.
Deception.
EP unaware.
What ‘deception’ was she ‘unaware of’? What the hell was going on?
‘So sorry about that.’ Mark Redmayne glided back in before Ella had a moment to process what she’d read any further. ‘An urgent business matter, I’m afraid. Now, where were we?’ He frowned, belatedly noticing how pale Ella had gone. ‘Are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Ella, deliberately reverting to the exact tone and manner she’d been using before Redmayne left the room. ‘I felt a little nauseous earlier but it passed.’ Clearly she’d made a huge mistake over these last weeks, letting her guard down and forgetting her training. She wouldn’t let it happen again. You’re angry and concerned about Gabriel, she reminded herself.
‘We were talking about Gabriel.’ She leaned forward in a mildly confrontational manner.
Redmayne stiffened. ‘Were we? I thought we’d moved on.’
‘You may have,’ said Ella, forcing what she’d just read out of her mind for the moment. ‘I’d like to know when I’m going to be able to see him. We developed a way of working that—’
‘You will not be working with Gabriel again,’ Mark Redmayne cut her off, bluntly asserting his authority. ‘Ever. You are simply too important an asset. I can’t allow those sorts of risks to be repeated. I’m sorry.’
Like hell you are, thought Ella. But something about his tone gave Ella the sense that she must tread very carefully from here on in.
‘Is he really in London?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.
‘Of course he is. I already told you.’ Redmayne played the ball back with a straight bat.
‘You haven’t hurt him, have you?’
‘Hurt him?’ Redmayne did his best to sound appalled. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Good God. Why would you ask that? What on earth has he been telling you?’
Unfortunately, nothing, thought Ella. Nothing concrete anyway. If only Gabriel had shared more with her about his life and background, she might have been able to find him herself. And help him if he needed it, which she increasingly suspected he did. Instead, she was being forced to rely on the word of a man whom she now knew for a fact had deceived her; and who was still deceiving her, with The Group’s active help, although about what and to what end, Ella wasn’t yet sure. In the past she’d questioned Gabriel’s portrayal of Mark Redmayne as some sort of duplicitous, power-hungry, stop-at-nothing fanatic. She’d assumed he was exaggerating. But now, her antennae were well and truly up.
‘Gabriel is in Londo
n, Ella, I can promise you that,’ said Redmayne, adopting a more conciliatory tone in the face of Ella’s sullen silence. ‘And, as far as I know, he’s safe and well, although his current mission is a challenging one, something he knew before accepting it. But I didn’t ask you here solely to talk about Gabriel.’
‘I understand that,’ said Ella, deciding it would be a smart move to back off a little herself. At this point she wanted to keep Redmayne talking. Perhaps he would unwittingly give away the nature of The Group’s ‘deception’? This secret that he and Katherine MacAvoy and God-knew-who-else were keeping from her.
‘Before we start thinking about your next mission for The Group, I was hoping you could debrief me in person about exactly what happened on Mykonos,’ said Redmayne. ‘A minute-by-minute walk-through, if you like, from your arrival on the island, through to Athena’s termination and finally your escape.’
‘But surely Gabriel walked you through all this already?’ Ella asked.
‘He did,’ acknowledged Redmayne. ‘In fact he turned in a very thorough written report, I’ll give him that. But Gabriel wasn’t in the room when Athena died. Things can get missed. I’d like to hear your first-hand account, Ella, if you don’t mind.’
Ella didn’t mind. She didn’t trust Mark Redmayne as far as she could spit, but it was still a release finally to go through everything hour by hour, moment by moment, laying it all out for another human being without emotion or self-judgment or omission, but as a story, a chronological sequence of factual events. Redmayne listened, calmly but with visible intensity. Occasionally he made notes in a small, Moleskine notepad that he brought out from a dresser drawer, but most of the time he simply sat still while Ella spoke.
Only when she reached the very end of the story – relaying Athena’s final, gasped but emphatic ‘no’ – óχι – did the dynamic between them change.
‘I have been wondering about that,’ Ella mused. ‘Why do you think she said “no” when I asked if she remembered Rachel Praeger?’
The Phoenix Page 34
