Tinker, Tailor, Schoolmum, Spy

by Faye Brann

  ‘Chris?’ She did a frantic sweep of the deck. She hoped that he would appear from somewhere then, so that she could ignore the feeling of dread that was growing inside her. ‘Chris?’

  ‘Tariq, where’s Sacha? Where’s Chris?’

  Tariq looked around. ‘Shit.’ Vicky could hear the urgency in his voice as he spoke into his comms again. ‘Suspect on the move, check mid-level and lower decks. Armed, possibly with a hostage.’

  She heard gunfire from below. ‘Tariq!’ She was desperate.

  ‘Go.’ He trained his weapon on the injured gunmen. ‘I’ll take care of things up here. And you?’ He looked over at William, shivering and snivelling in a corner with his wife. ‘Come here so I can arrest you.’

  Vicky rushed down the stairs. ‘Chris!’ With no sign of him on the main deck, she carried on, stopping dead as she reached the lower deck and surveyed the scene before her. Jacob was there, a rifle trained on Sacha, the little red dot marking out his aim on Sacha’s forehead. Sacha was backing up towards the jet skis, with a gun pointed to the side of Chris’s head.

  ‘Chris!’

  ‘Don’t move!’ Sacha tightened his grip on Chris and Vicky gasped.

  ‘It’s okay, Vics … I’m okay.’ Chris tried to smile, but she could see he was shaking all over. They were running out of time. She gently placed her gun on the floor and pleaded with Sacha. ‘Let him go. He has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Tell him,’ Sacha said, motioning to Jacob. ‘Tell him to put down his gun too.’

  ‘Put your weapon down,’ she said to Jacob.

  ‘Vicky, it’s not the way to—’

  ‘That’s my husband and I’m telling you, Jacob, put your weapon down!’ She turned her back to him, to give him a full view of her gun she’d taken earlier, still tucked into the back of her trousers. Jacob laid down the rifle and put his hands up.

  ‘You made this too easy for me,’ Sacha said.

  Vicky met her husband’s eyes and tensed her back against the gun in her waistband. ‘Ditto,’ she said.

  In the moment before she pulled out the hidden weapon, Chris lunged at Sacha’s legs, taking them all by surprise.

  ‘No!’

  Jacob sprinted towards the two men as they toppled backwards and began wrestling on the deck. Sacha’s gun flew out of his hands and Chris scrabbled at his arms to try and pin him down but was overpowered in a matter of moments. The fat Russian rolled over to sit on top of Chris and threw a heavy punch.

  ‘Chris!’

  Chris slumped against the side of the boat, his nose bleeding, just as Jacob launched himself at Sacha. The two of them rolled away across the floor, Jacob being the quicker to recover, but Sacha being the more fortunate, landing within reach of the gun. Jacob, unarmed, tried to grab at Sacha’s hands, to force his point blank aim up and away. But Sacha was a powerful man, and Jacob wouldn’t be able to hold him for long. Vicky steeled herself to take aim. There was no way she would have another operative sacrifice himself because of her.

  The first bullet hit Sacha squarely in the back of his shoulder, the gun flying away from him for a second time. The second and third shots hit his left leg. He fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around him as Jacob, exhausted, reached across with cuffs and secured him.

  Vicky put down her gun, ignoring the bile in her throat, and ran towards Chris. She crouched down in front of him and cupped his head in her hands.

  ‘Chris, Chris! Are you okay? Can you hear me?’

  Chris moaned again and opened a swollen eye. ‘Ouch,’ he said.

  The boat docked, and Vicky could see a heavy military police presence on the walkways and in the surrounding waters. Unmarked cars were parked up, waiting to take the prisoners to their next destination: a less-than-salubrious Dubai prison for the ship’s captain and his crew, and the airport for Sacha and William.

  She was tending Chris’s injuries with an ice-wrapped tea towel when Sacha appeared on the lower deck. He was still bleeding, although Tariq had tied a tourniquet around his leg using once-white towels from the hot tub. The guards taking him towards the gangplank seemed largely unconcerned.

  Sacha stopped in front of her. ‘You.’ His voice was weak and watery, but full of hatred. ‘You shot me. Again.’

  Vicky shrugged. ‘Not much different to paintball. To be honest, I thought you’d be harder to hit.’

  He raised his handcuffed wrists and shook them at Tariq, who was standing nearby. ‘You can’t just arrest me. You don’t have any proof I did anything illegal – and Dubai doesn’t even have an extradition treaty.’

  ‘You underestimate us, Mr Kozlovsky,’ Tariq said. ‘We have all the proof we need. Although I must admit my favourite part was blowing it all up a short time ago, along with your terrorist buyers.’

  Sacha looked shocked. ‘You knew who they were?’

  Tariq nodded. ‘We know everything. We have witnesses, too. And with regards to your arrest, well, the Dubai authorities were very interested to hear about your bribes and your blatant disregard for their rules and regulations – and how you took out a hit on someone in one of their landmark hotels nine years ago.’ Tariq held up an evidence bag with a passport inside. ‘What was your plan, “Igor Petrushev”? Run to Iran, get to Russia, and then where?’

  ‘You can’t take me. They will want me here, to make an example of before they send me back to Russia.’

  ‘Despite your desire, I’m sure, to spend a few months behind bars here before you can pay your way out and wait for another passport to be printed, Dubai have been very accommodating when it comes to taking you back with us. Frankly, you’re lucky my colleague here didn’t put a bullet through your head.’ He nodded to the men holding Sacha. ‘Take him to the plane,’ he said.

  Sacha snarled and looked at Vicky, his eyes suddenly narrowing. ‘You knew about all of this. You’re one of them.’

  Vicky smiled back at Sacha. This was going to feel good. ‘Let’s just say, all those days spent baking cakes at your house weren’t a total waste of time.’

  ‘I should have known you weren’t there because you actually liked my wife. Or did she know? Did that bitch rat me out?’

  ‘Matisse didn’t know anything.’

  ‘But she stole my money.’

  ‘She knew you were leaving her. She told me as much before we came to Dubai. She might have taken your money, but she wasn’t the one who betrayed you.’

  ‘So, who is the one who gave you all this proof then? William?’

  ‘No, not William. His liaison with Matisse and the NCA was just as much of a surprise to us as it was to you.’

  ‘Anatoli?’ Sacha’s face was sick with realisation. He spat at the ground. ‘That bastard! Three times I had it in my power to kill him and three times he has escaped, and each time I learn more about how he’s fucked up my life.’

  ‘I think you’ll find you did that all by yourself, Sacha.’ Vicky said. She waved. ‘Have fun in prison.’

  ‘I hope you rot in hell.’ The men guarding him pulled roughly at him and he began to limp away.

  ‘You, my friend, are the one who will rot. Oh, and thank you for the money,’ Tariq called after him. ‘Seems your wife was telling the truth. We’ve just received details of a rather large anonymous deposit made to the NCA.’

  An hour or so later, the yacht bobbed in its moorings, the magnificence of Dubai Marina rising up all around. Tariq had asked Vicky to stay for a debrief, and she had agreed as long as they had access to a very large glass of something and a few packs of baby wipes to get off the worst of the blood. The top deck had been sealed off, but the bar inside the boat was still accessible. Chris and Vicky made their way to it and poured themselves a drink, before going back outside to sit at the long-forgotten dining table.

  ‘God, Vics, you were amazing,’ Chris said, wincing as he sat down. ‘You saved all our lives. I didn’t know – didn’t … I mean, if you weren’t …’

  She took his hands in hers. ‘I’m sorry, C
hris. After everything I promised, you were the one with a gun to your head.’ She put her head down. ‘I didn’t save you. I failed you.’

  ‘No.’ Chris lifted her chin with his finger. ‘You promised you’d protect me, and you did. When I saw you, when Sacha had that gun pointed at my head, I knew I could trust you. I knew that whatever your reasons were for wanting to do this insane job, that you wouldn’t fail.’

  He leant into her and gave her the most enormous kiss. Vicky melted into it, feeling the love and offering it straight back to her wonderful, brave husband. They separated finally.

  ‘Did you check on the kids?’

  ‘They’re all fine. You kept your promise to them too.’

  Vicky held on tight to Chris. ‘I always thought I’d failed before, because I got too emotionally involved. That it was a weakness. But maybe this time around, it was a strength. Maybe having you and the kids to worry about – and Matisse and Dmitri, and Anatoli – it gave me a clarity and determination I’ve never felt before.’ She looked up at him. ‘I always thought it was better to work alone. But I don’t think I could have done it without you.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m your faithful sidekick?’

  ‘Let’s just say, next Halloween we’re the ones going as Batman and Robin,’ she grinned.

  Chris nodded towards the couple embracing in a dark corner of the deck. ‘What about them? What do you think they will do now?’

  Vicky looked to where Matisse and Anatoli stood, lips locked, oblivious to everything around them. ‘I have an idea,’ she said.

  ‘Ahem, ah, sorry, excuse me.’ Helena appeared, looking pale, her eyes and face swollen with crying. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, Victoria. I don’t know how you did it, but you saved my life. You saved all our lives.’

  Vicky smiled. ‘You’re welcome, Helena. How is William?’

  Helena’s face crumpled. ‘He’s being detained. He did a good thing, in the end, even if he was seduced by her into doing it … but he’s been Sacha’s accountant for a long time and there’s a lot of tax evasion and money laundering charges he still needs to answer for … I can’t believe he was so mixed up in all of this.’

  She started to cry again, and Vicky reached out to give her a hug.

  ‘I thought he was a lot of things, but I didn’t think he was a criminal,’ Helena moaned. ‘I knew we should never have got on this boat. What will I tell the kids?’

  ‘I think you have to tell them the truth.’

  Helena sniffed and nodded. ‘They’ve told me I’m free to go.’

  ‘Well that’s good.’

  She broke away from Vicky and wiped her eyes. ‘Well, goodnight … and Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Helena?’ Vicky took a deep breath and squeezed Chris’s hand. ‘Would you and the kids like to join us for Christmas lunch? We’re going to a resort in the desert, there will be camel rides and dancing and a big pool to hang out by. I know it’s not going to be a great Christmas for you, but—’

  Helena’s face broke out into a weary smile. ‘That would be wonderful, Vicky. Thank you for the offer. But I think we’d better go home.’

  She turned and made her way down the stairs to the lower deck. Chris let go of Vicky’s hand and poured them another drink. They clinked glasses and looked out at the skyscrapers twinkling, their reflections bouncing off the dark water.

  ‘I have to debrief with Tariq,’ Vicky said.

  ‘Actually, I’ve agreed with Jonathan you can do that when you get home,’ Tariq said, appearing from the upper deck with Jacob. ‘I think it’s high time you got off this boat and went home to your kids.’

  Jacob waggled a set of keys. ‘I’m driving. You’ve had too much champagne.’

  ‘What about them?’ Vicky said, nodding towards Matisse and Anatoli. ‘Will Matisse be able to come too? Our kids are in her villa.’

  ‘We’ll take care of Matisse. Ollie and Evie were taken back to the Sofitel at 10 p.m. by an officer, once we’d radioed in. You can go straight back there.’

  ‘What about Dmitri?’

  ‘Don’t worry about Dmitri, or Matisse right now,’ Tariq said. ‘They’ll be fine.’

  ‘Come on,’ Chris said. ‘Let’s go and hug our children. Whether or not they like it.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Vicky said.

  Epilogue

  Matisse packed up the last of the bags and brought it down the staircase to sit by the front door with the others. On her way, she passed Sacha’s office. She glanced in at the blank walls, wondering where the cameras had been, where the bugs were planted, and if they had been removed before she and Dmitri had flown back from Dubai. Vicky had assured her they would be gone before the next owners took up residence. No one would ever know.

  Matisse continued down the winding staircase and into the kitchen, her footsteps echoing. The rest of the house looked as empty as the office, the bare bones of the place that used to be their home, now that the paintings and personal effects, such as they were, had been boxed and put on a shipping container. The cold January light seeped through the patio doors. She went to the cupboard for a glass and then remembered there were none; there was just a single unwanted mug on the draining board that she upturned and filled, taking a long gulp.

  ‘Dmitri, do you want a drink before we go?’ She called up the stairs again, her voice echoing in the emptiness.

  ‘No thanks.’

  A last check that all the doors were locked and the windows closed. The sound of her heels on the floor reverberated all around as she walked. She checked the laundry room and saw a package on the side, for Sacha, that must have been missed by the movers. More shirts, she supposed; she’d leave them for the next people to do what they wanted with them. Where Sacha was, he wouldn’t be needing them, not for a long time.

  Upstairs, she called to Dmitri.

  ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘We’ll miss our plane.’

  ‘I wish we could stay here, Mama,’ said Dmitri. ‘I still don’t understand why we have to go now. I didn’t get to say goodbye to any of my friends.’

  ‘You said goodbye to Evie, and we’ve been through this, Dmitri. It’s not safe for us here. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. Papa – Sacha – knows a lot of bad people, and we need to go somewhere where they can’t find us.’

  Dmitri’s eyes filled with tears. Her heart did the same.

  ‘Will he be there, in America? I don’t want him there. I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘Dmitri, this isn’t the right way to speak about Anatoli. I know everything is new and difficult, but believe me, he is a good man. There is no rush to feel love for him, but I hope that in time you do. Please, trust me that it will be okay.’

  The thought of Anatoli filled her with warmth. After Sacha and his men had been arrested, they had spent hours together on the boat, oblivious to everything but each other. Late into the night, they finally said their goodbyes.

  ‘I have to go now.’ She’d kissed Anatoli gently. ‘I need to get back to Dmitri. Tomorrow will not be easy for him.’

  Anatoli kissed her again. ‘Is it too soon to say I love you?’

  Matisse closed her eyes and felt him tight against her. ‘Never.’

  ‘I’m going to America,’ he said. ‘They promised me a passport, if they got Sacha. Come with me. Both of you. You’ll be safe, somewhere he’ll never find you. We can start a new life, the one we were supposed to live.’

  She kissed him again. ‘I need some time just for Dmitri and I first, and to think about what is right for him. All this will be very hard for him, you understand?’

  ‘I understand. And I will wait for as long as it takes for you both to be ready.’

  When she got back to London, to the house, Matisse knew that no matter what happened between her and Anatoli, she couldn’t stay there. She decided they would go to America, but that Anatoli would live in his own apartment until such time as Dmitri was ready for them to be a family. Anatoli had been set up in a small town on the Wes
t Coast that seemed like a good fit for all of them, and so, without wanting to waste any more time, she’d begun the process of putting the house up for sale and leaving their old life behind.

  It all fell into place very quickly. A man called Jonathan had invited her to meet for lunch, where he informed her that she and Dmitri would be offered witness protection and handed her new passports and visas for her to travel to the States. Between the proceeds from the house and the money Matisse had transferred from Sacha’s bank accounts – which had been mercifully left alone by the security services – it would be enough for her and Dmitri to live on for the rest of their lives. Dmitri would keep his name; hers, and their surname would be changed. The school would be notified that Dmitri would not be returning for the spring term. His records had been altered and forwarded to his new school in America, where a place had already been secured. Matisse would give evidence in Sacha’s court case via video, to save her appearing in person. Her paintings, her clothes, her boxes full of photos, would all be shipped to her new address in the next few weeks. Vicky had kindly offered to collect any post and make sure the house was left tidy and clean for viewings.

  Victoria Turnbull. Matisse smiled again. She had known there was something about her friend that was different, but she’d never guessed it was because she was a spy. She’d come over after breakfast the morning after Sacha’s arrest, and confessed to bugging his office, accidentally uncovering her deepest secret hidden in a box of photographs, and faking a competition win to Dubai so she could catch Sacha in the act of an illegal arms trade. Matisse found herself laughing like she hadn’t laughed for years, at the ridiculousness of it all.

  ‘You mean you joined the PTA as a cover?’ she said. ‘All those cakes, those meetings, the Christmas Fair … all in the name of national security?’

  ‘You’d be surprised the lengths I’m willing to go to.’ Vicky joined in the laughter. ‘Christ, I even joined the WhatsApp group.’