“Nah. I hate to repeat myself.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll get a Lotus. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to drive one.”
A police car drew up, lights flashing, and not far behind it came an ambulance. The police officers, a man and a woman, set about interviewing people. Their first witness was the owner of the wall that had stopped the runaway Mercedes’ progress. He gestured angrily at it as he spoke.
Seeing the paramedics looking round for the car’s occupants, Ash struggled to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you checked out.”
“What about you?”
“I had a softer landing.”
In spite of Ash’s protestations, the paramedics insisted on checking her over first, but she escaped with a dab of antiseptic to a grass cut on her cheek. Then they turned their attention to Jemma. While they cleaned the gravel from her scraped hands, she winced and gritted her teeth, but the salve they put on soon eased the stinging. The fire crew, meanwhile, had succeeded in dousing the flames.
“Uh oh,” muttered Ash, and Jemma followed her glance. The two police officers had finished with the wall owner and were striding towards them, expressions grim. “Looks like it’s time to face the music.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Jemma nodded her thanks to the paramedics, who packed up their kit and prepared to leave. “If it hadn’t been for you, there could have been God knows how many more injured. At the very least they’d have a derailment on their hands. As it is, well what’s the damage? A wall, a car, and some bumps and bruises. Not bad, if you ask me.”
“We don’t know whose fault it was,” said Ash. “I’ve never had controls go dead on me like that before.” Her brows drew together. “I’d like to have the lab boys go over what’s left of the Merc with a fine tooth comb.”
The police had halved the distance between them and were still coming when a thought occurred to Jemma. She pulled out her mobile phone and dialled a number. Ash raised an eyebrow in query.
“Liaison,” she explained.
The voice at the other end was brisk. Jemma gave this week’s password and said what she wanted. He told her not to worry, he would get right on it. As she hung up, the officers reached them.
On learning that Jemma was merely the passenger, they dismissed her from their deliberations and rounded slightly threateningly on Ash. Waving aside her explanation about unresponsive controls, they produced a breathalyser kit and demanded she blow into it. The negative result clearly took them aback. So much for not prejudging the situation! thought Jemma. After that, their manners improved, marginally. But it was the radio message from Control that changed their attitude to one of complete co-operation.
Ash winked at Jemma and mouthed, “Thanks.”
By the time the police drove away, Ash had received permission to get the Mercedes towed and examined by the Organisation’s forensic lab—the police would be provided with a copy of the findings. She had also mollified the wall owner with a number he was to call once he had obtained an estimate of the rebuilding costs.
The last of the emergency vehicles drove away and, show over, the residents retreated indoors. Jemma watched them go with a pang of envy—she and Ash would have to hang around until the Mercedes was retrieved. It was just as well, it was a fine night. Suddenly weary, she glanced at Ash and saw she felt the same. She wrapped a comforting arm round Ash’s waist, and Ash reciprocated.
Five minutes later, flashing yellow lights announced the arrival of the tow truck and Ash left Jemma’s side to have a word with the driver. She returned with a wide smile and the welcome news that he had agreed to drop them both off at her flat on his way back.
“Thank God for that,” said Jemma. “I can’t wait to get home. What a day.”
Ash gave her a wry smile. “And it started out so well.”
Chapter 3
IT WAS TEN am when Ash creaked out of bed. As predicted, the events of last night had taken their toll. And not just on her.
“I feel like a ninety-year-old,” said a bleary-eyed Jemma, joining Ash in the kitchen, where she was making breakfast.
“None available. Will I do?”
“Ha ha.” Jemma slid an arm around Ash’s waist and leaned against her.
Even in sleep, Jemma had kept close contact with Ash. A need for reassurance after their near miss or just a manifestation of the new sexual dimension of their partnership? Whatever the reason, Ash was happy to oblige. She planted a kiss on the crown of Jemma’s head.
While Ash had dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Jemma was wearing her nighty, which did little to disguise her curves. Ash was tempted to skip food altogether and take her back to bed.
Jemma’s stomach rumbled. “What’s for breakfast?”
Oh well. Ash pointed at the loaf of bread. “Toast and honey again. Sorry. Never did get to the shops.”
“We must do that first thing.”
The coffee had brewed, so Ash poured them both a cup. Jemma sipped hers while wandering round the kitchen, reading the notes pinned to the corkboard, picking up and putting down a pepper mill, a cookery book, a pot of dried Basil … Ash popped two more slices of bread in the toaster and found the nearly empty jar of honey. Yesterday it had been half full, but that was before Jemma discovered she liked licking it off Ash’s skin.
“Hey. You’ve got four messages.”
She turned, knife in hand, and saw that Jemma was standing by the answerphone. “I knew there was something I’d forgotten.”
The phone had rung twice yesterday while they were making love, but Ash had been damned if she was going to ask Jemma to bookmark their place. The other calls must have come in while they were in Hertfordshire, or perhaps overnight—they had both been dead to the world as soon as their heads hit the pillow.
“Who from?” Ash tried to scrape a blob of honey off her sweatshirt, but only made matters worse.
By way of reply, Jemma squinted at the answerphone and pressed a button.
“Miss Blade,” came the modulated tones of Thompson’s secretary. “Your appointment with Dr. Aston has been arranged for ten-thirty a.m., Friday the fifteenth.” Ash’s heart sank. “Mr. Thompson also said to remind you that attendance is mandatory. Thank you.”
Tomorrow? Why the rush?
“Are you going to go?” asked Jemma.
Ash shrugged. “You heard what she said. Mandatory.”
“I wonder when my appointment is?”
The answerphone beeped to announce the next message. “Oh, and Miss Blade.” It was Thompson’s secretary again. “If Miss Jacobs is with you, which Mr. Thompson seems to think is more than likely,” Ash and Jemma exchanged a glance (Trust him to pick up on it, the sly old fox.), “her appointment with Dr. Aston is on Thursday the fourteenth at midday. Thank you.”
“Bloody hell! That’s today.” Jemma checked her watch. “Just over two hours. They could give a girl a bit more notice.”
Ash went to the answerphone and pressed the pause button. “Postpone it.”
“And how would that look? My very first appointment with the new psychologist, and I put it off.”
“Who cares how it looks? We’re on leave. Last night we nearly got killed. And … and anyway, Aston rubs me up the wrong way.”
“I don’t think that counts as a legitimate reason for postponing, love. Besides, isn’t trauma the kind of thing Aston wants to help us with?” Jemma frowned at Ash’s sweatshirt. “You’ve got honey all over you.”
“I know.”
“Look, you said you’d give him a chance.” She followed Ash to the worktop and filched her slice of toast.
“Hey!” Ash rolled her eyes and spread honey on another slice. “Not exactly. Aston asked me to give him a chance. I think you’ll find I left my options open.” She put down her knife, and for a moment the only sounds in the kitchen were of contented crunching.
Jemma chewed and swallowed. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
&
nbsp; Ash drank some coffee before answering. “Um. Red hair? Trying to hide fat jowls under a beard? Wearing glasses he doesn’t need? Pick one.”
“Be serious.”
But Ash was unable to put her gut feeling into words. “Look. I just don’t like him. Okay? What kind of a shrink brings up Sam out of the blue like that?”
Sympathetic eyes regarded her. “You miss him a lot, don’t you?”
“Every day.” Ash examined her fingernails. “I still dream about him sometimes.”
“That’s only natural.”
She feared that Jemma was going to delve deeper into what was still a very painful subject, but to her relief Jemma simply regarded her gravely and asked, “Do you dream about me?”
As thanks for changing the subject, Ash kissed her on the cheek. “Of course.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“What kind do you think?”
Jemma flushed a becoming shade of pink, but she didn’t drop her gaze. She grinned and took another mouthful of toast.
The answerphone light was still blinking. Ash went to it and poked the play button with her forefinger. A man’s voice filled the room. Uncultured, a strong Cockney accent. Instantly recognisable. Janus.
“Blade,” said Janus. “We need to meet. Tomorrow.” There was a pause as if he was checking something—his diary? “Er, that’s the fourteenth. Usual place. Usual time.”
Jemma looked intrigued. “That was cryptic.”
Ash pressed the pause button. “An informant of mine. Codename: Janus.” Real name Neal Travis.
“The god with two faces? Doesn’t sound very reliable.”
“He stretches the truth sometimes, but he never makes it up. Small time burglar, got teeth like a rabbit.” Jemma wrinkled her nose at Ash’s description. “Been slipping me information he’s picked up on the street for three years now. Wonder what he’s got for me this time.”
“Usual place?”
“Chislehurst Caves.”
“Why there, for heaven’s sake?” asked Jemma.
“He thinks being underground lessens the chance of surveillance.” Ash shrugged. “Personally, I think if someone is set on eavesdropping, they can do it anywhere. But it keeps Janus happy.”
“And the usual time?”
“Four p.m.”
“Can I come?” Jemma batted her eyelashes. “I’ve never been to Chislehurst Caves. And my session with Aston should be over well before then.”
It might be a good idea for Jemma to meet Janus. “Okay. But when we get there, hang back so I can clear things with him first. I don’t want him getting spooked.”
Jemma nodded then grimaced. “I’ve just remembered. I was hoping to pop back to my flat. Some leave this is turning out to be.”
“Tell me about it.” Ash pressed the play button again.
“Blade, this call is unofficial,” came Thompson’s voice, echoing around the kitchen. The sombreness of his tone, and the fact he had rung her himself rather than delegated it to his secretary, set alarm bells ringing. “But I thought you’d want to know. There’s been an incident. Cork tried to kill Morand.”
“What?” Ash felt as though someone had winded her.
“Who’s Cork?” asked Jemma.
Ash raised a hand for silence.
“Morand’s okay. A bit battered but okay,” continued Thompson. “But we’ve had to sedate Cork and put him in a cell. Dr. Aston thinks it’s brainwashing—he’s working on finding out more.” There was an awkward pause, and Ash pictured her boss trying to come up with the right words. “It doesn’t look good. Unless Dr. Aston can break him out of it, Cork could be permanently insane. Sorry.”
With a last bleep, the answerphone fell silent, and Ash resisted the urge to throw it across the room. She stood, trying to make sense of Thompson’s message.
Jemma slid her arm around her waist. “Are you all right? You’ve gone really pale.”
She blinked and found Jemma regarding her from close quarters. “I’m fine. It was just … a shock, that’s all.”
“Who’s Cork?”
“Martin Cork. An old friend of Sam’s.”
“I think I’ve heard of him.”
“Hardly surprising. He and Jeff Morand were involved in that business in Malta.”
“The foiled assassination attempt?” Jemma frowned. “So it’s his partner he’s tried to kill?”
Ash nodded. “It doesn’t make sense. Corky would never harm a hair on Jeff’s head—in fact he’s saved his life more times than you and I have had hot dinners.” She drummed her fingers on the worktop. “I hate to agree with Aston on anything, but brainwashing’s the only explanation.”
“But how?”
“And when, where, and why,” said Ash. “I have to see Corky. There may be something I can do.” She grabbed her leather jacket from the chair back, and turned to take the Mercedes’ keys from the hook. “Shit! I forgot.” She froze, arm outstretched. “No car.” She could always get the train to Chislehurst, but—
“You can use mine, if you like,” said Jemma. “It’s at my parents’ though. I don’t have anywhere to park it in London, you see, and the tube and bus are always handy … Want me to ask Dad if he can drive it up from Croydon this morning?” She blushed. “It’s a Citroen Dyane.”
Ash chuckled, and Jemma’s expression changed from embarrassed defensiveness to indignation.
Ash put her arms around Jemma. “Sweet of you, but there’s no need to put your father out. I bought the Merc from the car showroom just round the corner. They stock Lotuses too. If they won’t sell me one on the spot, I’ll persuade them to let me take it for an extended test drive or something.”
Jemma gaped at her. “Can you afford it? Before the insurance has paid up?”
“Let’s just say that my career as a cat burglar was short but lucrative. Plus,” Ash tapped the side of her nose, “over time the tangible thanks of grateful governments and world leaders have mounted up.” She grinned. “How else do you think I can afford a flat in central London?”
“I did wonder.”
Thoughts of Corky and Jeff’s situation returned, and Ash’s grin faded. “I have to go.” She gave Jemma a kiss of apology.
“If you must.” Jemma bumped Ash with her hip, and with a smile Ash shrugged her jacket over her shoulders and headed for the door.
“About Chislehurst,” called Jemma, halting Ash in the doorway. “As we both have to be at HQ today, how about I meet you there after my appointment with Aston, and we have lunch, then go down together?”
“Good idea,” said Ash. “See you later.”
ASH DROVE DOWN the ramp into the underground carpark, more than satisfied with her latest acquisition. If ever a car had her name on it, this was it.
The red Lotus Elise had crouched on the showroom forecourt like a wild cat preparing to pounce on the pedestrians on the other side of the plate glass. She had slid into the driving seat, shoved it back as far as it would go, and was trying it on for size when the young salesman tried to impress her with his patter. Unfortunately, he thought because Ash was female she was ignorant of what went on under the bonnet. She was about to tear him off a strip when his boss emerged from his office. Recognising Ash, he hurried over, beaming and rubbing his hands.
“Miss Blade, isn’t it?” He shooed his subordinate away. “Nice to see you again. Come to trade in the Mercedes?”
Ash shook her head. “Wrote it off.”
Her bald statement made him flinch, but he made a good recovery. “Sorry to hear that. Well. As always, you have excellent taste. We took delivery of the Lotus only yesterday. Lovely little car. Does zero to sixty in five and a half seconds. Close to 1800cc—”
“Can I take her for a test drive?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Certainly.” He beckoned to the loitering salesman. “Carl here will—”
“On my own. For half an hour or so.”
He pursed his lips. “Well—” She could almost see his brain working, w
eighing up the pros and cons. She had bought a Mercedes, and her cheque hadn’t bounced. Her central London address was already on file. If she left some security—
Ash proffered her driving licence and chequebook, and his gaze flickered as he took in the prestigious logo on the chequebook. “Carl. Fetch the keys to the Lotus, and make it snappy.”
Minutes later, she was out on the streets of London, putting the little convertible through its paces. It took her a few miles to get the feel of it—it was noisier than the Mercedes and handled differently. It had a lighter, pared down, almost go-kart feel to it, and required much more from the driver, but Ash liked that. Guess I’m a “back to basics” kind of girl. The run convinced her that this was the car for her. She drove back into the showroom and told the senior salesman he had made a sale. His smile threatened to split his face open.
“Please. Step into my office, won’t you, Miss Blade?”
After some further questions, a few phone calls, several signatures, a large cheque transferred from her hand to his, and a firm handshake, the Lotus was hers.
Ash eased it into her allocated parking slot, got out, and looked into the whirring CCTV lens. “Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got a new motor,” she told the hidden observer. “Like it?” She jogged across the carpark towards the lift.
MOST OF ASH’S colleagues had never ventured onto the floor were the cells were. They were fortunate, did they but know it. Here enemy agents were interrogated, without benefit of legal counsel, and operatives suspected of treachery were held pending investigation. Ash had participated in the proceedings a couple of times and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. They were unpleasant and undoubtedly contravened UK law, not to mention breaking several international treaties.
As she strode along the windowless corridor towards the locked double doors, she wondered what awaited her. Two armed guards frisked her, relieved her of her pistol, and pressed a button. With a whirr and a clunk the doors slid open, and Ash walked through into the reception area. The woman behind the desk nodded at her and went back to her computer.
A slight figure in a black sweatshirt and faded jeans had risen to his feet at Ash’s arrival. Now he came towards her, his expression welcoming. “Blade. Thanks for coming.”
Licensed to Spy Page 25
