‘What? What the fuck did you do to her?’
‘Nothing. Well, we were getting a bit… intimate. She was loving it and then… then she wasn't.’
‘Fuck! This ain't good.’
‘You're saying fuck a lot again.’
He sat back, blew out his cheeks. ‘If you've pissed her off, this whole goddam project could be in jeopardy. Geez, why do you have to be such a pain in my butt, deWinter?’
‘It was only last night, she'll be fine later.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘Fuck.’
Chapter 20
I drove up the ramp and out of the MI6 car park, suffering from a severe attack of paranoid jitters. As I turned left into Albert Embankment and joined the tail of the traffic queue heading to the city of London, I couldn't help glancing in the rear view mirror every few seconds, expecting at any moment a car to come hammering up alongside, and a guy brandishing a gun screaming at me, ‘get out of the car and open the trunk!’
I tried to shake the image knowing it was extremely unlikely to happen, but somehow as the minutes ticked by and the MI6 building was still in view behind me, it just wouldn't go away.
I swore at the traffic crawling along at zero miles an hour and keeping me in the firing line, tried to laugh at myself because now I was saying fuck at least as much as Ryland Cooper did.
But there was nothing even faintly amusing about the hole I was digging for myself, so I gave up trying to laugh it off and went back to saying fuck a whole lot more.
There was no going back now. I'd given what seemed like an Oscar-winning performance to divert attention from the lies I was telling Duncan Scott, withheld what was very likely vital evidence, and given false information to the big man before we'd parted company.
There I'd been lucky; I'd lied to Scott about picking up Zana from a late bar in Richmond… the same bar I'd been in a few weeks before. So at least I was able to give Ryland Cooper details of a place that did actually exist. And to cover my story further I'd said that Zana had been staying in a hotel but she hadn't said which one, and then called into the bar for one drink and ended up having one drink too many.
More lies.
More earth dug out of the hole getting deeper with each passing hour.
The slow tortuous journey back to the apartment gave the sweat plenty of opportunity to bead on my brow again. The red hot suitcase in the trunk just wouldn't leave my thoughts. It was like it was torturing me as much as the London traffic. I wiped the sweat away… what was wrong with me? It was hardly a dead body in the trunk.
Although if it had been, it probably wouldn't have bothered me half as much.
After an hour of grim-faced frustration I finally made the drive to the apartment. I jumped out of the car, a bit too fast. Someone would for sure be watching, especially now. I checked myself, headed towards the trunk, then thought better of it.
It wouldn't do for the monkey watching to see me pull a suitcase out of the car.
I swore again, walked across the drive trying to devise a plan to get a case out of a car without someone watching see me do it. Back in the apartment and ten minutes later, I still hadn't come up with anything.
I had to disguise it somehow. The monkey wouldn't be too close but he might have bins. I'd parked the car near to the entrance to the apartments, but there was still ten metres or so of clear space… ten seconds of time for prying eyes to watch my every move.
Then I knew what to do. Frantic rummaging through a drawer in the kitchen discovered a tape measure. Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the local DIY superstore, backed the BMW into a space on the edge of the car park up against the perimeter fence so no one could see into the trunk, and opened the lid.
I could feel my pulse again as my eyes fell onto the offending suitcase. A few more choice words got spat out as the paranoid jitters came back with a vengeance. I pulled out the tape, measured the case.
In the store I looked for the cardboard box I needed… ok, the box that would contain something I would have to buy and didn’t need, but what the hell?
I found it on the first shelf of the bright-orange-painted racking in the home heating section; a portable oil-filled radiator. I measured the box to be sure the suitcase would fit. At the checkout I grabbed a roll of clear tape, walked back to the car with my purchase held high for all to see.
In the trunk I worked quickly; opened the box and removed the radiator, put the suitcase into the box and taped it up again. Back at the apartment I made sure I took my time lifting the box from the trunk, and walked proudly into the apartment block with it in full view.
And then it was just me and the suitcase. I ripped open the box, lifted it out and placed it on the coffee table.
Now I didn't know what to do. It might be locked, in which case I could do nothing. But lifting the lid might reveal something awful. Something I didn't want to see that would reveal what Zana was up to.
The something really bad that might just break my recently-discovered heart.
I stood, walked away from it, running shaking fingers through my hair.
I had to know, didn't I?
My eyes fell on the brandy bottle, I poured a big one. As I sat back down next to the case, I tipped back the glass and downed its contents in one go.
Chapter 21
Trembling hands that really didn't want to do what they were doing reached out to the innocent-looking blue leather case. Two double-thickness security straps bridged the zip, clasps with built-in locks preventing anyone from opening the lid.
I removed the straps, my fingers felt the coldness of the chrome release buttons, and then hesitated. Were they locked?
Half of me wanted them to be.
Two clicks.
They weren't locked.
That surprised me for a moment, but then I remembered Zana had no reason to lock it. She had never intended calling me or letting me anywhere near the suitcase… but something had happened on the hillside to make her want me by her side. Then exhaustion and emotion kicked in, and now I had the suitcase.
Where the hell was the other one?
The brandy bottle clattered against the glass as I tried to steady my hands to pour another big one. Just one wraparound zip, and I would see the contents of the case. To hell with this. I whipped open the zip, threw back the lid.
I could feel myself breathing rapidly as my eyes scanned the contents. I didn't know what I expected to see, but it sure as hell wasn't what I was looking at.
I could tell straightaway the case was full of clothes; a few other bits and bobs. Exactly what you would expect a girl to pack for a few days away.
But it was the things sitting on the top that had quickened my pulse-rate.
Carefully I lifted them out, put the suitcase onto the floor so I could spread them out on the coffee table. That was nowhere near big enough so I used the floor instead. I arranged them in order, crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees. And then I could see the whole picture.
Spread out in front of me was a full set of ordnance survey maps of London. And now I knew what she'd been doing with her time away.
Sightseeing.
In a manner of speaking.
Strategic points had been circled with a red felt pen. I noted the locations as I crawled across the maps, seeing more and more. It didn't take long to work out there was a pattern emerging. The common denominator was easy to see; the why was a lot more difficult to explain.
Zana had marked every hill in London.
I sat back on my legs, fighting to understand what she could possibly want from the high ground she'd clearly been driving around viewing over the past three days. It wasn't making sense. If she was a terrorist, was her plan to fire a rocket at The Shard or some other landmark building?
You wouldn't get a big enough rocket in the missing suitcase.
I sat back on the sofa, churning over scenarios once more. Maybe she'd liaised with her c
ompatriots? No, that couldn't be… their observers said they hadn't changed their routines in the time she was away.
Whatever she was doing, this looked like a solo project.
'I'm doing it because of you, Madeline,' she'd said. Hardly the bitter words of a war-hardened terrorist.
I gave up trying to make sense of the new piece of the jigsaw, folded up the maps and placed them back in the suitcase exactly as they had been, then closed the lid. As the afternoon sun headed close to the horizon, I stood once more at the window gazing at Zana's apartment, still no nearer to understanding why she was here.
Or even understanding her.
But I had discovered one hard and crucial fact. Whatever the really bad thing was she was going to do, I now knew where she was going to do it.
One of the red circles had been marked with a big black cross.
Dawson's Hill.
Chapter 22
My butt was firmly planted on the barstool that was beginning to feel like my second home. Today was Wednesday, the day Zana said we would next meet up. Although that was before the unexpected call and the rescue mission to Dawson's Hill.
I had a feeling she wouldn't show, and I was right. I left the bar at nine and took a slow walk home. It was lousy weather again, a cold late autumn rain freezing me to the bone.
I knew it wasn't just the rain.
I'd felt sure the phone would ring, and on the other end a remorseful and apologetic Zana would have begged me to go to her so she could make up. Now as I walked along the rain-drenched pavement I was starting to realise there was a side to her that wasn't so good to know.
And somehow that was making the shivers difficult to stop.
I knew I could call her; the thought crossed my mind a few times as I'd sat alone at the bar. But I was reluctant, for two reasons. 'Let her come to you,' Coop had said, and he was right the first time. And sooner or later she'd have to call me, the suitcase and her in different places.
The case was the second reason. I could have used it as an excuse to call, but a better plan would be to pretend when she did ask for it, that I'd completely forgotten it was there.
But now, back in the apartment with the time drifting slowly past eleven, my resolve was crumbling. I wasn't helping the cause, standing at the window looking across to Zana's. I could see the lights were on; she was home and hadn't closed the drapes.
She was awake. Just a few keys pressed and I could talk to her.
I dragged myself away from the window, sat back on the sofa staring blankly at the DIAL phone and my own, sitting next to each other in silence. The urge to call her was getting stronger; I walked away again, but this time to the bathroom. It was time to try for sleep, even thought just lately that seemed to consist of fitful bursts punctuating hours of being awake.
I was just heading for the bedroom when the phone rang. My own phone, thankfully.
Zana.
Damn it hand... why do you spend half your time shaking like a leaf? Somehow I managed to press accept.
‘I need my suitcase, Madeline.’ She sounded distant, cold.
‘Suitcase?’
‘The one in your trunk?’
‘Shit, I'd completely forgotten it was there.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah; I'm so glad you called. How are…’
‘I just want the suitcase please.’
I swallowed hard, she was talking in monotone and it was hurting like hell. ‘I can bring it to you but it will have to be now or tomorrow night… I'm away early in the morning.’
‘Now's fine.’
She was gone.
I threw the phone on the sofa, buried my face in my hands. The awful feeling in my gut was there again, but this time something else was mixed in. She was cold towards me, not the way I expected her to be.
It hurt. Really hurt.
I'd already thought fast; the only way to keep the truth from prying eyes was to carry on the cardboard box deception, and that was a lot easier in the dark. I loaded the case back into the radiator box and taped it up again. I was a little over the limit for driving but it wouldn’t have to matter. Two minutes in the car was all it would take to get there.
I turned into Zana's driveway, saw there was a parking space close to the foyer. I grabbed the box, stood outside the entrance and called her. The lock clicked as she pressed the switch in her apartment, this time I took the lift to the top floor. But as the doors pinged open, something slightly important occurred to me.
Quickly I pressed the button for the ground floor, and as the doors closed ripped open the box. Ok, I was taking Zana's suitcase back, but she might find it a little suspicious if I presented it to her packed in a cardboard box.
I separated the case from the giveaway packaging, and as the doors opened on the ground floor pressed the button for the second floor. Somehow I had to get rid of the box. There were only two penthouses on Zana's floor, and I didn't want to be walking around close to her door with evidence there wouldn't be a hope in hell of explaining away should she see me and spot it! Maybe there would be somewhere to stash it on one of the other floors.
I groaned as I stepped out of the lift, a suitcase in one hand and a ripped-apart cardboard box in the other, praying no one was around. Ahead of me a long carpeted walkway had a few doors leading off either side; nothing else punctuated the space. Nowhere to dump a large unwanted box.
I could see a small window at the far end. Hoping it had an opening light, I headed for it as quietly as possible. It was almost midnight, and not a lot of other sounds around to drown out mine.
Another groan as I reached the window. It did have an opening frame, but if it had been any smaller it wouldn't have existed at all.
Nothing else for it, feeling like the total moron Ryland Cooper had a habit of calling me, I lay the box on the ground and began to stand all over it to flatten it out. I felt like jumping on it from a great height and screaming obscenities insanely, but that would for sure have resulted in a head poked round a door somewhere, and a frightened resident calling the men in white coats.
So I reigned in my frustrations, and finally the box was small enough to push through the tiny opening. The glass was obscure, couldn't see where it landed, but I didn't care. Heading for the lift once more, I breathed an unavoidable sigh of relief that the suitcase and the cardboard box had finally parted company forever.
Chapter 23
I pressed Zana's buzzer, the mother of all bad feelings welling over me. Somehow I knew I wasn't going to like this one bit.
In seconds the door was open. ‘Thank you, Madeline,’ she said as she took the case, her voice emotionless. She wouldn't look into my eyes.
She always looked me in the eyes.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Her face was strained, hollow. Her eyes looked swollen like she'd been crying. I wanted so much to reach out, pull her into me. I knew she would push me away.
‘Can I come in… we can't talk out here.’
She didn't move. ‘There's no talking to do.’
‘I think there is; something's wrong Zana, I want to help.’
‘Right now the only thing wrong is you and me, Madeline.’
Her words were tearing me apart. I couldn’t understand her, couldn’t understand the desperate panic filling my senses. ‘That's bullshit and you know it. You and me, we're… we're a perfect match.’
She laughed, a mirthless sarcastic sound that speared into my soul. ‘Perfect match? Oh if only you knew.’
‘I don't know though, do I Zana? I don't know anything because you're holding out on me.’
‘Me holding out? That's ripe.’ She began to close the door. ‘I'm tired Madeline; thank you for bringing me the suitcase.’
‘Wait…’ I put a hand on the door to stop it closing. ‘At least let us meet… in the bar, tomorrow?’
She fixed a cold stare at my hand on her door. After a few seconds with neither of us moving, I took it away.
‘Am I not making t
hings clear?’ she said, her voice shaking and her eyes misting over. ‘You and me. It's over.’
The door closed.
Our conversation was done.
Chapter 24
I had a problem. A wrecking-ball kind of problem, that smacks you in the face with a ton weight of harsh reality, mashes your head into pulp, and leaves you with nowhere to run.
Harsh reality number one – I’d betrayed my departmental oath, withheld vital evidence, lied through my teeth to my superiors and… for what?
For a woman who had now dumped me.
I was in too deep now. I couldn't look Duncan Scott in the eye and confess all, I'd already committed the crime. MI6 didn't make public knowledge of what it did to agents who went rogue, but I knew it wouldn't be pretty. It might be downright ugly.
But that was only the chain on the wrecking-ball. What was really scaring the shit out of me was harsh reality number two.
The look on Zana's face.
Ok, she'd spoken in cold monotones and made it as clear as glass she didn't want to know me anymore. Except that want was the wrong word… my newly-discovered feelings were telling me there was a lot more to Zana's goodbye than her emotionless words would have me believe.
I had her to thank for that. Two weeks ago in the same situation I would have said something like 'fuck you', and walked away without a second thought.
Now I just felt alone.
I spent most of the day wearing holes in the apartment carpet, pacing up and down trying to understand what was going on. She'd looked awful, standing at the door to her penthouse. Her eyes were red from the tears, she must have been tearing herself to bits over something. It could only mean saying goodbye wasn't what she wanted, more a decision she felt she'd had to make.
Why? Was the really bad thing about to happen? Was it some misguided act to protect me? She'd said she was doing it because of me… what the hell did that mean?
It was five in the afternoon when I finally made a decision. I had to see this through, discover what it was she was intent on doing. And then… then what?
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