Eight

by James R. Vance

  “He was at the villa?”

  Rob smiled. “That's the other good news. He's currently taking a trip on a U.S. submarine. So, again…well done.”

  “Thank you.” Petra felt guilty over her earlier rather petulant attitude.

  Rob placed his arm round her shoulder to give her an affectionate cuddle. “Have you booked your flight from Limoges yet?”

  “Not yet. I thought that I should await the outcome of this sudden meeting. I tried calling you after Jean-Marie contacted me this morning. I had about an hour to pack. Why the big rush?”

  “Sorry. It was all last minute. I'd like you to do me a favour. I'm returning to Lyon later…unfinished business. I need you to come with me. I have booked you on my flight from Limoges. Jean-Marie will drop us off at the airport.”

  “What's the favour?” Petra was somewhat suspicious after all the earlier revelations.

  “Oh, yes,” Rob seemed hesitant. “It's about Massey. He's being discharged from hospital today and will be arriving at Lyon's Saint Exupery airport later to pick up a direct flight to the U.K. It would be helpful if you could accompany him, to see him safely home, as it were.”

  “Me?” Petra exclaimed. “Me, nursemaid to Massey? You must be bloody joking!”

  “Just be cordial with him for a change.”

  “I don't do cordial, especially where he's concerned.”

  Rob smiled, placing his arm around her shoulders again. “A little bird told me that you showed great concern for him when he was shot and in desperate need of attention. You actually bullied the enemy to assist him and send for medics.”

  This time, Petra shrugged him off. “That was different. We were fighting alongside each other.”

  “So, you'll do it then?”

  “I don't suppose I have a choice. Is that an order?”

  “That's an order.”

  She shook her head in affected confusion. “I must be going soft in the head.”

  “So long as you retain your steely resolve when it matters, you'll be fine. Accept this assignment as maturing into the role.”

  She grimaced at him. “Patronising I don't need. I'm me and always will be me.”

  8888

  Petra met up with Massey later at Saint Exupery, where they boarded the 19.25 hrs British Airways flight to London Heathrow. They enjoyed an amicable journey, despite their previous tensions. Eventually, the conversation drifted towards the events of the previous week. Petra also related the gist of the stories that Katherine had disclosed about the family's history.

  Massey showed great interest and encouraged her to continue her attempts to verify what he described as a most incredulous claim. Petra showed him the cigarette case containing the lock of hair and told him about the plastic bag with the head of the bloodstained razor that was in her suitcase.

  “Do you reckon that they could check his D.N.A. with these items?” she asked.

  “I see no reason why not. You should send them for forensic analysis. As you explained, they would have to be checked against the results from the tests on the exhumed remains of the Romanov family. I believe some of the tests were carried out in the U.K.”

  “You're into that kind of research. Could you not help?”

  She had touched the spot. When dealing with criminal investigations, Massey had fashioned his career on analysing clinical forensic detail as opposed to psychological profiling and other new practices. To research something as dramatic as this appealed to his ego, irrespective of it being simply the ramblings of an old woman. Additionally, it would occupy his time during an imposed period of recuperation. He readily accepted the challenge.

  The flight seemed shorter than the expected one and a half hours, probably due to the interesting topics that they had discussed. As Massey had arranged for someone called Caroline to meet him, Petra took the Heathrow express into Paddington, from where she made her way home.

  She was renting a flat in Notting Hill, an area not far distant from the main-line station. She took a cab and phoned Klara as soon as she had settled in. Her sister was amazed that she had enlisted Massey's help and even more so that he had accepted. Petra promised to call as soon as she had news.

  An hour after her conversation with Klara, her mobile rang. The caller was Rob; his tone was serious. “Petra, reports are coming in that one of the suicide bombers has shown his hand. There's been an explosion in Liverpool. Information is sketchy, but it appears that he blew himself up prematurely whilst parking his vehicle.”

  Petra was stunned. “What about casualties?”

  “There have been some, but, according to the latest communiqué, not many. It appears that the Goodison Park stadium was probably the target, as Everton were playing a Monday night game. The device detonated alongside Stanley Park, an area where supporters’ cars and coaches park up before the match. For some reason, the bomber arrived late, possibly not aware of the traffic chaos that precedes matches. Most spectators had left the area and an empty coach appears to have taken the brunt of the explosion. That's the only info currently available. You'll probably learn more, if you switch on your TV.”

  “Bloody hell! You reckon that he was on his way to the stadium?”

  “I would imagine that would have been his target, not a deserted park area. Obviously, the threat level has risen from severe to critical and the search for the remaining suspects will intensify. I'm returning to London first thing tomorrow. Meet me in the office at ten. Sleep well, Petra…there are busy times ahead.”

  Petra switched on the TV; the coverage was on all the news channels. She followed the story for a short time until her eyes capitulated to her sleep deprivation of the past few days. Exhausted from the energy-sapping journey, she was thinking about bed when her mobile rang again just before eleven.

  It was Alexis. “Hi Petra, are you home safe and sound?”

  “Shattered and ready for bed. Can I call you in the morning?”

  “When are you coming back to see me? I still have two tickets for Status Quo.”

  Petra was stunned momentarily. “I've only just left. Take Katherine. I'm sure she'd be up for some rock and roll with you.”

  “I'm missing you already. If you cannot make it over here, how about if I come over to see you?”

  My God, thought Petra, he's serious. I thought it was just a one-night stand. I can't cope with this…he's mad.

  “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I feel as though I'm still travelling. I need some sleep…please?”

  Alexis laughed. “Okay, you win, but if you haven't called by nine, I'll be calling you.”

  “Nine, my time…ten in France. It's a deal.”

  She switched off her mobile, lay on the bed and fell asleep still fully clothed.

  8888

  D.C.I. Massey watched as a gentle mist enshrouded the distant undulations of the Western Fells beyond Wast Water. He had made his previous climb to the 900 metres summit of Great Gable shortly after the sudden death of D.S. Turner, his colleague and brother-in-law. Crouched on the rocky outcrop, he leaned back below the plaque dedicated to those fallen in the Great War. This was his isolated spot, his internet-free chat room, his direct link to his departed friend. Here, he could be at peace and muster his intimate thoughts.

  He contemplated the recent events. The failed suicide bomber's attempt to cause carnage and mayhem in Liverpool had sparked a series of maximum-security measures across the country. Within days of the raid at Bouches-du-Rhône in France, intelligence had yielded addresses in Luton, Leeds, Manchester, Leicester and Birmingham. Domestic counter-terrorism had placed each suspect premises under surveillance. Further leads obtained from interviews with Dumas and his close associates, had led to raids on numerous targeted hotspots, uncovering several safe houses and arresting many suspects.

  As a result, a combined operation involving counter-terrorism units, armed response officers and Special Forces teams had arrested twenty-seven suspects. Of those detained, eight had links with Limoges. During
the raids, one team in the Midlands had discovered a house where one room was adapted into a workshop to produce suicide vests. Because of the exhaustive series of operations, no further attacks had taken place across the U.K.

  Subsequent interrogation of those individuals extracted by the SEALs during the villa assault in Marseille revealed a complex global plot. The combined efforts of security forces and counter-terrorism units around the world prevented any potential carnage. However, government agencies were astutely aware that their successes were merely a temporary reprieve. No one could predict what the future held in an era challenged by new and unprecedented threats to national security.

  Massey reflected on the day that he had arrived back in the North West following his time with the Met in London. If the van driver had not stopped on the Glossop road, the young Frenchman would have been incinerated along with the driver in the car that had skidded down the embankment. The accident investigators may never have discovered his bogus identity and his origins. Nor would they have established his connection to the murder victim in Moss Side, Manchester. The ensuing chain of events may not have happened and the planned attacks could have massacred thousands.

  There is such a fine line, he thought, between survival and mortality. Was it fate that placed me in the Beacon at that specific moment? It's ironic that a suicide bomber had killed Chris, an event that changed my life. Perhaps by returning to my roots, there was the opportunity to be involved in preventing mass carnage by other suicide bombers. Maybe his tragic death had a purpose; it was not in vain, after all.

  The mist was unfurling in a northeasterly direction. Massey was beginning the process of closure. His moment of contemplation had passed. The walk in the fells had refreshed him mentally and physically. It was time to head down towards Seathwaite before the approaching damp shroud obliterated the well-worn track back to civilisation.

  Epilogue

  Alexis wandered into the kitchen. “It's half-time. Anyone fancy a glass of wine?” He had been watching a football match on the television.

  “Petra was about to make a pot of tea,” said Katherine. “Would you not like a cup?”

  “I'll settle for a cold beer,” he replied, opening the door to the refrigerator.

  Several months had passed since their first meeting. The relationship between Petra and Alexis appeared to have blossomed. There was a vague awareness of events and experiences in their past lives, but many confidential issues in their two histories remained undisclosed.

  Petra readily perceived herself as a wayward teenager who had lost both parents in tragic circumstances, but had overcome her heartbreak by accepting a career as an officer with the security services. For obvious reasons, she always omitted to mention her time as Dagmar Kowalczewska, the unrepentant serial killer.

  Petra saw Alexis as a cosseted young man indulged by a protective grandmother after losing both parents in similar circumstances. She formed the opinion that he lived on flights of fancy, lurching from one escapade to the next without any predetermined sensible aims. In some ways, they were alike, especially as they were both now in similar occupations. To Petra, however, control was paramount. Alexis seemed occasionally to be quite gullible.

  “Have you told Petra about the offers that you have received regarding your honeymoon?” asked Katherine.

  “Honeymoon?” cried Petra. “We've not arranged the wedding yet.”

  “Tell her,” said his grandmother. “At least you can think about all the options and make a decision nearer the time.”

  Alexis opened a bottle of beer and gulped a mouthful whilst casting a scolding glance at Katherine. He sat at the table next to Petra. “You remember how I was involved with Roche and Dumas. Well, because of my family history, I became acquainted with several wealthy individuals, some of whom still keep in contact. You know all this.”

  “I didn't know that you still had contact with these people,” Petra said. “Is this a continuation of surveillance? I thought all that had been put to bed.”

  “As you know, the trafficking was stopped, but counter- terrorism units are still trying to track down those who slipped through the net. I was told to keep open as many lines of communication as possible, in case any intel came to light. It's on an outwardly friendly kind of basis.”

  “But with Dumas out of the picture and his operation terminated, how do these contacts think that you can still help them?”

  “They trust me and see me as a radical, wanting to reclaim my birthright,” said Alexis.

  “Which you will one day,” added his grandmother, draining her teacup. A bottle of vodka had appeared on the table. She winked knowingly at Petra.

  “I suppose that you have no problem leading them down that path,” Petra said, mockingly. “Are you still in contact with the Chechens? Do they still believe that you're about to overthrow Putin and the government of the Russian Federation? They must be as gullible as you.”

  Alexis laughed. “They like me because I'm anti-Russian in its current state. They appreciate my idealism. They know that I would welcome change to the system of government. You called it utopia, but I sincerely believe in the possibility. If the world can address the issues of global warming, find alternative energy sources, resolve the financial crisis…surely the small matter of political evolution can be pursued.”

  “Whatever.” Petra felt unwilling to be drawn further into his preposterous obsession. “Anyway, how is all that relevant to this proposed honeymoon?”

  “During my friendly chats with these wealthy contacts, I have mentioned our impending marriage. Because they are fascinated by my heritage, they have offered us the use of several properties complete with servants. These are luxury residences, almost mini-hotels with every facility imaginable. We would have sole use for as long as we wished at no cost. What d'you think?”

  “Sounds too good to be true.” Petra remained suspicious of the motives of his so-called contacts. “What's the catch? What do they want in return?”

  “Nothing…they believe that I'm of royal descent and consider this as a normal gesture to someone of that status.”

  I do not believe this, Petra thought. He's still as deluded as ever. “Where are all these properties? Not in France, I hope.”

  “No, not here. They're in far more exotic and interesting locations. We have a choice of Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Lebanon or even Russia…St. Petersburg to be exact.”

  A vague recollection flashed across Petra's mind…a déjà vu moment. Apart from St. Petersburg, where had she heard mention of those other places before? Her body seemed to snap like a coiled spring.

  Suddenly, she was wide-awake. Trembling, she sat upright in bed, a cold sweat engulfing her skin. Everything had been so real. Despite the medication, the nightmares about Alexis were occurring more frequently. Maybe the medication was the cause. She made a mental note to arrange an appointment with her doctor.

  She glanced at the digital alarm clock…eight thirty. She had overslept. Her mobile rang and vibrated across her bedside cabinet. She looked at the screen: „number withheld'. She answered it.

  “Hello,” said the voice. “Is that Petra Rebovka aka Louise Charrière?”

  Though it was early spring, the year following the Marseille operation, the voice was still familiar. She shuddered; it always affected her in that way. “Hi, yes it's me,” she replied, tentatively.

  “How are you? I hope that I'm not interrupting some clandestine mission with the secret squirrels of the intelligence service.” D.C.I. Massey continued to view her role with some cynicism, openly using sarcasm to express his feelings.

  “No, I'm on a week's leave.” She yawned. “What can I do for you? Is this a social call or strictly business?”

  “Re-charging the batteries, eh?” He paused before continuing. “I have some information concerning your query about D.N.A. I'm afraid that it's not good news. At first, the members of our forensic team were sceptical of checking the samples, but relented eventually. When the resu
lts came back negative, the main discussion then focussed on what market value the cigarette case might have in a collector's antique auction. No one asked about the origins of either the case or its contents. I'm certain that someone will raise that question but I'm sure that you can concoct some vague fabrication to account for the samples' source. There's a full forensic report, a copy of which I would like to send to you privately together with the cigarette case, if you could text me your address.”

  “No problem. I anticipated the results, following everything that has taken place since Marseille.”

  “Another anomaly that discredits his grandmother's tale is that the results from the blood on the razor differed completely from the hair strands.”

  “How gullible am I?” Petra asked with an air of frustration. “She was so convincing…I hung on every word.”

  “Now you know what it feels like to be on the receiving end.” Massey still harboured some resentment over her lies when she was his prime suspect in a murder investigation. He put his feelings to one side. “Do you still keep in touch with Alexis and the others?”

  “I have seen Bobo a couple of times through work. Tom Cathcart returned to Canada to set up his own security company and Jean-Marie writes to me occasionally. I stayed with him and his wife the last time that I visited Alexis.”

  “How is he? I hear that he was receiving treatment following some kind of breakdown. He seemed quite an intelligent young man from my brief encounter with him.”

  “He was too bright, I think. His imagination seemed to overwhelm his logic. Following the investigation, the courts found him guilty of complicity with Dumas, but, because of his undercover work for the security agencies, they merely placed him on a suspended sentence for one year. None of the other claims was proven, despite his continued protestations that he was working with Chechen revolutionaries. Like his grandmother, he had begun to believe his own fantasies. As you remarked, he is still undergoing treatment in the psychiatric hospital. On my last visit, there were some signs of improvement, but it will take time. I must admit that I had a lucky escape there. However, despite his delusions of grandeur, I still have a soft spot for him.”