The crack was so faint Eva almost didn’t hear it.
The centre of Justin’s red shirt grew darker, the darkness moving outward like a stain. Dark red over bright red. He gazed at the wound, confused. Then his mouth opened in silent shock, his eyes staring pleadingly at Eva.
One second he was gawping at her, the next, Justin’s limp husk toppled off the side of the carriage like a lifeless mannequin. The body fell, colliding with the spokes of the wheel on its horrific trajectory to the ground.
Eva covered her mouth as she screamed. The next minute took an eternity.
When the carriage finally neared the ground, she leapt off and landed hard. She scrambled to the body. Isabella was already there, towering over it with her pistol in hand.
Shock etched across her face. “’e ‘ad a gun. I ’ad to take the shot.”
Volmer approached quietly, staring at the body.
Eva wiped away a tear. “I didn’t see a…”
Before Eva could finish the sentence, Isabella leaned down and rolled the body over. Clutched in Justin’s lifeless hand was a small black pistol.
Eva never saw the pistol. But there it was. If he had a gun why didn’t he use it to fight his way out? And why hadn’t Eva seen it? She’d been so close.
The police strode up, guns ready, searching for further threats. Isabella held her pistol up, finger off the trigger, relinquishing it. One of the officers took it from her and motioned for her to follow. The police would have many questions. They weren’t the only ones.
Volmer peered down at Justin’s body and nudged it with his foot, as if trying to confirm that he was truly dead. He grunted.
“I did not see a gun either.”
Chapter Five
“You think this is about terrorism?”
The words echoed around Eva’s skull.
She sat in the BVT cafeteria on an uncomfortable aluminium chair, drinking appalling coffee from a styrofoam cup. Eva gazed out into the courtyard, where a lone anaemic tree was silhouetted in the fading light of the day. The tree seemed oddly menacing, its bare branches extended like skeletal fingers clutching at the night.
One thought occurred to her. Well, two. The first was, what else would Lyon be about if not terrorism? The second was, why hadn’t the person responsible for this coffee been hung, drawn and quartered?
It was the 21st century. People blowing themselves up was, unfortunately, not that uncommon. And every single time, it had been related to terrorism of one form or another. What made Lyon any different?
There was one aspect that made Lyon stand out. No group had yet claimed to be behind the attack. That was odd, but not altogether unusual—terrorist incidents had occurred before without anyone claiming responsibility. But it still didn’t sit right with Eva.
If The Tempest was an organisation, like Justin claimed, why hadn’t they come out as the ones responsible? Who was behind The Tempest? What was their ultimate goal? War in Europe? Why? To what end?
In news that surprised no one, Justin’s real name was not Justin Bieber. It was Nur Hakim. Born and raised in Marseille, he apparently came from a good family. Like Mustafa and the other suicide bombers, he had shown no outward signs of radicalisation. Then suddenly their photos were on every news website in the world.
To the outside world, it appeared that the incident was over. There had been a terrorist attack. The relevant government organisations had traced the perpetrators to a hotel room and found someone covering up evidence, who’d then been killed evading authorities. It was all rather neat.
Except it wasn’t.
Something about it gnawed at Eva’s insides. She didn’t believe it was over. Not by a long shot. The maddening part was, there was little she could do about it. MI6 believed her work was done. What could a lowly new agent do to change their minds? A gut feeling was far from a persuasive argument.
But she felt sure there was more to it. For one thing, there was Justin and the gun. Eva was sure she hadn’t seen one. And how had it stayed in his hand during the fall?
Another question that made her uneasy: was Isabella all she seemed? Back in the hotel room Justin had kept eyeing her. At the time, Eva had thought it was because Isabella stood between him and the door. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Then again, Eva could just be paranoid. Or on some sort of bad coffee trip. Possibly both.
With their only lead dead, there was nothing more Eva could do. It wasn’t like she could bundle up her doubts in a report. MI6 weren’t keen on acting on “feels”. Especially not from a rookie agent.
So Eva sat and drank her awful coffee because she had nothing else to do.
“’ello.”
Eva glanced up. Isabella appeared ragged and drained. The French agent flopped into the seat beside her with a grunt.
“They ’ave finished my interrogation,” she said meekly.
“You mean questioning?”
The DGSE agent frowned. “No, I mean it was an interrogation. They treated me like I was a ’ostile, they were incredibly aggressive.”
“No idea what that’s like.” Eva took a sip of her coffee, more for effect than out of a desire to drink any more of the vile substance.
Isabella gave a slight pout. “Again, I am sorry about Lyon. My superiors insisted. It would ’ave been awfully unpleasant for you.” She waited a moment. “Well, not all, I ’ope.” She ran her thumbnail along the seam of Eva’s jeans.
“Wow, you’re still trying it on. Are you permanently in heat, woman?”
Isabella shrugged and lifted her eyebrows.
Eva swirled her coffee, contemplating the thoughts in her head. Not least of which was, why was the coffee grey?
“Where to from here for you?” she asked.
Isabella stretched her arms over her head. “I ’ave ’ad my weapons and phone confiscated. I will stay ’ere one night and then they will quietly put me on the first flight to France in the morning. They have made me… do you know the Latin phrasing, persona non grata? That is me.”
“That’s funny, because…” Eva trailed off. “Never mind.”
“No, go on.” Isabella nodded encouragement, seemingly happy for the distraction.
“In diplomatic relations, when someone is deemed persona non grata it’s based on the Vienna Convention for Diplomatic Relations. Given where you are, you couldn’t get more poignant if you tried.”
It wasn’t a good anecdote, but Eva needed to add something to the conversation. Isabella was being shunted out of the country as soon as possible. That meant the Austrian authorities didn’t think she was completely innocent, nor completely culpable. Eva could sympathise with the sentiment.
Eva sighed. She wasn’t here to play nice. “Why did you shoot him, Isabella?”
The spy pursed her lips. She wasn’t upset by the question; in fact, it appeared she’d anticipated it. “Remember when I said I could never leave my partner again?” She waited for Eva to nod. “I was protecting you, Eva. I wasn’t able to follow you onto that carriage, but I never took my eyes off the two of you. You are my partner, I could not leave you defenceless. I ’ad your back. There was a threat to your person, I ’ad a shot and I took it. You must believe that.”
The earnestness in her answer was jarring. Perhaps the hours of questioning had worn down her defences, Eva didn’t know. But in that brief instant, Eva believed every word.
Eva gazed at the tree in the courtyard. It looked less menacing than it had before. Instead of a skeletal spectre, it now appeared more like a lone outcrop of the natural world, engulfed by cold industrial surrounds.
All these doubts, but what for? Eva thought to herself. So what if the French authorities had gathered information on the terrorists suspiciously quickly? So what if Isabella was flirtatious? Bishop, an acquaintance of Eva’s at MI6, was like the human equivalent of Pepé Le Pew, yet she trusted him with her life. Would she be so upset about the death of Justin if she hadn’t seen him die?
“Ladies!”
&
nbsp; Volmer strode confidently towards them. Once again, he was immaculately dressed. He beamed a broad grin at them, oozing charm, waving like they were old friends. Eva didn’t buy it.
“I was hoping to take you both out for a lovely dinner this evening, but I am told that it is not to be.”
“Why is that?” Eva asked.
Volmer gave a little bow. “I have been given the pleasure of escorting Madam Isabella to further questioning.”
“Further?” Isabella’s response was louder than it should have been. “I thought we were done.”
“Alas, that is not to be. Bundesministerium für Inneres wish to ask their own series of questions. They are jackals, but while they are guests in our office they should behave themselves. I do apologise for the inconvenience. They should know never to inconvenience a lady.”
Isabella ran her finger over the tabletop. “Who are these idiots? And can I have my gun back before the interview?” She paused. “Answer the second one first.”
Volmer chuckled. “My apologies, the gentlemen are from the Federal Ministry of the Interior. As for your second request, I am afraid you will not see your firearm again, Fräulein. It is now evidence. The remainder of your personal effects have already been transported to your hotel room.”
“If I ever get there.” Isabella folded her arms.
“You will! You shall be accorded my country’s supreme hospitality this evening.”
“Right before you throw me out of the country,” Isabella spat.
Volmer shrugged. “Let us not dwell on negatives; there are far too many in our profession, yes? Instead, let us focus on the positives.”
“Such as?” Eva asked.
“The lovely sunset, the beautiful city as a backdrop, my amazing buttocks.” His eyebrows danced suggestively at Eva. “All these things are worth admiring, would you not say?”
Eva tittered. “Sorry, Volmer, not going to happen.”
His face fell comically. He was only half serious. “But why, my love? I had already booked the wedding chapel for myself and either or both of you.”
Eva rolled her eyes. Smooth he wasn’t. “Are you an emotionally abusive bad boy who will lie to me for the entirety of our relationship and in your downtime try to take over the world?”
“This seems unlikely. I do not have that much time to spare. I have just taken up Pilates.”
Eva smirked. “Then you’re not my type, I’m sorry.”
He gave a slight shrug and turned to Isabella, his face expectant.
“You’re way off.” Isabella shook her head fervently. “For so many reasons.”
Volmer shrugged. “You cannot blame a man for trying.”
“Yes, you can.” Isabella’s face was etched from marble.
Volmer shrugged in defeat and bowed slightly. His phone rang and he excused himself.
As he strode away to speak in private, Eva tried to determine how she felt about Volmer. She didn’t know the man, but he seemed sincere enough. The charm was forced, but there was enough genuineness in his manner to make him likeable.
“Do you want some free advice?” Isabella asked.
“Does a Humvee driver have a small penis?”
Isabella regarded Eva blankly.
“That was a yes, Isabella.”
“Watch him—Volmer.” It appeared Isabella was reading her mind again. “The little weasel is not as innocent as he seems.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Think about it,” Isabella said, watching him. “Why would the BVT assign a lone agent with no backup to that ’otel suite? Wouldn’t they set up surveillance instead? You’d need that for a trial, no? Footage of a suspect rummaging around the room. Why would they allocate only one agent? Doesn’t that sound all too convenient?”
Eva wanted to ask more, but it was too late. Isabella’s eyes returned to the table as Volmer approached.
Isabella reluctantly pushed herself up from the table and grasped Eva’s arm. “Au revoir, mon amour.” She kissed Eva tenderly on the cheek.
Volmer gave a slight bow, extended his hand to Eva, kissed it, then snapped his heels together. “Goodbye. My country very much liked having you, Fräulein Eva.”
Isabella leaned close enough for her warm breath to tickle Eva’s ear. “And I will always regret not ’aving you.”
After they left, Eva peered out into the courtyard. There were too many unanswered questions. Too many dangling threads. One thing was certain: Eva wasn’t finished with the case. Not by a long shot.
Yes, she was a rookie agent, but she had brains and she intended to use them. There were so many things that didn’t add up. Isabella’s story about Justin and the gun was as believable as a Flat Earth convention. If Isabella deliberately took that shot, had she been acting alone?
If Justin’s assassination was a deliberate act, had it been sanctioned by the DGSE? Contrary to what spy stories would have you believe, spies were not generally rogue agents, acting singlehandedly, relying on their skills and tenacity to save the day. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of dedicated professionals behind every action. If Isabella took out Justin under orders, there would be a record. But where?
Think, you stupid cow.
It took a minute of staring at the bare tree. Suddenly, Eva’s mouth twisted. She remembered Isabella tapping away on her phone on the tram, joking about updating Facebook. And then she remembered Isabella received a message just before Eva leapt onto the Ferris wheel.
Isabella’s phone.
If those messages were so important that Isabella would interrupt the pursuit of a suspect, Eva wanted to know what they contained. She had to get into Isabella’s hotel room and steal her phone.
* * *
Eva leapt off the building.
It was lucky she was attached to a rope.
Abseiling down the outside of a ten-storey hotel in the middle of the night was a piece of cake. If that cake was laced with barbed wire and broken glass, that is. At least she liked her outfit. All black and tight Lycra. If she died, it would be in an outfit that made her butt look amazing.
Righting herself, Eva descended arse-first down the exterior of the building, very slowly. At any moment Isabella would complete her questioning and return to her room. But Eva wouldn’t achieve much by plummeting to her death. A comfortable middle-ground had to be achieved.
After two floors, her pace became steady. After three she actually began to enjoy herself. She was four floors down when she became cocky and lost concentration. For a brief second Eva allowed herself to think about what she had to do when she reached Isabella’s window. That moment of distraction caused her to miss the next step. Instead of brickwork, her foot met the gap where the window frame started. With her foot meeting only air, she overcompensated and completely lost her footing. Both feet slipped from the building and Eva fell.
The rope scorched her hands as she tumbled, but she couldn’t let go. That would be certain death. Clasping the rope between her feet, Eva managed to slow her descent. Her fingers burned and bled, but she’d stopped the fall. She stared down at the tiny, oblivious cars driving on the street below.
Chicken punching Jesus. That was too close.
A quick count told her she was on the fifth floor. Exactly where she needed to be. Eva would have laughed if she was certain she wouldn’t fall again. She didn’t take the chance.
She wrapped one leg around the rope and swung herself over the centre of the window. For once, she lucked out. It slid open smoothly. Why would you lock your window five floors up? Who would be crazy enough to enter a hotel room that way? Eva had to admit it was a good question.
Eva had intended to break into Isabella’s hotel room the same way they’d entered Mustafa’s. Be it electronic or the old-fashioned manual method, Eva would have been in the room in seconds. At least, that was the idea. The guard stationed outside the room put a crimp in her plan.
Plan B was less appealing. Given Eva’s recent experience with hotel balconies
, it was a scheme she entered into reluctantly.
She’d needed equipment. Abseiling down a hotel couldn’t be done with three cocktail napkins and a complimentary bag of peanuts. She’d needed rope, and lots of it.
Unfortunately, the hotel’s concierge didn’t speak English or French. The ensuing pantomime as Eva requested directions to the nearest hardware store must have appeared bizarre to onlookers. She mimed using hammers, saws and lassos. Eva must have seemed like be an ultra-violent cowgirl. Eventually, the concierge caught on. After a quick taxi ride, Eva had all she needed.
It worked. Eva inelegantly tumbled into the hotel room. After what seemed like several hours, her sphincter unclenched and she let out a deep sigh of relief. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she realised the room was a mirror of hers several floors up—that is, the same as hotel rooms the world over.
Isabella’s purse and gun holster were sitting at the end of the bed. As was her phone. Eva grasped it and pressed the home button. Of course, it asked for a code or fingerprint. Eva had neither of these things.
But she would.
If a device was electronic, it could be hacked. It might take time and resources, but in this century nothing remained hidden for long. The age of secrets was over.
Eva pocketed the phone and glanced at the window, knowing the dreaded rope awaited her. But before she could take a step in that direction she heard footsteps and the sound of someone sliding in a room key.
She’d never make the window in time. The bathroom was closer. She dove in and silently closed the door behind her. Alone in the dark room, Eva could hear nothing but the thunderous sound of her own heartbeat.
The door creaked open and soft footsteps crossed the floor. There was no window in the bathroom. The shower was glass and offered no hiding place. There was no escape. Isabella would eventually need to use the bathroom. What would Eva say when that happened? There was only one thing to do.
Eva took off her clothes.
Stripped down to her underwear, she folded her pants and top in a neat pile. Eva placed her shoes on top and tucked Isabella’s phone deep inside one. She blew out a silent lungful of air.
The Rookie?s Guide to Espionage: An Eva Destruction Espresso Shot Page 6
