Watching the streets of Paris fly by, Paul said, “If you have a chance to take Bourke, do it. We’ll find a way to get him out of the country. If we’re awfully lucky, his previous employment status will never be uncovered.” He paused. “But do not apprehend her.”
Eva stared at Paul. He didn’t turn to face her.
“Don’t look at me like that, Evie.”
“You don’t even know how I’m looking at you.”
“Yes I do.” He finally faced her. “We’re just after Alex. We leave her alone.”
“What? Why?”
Paul sighed. “The only reason we were invited to that little junket back there was because I agreed we wouldn’t harm or detain Isabella in any way.”
“I didn’t agree to that!” Eva’s lips thinned. “I’m smelling something Paul, and it’s something that even a fertiliser expert would say was bloody whiffy.”
He sighed. “There’s every chance Isabella will get off scot-free.” He spoke as if he was relaying unwelcome cricket scores, with a sense of inevitability. “The DGSE won’t want to deal with the mess created by one of its own. The government won’t want to deal with claims that a specially trained and vetted employee blew up their own citizens, especially not during an election year. The ramifications would be too great, the collateral damage too costly. Imagine the testimony if it went to court. The DGSE and French intelligence wouldn’t live this down for years. MI6 is still living down Philby and the Cambridge Five, and that’s nothing compared to this. Nothing. This will stain their country for a century.”
Eva was too livid to answer. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The woman who had tortured her, who had Volmer killed, who had masterminded the deaths of over one hundred of her own countrymen would walk free. It beggared belief.
Paul went on. “No, my guess is that Isabella will be quietly shunted out of the DGSE, given a slap on the wrist and a hefty pension. There will be no justice for her or her victims.”
Eva stared at him in utter shock. “Surely justice for…” Her voice trailed off.
Paul took her hand and gave a weak smile. “Sometimes this profession needs to create the story the public want to hear. It’s not always the right one, but it’s the story that will be told.”
They spent the rest of the trip in silence, the taxi in front never too far away. Eva did her best to refocus her mission. It was ironic that after all she’d been through, all the twists and turns, she was back to her original assignment. Catch Alex, the not-so-dead ex-MI6 agent.
Ahead, the traffic was getting as thick as ratatouille, Eva lost sight of their prey. They were near Gare de Lyon, Eva’s hunch may well have been right, but they’d lost sight of the other taxi. The driver swore.
They’d lost them.
As they arrived at the beautiful early 20th century station they skidded to a sudden halt. The driver sighed heavily having lost them at the last stretch, and Paul threw him a wad of cash as they piled out. They ran in and Eva was momentarily awed by the beautifully ornate roof.
The station was massive, being a major hub for France rail passengers. There were two halls with many platforms, too much to cover at once. Paul stood before the huge departures board and his shoulders slumped.
“We’ll need to keep an eye out, split up,” he said, squinting. “We’re never going to cover all the ground we need to.”
Eva took a few extra moments to study the board. There were several destinations within France. Possible, but unlikely. They would want the greatest amount of distance between them and Isabella’s mother country. The two next international destinations were Italy and Switzerland. Both had extradition treaties with France, but they were also international airport hubs.
“You go to Hall One, platform three,” Eva said. “The Switzerland train.”
Paul chortled. He would have known she’d choose the most likely for herself. “Why are you taking Hall Two?”
A shrug. “Isabella’s preference for Italian wine. It’s not much more than a hunch, but it will do.”
Paul nodded and ran towards the first hall. Eva ran in the opposite direction. The platform was barred by a lone ticket inspector. She was cheerfully checking each passenger’s ticket and wishing them a pleasant journey. When an elderly woman in a wheelchair needed to get through, the inspector went to assist her through the gate. Eva slipped through undetected. So much for covering Paris in a net. She had defeated a lone ticket inspector within two minutes.
Finding an isolated alcove on the platform, Eva watched all newcomers intently. Nearly every part of her ached. She should have been recuperating in hospital, but she had other priorities.
She bit her nails. With mere minutes before departure, she was weighing up whether she had time to speed through the train and peruse the commuters who had already boarded.
She almost missed them.
Almost.
They had changed again. Alex was dressed as a train porter, complete with peaked cap. He carried two large bags. Isabella seemed to be channelling some sort of Hollywood starlet. They must have assumed you hide best out in the open. Her hair colour may have been red, and her dress far more ostentatious than her usual style, but Eva would know that walk anywhere.
The two spies boarded the train as the inspector blew her whistle. Departure was imminent. Eva pulled out her phone and called Paul. She told him what she knew.
“I’m on my way.”
“You better run, dude.”
Paul was already breathing heavily. “Won’t it appear suspicious if I’m running through a train station?”
Eva laughed quietly. “Carry a fire extinguisher. Nobody’s going to stop a bloke carrying a fire extinguisher.”
A quick glance at the platform clock told Eva he wasn’t going to make it.
“Do I get on, boss? It’s leaving.”
The train blew its whistle. The engine shunted. The only response from Paul was a series of grunts as he ran.
“Paul? On or off?”
The train’s whistle blew twice more.
“Paul?”
Paul let out an exasperated sigh. “Do it.”
Eva ran at the train and leapt on just as the automatic doors slid shut. She was on. Through the doors she could see Paul at the gate, arguing with the inspector as he pointed at the train.
The train sped up and Eva made her way through the carriage. Alex and Isabella had entered two carriages ahead. A sleeper car. Thanks to the money they’d accumulated through the deaths of others, they could easily afford first class.
Eva assessed her situation. No gun, it had been left behind in Isabella’s hideout. No backup, once again. She was still weak from her recent ordeal. Alex may have a few years under his belt, but he was strong, and an experienced agent. And she knew exactly how vicious Isabella could be.
A text message from Paul simply read, “Do what you have to.” Calling in the French authorities would mean they would apprehend Alex and implicate a former MI6 agent in terrorist acts. They couldn’t let that happen. Eva had to capture him herself.
She was outgunned. It was time to get clever. Somehow.
Within half an hour, the sky outside grew dark. Eva walked through the dining car, past seated passengers settling in for the long journey ahead.
After two hours, most movement ceased and the kitchen shut down. Nearly everyone had bunkered down as the novelty of the train journey waned. People put themselves to bed or made themselves comfortable in their seats.
Always vigilant for any sign of Alex or Isabella, Eva was careful to appear at ease wandering around the train, as if she was simply stretching her legs. After enough time had passed, she cautiously made her way to the first-class sleeper cabins. The train carriage was modern, but not overly opulent; functional comfort. Windows down one side, the cabins down the other. Walking tentatively up the hallway, she noted that all had their doors open or windows blinds not totally down, except one.
Eva staked out a spot at the far end of t
he carriage and waited. It took a while, but she finally managed to catch a glimpse of Alex returning to the end cabin. As he entered, he rubbed the large bandage on his neck. He disappeared from view with a yawn. Being a bastard must have tuckered him out. The poor dear.
Now she knew which cabin Alex and Isabella were in. There was a small niche behind it, away from the prying eyes of fellow passengers. In that little alcove, an air vent high on the wall led into the cabin.
A full-frontal assault would be useless. Eva had fighting skills, but she was drained. No matter how good the element of surprise was, the other two would soon overpower her. Eva had no intention of being in that situation again.
How could she use their cabin to her advantage? She smirked. It would take some doing, but she had them. Eva’s plan was to turn the sleeper car into a real sleeper car. Well, one cabin in particular.
* * *
Waiting until most train chatter had died down, Eva went to work.
The kitchen was locked, but that meant nothing to her. Using her lock picks, she was in within seconds. The industrial kitchen was eerily quiet. She was careful not to disturb any of the pots and pans, to avoid making any noise.
It took her a while to find what she needed. She stuffed a collection of items in her pockets, including a plastic piping bag and masking tape. The main target of her search was easy enough to find, but harder to transport.
Ensuring the passageway was clear, she hauled the heavy container down the hall. She only passed one person, a dapper old man in a suit, and in French said, “Old lady in number fifty-five is having trouble with her respiration.”
He gave Eva a pleasant nod and continued on his way. The gas cylinder didn’t contain oxygen. In fact, it would be used to deprive bodies of exactly that.
After enough time had passed that Eva was confident she wouldn’t be disturbed, she implemented her plan. She taped the larger end of the piping bag around the cabin’s air vent. She then taped the point of the bag around the end of the hose attached to the cylinder. The gas within the cylinder was LPG, or liquefied petroleum gas. Inhalation could cause dizziness, and loss of consciousness, which was what Eva was after. Two comatose spies would be easier to deal with than two angry and heavily armed ones.
The gas was denser than air, so would fall to the ground first. Eva had to be careful not to give them too much. She only wanted them to lose consciousness, not suffocate.
As Eva turned on the gas, she muttered under her breath, “Night night, you megalomaniac murderous douchepoodles.”
* * *
The slap across Isabella’s face gave Eva great pleasure. So much so, she did it again. The DGSE agent spluttered awake.
Eva watched the mental cogs turn, trying to make sense of what was happening. For Isabella, it would have been thoroughly discombobulating. One minute she’d been asleep in a cabin aboard a train, the next Eva was towering above her in something that was decidedly not that.
“Is this,” she worked her jaw to bring forth saliva, “is this an ambulance?”
“Yes,” Eva said brightly. “Do you like it?”
Steadily gaining consciousness, Isabella’s eyes darted around the small confines of the vehicle, landing on Alex’s still-unconscious form, strapped to the gurney. Her mouth opened as if she were about to say something, then closed again.
It had taken some coordinating, but Eva’s employers had come through for her. Once she’d confirmed that Alex and Isabella were unconscious, she’d cleared her makeshift apparatus and raised the alarm. The train stopped at the nearest station. How MI6 had obtained an ambulance on such short notice, Eva didn’t want to know.
“Where… where are we?” Isabella asked, still fighting through the fug of disorientation.
“The end of the line.”
Eva opened the rear doors of the ambulance. They were inside the huge empty expanse of a warehouse. Aged concrete spread out under high rusted beams supporting a pockmarked iron roof. The old factory had been unused for decades.
“Untie Alex!”
Eva tilted her head and stared at the unconscious former-MI6 operative. “I don’t think so. We have our own plans for him.”
“Why am I here?” Isabella insisted in a tone far more demanding than her position would logically allow.
“Because of what you’ve done, Isabella,” Eva said, shoving her forward. “Because of all the people you killed, the innocent lives wiped out. And for corrupting young boys to blow themselves up for your profit, and for their families, who will never see them again.”
Isabella laughed. It was a hoarse, pitiless laugh. “Those people are filth. They deserve all they get.”
Eva elbowed Isabella forward, and she landed on her feet at rear of the ambulance. With an extra shove, Isabella cleared the end of the emergency vehicle.
“Why don’t you tell them yourself?”
Standing in a huddled group, about thirty people, mostly men, glowered at Isabella. They were all of Middle Eastern descent. They were angry. In fact, they appeared ready to riot.
“Who,” Isabella spluttered, “are these people?” Fear rearranged her delicate features.
Eva grinned an unkind smile. “These fine people are the parents, brothers, sisters, cousins and uncles of the men you sacrificed in the name of free market capitalism.”
Isabella’s forehead creased in terror. It was ironic that someone who had spread so much herself was now overcome by it.
“They are the families of Mustafa Khoury, Nur Hakim and all the others you killed in your sick little game. These are the relatives of the boys you corrupted and murdered for your own ends. They want to have a little chat.”
As if on cue, members of the posse rattled chains and slammed pieces of wood against their palms. The horror on Isabella’s face was complete. She scrambled into Eva’s arms and grasped the front of her top.
“They will kill me!” she screeched. “Do you ’ave no ’eart?”
Eva tilted her head at Isabella and repeated the advice she’d heard recently. “You have to be heartless to be a spy, Isabella.”
She nodded and two heavy-set members of the group stepped forward and grabbed Isabella by the arms. They dragged her, kicking and screaming, towards the seething group.
Eva turned and walked away.
When Eva had started her mission, she was unsure if she and espionage were the right fit for one another. Now she’d saved MI6’s reputation and completed her original assignment. Alex would be delivered with a bright red bow to headquarters. MI6 would use him to clean up any remaining threads from The Tempest organisation, if there were any. After that, she didn’t care what happened to him.
With no suspect to parade around in front of the cameras, the French authorities would be forced to concede their dragnet had failed and they had let their prime suspect escape. There were no other witnesses, other than Eva’s testimony that Alex was one of the two main culprits behind the bombings.
As for Isabella, if handed over to the French authorities she would never be forced to pay for her crimes. If she was brought back to MI6, it would be a diplomatic time bomb. The DGSE would demand MI6 return her, risking both organisations being linked to acts of terror.
For everyone concerned, it was best if Alex and Isabella simply disappeared. There was little doubt in Eva’s mind that the authorities would find someone to blame for the atrocities. The public would demand it. It wouldn’t be the real parties, though. Lies would be created, sacrifices made and the world would move on. As always, few would ever know the truth.
Eva had certainly made mistakes on her mission, taken extravagant chances with her own life and those of others, but there was one thing she was certain of.
Eva Destruction was a spy.
As she strode towards the ambulance, the first morning rays poked through the holes in the roof. Then the screaming commenced. Isabella pleaded for mercy. She cried out for compassion, for pity.
Eva tried to determine how she felt. After muc
h deliberation, she decided she was hungry. She started the engine, wondering if that café in Lyon would be open yet.
The End
* * *
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About Dave Sinclair
Dave Sinclair is a novelist, a screenwriter and a really excellent parallel parker.
He lives in Melbourne, Australia with his two crazy daughters. He’s also an award-winning filmmaker, a title that sounds far more impressive than it really is. He won a best comedy screenplay and cinematography award for a short film he wrote and directed, though at the time he didn’t really know what cinematography was. A completed screenplay is currently doing the rounds.
Dave’s overflowing bookshelves include many works by Douglas Adams, P.G. Wodehouse, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Janet Evanovich, Ian Fleming, Zadie Smith and John le Carré.
The Eva Destruction books are stories Dave wanted to read, full of action, laughs and fascinating characters. Eva has many more adventures up her tattooed sleeves.
To find out more, you can stalk Dave at his semi-reputable website: https://davesinclair.com.au
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The Rookie’s Guide to Espionage © 2017 Dave Sinclair
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Rookie?s Guide to Espionage: An Eva Destruction Espresso Shot Page 13
