EDEN (Eden series Book 2)

by Le Carre, Georgia

  I put the photograph carefully back into the thin file it had come out of and picked up the photos of his brothers: Shane and Dominic Eden. Both extremely good-looking, but without that dangerous panther-ish quality of their brother.

  ‘We’ve been wanting to insert an agent into his organization for some time, but it needed to be the right person.’

  I looked up at DS Mills. He was watching me expressionlessly. ‘What makes me right?’

  ‘The man at the helm of this evil gang is so mysterious and secretive that he is almost mythical. He trusts no one. Using a male officer in these circumstances would likely yield no result and could be dangerous for the operative. Gypsies have their own ways of dealing with snitches.’

  ‘And I’m the spider who will lure him into our web?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he admitted impatiently, obviously disgruntled by the analogy I had used. ‘We’re hoping that by inserting you into one of his clubs you will eventually meet him or one of his brothers and over time you will attempt to disarm one of them with your abundance of charm. These tinker families are close-knit. There are no secrets between them. One is as good as the other to bring Crystal Jake to his knees.’

  I frowned. There was a touch of bitterness and envy in DS Mills’ voice. I wondered if this was a personal vendetta.

  ‘This is a level one assignment. High risk and long term. It requires someone intelligent with social insight, able to react quickly and adapt accordingly to situations. You will be living under your assumed identity for months and socializing with people that you must never forget are the enemy that you have been employed to finger. These are cunning, ruthless criminals who will kill to protect what is theirs.’ Mills kept his small, sharp eyes trained on me: seeking out my fears or telltale signs of weakness. If I was going to back out, this was my opportunity to walk away.

  But I kept my expression as impassive and calm as the surface of a lake. He could never know what a seething mess lurked deep beneath. ‘This is what I trained for, sir.’ I noticed my voice was shaking.

  Mills’ eyes searched me relentlessly for what seemed like minutes, but was obviously only moments. He frowned suddenly. A look of uneasiness crossed his features. Had he seen under the surface of the lake? But if he had, he had decided to ignore it. People were expendable to DS Mills. What was important was a job well done. And more commendations for him. ‘Good,’ he said curtly. ‘But be warned—do not underestimate Eden, he is a formidable man, a persuasive man with the ladies. And do not ever trust him no matter how close you get. Your life may depend on it…’

  The sharpness of DS Mills’ tone was resoundingly clear. Suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling stirred the tiny hairs on my arms, and I didn’t know whether to feel terrified or excited about meeting Jake Eden. But I was certain that when I did my heart would be like a rock—strong, unflinching.

  ‘Robin will sort your cover alter ego with you.’ A semblance of a smile escaped. The interview was nearly over.

  ‘Sir, can I just ask, why me?’

  His eyes shifted downwards. He hesitated, but he knew it was a valid question.

  He smiled. It was rather unpleasant. ‘I guess it comes down to your looks.’

  ‘My looks, sir?’ My face was flaming. So it had nothing to do with my language skills or the accomplishments in my CV then.

  Mills showed me a concealed skill, an adeptness in diplomacy that had once propelled him to become one of Britain’s best UC officers. ‘A hardboiled, experienced officer would be no good. You have the right amount of innocence and mystery. I believe you could be Crystal Jake’s Achilles heel.’

  My eyebrows rose in shock. This was not what I had signed up for. ‘You want me to sleep with him?’

  ‘On the contrary. That would be improper and illegal. Such an activity could only be as an abject failure of the deployment and a gross abuse of your role and position as an officer of the Met. If he sleeps with you, you are finished. He will discard you like an old shirt. I want you to flirt with him. Tease him. Court him. In the old-fashioned way.’

  I nodded, but I was confused. It seemed an impossible task. First that such a man would be interested in me and second that I would be able to keep him on such a tenuous string. It was more likely that sexual relationships between covert deployed officers and those they were employed to infiltrate and target were not officially sanctioned or authorized, but I could read between the lines. What he was really telling me was that Crystal Jake would lose interest in me as soon as he had had me! And that was why I was not to sleep with him.

  ‘If you cannot get to Crystal, then suck up to one of the brothers. You sure you’re up to this task, Strom? It’s not going to be a quick or an easy one and you’re going to have to keep your wits about you.’

  ‘Never been more sure of anything, sir,’ I replied firmly.

  ‘By the way…’ His eyes flicked to my nails, bitten to the quick. ‘You’ll need a new set of nails.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When I came out of Mills’ office I saw that the other officers were gathered around Mark’s desk. Mark was the man who had taken my form that first day.

  ‘A piss,’ he was saying, as he put his feet up on his desk.

  Ah well, more testosterone-fueled posturing, telling stories of jobs gone by and bragging about who had brought in the biggest cache of guns or drugs: the usual dick swinging contest. I noticed that Robin was not around.

  ‘Who wants some tea and biscuits?’ I called out.

  ‘Sure. Get us a round,’ someone shouted. The rest of them laughed. The mood was jolly, as it usually was around there.

  I smiled brightly. I went into the kitchen and made them all tea, just the way they liked it. I brought it out and handed them their mugs.

  ‘One sugar, two sugars, milk, black.’

  Then I went to my table and noticed that since I had been gone the filing system had gone to pot again. I was gathering all the files that had not yet been properly categorized into a pile in the middle of my desk when I heard the first howl of fury. I looked up calmly. Mark was looking at me with a murderous expression. He had spewed the coffee all over his desk and some had spilled onto his precious Ralph Lauren trousers. Two others looked like they had had a sip of their tea, too. The others were warily putting their mugs down.

  I dumped all the files back into the cupboard and smiled at them. Surprised. For a group of people that were always taking the piss out of others they had turned out to be pretty thin-skinned.

  I had used salt instead of sugar.

  SEVEN

  Robin grinned at me. ‘If you want to bag a tiger you need the right equipment. You need a whole new set of clothes, bank account, the works. We need to create a package your targets cannot resist.’

  ‘Ready when you are,’ I replied, with a fierce thrill of excitement.

  ‘First, we’ll have to install you in a rented flat.’

  And that was how I came to be sharing a flat in South London with another UC officer, but she was never there as she had her own ‘other’ life. Then for four months Robin and I painstakingly constructed my alibi and cover story.

  ‘We usually use our real Christian names,’ he said. ‘If someone from your old school recognizes you from across the street the hope is that they will simply call out your Christian name.’

  I nodded, but I had pushed all my friends away after Luke died.

  ‘Do you have a name you’d like to assume?’

  ‘Hart,’ I said immediately. ‘Lily Hart.’

  ‘Right, time to apply for a passport dating from three years back and a driving license.’

  ‘Why would a runaway have a passport?’

  ‘Because she toyed with the idea of dancing in Amsterdam?’

  They arrived in less than a week. Both fake passport and DVLA issued driving license had been created in collusion with the appropriate governmental departments and were good for travel and if I was stopped by the police. Using those, I opened bank ac
counts and applied for credit cards.

  Robin took me to lap dancing clubs so I could watch the girls, the way they behaved, and how they interacted with their customers. I saw them rub their naked flesh against men and I thought I had cringed inwardly, but Robin must have sensed my discomfort.

  ‘The most important thing I learned, first and foremost,’ he said quietly, ‘was that whatever I was doing, I had to always remember that I was a police officer.’

  I turned to him. His face was unusually serious.

  ‘Don’t allow yourself to get psychologically mixed up. Always keep what you are doing and who you are separate. At the end of the operation you will ditch all the physical trappings of your undercover alter ego, the hair, the clothes, the people you have befriended, and return to your own normal world.’

  ‘Is that really possible?’ I asked, surprised.

  He looked me in the eye. ‘You have to. If you don’t maintain the line between the job and who you really are you will become a wreck. For example, if you find yourself in a position where you have to take a drug then you have to come out of that personality as soon as possible and tell your handler, in your case DS Mills. And if necessary you will have to go for counseling.’

  ‘Will I have to take drugs?’ I asked worriedly.

  ‘No, we will put it into your cover story that you’ve had a very bad experience, nearly died, et cetera, and no longer touch the stuff.’

  ‘When and how do I start asking for information?’

  ‘Work your way in very slowly,’ Robin said. ‘This is a long-term assignment and so requires a huge element of deception. We don’t want the target to get suspicious. He is very intelligent, wary, and uncommonly aloof. Don’t appear too eager for information. In fact, don’t ask for any information. Let some chances to ask for information go by. Don’t even appear curious. Lull him into a place of complete trust before you sink the hooks in.’

  He then warned me that constant fear of discovery and letting the side down, which was part and parcel of undercover work, could manifest itself as sexual arousal. ‘Watch for it and be prepared for it.’

  That night he also introduced me to Anna.

  Over the next two months she gave me pole-dancing lessons and taught me some really cool moves that looked good and professional, but didn’t take an athlete to perform.

  A week before I was due to start my assignment I had my nails done and glamorous red highlights put into my hair. I looked into the mirror. There. My alter ego was ready to be unleashed.

  On the day before I was due to meet Patrick, who would take me on my audition at Eden, I went to see my parents. We had dinner together at a restaurant. The hole that was Luke was bigger than ever. My father told me he was very proud of me.

  ‘When will you come to see us?’ my mother said, crying quietly.

  ‘I don’t know, but I will call.’ The reality was I wanted my new life to begin. I wanted to stop being Lily Strom and begin my new existence as Lily Hart.

  I had become quite close to Robin and on that morning before I left to start my assignment he hugged me. His parting words were, ‘Never let your guard down. Remember, one false move can give you away.’

  But what stayed in my mind and haunted me was what he had once told me when we were dining at a Chinese restaurant. He told me the loneliest place in the world was the place inhabited by the undercover police officer when they are deep inside the mind of a fictional person.

  Take me down to the paradise city

  Where the grass is green

  And the girls are pretty

  Take me home

  (Oh won’t you please take me home?)

  —Guns ’N’ Roses, Paradise City

  EIGHT

  Lily Hart

  Have you ever been compelled to take a step that you know is a mistake but you simply can’t stop?

  The return home from the Tate Modern is a blur. I walk through the streets of London blindly, telling myself over and over again that I did it for Luke. I try to remember him, but his image eludes me. All I see is Jake, shirtless on a horse, Jake looking at me. Jake standing blood-splattered in Melanie’s apartment. Jake with tears in his eyes. Jake holding me. Jake kissing me. Jake smiling. Jake laughing. Jake. Jake. Jake.

  I stop walking and hold my head. It feels as if it is about to burst.

  ‘Are you all right?’ someone asks.

  I look up. A man is looking at me. He seems concerned. ‘Yes,’ I say automatically. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  ‘OK,’ he says, and moves on.

  Robin’s words flash into my mind.

  At the end of the operation you will ditch all the physical trappings of your undercover alter ego, the hair, the clothes, the people you have befriended, and return to your own normal world.

  A small, hesitant voice in my head asks, what about the people you fall in love with? I drum it out with the militant message they have brainwashed me with. First and foremost you are a police officer.

  I have done the right thing.

  I walk until my legs start to ache, then I stop and hail the first taxi I see. Inside it, I sit with my face turned toward the window, seeing nothing. The taxi drops me outside the house. I watch it drive away and stand at the bottom of the short flight of steps for an age. My legs are like lead. Eventually, my heart weeping, I climb the steps.

  I open the front door and I know straight away: he is home. I walk down the corridor and open the living room door.

  Seeing him is like jumping into an icy river. The guilt. God, the guilt. I know: I’m in too deep. I have broken the most important rule—I didn’t keep what I am doing and who I am separate. I have allowed myself to get psychologically mixed up.

  He is sitting on the white leather sofa, but he must have been pacing the floor until he heard me at the front door, because there is that look of restlessness about him. A glass of Scotch sits on the table. He looks pale under his tan and his green eyes burn feverishly bright in his face.

  I smile as I shatter inside. The heaviest tears never reach the eyes.

  He doesn’t smile back. He seems very still. His eyes hold onto me so hard it almost hurts.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I see that his hands are clenched hard and he seems to be controlling himself.

  ‘I was shopping.’

  His chest heaves and his eyes flick to the bag in my hand. ‘Why did you not answer your phone?’

  ‘I had it on silent.’

  He nods gently, but seems somehow inconsolable. I feel the vibrations of his despondency in my blood as if it were my own.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would worry,’ I murmur.

  He takes a deep breath. Again I see him making a Herculean effort to control himself. ‘You were attacked less than a week ago, Lily.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again.

  ‘You look tired,’ he observes.

  ‘I am.’ I try to smile at him.

  ‘Come here.’

  I go to him and climb into his lap. His hands come around me, the palms hot. I nuzzle him like a cat, my hand stroking his thick hair, straightening it. It is ruffled. He has been running his hands through it. He takes my shoes off and lets them drop with a thud on the floor. I sigh with pleasure when his big hands start massaging my foot.

  ‘I didn’t know where you were. If you had simply run away. I know so little about you.’ His voice is a deep, honeyed rumble. It has a song in it. I could listen to it all my life. But I won’t. I was fooling myself before.

  ‘I didn’t run away. I’m here.’

  The hardness between his legs pushes into my hip. I look up into his eyes. There is only one word for what is in them: hunger. I have never seen such extreme desire, such ravenous craving. The air trembles with it. A voice inside my head cries, ‘What have you done? What have you done?’ I ignore it. My body loses its tiredness and responds to that yearning. My lips part, my nipples swell and pebble tightl
y, my sex opens like a night flower.

  ‘Would it be really horrible if we had sex right now?’ he murmurs.

  ‘Yes, that would be utterly, utterly horrible.’

  He carries me to the bedroom and kicks the door open. The large chandelier is not lit. Instead only the narrow bronze lamps over the paintings on the walls are on, creating their own individual pools of yellow light, making the paint look thick and oily. I glance at the bed and my mouth opens with astonishment. I turn back to look at his face. ‘What the—?’

  ‘Indulge me,’ he says languidly and throws me on the bed covered thickly with money.

  ‘Oh,’ I gasp.

  ‘Get naked,’ he orders.

  Giggling, I pull my top over my head and, lifting the upper half of my body slightly, unclasp my bra and pull it off. I raise my hips off the bed and shimmy out of my skirt. There are only my panties left.

  ‘Help me,’ I say.

  He reaches down and, sliding his hands along my bare thighs, pulls them down my legs and flings them over his shoulders.

  Hungrily he looks down at me lying naked on a bed of money. I gaze up at him, and slowly biting my lower lip, grab two handfuls of money, and throw them up into the air. They fall over and around me.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, covered in his dirty money.

  He nods slowly, formally. As if he approves of my actions. We continue to stare at each other. I could have stayed there looking up at him forever. I actually feel faint with longing. He is so beautiful, I want to reach out and touch his skin to see if he is real.

  ‘Do it again.’

  I lift handfuls of money and pour them onto my body. One note lands on my mouth. I blow it away. Here I am, an undercover cop, bathed in money, about to fuck a criminal, and not wanting to be anywhere else in the world.

  He gets down on his haunches and cupping my buttocks in his large hands, lifts my hips bodily and, bringing my open sex toward his face, deeply sniffs in my female scent. I have been walking all day and I imagine the smell to be scandalously strong and musky. But I am not embarrassed. I know he likes dirty sex. This is the man who thinks warm raw sea urchin tastes good.