by Sarah Sky
“It’s fine, thanks. I’m not staying. My taxi’s waiting outside. I’ve got a flight to catch back to the States.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Zak,” Mattie replied. “But come back and visit us soon. Bon voyage.”
Jessica waited until she heard the door of the spare room close. “You’re going back?”
“Rodarte’s got another assignment lined up for me. Plus I’ve got exams to cram for and my family’s expecting me back from my art history trip.”
“That’s how you’d describe this last week?” she said, laughing.
“I’m not sure how I’d define it, but meeting you has certainly been an experience.”
Jessica blushed. “We made a good team. In the end, anyway.”
“We did, didn’t we?” Zak’s green eyes bored into hers. He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. “This is for you.”
“You’re not proposing, are you?” she joked.
“Don’t worry. You’re not that lucky.”
Rolling her eyes, she opened the box and pulled out a silver compact.
“It’s to replace yours,” Zak said. “It’s far better than MI6 technology. This has Rodarte’s added functions. It can run facial recognition checks as well as the usual paralysing powder, X-ray vision and photographic functions.”
“Thanks. That’s really thoughtful.”
She flicked open the lid.
“I engraved it for you with your favourite quotation.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at the words. I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.
“How did you know about this?” Her voice faltered. “Who told you?”
Zak frowned. “I remember you said you liked Jane Eyre. I can’t remember when, but I guess it stuck with me. The quotation reminds me of you; how independent and free-spirited you are. Jessica, I—”
He reached out to embrace her, but she stepped back. “I never told you anything about this.”
“I’m sorry. Don’t you like it?” He frowned. “I guess I should have stuck with something safe like flowers. Anyway, I should go. The taxi’s on meter. Goodbye, Jessica.” He walked back towards the door.
Jessica darted forward and caught his arm. “Look at me, Zak.”
He glanced away for a few seconds before meeting her gaze.
“It was you.” Her hand dropped limply to her side.
“What are you talking about?”
“It was you that night at the Shard. You knocked me out with my own compact. That’s the only way you could have known about the quotation. You read the engraving when I was unconscious.”
He shook his head vigorously. “You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
“Ohmigod.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You attacked me and stole the USB device. Then you came round to my house to check on me. You wanted to see if I could remember anything about my attacker from that night; if I could identify you. You deliberately made me suspicious of Bree.”
“Jessica.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand.” Her voice wobbled. “You said I was amazing and you pretended to like me. Everything we’ve been through together this week has been a lie. All of it.”
“That’s not true.” Zak gripped her arms tightly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I thought you were amazing. You are. I’m not lying when I tell you that I’m falling for you, that I couldn’t take my eyes off you the first time I saw you. I thought Jamie was the luckiest guy alive to be your boyfriend.”
Jessica shrank away. “I have no idea who you are.”
“I’m the same as I always was.”
“A big-headed arrogant liar? I should have stuck with my gut instinct, but you reeled me in. I believed you.” She took a breath. “There’s no point denying it. I know it was you. At least have the decency to admit it.”
He paused. “You’re right. I owe you that.”
Jessica felt her knees weaken. “Why?”
He brushed the tears from his eyes and jutted his chin out. “Because it was an order. And we follow orders, remember? That’s what we do. The CIA had heard that the MoD had a major problem – its employee Drew Hopkins was selling the driverless truck blueprint to the Chinese. We had to stop that. We intercepted internal correspondence at MI6 and discovered when the meet was happening, how Westwood planned to intercept the buyer and retrieve the USB device at the Shard fashion show.”
“You mean you hacked into MI6?”
“Governments do that all the time. You must know that.”
“You’re no better than Christine and her army of teenage hackers,” she spat out. “I don’t get it. Why were you so anxious to intercept the meet? Didn’t you think Westwood could stop the deal from going ahead? Rodarte had to fly in and save the day, taking all the glory, because you didn’t think we were up to the job?”
Zak didn’t answer.
“It’s not that, is it? You came to London to steal the blueprint. That was your intention all along.”
He nodded slowly. “You know as well as I do how valuable a driverless truck will be to a country in the future. It could change the face of modern warfare; an army would no longer have to invade a city. The driverless trucks or tanks would do it for them. Thousands of soldiers’ lives would be saved. The United States is dangerously far behind the Chinese when it comes to this kind of technology. We couldn’t afford for that situation to continue. We have to catch up.”
Jessica could hardly process what he was saying. “At any price? It didn’t matter who got in the way or who you hurt as long as the US government got what it wanted?”
“I’m sorry you got hurt, I really am. I wanted to come clean and tell you what had happened. I tried to tell you the night of the warehouse blaze, but you wouldn’t let me.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word sorry. I trusted you, Zak.”
“I know you did,” he said softly. “This isn’t personal. Yes, I fancied you when we first met, but we’re spies first and everything else comes after that. You’d do the same if Nathan gave the order.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I’m not like you. My family and friends come first. I’m a spy second. This is what I do. It’s not who I am.”
“Then you won’t get very far with Westwood. I did what I had to for my country so I could get that USB device. This was just another job.”
“Was it? You claimed to like me and knew I was a Westwood agent, yet you still attacked me.”
“I didn’t expect to encounter you at the top of the Shard.” His voice wavered. “You were one of the most junior operatives on the team. It should have been Bree or Sasha going after Drew, not you. I took your compact because it was the closest to hand in the dressing room, but I never wanted it to be you.”
“So that made it OK to attack Bree or Sasha? You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m just saying they were the most experienced operatives, according to the files. Except they both messed up. They didn’t have the guts to go after Drew, but you did. I couldn’t have anticipated that. I underestimated you.”
“Ditto. You’re a world-class jerk. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Deep down, you like me back and that scares you. It frightens you that I know you better than Jamie.”
“No way. You’re wrong.”
Zak tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away.
“Don’t you see? Jamie will never be right for you. He doesn’t understand you, because he can’t. He doesn’t know who you really are. Only another spy can understand what it’s like, the things you have to do. I get all of that. You know I do.”
“Jamie understands me far better than you. He’s decent, really decent.” She let out a sob. “And it’s ruined, all becau
se of you. You came along and destroyed us.”
“No. The moment you signed the Official Secrets Act, your relationship with Jamie was doomed. Deep down, I think you knew that.”
“How could I?”
“Because you made a choice. You can’t have relationships outside this job. You chose joining Westwood and discovering what happened to your mum over your boyfriend. Now you have to deal with the consequences. That’s on you, not me.”
“Is it really?”
“I get that you’re angry, but we can work this through. You said we made a good team and we still can.”
“Never. Not in a million years.”
“We’re good together. You know that. I think you have feelings for me too; you just don’t want to admit it. Call me when you’ve had time to process all this; when you’ve calmed down.”
“Get out.”
Zak paused at the door. “Think about it, Jessica. Do that for me.”
“I don’t need time to think. I never want to see you again.”
She waited for him to walk out and slammed the door.
A week later
It seemed to take an age before Jessica heard the light tap of footsteps cross the hall. The front door finally swung open.
She took a deep breath. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, but please hear me out.”
Jamie ran a hand through his hair and stared. Shifting position, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. At least he hadn’t slammed the door in her face, which she’d been half expecting.
“All you have to do is listen to what I have to say.”
Jamie gave a brusque nod. He still hadn’t invited her inside, so they’d have to thrash it out on the doorstep. Not ideal, but better than nothing.
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“You were right,” she began. “I have been lying to you for months, but not for the reasons you think. I want to tell you everything, about who I really am. What I belong to.”
Jamie frowned. “Do you mean about Westwood? I know that you’re a member of an MI6 division that recruits models, particularly ones that it can mould from a young age.”
“That’s impossible. You can’t… How long…? Why…?” Her words barely made sense. How could Jamie know about Westwood? It was top secret. She hadn’t told anyone she was going to come clean to her ex today; he certainly hadn’t been OK’d by Nathan or anyone else at MI6. They hadn’t been going out long enough before their split for him to be cleared. He’d be classed as a “compliant civilian”, someone who could inadvertently blurt out secrets to a third party.
“You’d better come in.” He stepped aside, smiling encouragingly.
She followed him into the sitting room, her mind racing. None of this made any sense.
Jamie sat next to her on the sofa and tentatively took her hand. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you. I had no idea how important your job was. What you were doing to help Henry Murray and your country.”
She stared back, shell-shocked.
“I’ll never doubt you again if we get back together. I know it’s a big ‘if’ after what a jerk I’ve been. I promise you that from now on I’ll understand when you have to go off on your next Westwood mission.” He squeezed her hand. “And I won’t get all weirded out if you have to work alongside another male agent, like I did with Zak. I get that you sometimes have to work with other agencies such as Rodarte.”
Rodarte was classified, like Westwood. No way should he know about it.
“Who told you about all of this?” Her voice cracked.
“Your handler.”
Nathan? Not in a million years. He wouldn’t allow such a blatant security lapse. If he had his way, she wouldn’t even have a boyfriend or an ex or whatever. He believed things like that got in the way of the job. He’d prefer Westwood’s agents to be robots without love lives, which got icky and complicated.
“She stopped by this morning for a chat,” he continued. “She even brought red velvet cupcakes, because she knew they were my favourite as well as yours.” He flashed a grin at her. “I guess you told her that about me. Anyway, she spent quite a long time helping me to understand things you haven’t been able to speak about before. She said that I’d been thoroughly vetted and that I’d been given clearance to be told everything.”
That couldn’t be right. Who’d told him that? She couldn’t picture Celia ever doing something so rash. Had Bree thrown caution to the wind now she was officially “retired” and decided to stage an intervention on Jessica’s disastrous love life? But how could she have known about Jamie? Jessica had never discussed him with Bree.
“Did she give you a name? I mean, I have a few handlers for different missions.” A lie slipped out. So much for deciding to tell Jamie the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Her good intentions hadn’t lasted very long. About three minutes, to be precise, since she’d stepped through the door.
“Anne, I think she said her name was. But you spies always use different aliases, don’t you?” Jamie grinned. “Can you tell me any of yours? I bet they’re really cool.”
“Honestly, they’re not very interesting. Can you describe my handler? As you say, I don’t think she was using the name I’d know her by.”
“Oldish, you know, in her sixties, with dark brown hair.”
Her face must have looked blank because Jamie’s brow furrowed. “She told me a lot about your mum, how she used to be a spy, like you. How you think she was murdered by an MI6 traitor called Margaret Becker and a terrorist who had a name beginning with V, which I can’t quite remember.”
“Vespa?” Jessica hated it, but she had to test him.
“No, not that. I’ve got it now. It was Vectra. She said that you’d worked out it was all linked to something called Sargasso and that you were in great personal danger. She said I should impress upon you to be very, very careful from now on, and for your dad and Mattie to do the same.”
Jessica caught her breath. Margaret Becker.
But it couldn’t be. Why would she take the risk of breaking cover to visit Jamie in disguise? Was she banking on the fact that MI6 was searching for her off-grid and hadn’t made public her escape from prison? They’d arrested the guard she’d bribed to carry messages between her and LibertyCrossing. Nathan had said that many of Margaret’s old haunts were under surveillance. They hadn’t thought to check here. Why would they? What were the chances she’d turn up at Jessica’s ex’s house?
“What else did Anne say?” she persisted.
“She told me to give you this.” Jamie sprang up and grabbed an envelope from the mantelpiece.
She tore it open. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a photo. It was taken years ago, but there was no mistaking who was in the picture. A much younger Margaret with bobbed blonde hair sat to the left, in what looked like a bar. Her mum was in the centre. Her strawberry blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and she sported her trademark gap-toothed grin. On her right was the man from the Sargasso file – Sergei Chekhova, who’d died in a car crash.
“Anne thought this picture would mean something to you. Does it?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Margaret was taunting her. She was proving what power she had over her life. Even when she was on the run and secretly being hunted by every police force and intelligence agency across Europe and America, she still had the time to visit Jamie and sit across the room from him. She could have killed him right there and then if she’d wanted. That was the real message she’d used Jamie to give. She could get to Jessica or anyone close to her at any time. They were all in danger. She’d spared Jamie’s life – or had she? Margaret may actually have deliberately endangered him by telling him about Sargasso. He’d become another loose end that might need to be tied up later.
Who else had Margaret visited? She texted her dad, Mattie
and Becky with the same message: U OK?
Her dad and Mattie messaged back saying they were fine. Becky didn’t reply, but she did have a rehearsal for her new play today. She’d probably turned her phone on to mute while she ran through her lines.
“Is something the matter?” Jamie asked. “You’ve gone awfully pale.”
“It’s a shock, you knowing about all of this. No one had told me beforehand that this was going to happen, that MI6 was going to clear you.”
“But it’s good, isn’t it? It means that we don’t have any secrets. We can be completely honest with each other from now on. We can make things work between us. That’s if you want to.”
She smiled, but inside she was being torn to bits. Of course she wanted to get back with him. But would he be placed in even greater danger by becoming part of her life again? Or didn’t it make any difference as far as Margaret was concerned? She could return to finish him off, whether they were together or apart. Her eyes rested on a series of digits, written in black ink, on the back of the photo. Was that the date the photo had been taken? It was five months before her mum’s helicopter crash.
“Did Anne leave any other messages for me?” Jessica asked.
“She said the photo was taken the day your mum and the man in the picture joined.”
“Joined what?”
“Sargasso. That’s why they were celebrating.”
She shook her head numbly. Jamie had misunderstood Margaret. Her mum and Sergei must have been investigating Sargasso, not joining it. Jamie made it sound like some kind of country club, except this organization killed people who even knew of its existence, according to Margaret’s threat in prison.
Her phone vibrated, but she ignored it as she pondered the puzzle Margaret had left.
“Are you going to get this?” Jamie asked, picking up the phone from the sofa. “It’s Becky.”
Jessica snatched it up. “Becky! How’s it going?”
There was a muffled sob on the end of the phone. “No, it’s Marie. Becky’s mum.”
“Mrs Roberts? What’s wrong?”
“Becky’s been taken into the operating theatre for emergency surgery. We won’t know anything for a couple of hours. We’re waiting and praying. Oh God, Jessica. How could this happen?”
