‘Hey,’ says Beth from the door. ‘You look glum.’
‘Bit gutted about Sharrick,’ I say.
‘What did your source say?’
‘My source is frightened and has stopped contact.’
‘That’s crap,’ Beth says. ‘I was hoping we’d pull Sharrick in for an interrogation. This is very disappointing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I say.
‘I thought he might know about the kids. The missing kids. Call me soft but I’d like to get the bastards behind that,’ Beth says.
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Did your source ever give you anything on that?’
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I lie, because I can’t reveal what Neva’s told me about the house and her kidnap without admitting it’s her.
Beth frowns a little, then she shrugs. ‘I can’t help searching for anyone to blame for it. How awful it is for the parents. And I’d like to learn one way or another what happened to those kids.’
‘Well, if there was any link to Sharrick, we’ll probably never know.’ I say. ‘Sorry to be so negative.’
Beth turns to go.
‘Beth? Did you see a tox report for Sharrick? There isn’t one on the system.’
‘No. Ray said not to bother,’ she says.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. He said it wouldn’t tell us anything and he’d rather the doctors put their effort elsewhere,’ Beth explains.
‘Oh. Right.’
I’m full of doubts as Beth walks away. Ray has made a point on this case of changing normal protocol. But the outcome of the toxicology report gave me no leads anyway, so ultimately he was right. It was potentially a waste of time. Unless Neva can shed some light on it and that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
This is ridiculous! Ray isn’t corrupt! I shake away any doubts I have about my boss. How can I question Ray on this? Ray brought me into Archive; he promoted me, gave me a purpose. Neva was wrong; Sharrick’s death was a coincidence and her disappearance was an overreaction.
No matter what, I just can’t believe there is a leak in Archive. But even as I try to convince myself of this, I find myself analysing my colleagues and the way they work. Is there anything off about any of them?
Chapter Forty-Seven
Neva
The chalet is in the mountains in Saint-Cergue, a resort some six miles from the small village of La Cure. For most of Neva’s time here it has been out of season, and therefore secluded. However, the surrounding flats have recently started to fill. For anyone else this would be a lonely experience, but Neva is used to her own company.
As the season starts, she avoids the arriving tourists. Even so, she doesn’t truly relax, remembering to train her body daily, as though she expects the onslaught of the Network’s silent army of assassins at any time.
Once every few weeks, she drives out to buy food. Sometimes she shops in the Swiss side of La Cure, at other times she passes deeper into France. She doesn’t make eye contact with the sales assistants at the stores and doesn’t engage in conversation with them above asking for what she needs. She wears various disguises so that her appearance is never the same. She tries to limit the frequency with which she attends any particular shop. When she has exhausted the area, and begins to feel that the shopkeepers are paying her too much attention, she drives further away for her groceries.
This takes her longer each time.
Two months into this routine, she returns from a whole day driving to and from a shopping mall. Before she enters the chalet, she notes that the hair positioned as usual across the bottom of the door is missing. The hairs stand up on the nape of her neck. She glances around the open-plan living space, trying to assess what is different. The room is large with a sofa and an armchair facing a big television. There’s a low coffee table in front of the sofa, and a sideboard below a wide hatch that looks into the kitchen. To the left is a family bathroom that also leads into a fairly big double bedroom. On the right is a door leading to another twin room that Neva doesn’t use.
Then she sees the anomaly. The television remote control has been moved from its usual spot. Normally it is on the arm of the chair facing the TV, but now it rests on the sideboard near the kitchen. Neva is meticulous about the placement of her gadgets, though she does briefly consider that she may have moved the device herself and has forgotten. But no. She wouldn’t have placed it there. It is almost as though someone has been using the TV while waiting for her arrival.
She walks into the room as though all is normal and places the bag of groceries down on the sideboard. Then she bends down and pulls her knife from a sheath hidden in her boot. Simultaneously, she removes her Glock from the holster strapped under the sideboard.
At that moment, a maid comes out of the family bathroom.
‘Sorry…’ she says in broken English. ‘Late today, miss!’
Neva hides her weapons inside the grocery bag before the woman sees them. Then she turns away as the maid finishes her final sweep of the room.
She watches the woman move towards the door and follows, intending to run the lock behind her as she leaves. Normally she puts the ‘Do not disturb’ sign up on the door when she’s out. She doesn’t like the maids to be in the chalet without her presence and she only allows them in once a week.
I’m lapsing, she thinks. Getting too comfortable here. Perhaps it is time to move again.
The maid is holding a bucket full of cleaning products. She opens the door and then with a sharp movement she swings the bucket, almost catching Neva in the face. But Neva falls back, rolling with the potential blow and is up on her feet before the woman is on her.
The maid is holding a syringe – a clear liquid inside it – in one hand and a gun in the other.
Neva steps back around the coffee table in the centre of the room and keeps it between them. Without looking away, the maid closes the chalet door and locks it. Then she moves forward into the room and begins to circle the table.
‘I can take you in alive or leave you here dead,’ the woman says. Her English is perfect.
Neva studies her. She’s in her late thirties, an older class than herself, but still strong and her reflexes are good. She must be confident of her abilities in order to get this close.
Neva curses herself for her stupidity as she moves around the table opposite the woman. They will do this until one of them makes a move. I did put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign up on the door, she thinks. This woman has removed it and tried to catch her off guard. It almost worked too. But at the last moment, Neva saw the slight movement that indicated she was going to use the bucket as an initial weapon. There has never been anything wrong with Neva’s reflexes.
Now she takes in the woman’s stance and the self-assured way she holds the gun and the syringe.
There is no way she will let herself be taken alive.
Neva leaps over the table, taking the woman by surprise. Hitting the assassin’s wrist hard, she knocks the syringe from her grasp. It tumbles to the tiled floor, and skitters across the room, coming to rest by the armchair near the TV.
Neva’s full weight throws the woman to the ground even as she brings the gun forward. The assassin fires; the bullet passes Neva’s right cheek. She feels the heat from it, but is unharmed.
The world goes into slow motion. Neva pushes at the woman’s wrist, but she is strong. They roll on the ground. With her now free left hand, the assassin delivers a blow to Neva’s face. Pain shoots through her cheek bone but she responds by elbowing the woman hard in the chest. The assassin is winded but still she comes. Blows are exchanged again. The assassin’s nose breaks. Blood splatters over Neva’s face.
Then the gun goes off again.
Outside, Neva can hear shouting.
Neva frees the gun from the assassin’s fingers and throws it across the room. She grabs the woman’s head, smashing it down on the tiled floor, brutally, over and over. She wants her dead. She hears the crack of the skull as time speeds
up again.
Someone is hammering on the chalet door.
‘Was ist da drin los?’
Neva hears the German and automatically translates it to ‘What’s happening in there?’
She lets go of the assassin when the woman’s eyes glaze over. She’s dead or brain-damaged. It’s all the same to Neva. She stands now, walking calmly to the bathroom where she washes the blood from her hands and face. Then she returns to the living area, takes her weapons from the grocery bag and walks into the kitchen. She opens the back door and exits the chalet just as she hears the front door cave in. It could be security or even some more of the Network’s people. She doesn’t wait to discover. She hurries between the chalets and flats and heads out via a route she has already planned for such a contingency.
Out in the woods she has buried an escape bag with passports, money, and more weapons. Covering her tracks, Neva makes her way to her hiding place.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Vasquez
After receiving the news that his assassin is dead, Vasquez hangs up the phone and looks around the small office in the Methuselah Club.
Neva’s escape has left drama and chaos that need to be dealt with. It is a situation that neither he nor the Network will find easy to cover up. Even so, any decisions are not his to make. He needs to pass this up the chain, to a much higher authority.
He pulls up the number for Mr Beech in his phone. Inside this room, conversations are protected. Even so, he hesitates to make the call. Beech will not be happy and, like Sharrick before him, Vasquez fears his wrath.
Vasquez takes a moment to regroup. He experiences a flash of panic – something he’s very unused to. Everything has been spiralling out of control since he was told of Sharrick’s retirement, and how the man had ‘broken’ – a term no operative would ever want applied to themselves. Sharrick had been strong for so long; the whole situation appeared to be impossible, unlikely, and somehow wrong. Now, Vasquez is beginning to wonder if there are some issues inside the Network that he should be aware of. It won’t be the first time that a lesser agent has made a play for leadership. Is it a coincidence that these minor problems and retirements have occurred since Tracey’s death and Neva’s defection? Somehow, he doesn’t think so.
One thing Vasquez understands: there was very little ‘accident’ in coincidences. Someone is always behind them. The question is, who?
He looks again at Mr Beech’s number. He has to report this. Beech is his direct superior and the chairman of the board at the Network. A seat there is Vasquez’s ambition.
If Vasquez fails to tell Beech what’s happened, the consequences could be terminal. But Vasquez isn’t ready to face up to such a catastrophic failure to capture or kill Neva, because Beech has expressed that he only expects success on this mission. They had, after all, sent one of their most successful operatives after her.
Vasquez takes a deep breath and places his phone down on the desk. He has to compose himself and think how to word his explanation.
Just then, his phone begins to ring. Vasquez jumps and glances down at the flashing screen. Mr Beech’s number is lit up.
He can no longer avoid it; the decision has been taken out of his hands. He answers and launches straight into a matter-of-fact explanation. It’s all he can think to do.
‘Inga is dead. Neva gave our agents the slip.’
Vasquez expects rage but Mr Beech is quiet. It is more terrifying than when he loses his temper. Vasquez continues to talk to fill the silence.
‘We don’t know where she’s gone, but the trail will still be warm. I have our best people working on it.’
‘Then Inga was not as good as she appeared,’ Beech says.
‘Inga tried to bring Neva in alive, as you wanted. Unfortunately, she was overpowered.’
Vasquez explains what his agents have told him.
‘What do you want us to do?’ Vasquez asks now.
‘I had hoped that the distance put between her and us would have made Neva less cautious,’ Mr Beech says. ‘Now she will be on full alert. If she’s seen, tell your agents not to hesitate. Kill on sight. The time for recovery has passed.’
Beech terminates the call and Vasquez places his phone in his pocket. The conversation has gone better than he expected. He had expected to be blamed, but Beech sounded calm and philosophical about Neva’s loss.
Vasquez opens his laptop and sends out a blanket email to all handlers.
NOTIFY ALL AGENTS: NEVA TO BE EXECUTED ON SIGHT.
He then attaches Neva’s photograph and all known aliases. He gives as much information as he can without compromising himself or the Network, then he clicks send.
Sending the email is a relief. Neva is now everyone’s responsibility. And, because of who and what she is, this is one job they will be vying for. Vasquez lets out a slow breath and sits back. He can almost see the handlers jumping over themselves to notify their operatives that a hunt is on. Now that the gloves are well and truly off, Neva will be found.
It is all just a matter of time.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Michael
‘Don’t turn the light on,’ says a voice in the darkness of my living room. ‘Close the curtains first.’
After all these months with no contact, I’m shocked to find Neva in my flat. Even so, I follow her directions, closing the curtains before switching on a lamp near the window.
Neva is sitting in the chair by the door near my bedroom.
‘I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again,’ I say.
‘I had to go to ground. I’ve also been doing my own investigations. I couldn’t contact you until I was certain you weren’t being monitored.’
The past few months I’ve been wary. Despite reinforcing my belief that all of my colleagues in Archive are clean, Neva’s words reinforce the nagging doubt.
‘Am I?’ I ask.
‘Have you noticed anything odd?’
‘If I’m being followed, the tail is good. I haven’t seen anything. What can you tell me?’
‘The word from my sources is that they are certain you’re being watched. They don’t know by whom, or why. But that was months ago and now I’m no longer in a position to use those sources anymore.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘The Network no longer wants to capture me; they’ve put a kill order out instead. When I learnt that, I had to sever ties with all my informants, just in case they were playing a double game.’
‘Then you’ve taken a massive risk,’ I say. ‘Why did you come? Surely if I’m being watched, it’s not safe for you.’
Neva sighs. Then she meets my eyes.
‘I realised that it’s time I took a few risks. I’m trying to find out who kidnapped me as a child and made me what I am. I still need your help and resources. I think you’re in a position to find out more than I can right now. I’ve been watching and I didn’t see anyone on you. So perhaps my source way back was wrong. I also searched your flat when I got here. I didn’t find anything, other than your own security system which you have wisely disconnected.’
I sit down on the sofa opposite her. ‘Maybe it’s time to tell me what you remember.’
She sighs again, as though all thoughts of the past create great pain.
‘There’s a recurring memory. I was in a park,’ she says. ‘I don’t know where.’
Neva’s mind slips back to the park.
‘I could feel the rush of air as the swing went higher and higher and then, somehow, my grip loosened and I fell, face first, onto the tarmac. I didn’t feel any pain at first. I was stunned by the fall. The au pair came running, yelling and frantic. Until then, she had been talking to a man. Giggling. Flirting … I think.
‘When the au pair lifted me from the floor, the man was there too. “Her face … is she going to be scarred?” he’d asked. “No, it’s just a scrape,” said the girl. My face began to sting then and I could feel blood trickling down my cheek.
‘He told her
to take me home and wash it. The au pair nodded as though he was her boss and not my parents. I remember him telling her to look after me. That I was somehow precious.’
‘Did you know the man?’ I ask.
Neva nods. ‘I think so. He might have worked for my parents too. I thought at the time he was scared they’d both get into trouble because they were paying too much attention to each other and not watching me. So I told my mother that I had let go of the girl’s hand and fallen as I ran towards the swings. I didn’t want her to lose her job, you see. She was always sweet to me and I liked her.’
‘Describe your mother,’ I say.
‘I can’t. All I see is this blank place where her face should be. Her image was taken from me.’
I think for a moment and then prompt her again for information that might help us both.
‘What do you remember about the day you were taken?’ I ask.
Neva thinks. ‘They spent a lot of time and energy trying to make us forget our past. I can only recall a few details. I was at school. I needed the bathroom and the teacher let me leave the classroom. On the way back … someone I knew was there. But the face is blank as well. I can’t see who it was.’
‘Could it have been the au pair?’
Neva frowns as she tries to bring the person’s face up. Then she shakes her head. ‘I just can’t remember. I didn’t feel unsafe, or afraid. It was someone familiar.’
I frown. ‘Perhaps it was one of the teachers at the school. That’s something I can do. I can look into that, see if there is any connection between the staff present at the time and other missing kids.’
‘It could have been a teacher, I suppose,’ Neva says. ‘Whoever it was, they took me outside and there was a black car waiting. I was put in the back and fastened in. Then I was given a carton of juice. I remember it tasted odd, and that was the last thing I recalled.’
The House of Killers, Book 1 Page 20
