Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  “I thought he was dead. I was pretty pleased at that outcome, so forgive me if I haven’t sent Father’s Day cards. Ever.”

  Rich does his scary ‘Here’s Johnny’ smile. His tone turns to Daniel Craig facing a baddy and ready to blow him up with barbs. “We know this,” says Rich. “We know rather more about you than you probably imagine. We know it all. Full security details as part of our process. We know what you had for lunch for the past three months.”

  “Not much, been on a diet.” My answer is so quick I can’t stop it. Though I should have.

  Here’s Johnny is back in a blink.

  Fuck. Now I’m worrying about the confidential contents of my underwear drawer and the big thing bought at a drunken girlie party that buzzes and uses batteries. Do they know that much? What about my private preferences—what about that big tattoo nobody else knows about? I fucking hope to hell they don’t know those!

  “My father and I last talked when I was five. Him being unmasked as a bent copper taking hush money from Manchester’s gangsters caused us to reconsider him as a positive parent example. We ran away and changed our name. I hate him. He’s not really ever been a dad to me.”

  I feel Dan stiffen beside me. I’m guessing it’s an awkwardness reaction. Or pity.

  Rich fixes onto my gaze through circular specs. “The two biggest sex-trafficking pirates on this continent. You alone have the power to take them down. How does that feel—powerful? Pre-ordained? Payback time? The best present you’ve ever been handed on a plate?”

  I’d rather have had a decent parent.

  So, shit. Not really.

  I’d rather be back at home in Blighty not knowing this and never having witnessed a man breathing his last when all he was about to do was carry my bags for a work-based Greek-cation. Especially now that I think my dad is at the back of it all.

  My throat is tight as a concrete knot. “He’s a pretty hard man to forget, but believe me, I’ve tried my best over the years.”

  I don’t want to look at the screen—it’s too big. I see the resemblance to my brother Mickey in the photo. But I push out feelings. I wouldn’t help my ostracized father if he was drowning and I had the world’s last Li-lo. I could do worse than drown him willfully, given a chance. He means nothing to me, thanks to his crime boss serving ways when I was young. He was a disgrace to the police badge he held. The fights. The fraud. The prison sentence. The shame of being in his family. I know this—Mum told me the history I’d overlooked in childhood. It damn near killed her, the disgrace of it.

  “Sorry,” Dan says softly. “You’re not the contact lookalike. I improvised. I’m shit at it, by the way. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more.”

  “Are you bloody really?” I dead-pan, and my hatred for what he’s done must show in my eyes because he drops his gaze. “Instead I’m the criminal’s clueless daughter. Nice stitch-up. Why the hell should I help any of you, you bunch of lying bastards?”

  “Good question,” says Rich. “And why don’t I help add some evidence with pictures as proof…”

  I hold up a hand to stop him. You could hear a pin drop. I’m not saying something to make them feel better, so I let the pause linger.

  And, with exquisite timing, he fills the screen with photographs. There must be hundreds. Girls faces. Some young boys. I know without details what’s next.

  “Missing presumed prostituted, at your father’s and Katsaros’ hands,” says Rich. “You don’t owe us—you might consider them, however. Being the loyal, decent, unblemished citizen we know you to be. This is your chance to ensure justice is fully served.”

  Dan segues, “We intend to lure him to a meeting with you.” He eyes me. If he has emotional X-ray vision he’ll see hate and hurt in Day-Glo shades of rage pulsing from every pore. “You’ll be wired. Fully covered by marksmen every step of the way. You’re key in getting him out of his lair—getting us in. Making him vulnerable so that we can blow his racket open. He has a very sophisticated operation at his mansion, Mone Dunamis—it’s like a mini Fort Knox. We need a major distraction to infiltrate that.”

  To think I was worried about blowing open my past Santorini honeymoon shit fest with Seb. This is so much worse—revealing my private nightmare of a father before the world’s high end criminal masterminding geeks. Showing the shabby underbelly of my ancestry—the Dad that scared us all rigid and made us flee.

  “I haven’t seen him in twenty years. I vowed he’d never find us. I never want to see him again. We took off for London—new life.”

  Rich is silent but watches his boots. “I realize you will have issues. That’s understandable. But you are the kind of woman who wants justice. You will see sense—in that we trust.”

  I score myself high points for holding moral high ground. But my blood is still up. I’m not just going to simper and make it easy when they’ve been this underhanded. So I raise my chin and give Dan my worst evil stare.

  “So now he’s kidnapping children and pimping whores for mega earnings, good to know he’s changed. Nice to know I still want to punch him hard. You know what they say, Rich? Once an arsehole, always a bad smell.”

  Rich clucks his tongue. “You’re entitled to be angry—I get that. I’d hope that, given time to process and see good sense, you’ll realize our motives are sound.”

  “Certainly, Sir. Three bags full, Sir. So glad you’ve mapped out my future without my consent. You set me up to face my nemesis, and get a bullet in the brain for my services.”

  “He won’t get a single chance,” whispers Dan. “Trust me on that.”

  And shit—it’s only in saying that it hits me. What’s going to happen to me? Will Dad be one step ahead and get me before they can counter-move? Or will the Spy Squad deem me surplus to requirements? Am I to disappear in the night like Tavi when I’ve fulfilled my purpose? Am I necessary collateral?

  I gawp at him. “Then I guess my answer is still no. Sir.”

  “You have all the power in this one. You’ll be at safe distance. Our plan is to have you lure him to a meeting—we know he has a desire to make amends. Ten minutes and every damn son of a bitch that works for him will be captured thanks to you.”

  “Why ever would he care about a visit from me after all these years?”

  The men share a glance I can’t read. They know something I don’t, for sure.

  “We have intelligence that suggests a reunion will be seen favorably,” says Redman.

  “Intelligence how?”

  “We know he has regrets about the past. During taped conversations.”

  “Too damn late.” Shit. But I’m not through yet. By a long chalk. “He’s the last guy breathing that I’d ever want to meet. A bit like Mr. Stun Gun beside me.”

  Low blow. But pleasing nonetheless.

  “You can lure him out so that we can make him pay,” Rich concludes, ignoring the Dan jibe, and maintaining his offensive.

  Dan turns to me. I can’t read him. He’s known this all along and never said a thing. “A meeting is all we need to get things rolling on the capture sweep. Grey is the heavy side of the team. With him off-site we can swoop. We’ll have them all behind bars. You’re the final domino in an elaborate and cleverly orchestrated showdown of the bad guys. Surely you can see why we’ve steered you here as our most vital weapon?”

  “So what’s it to be?” Rich asks.

  I’d like to settle for slapping Dan’s moosh. I’d make a run for it, but where would I get to? The kitchen?

  “I need time. You’re asking me to disregard my principles. The least you can do for me is treat me like somebody whose opinion actually counts. Permission to leave the room and process some of this shit?”

  With shared looks and Rich’s consent, Dan stands to follow me out. His fingers don’t shake half as much as mine do when he tries to take my hand, I quickly slip out of his grasp. He is a pro marksman. He’s shot me with his actions.

  “My answer, Sir, is not fucking likely.” I turn to leave.
“I’d love to answer your prayers and say yes—but I hate my father, left him for a reason. He failed me and my brother and mother and abused our trust. We protected ourselves and changed our identities. Had our windows broken in a few times when the news hit.”

  “You’ll save innocents and achieve justice for victims and their families. It’s a big ask, but your influence is huge.” Redman steeples his fingers and touches his chin. “You’ll be duly compensated when you leave.” He holds up a piece of paper—a check with more noughts than I’ve ever seen in real life. But truly—do they really think that’s enough? “We know it is not without risks and sacrifice. You will be well remunerated. You’re a seasoned reporter—use emotional detachment—he’s primed to take this bait. You realize he tried to snatch you at the villa?”

  Inside me an oxygen tornado’s started and I’m failing to catch enough air to breathe. “They said it was a burglar!”

  “We aren’t entirely sure of the perpetrators of the villa attack. All we do know is that Tavi was targeted and the place was turned to matchsticks and mess, via raining bullets. But we’re working on it. Katsaros and Grey are key suspects, naturally. He knows you’re here and he wanted to intervene.”

  “Who’s to say he won’t kill me?” My insides going into a cyclone-style freefall that makes my head feel light. In a blink, I feel Dan’s hand in mine. His touch on my lower back, though light, goes through me like a lit taper on Bonfire Night, and I flinch away. He has that sizzling raw naked energy but he’s toxic. He’s brought me here, all along knowing what I faced and keeping that black truth silent.

  I’m mad at my earlier snog willingness. Maybe it was just my lack of a shag for too many moons and being in close proximity to tight buns, loaded weapons and a man’s double-barreled biceps. I should have remembered policemen are the last guys I’d ever choose. How could I have known he’d lie all the way for his precious cop job?

  “You can do this. But we know it’s a big ask—we know you can pull it off,” Dan whispers.

  I’m not okay with any of this. I can barely swallow. “So I’m the reason Tavi is dead?”

  Dan shakes his head. “Tavi died in the line of duty. We are still following enquiries about Tavi’s death, and it’s too early to draw a finite conclusion. But Tavi aside, your father is vulnerable with you here—he’ll make mistakes, you’re the prize.”

  “Trouble with prizes—one slip, they smash.”

  Rich’s voice is commanding enough to make me flinch. “We don’t slip. Nor will you—after full induction and practice exercises you’ll be briefed in a carefully executed plan. In three days’ time you’ll pull Grey Donaldson into our iron web.”

  I should be repulsed still, but somehow I find a low certainty simmering inside me. My thoughts drift to my mother, and how Dad’s been responsible for yet more violation, loss of innocence, murder. The least I can do is send him to prison and yeah, call me twisted, but that’s a stirringly satisfying inducement.

  Okay,” I whisper. “I deplore having to even look at him again. But I’ll do this to finish it for good.”

  Dan squeezes my hand, but I pull out of his grasp.

  “Stay away from me. Right now I hate you!”

  “Ms. Joseph. Agent Draven’s my deputy. He’s to work with you closely to get you ready for the task ahead. He’s an expert in such situations. Outside of base he’s the highest ranking agent on the mission.”

  He’s rank all right—a full-on stink fest, Sir.

  “I don’t feel like I have much choice—right now it feels like a family memories Shanghai. But I realize how important the job is, and for that reason only, I’m prepared to listen.”

  I’m heart sore and angry, so I don’t know whether to cry, flee or scream. But there’s too much riding on this to follow those instincts.

  “We’ll reconvene for a progress debrief,” says Sir Redman. “Dismissed.” He puts out a hand to touch my arm. “Process and realize you’re doing something crucial for international security.”

  I take solace in controlling my deep urge to hyperventilate as we walk away. We pass the agents at monitors with me not seeing them through my blurred vision. But I don’t care.

  Dan tails my fast strides, ironically acting somewhat submissive in all his macho gear.

  “Don’t speak to me unless you want to get a full-on kicking by a girl.”

  He follows in silence. But I don’t know where I’m going, so eventually I have to turn back and let him lead me to my room. He tries to talk when we get there but I blank him so long Dan gives up and just locks me in.

  And that’s when I collapse in a heap.

  And I crumple and just let myself cry.

  Chapter Seven

  Dan

  I try to sleep and seek the chillzone. Empty brain, breathe—focus on breath. Yoda yada like the quack told me. But I still can’t relax or rest. Or stop thinking about a certain pissed-off woman not too far away.

  It’s way past two a.m. Just like me, my brain doesn’t take kindly to taking orders from dickwads. Katie’s given me the dickwad award, complete with a framed diploma.

  I don’t even need my dream app tonight. The PTSD innovation one that regulates episodes and monitors my sleep rate. Usually it works too—reduces the crazed-out terror binges. Gently rouses me when I’m in close zone for a dreamed attack revisit.

  But sleep evades me and right now, patience is in short supply. My guilt trip is big enough to keep me awake for a season. My futile attempt at enlightening Kate gently was nailed completely in an epic all-time fail that makes my skin feel blistered.

  I pick up my phone and stare at the time. Again. Swear at myself.

  “Move it, man.” I rise and dress in sweats. Opt to head to the gym to beat the insomnia, knowing it’ll be dawn before I’m done, but it’s better than lying there defeated. First I take a moment to write a note, unsure if I’ll toss it.

  I shut the door, careful not to wake the neighbors. Pretending I’m not ultra-aware she’s three rooms down, and my heart’s not drumming as I near. I made Warbie put her close—further evidence of my dickwad status. I stand like a teen crush dweeb deserving a kicking. Absorbing quiet darkness, trying to gauge if she’s awake. Or so woe begotten and buzzed with sorrow she’s tipped over into oblivion?

  I raise my fingers to knuckle rap. Then stop, walk a few steps, then stop again. What’s with this fucking apology impulse thang? Why do I wanna see her face? Her hair and state of undress like Perv Central?

  I grab the note from my pants pocket and slide it under the door before I can pull it back. Then walk. Fast. No thoughts permitted.

  She’ll tear it up. She hates me. But even a dillweed like I’ve been can do what he can to try.

  * * * *

  “What you doin’ here, douche bag? No girlie mags left for a meaningful relationship tonight?”

  My FBI nemesis Rocco’s on pure hit form. I can tell once he stops the huff and puff of his workout I’m in for a full routine. The guy puts the G in Good Sense of Humor—providing the G here standards for garbage.

  He’s also mainlining fluids while he does serious damage to the treadmill. Like a rampaging rhino with the horn. He’s sweating enough to have just completed an epic night swim. Mister Definition of Douche.

  But, irony central, in a crisis he’s the guy I always want to have my back. Doesn’t make him easy to take. Something about the sin boulder on my shoulders tonight tells me the gym might’ve been my worst idea yet.

  “How’s you, Mister Never Right?” I fake a grin. “Take the silly-ass hat off and play nice. Gunna bro down and cut the crap?”

  “Can’t. When it’s this much fun to make your uptight dick twitch. Almost wanna turn a hardy har hose on ya.”

  Yeah. He’s a real white noise machine.

  Just what I wanted to escape.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? You down here at silly o’clock wid nothin’ but me for stimulation?”

  “C’mon, Noneski. Jeez—yo
u’re gonna slip in a puddle of yourself. Don’t you ever stop sweating or take a towel break?”

  “No surrender. Beating my times. Nailed it—add to cart. Bang.”

  “So proud. Were you knocked on the head as a kid or is it just an act, pal?”

  My chest is tight. Heart’s heavy. Haven’t even started. Now I’m wishing I’d kept the note. Shoulda left things. Fuck. Epic lack of street smarts on that one.

  “Let’s can the chat and just go for the zone, if you don’t mind?” I urge.

  But the son of a bitch doesn’t copy the hint. “Would that be the butthead zone? Or the thinking ‘bout your jump off zone? She’s sweet, gotta give it to ya…”

  Jerk gym buddy all the way. I cut our chat and filter his verbiage out. No way is he going to reel me in on the Kate thing.

  My warm up’s gentle—heading for light weights. Nothing like the burn of a bench press for cathartic torture.

  Only Rocco’s finished with playing nice. “So—the woman. Nice chassis. Skinny but not too much—stacked too. Booty-licous, workin’ one helluva rear. What I couldn’t do with summa that!”

  Weird and tragic both. But I’m so not gonna bite.

  “Run faster, man. Might help your brain engage. Or your balls to drop.”

  Rocco smiles. Tiger stalking my moves. “Said something about your girl to offend ya, ma bro? You two looked mighty sweet when we found you.”

  “Not my girl. Just doin’ the job.”

  Rocco pauses. I wait for more. “Cozied in a cave, all loved-up. Lotta her buttons done up wrong if you ask me…” Rocco nods and ups pace. “Yeah. You want her so bad you’re losin’ it…sweet tastin’ ass hard to resist.”

  “Get real, RocMan.”

  “So, did ya get some or did she flatline the loser? If she benched you, feel free to tell her I’m here, willing and ready.”

  His reflexes are hotter than I credit him with. He blocks my ill-timed blow and we both sense it woulda been a stunner. Literally.

  He pushes me hard, and I fall back over equipment onto my ass and back. Taking a low thud ooft in the process. I catch my head on the way. Two head wounds, price of one. Not deep but still earns a flag up for tragic effort.