Amanda: Tales of an international female spy

by Richard Marques

  Amanda

  Richard J Marques

  Copyright © 2016 Richard Marques

  All rights reserved.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1539944935

  ISBN-10: 153994493X

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful sister: Amanda.

  Chapter 1

  Darkness enveloped the stone building, an oil slick of thick heavy blackness suffocating the clear night sky. It was the dead of night and at this hour even the twinkling of the distant stars that would normally illuminate the forbidding surroundings had been shut out by the clouds that gathered menacingly together. At the front of a modern fortress-like structure highly trained soldiers patrolled in stiff uniformity. They circulated the perimeter continuously, with the alertness of jackals, picking up the slightest signs of movement, but for now there was nothing but silence.

  Within the tightly sealed walls a senior security guard made his way around the building, a last check before he signed off for the night and returned to the comfort of the soft warm bed where his wife lay waiting. He would wake her when he got home to greet her in his favourite way and then would collapse asleep, as usual, until late the next day, ready for his next shift. Another, younger, guard sat in a small control room at the far end of the building watching the CCTV and the thermal imaging cameras without interest, music playing in the noise-cancelling headphones that covered his ears.

  Two figures lurked within the shadows of the building, unnoticed and motionless. They had managed to breach the perimeter and were now hidden within the vast building. By the time the old guard came down the corridor, whistling a familiar tune, they had already reached their target – an ordinary looking maple cabinet in a small office. The cabinet concealed a small digital safe with a randomly generated code, rotated four times daily. One of the figures typed thirty-two alphanumeric characters confidently onto the touch screen and the five individual magnetic locks were deactivated, leaving the contents freely accessible. The taller of the two figures, a man with a large scar running diagonally across his face, removed several items and checked them before selecting what they had come for. Then he nodded at his companion and gave him a grin. It was done. They knew they would be well rewarded by the boss for this.

  They resealed the safe, taking the utmost care to replace everything exactly as they had found it with the intention of ensuring that the theft went unnoticed for as long as possible. Then they crept out of the office and back into the concealment of the shadows. All that was left to do now was to leave the building in the same manner that they had entered it and no one would be the wiser until the next morning, possibly even later.

  It was as they crawled hastily through the darkness towards the exit that they ran straight into a security guard completing the last few steps of his patrol. The guard retreated in surprise and immediately drew his gun while groping with his other hand for the light switch. The two intruders were on their feet in a moment and ran him down. The guard managed to get off a few wild shots but he stood no chance. As the shorter man grabbed him from behind, the guard looked up and took in the twisted, scarred features of the other intruder grinning down at him.

  The guard gasped for air as he felt a rough hand closing on his neck, but it was what he saw next that struck terror within the depths of his heart. The man was missing his right hand and in its place was a rapidly rotating circular saw. The vicious-looking blade was inches from his face, and coming closer. He struggled and tried to scream, but the man behind him had his hand clasped firmly over his mouth. The guard suddenly realised he still had his gun in his hand and he raised it as far as he could then pulled the trigger. The bullet lodged itself in the scarred assailant’s leg. The man recoiled slightly but it did nothing to stop him. He seemed to be ignoring his wound as if it were little more than a scratch. The guard goggled at him. This man is not human! The revolving blade was spinning just millimetres from his throat. His eyes widened and he shook his head in terror. No, no, NO!

  The blade tore into his jugular, severing flesh and sending jets of blood spattering in all directions. The guard fell to the ground, lifeless, with a wide-eyed expression of unimaginable fear fixed upon his face. The two intruders turned and fled, leaving the body in a heap behind them. A garish crimson puddle seeped out from under it and spread across the polished white floor.

  Chapter 2

  Droplets of freezing rain struck the taxi, hammering its patent black exterior that shone like a freshly polished pair of dress shoes. London in mid-April was mostly a wet and grey affair but it was impossible to deny the city’s elegance as the vehicle travelled along the Victoria Embankment, with the Thames on one side and various offices, cafés and university buildings on the other. Somerset House was beautifully lit at this time of night, with indigos and violets playfully illuminating the usually plain white stone of the neo-classical building standing proudly on the site of the former residence of Catherine of Braganza and Elizabeth I. Now adults, teenagers and families with small children danced, with various levels of competence, on the frozen sheet of ice of the perennial ice rink. The taxi headed on around Parliament Square, turning onto Victoria Street and then onto Great Smith Street before finally arriving at its destination.

  Amanda tipped the driver generously, depositing a crumpled note and a fistful of coins on the tray below the partition window, and swiped her key fob over the sensor to open the grand front entrance to her Westminster apartment block. As she crossed the lush cream carpets of the hallway the porter glanced up and smiled in acknowledgement. His dark good looks and chiselled features made him the clear favourite among the female residents of 10 Great Peter Street. Amanda entered the lift and pressed the button labelled Penthouse, then waited while she was taken up to the twelfth floor of the handsome converted red-brick mansion block in the parliamentary quarter.

  Once inside the apartment, she flicked the television onto BBC News 24. She liked to have some background noise. It made the place feel more homely and less like a library in a Buckinghamshire manor house. She felt exhausted after another long day of asset management at Rosenberg & Jackson. It was bliss to spend what little time she was able to spare in the living space she paid so much for. One thing she particularly cherished about her five-room apartment, besides the state-of-the-art kitchen and bathroom and the panoramic view of the city, was the abundance of mirrors. She stole a few moments to regard the image portrayed in the reflection. She considered the tailored, charcoal-hued Armani Suit and skirt, the crisp white shirt with a Hermes scarf tied loosely about the neck, and the pair of classic black Prada heels (she preferred high heels, whatever the situation). She had once been told by an all-too-ardent admirer that she constituted an alluring marriage of reserve and sexiness, something she attributed to her mixed Franco-British parentage.

  Browsing haphazardly through the mostly unopened stack of mail that had accumulated on a side-table near the front door, she found a smartly presented envelope, robustly rectangular in shape and ivory in colour. It announced itself, in italic script, as being for the attention of ‘Miss Amanda De Frey’ and the words ‘urgent’ and ‘confidential’ were stamped in red in the top left-hand corner. The stamped seal on the back revealed that it had come from SVHQ. Amanda could barely contain her excitement as she held in her hand what she hoped was an invitation to an interview for a position she had recently applied for.

  The City of London had fascinated her from a very young age. She used to walk across Blackfriars Bridge with her parents and watch, mesmerised, as t
he throngs of besuited people hurried to and fro, wondering what matters of great importance could precipitate such urgency. In pre-school she had been labelled a ‘gifted’ child. She was both precocious and inquisitive, but also polite and well behaved. When she joined the reception class, her parents, encouraged by her teachers, paid for her to have additional private tuition. She had soon attained a reading age well beyond her years. She read and re-read the works of Shakespeare, Dickens and Chaucer. Later, she studied Latin and Greek and grew to love the works of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. She also excelled at chemistry, physics and mathematics, became a junior chess champion, and played the violin and piano. Throughout her school career she was consistently top of her class. She had been headhunted even before leaving Oxford, where she obtained a first class honours degree in PPE. At Oxford she had been well liked and captain of the lacrosse team as well as head of the student union. It was inevitable that she should catch the eye of City recruiters at one of the careers days organised by the university.

  Rosenberg & Jackson was one of the top five investment banks in the world, with an international presence. The private banking division targeted the ultra-wealthy, individuals who held at least US$30 million in financial assets (excluding collectibles, consumables, consumer durables and primary residences). Amanda divided her working life between London and Geneva. She had initially enjoyed her time at the company and been thrilled to be at last part of the fast-moving machine she had so long studied from the sidelines. She had risen quickly through the ranks to become a senior asset manager, but as time went on the egocentric environment in investment banking, fostered by Oxbridge graduates, had begun to pall. It seemed that even if you had an IQ of 160, a perfect résumé and the body of a French model, you still ended up being pigeonholed.

  That was what had encouraged her to apply for this new position. It had popped up in her inbox and at first she had assumed it was junk, but on closer inspection of the company’s impressive website it seemed like a dream opportunity to change career. The website, though rich in images and graphics, gave little away as to what SVHQ actually did and what a career there might entail. However, it did say that SVHQ was the largest and most respected private intelligence agency in the world and that sounded promising. Few people, it suggested, would have actually heard of it because it operated with extreme discretion and had many subsidiary organisations whose company names were used to secure contracts, while SVHQ carried out the work. They were primarily concerned with security and communications work for independent corporations or individuals and operated globally. The ‘careers’ section of the site contained testimonials from various employees, including many women occupying high-ranking positions in the firm.

  Amanda’s hand trembled with trepidation as she contemplated the envelope and prepared to tear it open and reveal its contents. It felt like receiving notification of important exam results anticipated for weeks on end. Then she felt the vibration of her mobile phone in her pocket. She always kept her phone on vibrate, preferring to be alerted to incoming calls that way. She flipped open the device with her free hand, only to see ‘Unknown’ displayed on the call screen. Usually she would ignore calls from private numbers; past experience had taught her that they were either sales calls from some company or other trying to pressure you into purchasing unwanted goods or products you already had or didn’t need or somebody who had carelessly tapped in the wrong number. Her theory was that if anybody wanted to contact her badly enough they would leave a voicemail. This time, however, some strange sense of curiosity took over. She had a gut feeling that this was a call of importance and, somewhat against her better judgement, she answered it.

  ‘Miss De Frey?’ a man’s voice inquired. ‘I’m from SVHQ and I would like to invite you to come for an interview at our firm.’

  ‘Really?’ Amanda exclaimed, unable to keep the delight out of her reply.

  ‘Tuesday should be okay. Around five forty-five a.m.’

  ‘That early? I’m not sure–’

  ‘Yes, we can see you then,’ the voice continued, oblivious to her objections.

  ‘I have the letter you sent me,’ Amanda responded, bemused but resigned to the early start.

  ‘What letter? We never send correspondence via the postal system.’

  ‘But I have it right here in my hand.’

  ‘We never send letters as they are too easily intercepted,’ the voice repeated. ‘I suggest you bring the letter with you. Unopened.’

  Then the caller hung up and Amanda could ask nothing more.

  Using the directions from the website, Amanda arrived at SVHQ early the following Tuesday while it was still dark and the birds themselves had barely awoken to announce the day. The building was a sprawling expanse of steel and glass, with separate box-like shapes all stacked up on one another. It had some architectural interest but at the same time reminded Amanda of something a child might construct out of wooden building cubes.

  Upon her entry through the imposing automated doors Amanda found herself confronted by a large turquoise-coloured glass desk that barred her path to the lift on the far side of the reception area. There were at least six people behind the desk, a mixture of men and women who were either studying various documents or chatting. The door manager, a tall and dashing African with a wide, bright smile, took her details and phoned them through. She sat herself down to wait for a response, but just a few seconds was called back to the desk.

  ‘They’re ready to see you now,’ ‘ the door manager told her. ‘Follow me.’

  The man led her to the lift and once inside punched some numbers into the code panel on the right-hand side. Instead of the lift travelling upwards, as she had expected from the numbers indicated, it shot briskly downwards, leaving her stomach behind her on the ground floor. On reaching the intended destination, Amanda realised that the elevator had doors on both sides, just like those at various tube stations like Covent Garden or Goodge Street. The door behind her opened to reveal a narrow passageway beyond. Without saying a word, the door manager led her down it and through a series of winding corridors, which twisted like a futuristic rabbit warren. Eventually they reached a dead end, facing a stretch of wall that was constructed entirely of mirrored glass.

  As they approached their reflections in the mirror, Amanda wondered what on earth was supposed to happen next as they stood looking at the mirror, their reflections forming a full sized portrait in front of them, with the mirror image of the series of corridors behind them making the passageway seem even more labyrinthine. The door manager, turning to Amanda and grinning at her bewildered expression, pushed his thumb against the mirror. Immediately the entire section of the wall retracted to reveal – another elevator. This place is really something, Amanda thought as she stepped inside. She was even more astounded once inside to find that this elevator travelled horizontally, apparently at some speed, before bringing them to their final destination a few seconds later.

  The space in which Amanda found herself was a huge open plan room that was populated by men and women wearing white coats. She later discovered that this was known as ‘The Lab’. To her right two women sat in front of an ultra-high-tech computer, punching relentlessly at their keyboards. To her left a group of men studied reports or wrote on a big whiteboard. In front of her was a series of work stations, each with a large electron microscope as a centrepiece. More technicians tended to other less immediately identifiable scientific devices. From amongst the mass of white coats a man stepped out to greet her. Unlike the others, he was dressed in an immaculate black suit.

  ‘Miss de Frey?’

  The speaker must have been in his mid-fifties and was over six feet tall. He had an attractive smile and vibrant brown hair with the hue of a ripe chestnut, styled in a side parting. Without waiting for her reply he steered her with several quick strides to an area separated from the rest of the room by a partition wall.

  ‘I trust that you found us easily enough,’ he said, st
ill smiling in a friendly manner.

  ‘Yes, I found it easily. This place is really quite something once you get inside.’

  ‘Which not many people do. You must understand that anything you see and hear while you are at SVHQ is strictly confidential.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Where is the letter?’

  Amanda handed the unopened letter over and watched as the man studied it for a few moments. Then he passed it to an aide in a white coat.

  ‘This way,’ he instructed, motioning to Amanda to accompany them back into the main room and then across it to a strange-looking structure in one corner. This consisted of a large box of what looked like reinforced glass, with a wide clear tube connecting it to a computer terminal. Another man sat silently behind the terminal, staring at the screen. The aide in the lab coat placed the letter inside the box and sealed the lid, then stepped back. As the three of them stood watching, a metal blade slid across the envelope, slicing it open. The blade withdrew and several moments passed without anything happening.

  Then the technician at the terminal cleared his throat.

  ‘Exactly as we were expecting, sir.’

  ‘Exactly what?’ Amanda asked, fascinated and at the same time impatient to know what this was all about.

  ‘Anthrax,’ came the startling reply. ‘Somebody was trying to kill you.’

  Chapter 3

  After Amanda had recovered from the shock, with the help of a couple of shots of strong espresso, she found herself sitting at a small round table in a modern-looking conference room somewhere else in the SVHQ complex. The besuited gentleman from the lab eyed her thoughtfully.

  ‘My name is Dr Xavier James. I am the chief executive of Secure Visions Head Quarters in the UK. Thank you for coming to see us. I am sorry for what you have experienced today.’