She shot a glance at Mr Yang. "The local police will already have examined and catalogued his belongings, after all. They will be signed over to consular staff when their investigations are complete." Yang nodded.
"Well, thank you, Mr Chen and Mr Yang. Mr Chen, I know this must have been difficult for you. I will not encroach any further on your time. Unless there is anything else you feel we might address…?"
Chen simply stood and started moving towards the door. Yang spoke for the first time, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for someone Peri had mentally labelled 'a hood from security'. "Please assure Ms Li of my best wishes," he said with a slight bow.
"I will assure Ms Li that your assistance in this matter was invaluable," she replied politely.
***
A few minutes later came a gentle tap on the door. "May I?" said a voice.
Peri looked up and smiled. "Of course you may, Tommy, come in. It's good to see you."
The door opened wide to admit a small, middle aged man dressed entirely in blue denim. "Long time, no see, all that malarkey," he said with a grin. "Last time I saw you must have that big inter-agency training exercise in South." He was referring to the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service, which was south of the Thames. By the same logic, MI5 were sometimes 'North' and GCHQ were 'West'.
"That's right," she said. "The one where I got bacon grease all over the baccarat tables in the double-oh agent training centre. I'm barred now, you know."
They both laughed at the thought of fictional spies playing ridiculous card games.
"So," Tommy went on. "How you doin' Peri? I hear you're gettin' a bit notorious over in the Big Apple, am I right?"
"I'm not sure that's true," she answered with a laugh. "But come on, it's late, it's your weekend, and I don't want to take up too much of it. I gather you're doing event management these days?"
"All right," he said, "Down to business it is. Yeah, I'm the one who normally gets handed Buckthorn events. So you want to know all about our mysterious Chinaman?"
"Please."
"Right, here goes. Exhibit one." He pulled out a laptop and rapidly cued up an audio clip. "Call to the Buckthorn line, May 26 at 16:43 hours. I'm sure you know these things work. The caller dials some number that looks like it's in the back of beyond, it bounces around the country for a bit, then comes into our event centre. The call was fielded by Gareth, but I doubt if you'll need to bother him, there wasn't much to the call"
He tapped a key.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Code word buckthorn. Status green."
"Identity?"
"Uniform, November, Tango, India, Echo, zero, zero, niner, six."
"Thank you. Please stand by for a call-back."
"And that's all, she wrote," said Tommy. "As per standard protocol, Gareth checked the ID and saw it was the UNTIE team lead, John Chen. That sent his eyebrows up to his hairline, I can tell you! We don't often get calls from Chinese spooks. He'd said the magic word, Buckthorn, but status green, so not urgent. He contacted me, I called Chen on the contact number in the database, and all I got was nothin'. His phone was off. This was 16:49 hours, so his phone had gone off the network within five minutes of his call. Strange, but he'd said status green, so I didn't worry."
Peri grinned at him. "And yet you've made the point that he said 'green' twice now. Come on, Tommy, don't get all remorseful on me. How could you know he'd just fallen off a cliff?"
He shrugged. "Anyway," he went on, "I put in a note to try his number hourly, and thought nothin' more of it."
"When did you hear he'd been fished out of the drink?"
"The followin' day. Friday. Bloody hell, only yesterday. As soon as the locals ran an ID, it came up flagged for SO15 at the Met, and they contacted us. The fact he'd called out a Buckthorn meant I've been at work ever since, tryin' to work out what the hell he was up to. I mean, he's pissin' around on our turf! What's that all about?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Tommy. FYI, as of the middle of the sodding night, there's a new UNTIE team lead for you to bitch about."
"They didn't waste any time! Who is it?"
"Me."
Tommy started laughing. Then he stopped. "You're serious, aren't you! Bloody hell! I saw your name was in the Buckthorn clearance list all of a sudden. Now I know why, don't I?"
Peri nodded. "Now you know. I'm in a ticklish position, as you can imagine. As an official of the UN, I'm only here to keep tabs and report back on why Chen was wandering so far off his reservation. But as a British intelligence officer, I'm Buckthorn cleared and I want to know what's going on in Wales. I'm hoping to avoid getting caught in a conflict of interest, but there's a PLA Colonel in New York who seems to be playing silly buggers, and I'm damned if I know why. I could really use your help, Tommy."
"And you'll get it, don't worry."
Tommy rummaged around in his case once more, and brought out a buff envelope full of paper.
"Read, cogitate, inwardly digest, and see what you make of that lot," he said, pushing it across the table.
Peri started reading. It was mainly newspaper clippings and hard copies of Internet news pages, and between her speed-reading and remarkable memory, it took only a few minutes. She looked up at Tommy.
"I can see what caught his eye, I think. Odd weather and sudden changes in animal behaviour. Rumours of animal mutilation." She drummed her fingers on the table briefly. "Aren't these the sort of indicators we should be looking out for, Tommy? And by 'we', obviously I mean 'you'." She flashed him a smile to defuse the implied criticism.
"What can I say, love? I'm an event manager. I manage events when they happen. I don't scan the horizon lookin' for 'em."
"Sorry, Tommy, but you're sounding a tad defensive again. I'm not criticising, really. I'm just curious."
He sighed. "Sorry, Peri. It's just a bit frustratin'. We have some folks in the library that review open sources lookin' out for the keywords and indicators that we don't want to send outside to press clippin' services. But Janice, she's off on maternity leave, and Paula, she's been on holiday this past three weeks. The team's short-handed, and Buckthorn is a lower priority than you might like. So things get missed."
"I get it, Tommy, really I do. So our Major Chen spotted something, did some research, and got it into his head to go and check it out for himself. He shouldn't have, but he did. And he called in a Buckthorn, and then he died. Sounds like an event just might have occurred. Are you actively treating it as such?"
Tommy looked more comfortable with the slight change of subject. "It's not an active event, because we don't know what Chen was goin' to say. Local police are lookin' into it, so we're waitin' for their paperwork. To be on the safe side, I've got a UKSF observation team on site. But I can't justify keepin' them there for long, or Director Special Forces will be all over us about wastin' his precious resources. Best I can do, until and unless somethin' actually happens."
"Fair enough," she replied, and stifled a yawn.
Tommy grinned. "How long you been up, then?"
"Too bloody long. And I'm headed out West from here."
"West as in …?"
"Arwensmouth. I'm going to see the scene for myself. If there's anything amiss, you'll be hearing about it, I promise. As UNTIE team lead, I'm not going to go off-piste."
"And as Peri Carlton?"
"As UNTIE team lead, I'll behave as UNTIE team lead should behave."
He laughed. "Nicely evaded, Peri. Now I have to say, that's pretty much what I expected."
He gathered his things into his case, and carefully locked and padlocked it. "See you round, Peri."
Peri, too, packed up her things, and went off to find the promised driver, to take her out west.
Chapter 18
Anifail Island, North Wales, May 28th last year.
At about half past eight in the evening, having (in Tori's mind) wasted hours messing about taking pictures in the Mithraeum, Maxwell decreed that the party
should eat and get a good night's sleep before getting 'seriously stuck in' - his exact words - in the morning.
He had looked expectantly at Gilda when he mentioned eating, prompting her to roll her eyes and 'volunteer' to do pasta and polpette, deliberately using the Italian word in in the hope that Tori would have to ask what it meant. She was disappointed.
When he mentioned 'sleep' his gaze had flicked over to Tori who responded to him with a wicked smile, a salacious mental nudge, and finger circling one of her nipples. Gilda did not miss the first and third, and rolled her eyes again. Tori did not miss the eye-roll, and smirked.
Owain just seemed oblivious to the cross-currents, and volunteered to sort out the lighting for the morning while dinner was cooking.
Maxwell and the two women left Owain running cables from the generator down to the Mithraeum to set up some additional work-lights, and headed back out to the campers. Gilda paused to ask Tori if she fancied giving her a hand. Tori just smiled at her, and said she had faith in Gilda's ability to boil a meatball. She strolled off to the VW without a backward glance, but her keen hearing picked up Gilda's muttered curses, which was quite satisfying.
Tori had intended to make a start on getting Maxwell thoroughly worked up, but he surprised and annoyed her by walking off towards the main road, intending to find what he described as 'the elusive proprietor of this here farm'. She lingered in the VW just long enough - she hoped - to save a bit of face, then made for the Aero. "Hey Gilda," she said with false cheerfulness. "I thought I'd set the table, doll."
"Done," replied Gilda with a smirk.
"Right, well done, doll," said Tori. "How's the sauce coming along? Anything I can help with?"
"I think I can boil a meatball on my own. What's up? Maxwell not in the mood for a quickie, then?"
"He went to talk to the farmer."
"And you got bored within, what? A minute of your own company?"
"More like two minutes, doll. To be honest, I sat down and pictured myself as Gilda. I asked myself, what would Gilda do? But that was so, soooooo, sad and depressing, and rather than top myself out of misery, I came over here."
Gilda stood glaring at Tori, who could see she was trying to calm herself down. Finally, Gilda snapped, "You don't like me much, do you?"
"And you're not exactly my biggest fan, are you, doll?"
"You're taking advantage of Maxwell..."
Tori laughed. "And you wish it was you, right?"
Gilda opened her mouth to answer, but stopped abruptly as the door opened.
Owain came in. "Hmm, something smells good," he said. "Did I hear you say 'polpette'? Is that tiny octopuses? Or should I call them 'octopi'?"
Gilda laughed, but it was Tori who answered him. "No, silly. You're confusing it with 'polpo'. That's an octopus, all right, but little ones wold be 'polpini'. A 'polpetta' is a meatball."
Tori suddenly realised that Gilda and Owain were both staring at her in surprise. She quickly added, "What? Am I not allowed to be able to speak Italian, or something? I'll have you know, I've spent a lot of time in the Med, and all I have to say to you two is, 'Vaffancullo!' Need me to translate?" She turned and walked out of the camper. When she reached the VW van, she leaned against it and murmured, "Oops. Slipped out of character, didn't I?"
"What's that? You're not talking to yourself, are you sweetheart?" Maxwell was back.
"Blimey, that was quick," she said with a laugh.
"Ah, I could see he wasn't back. I left a note on the door, you see, and I could see it was still there. If he'd come back, he'd have moved it, don't you think? Anyway, I couldn't be bothered walking all the way to the house, when it was keeping me away from you, sweetie."
"Aw, Maxwell, you are soooooo sweet!" giggled Tori, and she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. Maxwell responded by pulling her close to him, and kissing her lips. Passionately. She responded enthusiastically, with lips and tongue, tasting the sweet energy of his growing arousal.
"Mm, Tori," he gasped between kisses. "You taste delicious!" His hands roved her body, uncertain where to linger, wanting to explore every curve.
"Later, babe," she whispered into his ear. "Food first. You're going to need all your strength tonight." Despite her words, her fingers continued to roam across the back of his jeans and one hand slipped down the front, tracing the outline of his erection.
"I'm not sure I can wait," he whispered, slipping a hand under her top.
Tori nibbled at his lips, and murmured, "Down, boy. I have some new tricks to show you later. And you know the old saying." She giggled. "Abstinence makes the hard on stronger."
"Hm, I'm not convinced that's how the old saying really goes," Maxwell whispered. "But I like what you did with it." He released her, and took a deep breath. "And I know I'll like what you do with me, later." He leaned back in and kissed her. "But not too much later."
"Oh, yes, Maxwell, you'll like it all right. So come on, let's go and eat."
***
The meal had been delicious. Even Tori had to admit that Gilda knew how to cook pasta to perfection, and that there was not much that could go wrong with meatballs in tomato and basil sauce. Tori had even surprised Owain and Gilda by producing a bottle of red wine to go with it; she insisted on a little celebration now that they had uncovered the hiding place of Belbo's dragon.
Finally, Maxwell stood up, smiled at the curvy blonde, and said, "It's way past my bedtime. Are you coming, sweetie?"
"I'll be right along, Maxwell," Tori replied. "I'll help with the dishes."
As soon as Maxwell was out of the door, Gilda glared at Tori. "Dishes my arse! What do you really want?"
"Oh, Gilda, doll. What could you possibly have that I'd want, I wonder?"
Owain spoke up. "Come on, girls, there's no need for that kind of attitude. Look, Tori, me and Gilda can sort out the dishes, why don't you go and join Maxwell?"
Tori turned to him and looked into his eyes, which widened as he felt her invade his mind. "What ... What's happening?" He started gasping for breath and sank down onto the bench seat behind him.
"Owain?" said Gilda. "Are you all right? Oh god!" She realised he was in trouble. "He can't breathe! Tori, help me with him!" She tried to push past Tori to get to Owain's side. Tori seized her arm in a vise-like grip, turned her slightly, and shocked Gilda by slamming a fist into her solar plexus. Gilda staggered backwards, gasping for breath as her diaphragm spasmed. Tori glanced at Owain, observed that he was still fighting for air, and pushed a repeat of her mental commands to reinforce the illusion of suffocating. She turned back to Gilda as she attempted to pull herself fully upright.
"What are you doing?" Gilda's eyes were wide with fear.
"Having fun, doll," replied Tori with a laugh. "I've been a good girl way too long! Do you want to see some of my party tricks?" She held her hands up next to her face. "Watch this, doll." Her fingers stretched and hardened into talons, and her canine teeth descended into sharp points.
Gilda opened her mouth to scream, but Tori struck with inhuman speed. A single raptor-like claw thrust into the front of Gilda's throat, punching through her thyroid cartilage and angling downward and back in a precise move that sliced through her vocal chords. Gilda clutched at her throat with both hands, while Tori laughed. Gilda's mouth opened and closed uselessly, unable to form words.
Tori lowered one hand and gently placed it against Gilda's chest, just below her breast and left of her sternum. She smiled into Gilda's shocked eyes. "Hey, doll," she said. "Want to know why I keep calling you that? Doll? Do you want to know?" She put on an expression of mock contrition. "Oh, sorry, doll. You can't answer me, can you? I forgot. Hey, never mind, I'll tell you anyway." She grinned. "It's because I knew all the time that before we were done here, I'd get to play with you." Tori's fingers pressed into Gilda's chest. "Just like." Her claws pricked Gilda's skin through her sweater. "My." The claws dug deep, scraping ribs as they sank into Gilda. "Little." There was a crunch of breaking ribs. "Doll.
"
The pain was astonishing. Gilda tried to scream, but her ravaged throat only managed, "Unh-unh!" She could feel Tori's hand wrapping around her heart.
Tori folded her fingers around Gilda's heart, and she thrilled to the feel of its irregular, panicked fluttering. "Are we having fun, doll?" she hissed into Gilda's ear. "Are we afraid yet?" Gilda's reactions were causing the atmosphere in the camper to saturate with a miasma of fear and death. Tori breathed it in, deeply, and used the fingers buried in Gilda's chest to channel life's energy into herself. Finally, she clenched her fist tightly around Gilda's throbbing heart and yanked it free. A gout of blood followed it out through a gaping hole in her chest.
Tori hissed and watched Gilda's eyes while their life drained away. "Are you watching doll?" she snarled. The last thing Gilda saw was Tori's sharp teeth biting into her bloody heart. Tori laughed. She pulled Gilda's mouth wide open and shoved the heart inside. She put on a fake Australian accent, and said, "Gilda? Well, you can live on it. But it tastes like shit."
Tori turned to Owain. She let her teeth return to normal and retracted her talons. She grinned at him and patted him on the cheek. "Your turn, baby," she said. She relaxed her mental hold on Owain and he felt the awful sensation of asphyxiation recede.
"Who ..." he struggled to speak. "Who ... No what are you?"
"Oh, babe," she laughed. "I'm an actor, remember? I suppose my poor little doll thought she was being eaten by a werewolf, or a vampire, or something. I was certainly doing my best to channel Bela Lugosi, anyway. But that was an act. My speciality doesn't work on girls, you see, just the male of the species. No, for girls I need to fall back on being sharp and pointy and hurting them." She began to remove her bloodstained clothing, and giggled as she saw Owain's eyes locked on her own in terror, despite the perfectly-formed breasts she had exposed. "Don't you like what I have on show?" she asked. She slipped her panties down and posed for him, half turned with her voluptuous tits and arse in profile, her eyelids drooping sensually. She pushed lewd thoughts into his mind and released a wave of pheromones that teased his olfactory nerve endings. Owain could not help himself - his eyes took in her naked body, his trousers tented, and he felt rising heat suffuse the centre of his being.
Island of Fog and Death: A sci-fi horror adventure Page 12
