Chameleon - A City of London Thriller

by J Jackson Bentley

  “Gillian Davis, or Gillian Miles?” she enquired. The woman turned to face her.

  “Yes, can I help you?” she offered, smiling all the while.

  “I’d like to talk to you.” Dee was now close to her nemesis.

  “Of course,” Gillian replied amiably. “Always nice to speak to a fellow Brit. While you’re here you might as well help me with the shopping.” She extended both arms, each holding a bag of shopping. Dee took one in each hand.

  The blow came from nowhere, and if Dee had not been so well trained she would have been badly injured or killed. Gil’s straight fingers punched towards the soft part of Dee’s throat. Dee dropped the shopping and pulled back but the fingers still connected with her windpipe. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her throat muscles went into spasm and she could feel panic rising. Dee fell to the floor and rolled into a protective ball whilst trying to talk herself down from a full blown panic attack, but the adrenaline was pumping and her heart was racing. Dee knew from her training that a blow to the throat like this is only debilitating if you panic. Most people would instinctively throw both hands to their thorax, leaving their unprotected body open to a follow up attack. She tried to ignore her throat and tense her body for action.

  She acted just in time because a heavy kick from winter work boots was aimed at her midsection. She twisted as the boot landed and it rode up her side, expending most of its force under her arm. Normally it wouldn’t do much damage there, but just a few months earlier Dee had been shot in the very same place. She shrieked with pain but still pulled her arm in, trapping the foot. Rolling onto her back, she took the foot with her, and Gil uttered a blasphemy as she lost her footing.

  Realising that she was going down anyway, Gillian bent her knees and intended to land on her counterpart’s ribcage, causing some real damage, but by the time she went down Dee had rolled back under her and had grabbed her left foot, twisting it painfully. They were both on the ground now, rolling on the wet grass under a large maple tree. Dee was still spluttering and trying to catch her breath, but seemed oblivious to the discomfort as she fought for her life. Gil was amazed. She had never seen any opponent withstand her favourite blow and keep on fighting. Gil could feel Dee behind her and so she swung her elbow around blindly, hoping to hit a vital organ. She found bone and both girls groaned as Gil’s elbow connected with Dee’s forearm. Dee’s rash move had left Gil with only one arm to lift her back into a fighting position.

  Dee was hurting and her breath was still ragged. She needed a quick end to this fight. She twisted Gil’s left arm, the one with the numb forearm, and pushed it up her back. The assassin shrieked as Dee used the hold to lift her to her feet. Realising that at best she would suffer major tendon damage, and at worst have serious fractures, Gil rose under her own steam until she was standing facing the trunk of the maple tree, with Dee behind her.

  Dee placed her right arm across Gil’s throat and released her twisted left arm so that she could secure the chokehold on Gil with both arms. Dee’s right wrist was now locked in the crook of her left arm, and she began to apply the pressure necessary to send her opponent into unconsciousness.

  Gil’s first reaction would have been to grab for her attacker’s testicles, the usual way out of a choke hold, but in this case there were none to squeeze the life out of. She could also have raked her boots down the other woman’s shins, the second option for escape from a chokehold, but she guessed that this particular opponent would accept the pain and carry on. She opened her eyes and saw she had one more option, which was just as well because she was beginning to black out. Leaving her whole bodyweight in Dee’s hold, she kicked up her feet and ran her feet up the tree. As Dee leaned forward under the weight of the other woman, Gil felt the weight of the two fighters on her bent legs and she extended both legs to push her attacker back.

  As Gil had hoped, Dee lost her footing and fell backwards, losing her grip of the chokehold. She landed flat on her back, with Gil on top of her and spinning around to initiate another attack. Dee had no way of knowing that Gil was on the edge of exhaustion as well, and so she rolled out of the way of a left hook that hit her shoulder instead of her jaw. Both women managed to clamber to their knees, and Gil turned away from Dee when she saw a heavy can of chilli lying on the ground just a couple of feet away. It would make a weapon of sorts. Dee saw it, too, and as Gill reached out for it Dee fought dirty. She threw out her open right hand and slipped it under Gil’s right arm which was reaching for the can. Then, hooking her wrist around the Chameleons body, she grabbed the other woman’s right breast and squeezed as hard as she could, pulling the other woman around to face her. Gil cried out in pain as she was forcefully turned around to look into the face of Dee Hammond.

  She didn’t have long to look because she caught sight of Dee’s left fist heading straight into her face. She lifted her head in an attempt to avoid the punch, but it was too late. She felt a blow to the chin and everything went black.

  ***

  After taking a couple of minutes to recover, Dee stood up and looked down at the sprawling body of Gillian Davis. She was out cold. Dee stumbled over to the open tailgate of the Chevy Tahoe and sat down on it. Rummaging around in the shopping, she found a sixteen ounce bottle of blue liquid that looked like wallpaper stripper but which was in fact Gatorade. Dee slugged it down in seconds and waited for the caffeine and glucose to hit.

  Fifteen minutes later Gil Davis began to rouse herself. She ached all over, and suddenly unconsciousness seemed an attractive option. She was lying on something soft. Was it a cushion of some kind? When she opened her eyes she was lying on the sofa.

  Dee was busy in the kitchen when she saw signs of Gil stirring. She grabbed something from the countertop and crossed over to the sofa.

  “Here, hold this against your jaw. It’ll prevent it going stiff.” She held out a Ziploc bag filled with ice from the icebox. Gil did as she was told and massaged her right breast.

  “You fight dirty,” she said, her voice filled with irony, or so Dee chose to believe.

  “And you fight like a girl,” Dee replied. Gil almost laughed, but it turned into a groan and a cough. “I only came to talk,” Dee added.

  “I thought Five might have sent you to kill me. They’ve tried twice already.” Gil’s tone was measured and calm. Dee walked over to the counter where the shopping had all been unpacked and picked up a tray.

  “I’ve made us some tea,” she announced, then placed the tray on the coffee table and gently moved Gil’s legs off the sofa, sitting down beside the killer.

  ***

  They served and drank the tea in relative silence, a silence broken only occasionally by the sound of a sharp intake of breath as the hot tea met a cut lip, or a mistreated muscle cramped. Gil stared at Dee intently for a moment, then made a declaration.

  “I know you. I saw you on the internet last week. You were on YouTube.”

  “I don’t think so; maybe I hit you too hard.”

  “No, it was definitely you. You were coming to the aid of that Clara girl and you marched Rob Donkin down the red carpet by the ear. It was a big hit on YouTube last week, once someone had dubbed it with a series of chimp sounds.”

  Dee hadn’t seen the footage but she smiled at the recollection. Gil spoke with something approaching admiration.

  “In different circumstances I might hire you to protect me.”

  “I’d need an army, with the enemies you’ve been making,” Dee noted without any hint of irony.

  Chapter 65

  Miles Estate, Lynchburg, Virginia, Friday 9pm.

  Gillian Davis had eaten, and dressed her wounds, as had Dee, and both were now sitting on the sofa, Gil with her legs tucked under her in the same way Katie Norman had just a week ago. Dee thought she looked so much younger than she was. It was true that she was well trained, scheming, manipulative, and quite possibly sociopathic, but she was like a teenager in her mannerisms and general behaviour. Perhaps if she had stayed in Chemistr
y she would have been married and settled by now, who could tell?

  “Why did you kill the Hokobus?” Dee asked as she looked directly into the eyes of Gillian Davis. Without flinching or even breaking eye contact, Gil answered her question quite honestly.

  “I don’t know.” There was no denial. There followed a long pause, which Dee wanted to fill with a judgemental statement like ‘you must know, you took the lives of two wonderful people’, but she didn’t. She had learned that it was better to listen in order to learn.

  “Every day since the killing I’ve asked myself that same question many times. I had never questioned my motives before. I was trained not to. If you thought about everyone you were ordered to take out - their families, their kids, their mothers, even – well, you would go mad. And some of my colleagues did.

  So I guess I learned to shut it out. It was for the greater good and that made it right. Even when Doug and I went freelance we only ever took out bad guys. We made the customers pay through the nose but we only did what we thought was right. We even had a code. If we thought a hit was against the country’s interests we would make the customer, usually national agencies of some kind, clear it through MI5. But it was all a fraud. Our ex boss knew someone from the old team was the Chameleon. I think he suspected Doug all along, but he wasn’t giving us the all clear based on national interests, he was taking a cut.

  I didn’t even know until I did the HAMAS job and the Israelis refused to pay. Their excuse was that I had half of the million dollars and my contact had received one hundred thousand pounds and that was enough. Obviously Barry Mitchinson was taking a ride on the back of the Chameleon. I should have known then that I couldn’t trust him. I should have known that he’d give the go ahead to shoot the Pope if he got his cut. I was stupid.”

  “Did he give you the go ahead to kill the Hokobus?” Dee asked. Gil nodded.

  “But I’m not blaming him, Dee. Is it OK for me to call you Dee? I feel as though we’ve shared enough pain to be on first name terms.”

  “It’s my name, Gillian.” Dee replied neutrally. Gil looked at Dee and smiled, and suddenly Dee realised that this young woman had no-one. No family, no friends, no colleagues. She was lonely, hence her pilgrimage to the USA. She was trying to connect with the father who was, in reality, little more than a sperm donor.

  “You probably don’t want to hear this, and it won’t endear me to you in any way, but I am not sure whether I would have turned down the money if I had known the Hokobus were fine people. Obviously I hope I would have done, but I just don’t know.” She looked at Dee and her eyes were wet.

  “I think I may be damaged goods.” She paused to gather herself. “When I was in that car and the couple were paralysed I could see something in their eyes and I knew they weren’t bad people, but I did it anyway. I’ve relived that moment a thousand times and only recently did I recognise what it was I saw in their eyes.” She paused and sobbed. “It was forgiveness.” She sobbed some more, and Dee handed her a tissue.

  “You, and everyone else, will think, she’s seeing what she wants to see. She’s placating herself. But I’m not. I believe I saw acceptance and forgiveness in those kindly eyes.” By now her knees were up on the sofa and she buried her head between her knees and cried.

  “It was my job to keep the Hokobus safe, and I failed,” Dee said. This was a revelation to Gil.

  “What about that tall Geordie man?”

  “He’s my partner. Don’t ever go near him. I guarantee he’ll snap you like a twig before you ever get to say sorry. We’d known that couple for just a few days but you were right about their eyes. They saw everything and they condemned nothing. We felt as though they were long lost friends. If I hate you, and I’m not sure whether I do or not, it should be because you killed a lovely couple, but it will actually be because I didn’t save them.” Dee’s eyes also welled up. “I guess we’re both conflicted.”

  “Dee, what I did was heinous, unforgivable. I know that. But what you did, well, it was heroic. I might have killed your clients but you wouldn’t let their dream die with them. I watched that black actress standing at that podium, reducing some people to tears and stirring others to action. I saw the news of the uprising. Marat is free. The President is going to be tried for crimes against humanity and the Hokobus did it all, thanks to you.”

  Dee turned away quickly. She didn’t want the Chameleon to see tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

  “I have to be going,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “Don’t be crazy. You can hardly walk. You’re almost as battered as I am. Stay the night in the spare bedroom. Go when you like in the morning, but don’t go out in this state. Please.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?” Dee asked, only half seriously.

  “Ditto,” Gil replied. “Should you decide to stay there is more I need to tell you, but for now I’m just too tired.”

  Dee’s weary body made the decision for her, and she asked if she could have a hot bath before she retired.

  “Of course, and I’ll put some Ibuprofen by your bed. After I’ve swallowed a few myself.”

  Chapter 66

  72b The Green, Richmond, London, Saturday 2am.

  Maureen Lassiter was dead on her feet. She just wanted to lay her head on her pillow and allow herself to drift off to sleep. She was so tired that she would doze off at the computer, hallucinate and wake up, all in the order of a few seconds. She sipped her strong tepid coffee in the losing battle against fatigue.

  The last piece of information she had been pursuing arrived in her inbox; a voice proclaimed “you have mail” and she opened it. Summarising its contents, she added it to her notes for Barry. He was in her bedroom, making yet more calls to people who were distancing themselves from him and his spectacular plummet into oblivion but who were afraid of what he might reveal about them on his way down.

  Maureen read her notes:

  ‘CIA, MI5 and the law enforcement agencies either side of the Atlantic unable, or unwilling to say where Gillian Davis is living. Scotland Yard met with her, as did the FBI but both met her at offices in Richmond, Virginia and her lawyer would not disclose her address, if indeed he knew it.

  Amazingly enough the authorities could not find Davis with all of their resources but a private security operative, Dee Hammond did find her, and is probably the only person who does know where she is living.

  It was assumed she was living in the Miles home, her Father’s home, but this appears not to be the case; see Gerry’s note.’ Maureen flicked over two pages and found the email from Gerry, MI5’s local contact in Richmond, Virginia.

  “Mo. Good to hear from you after such a long while. No-one at Thames House speaks to me anymore – cutbacks? Remind them I’m cheaper than an airfare! Anyway, here we go. All Senators have government approved fast response security systems operated by Wells Fargo and so I rang the control center and assuming the role of the Lynchburg Police Department asked them if an alarm was going off as a neighbour though they heard something as they drove by. Wells Fargo said the house was secure, as far as they could see on their monitors, and that the Senator was away until Tuesday and the house was empty. They reminded me that the Lynchburg PD should be driving by every ninety minutes anyway. So, if your girl is in the area she isn’t staying in the Senator’s house.

  Just a thought, if she talked to the Feds in Richmond and her lawyer is in Richmond, well maybe she is in Richmond too. Do you want me to run a credit card check? Let me know, sweetcheeks.

  Gerry”

  Maureen went back to the notes.

  ‘Davis is not using any known account or credit cards but this means nothing. She probably has unknown accounts under several aliases, or at least she will have if she learned anything at all in her special services training.

  Our only lead to her whereabouts, therefore, is the unlikely Dee Hammond. A Google search showed lots of YouTube hits for the same piece of video, Hammond leading Rob Donkin by
the ear to the police. He must be one angry man. Also numerous press reports including the front page of the Sun newspaper reporting that Hammond had partially blinded Donkin when his attack on her backfired. The lunatic had tried to squirt undiluted bleach in Hammond’s eyes. Sick boy.

  The night duty operative at Vastrick Security helpfully gave Maureen an emergency number for Hammond which rang through to an answer phone for her Orange Mobile phone number.’

  A hack of her mobile phone, courtesy of Sandra in the ‘electronic interception section’ at Thames house, proved most helpful. Maureen owed Sandra dinner at Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen Restaurant in North London. Maureen turned to the intercepts.

  “Outgoing text message to Josh Hammond: Know it’s stupid. Outside Chameleon’s place. Need to face her. Can’t settle til I do.”

  “Incoming text message from Josh Hammond: Yes it is stupid. She is a killer. I am flying out. Be there Weds’day. Got to finish report. U still at Richmond Downtown Crowne Plaza?”

  “No more traffic, D Hammond phone off or out of range.”

  At least Maureen had something. If they could persuade Dee Hammond to tell them the whereabouts of Davis, Barry could track her down and force her to make good their loss. After all, she’d had almost three million pounds in her account before it had been moved. She could afford it.

  That money in the Isle of Man had been their nest egg; they could get away together if they had that cash. Maureen shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Barry’s behaviour towards her earlier. He had brutalised her - rape wouldn’t be too strong a word. But he was under extreme pressure. When they were together, relaxing, having retired from this madness, he would be OK. He wouldn’t hurt her then. No, it was just the circumstances, she convinced herself. She hadn’t seen the signs, and so it was partially her fault, anyway. She would have to be more careful.

  ***

  Barry sat alone in the living room of the small garden flat which overlooked the green. Maureen had gone to bed. This tiny space in a Victorian building in Richmond would raise almost three hundred thousand pounds when it was sold, and even in a depressed housing market it would be sold within a week. Maureen had furnished it well; it was light and airy, the furniture modern and the artwork colourful. The pale deep pile carpet offered a soft contrast to the hard edges of the stainless steel and glass coffee table and bookshelves. The irony was that the flat could have been designed by his wife. Everything in it was exactly to her taste. Barry wondered for a moment whether the decor said anything about his taste in women.