Deception!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  ‘Well, no-one can see in; but we can’t switch the light on. You’re going to have to manage with just the torch.’

  Suzanne was pulling on the cupboard doors, all of which were locked. Charlie walked across to join her.

  Suddenly the lights were switched on. The sisters spun round and stopped dead at the sight confronting them. The rightful occupant of the laboratory was standing in the doorway, grinning at them. But it wasn’t the sight of the man himself that caused their consternation, so much as the gun he was pointing at them. Rufus Armstrong Jenkins was unkempt, with long greasy hair and heavily wrinkled skin, looking even older than he actually was; but the hand holding the gun was completely motionless.

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, giving them a mocking bow. ‘How nice of you to drop in. I don’t usually encourage visitors, but it does get lonely here sometimes, especially when I’m working late on my experiments.’ He leaned across and twitched away the curtain, revealing row upon row of small cages. As the light flooded in, the occupants stirred and several threw themselves at the bars. Suzanne realised what the fusty smell was. Rodents! ‘Hello, my pretties,’ he went on, ‘we seem to have guests. So you need to perform nicely tonight.’ Then he stopped, looked down at the gun, then at the sisters, then at the cages. ‘No, I’m not going to be able to do this on my own, am I? I’m an old man; you’re two strapping young women.’ He looked confused and seemed uncertain of his next move.

  ‘It’s Rufus, isn’t it?’ said Suzanne quietly. ‘Rufus Armstrong Jenkins. I’m a great admirer of your work. I’ve read all your papers on the benefits of entheogens.’ The old man smiled and seemed to swell in front of their eyes. Having seen how he was treated by Nigel Atkinson at the party, Suzanne suspected Armstrong Jenkins wasn’t getting much respect or praise these days. ‘Can we have a chat about your work? And then we’ll get out of here and leave you in peace.’

  There was silence for a few moments, and then the old man began to chuckle.

  ‘Nice try, Ms Jones. But, you forget; I saw you that day with Nigel. The day before he found out who you were and threw you out.’ He shook his head, still chuckling. ‘He was so pissed at you that day. Everyone kept out of his way until he’d calmed down.’ Then the smile was gone, replaced by a twisted snarl. ‘So, no, Ms Jones, I don’t think we will ‘have a chat about my work’ before you leave. In fact I don’t think we’ll chat about anything. I need to give Nigel a call. He will want to talk to you himself.’ And with a speed that belied his age, he jumped backwards, pulled the door shut and turned the key in the lock. Suzanne gazed at Charlie in consternation.

  ‘Now what do we do?’

  But Charlie just shrugged and patted her on the shoulder.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, sis, but I’m going to finish what we came here for. Let’s get that sample we want.’ And to Suzanne’s amazement, she turned back to the cupboards and started examining the locks once more. ‘At least now we don’t have to worry about working in the dark.’ She pulled her lock pick out of her back pocket, inserted it into one of the keyholes, twiddled it around a few times and gave a satisfied grunt as the door swung open with a click. ‘Bingo. Is that what you’re looking for, Suzanne?’ she said, pointing to a pile of plastic boxes. Suzanne pulled one out of the cupboards, snapped off the lid and nodded.

  ‘Yes, I think this is it. I need to get it analysed of course, to be absolutely certain. But I’m willing to bet these are a type of psilocybin mushroom.’ And glancing across to the cages, she went on. ‘He must be using the rats to test out different strengths and combinations.’ She pulled open a couple of other boxes and selected samples from each of them, stuffing them into a plastic bag before pushing them into the small rucksack she’d carried with her throughout. Then she turned to Charlie who was standing idly by the door. ‘Okay, so now we have our samples. How do we get out?’

  Charlie started laughing.

  ‘Call yourself an auditor? Where’s your powers of observation gone, Suzanne?’ And she pointed to a large hook just by the door. A hook on which an ornate key was hanging. ‘I reckon our host forgot about the spare key when he locked us in.’ She reached up, grabbed the key and turned to the door. ‘Right, let’s get out of here.’

  But the key slid part way into the keyhole then stopped. And it refused to turn. It looked like Armstrong Jenkins had left the other key in the outside of the door.

  The sisters slumped down on the floor, as far away from the door as they could get. After a while, Charlie jumped up and pushed the cupboard door shut and relocked it.

  ‘No point in letting Nigel and Rufus know we’ve seen the stuff,’ she said when Suzanne raised her eyebrows at her. ‘Keep your rucksack out of sight as much as possible. And we may yet be able to get away with it.’ Suzanne couldn’t see how that was going to happen, but she just nodded.

  Then, after about ten minutes, they heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. The key grated in the lock and the door swung open. But instead of Nigel Atkinson or Rufus Armstrong Jenkins, the figure standing in the doorway was slight, female, and red-headed.

  ‘Megan! What are you doing here?’ cried Suzanne.

  ‘I remembered Rufus was working late on his experiments and tried to phone you at the hotel, but it was too late. And your mobiles are both switched off. So I thought I’d better come and see if you were alright.’

  ‘Great that you did, Megan,’ said Charlie, ‘but can we chat about this when we’re out of here?’

  The three women ran down the corridor, out of the back door and into the yard. But as they started to cross, the main gate swung open and full-beam headlights raked the space between them and safety. A four by four swept into the yard, with Nigel Atkinson at the wheel. Rufus Armstrong Jenkins was standing just inside the gate, looking towards the vehicle. The women threw themselves behind a stack of pallets and held their breath. They could hear the two men talking.

  ‘I’m sure there’s someone there.’ The drawl was Nigel’s. They heard his steps coming closer. Megan gave a sigh, then grinned.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘I was beginning to miss home. If this doesn’t work, I could be out of work again.’ And squeezing Suzanne’s arm, she stepped out into the light. ‘Thank goodness you’ve arrived, Nigel. I was just coming for help!’

  ‘What the devil are you doing here, Megan?’ he growled.

  ‘Well, it was like this,’ she said. ‘I realised I’d left my house keys on my desk, so I popped back in on the way home; I’ve been at a friend’s house all evening. And while I was in the office, I saw that dreadful woman, Suzanne Jones, running through the factory towards the warehouse. She had someone else with her. I think they’re hiding in there!’ And grabbing his arm, she pulled him towards the door. ‘Come on, you’ll be able to catch them if you’re quick.’

  As their voices faded, Suzanne and Charlie slipped around the pallets and ran quietly towards the gate. Once outside, they peeped back in. Rufus Armstrong Jenkins was standing open-mouthed in the centre of the yard.

  ‘Probably trying to work out how we got out of the lab,’ whispered Charlie with a grin.

  Suzanne flashed the torch up the road and from a car parked in the shadow of a building, there came a flash in reply. An engine started up and seconds later, Felix drew up alongside them. Suzanne jumped in but Charlie was still standing at the gate,

  ‘Come on, Charlie!’ hissed Suzanne. But her sister held up her hand in the universal signal for two minutes. As Suzanne watched, she pulled a tiny camera out of her pocket.

  ‘Hi, Rufus, over here!’ Suzanne heard her yell. There was a series of flashes in rapid succession, then Charlie threw herself across the pavement and into the car.

  ‘Drive, Felix!’ the sisters yelled in unison. Then Charlie handed the camera to Suzanne and pointed to the screen. A startled but clearly recognisable Rufus Armstrong Jenkins could be seen, standing right next to Nigel’s vehicle, complete with the Super Fit banne
r along the side, just below the factory sign for Sunshine Supplements.

  ‘Game, set and match, I think,’ said Suzanne, hugging her sister. ‘Damien’s going to be delighted.’ Then the sisters started laughing and it was some time before they could stop.

  ‘Right, ladies,’ said Felix when they’d finally quietened down. ‘I take it you want to go back to the hotel?’

  ‘Yes please, Felix,’ said Suzanne, ‘but only to pick up our bags. I think we need to get to the airport as soon as possible. There’s a flight to New York leaving first thing in the morning. And it’s got a couple of seats with our names on them.’

  EPILOGUE

  Suzanne phoned Damien from their hotel in New York and he flew up from Duke for the weekend. The three celebrated the success of the night raid on Sunshine Supplements and worked on their ongoing strategy.

  ‘What do you reckon, Suzanne?’ Damien asked ‘Should we take this to the FDA here in the States or is it better going through your contacts in Europe?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got enough samples to do both,’ she replied. ‘And I’ve got a contact in the Field Office here in New York. I’m sure he’ll be able to set up a meeting for us at the HQ in Maryland.’

  ‘So we can hopefully persuade them to take some of the samples, and then give the rest to your pal Marcus in London?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Precisely.’

  Damien stood up and raised his glass.

  ‘Ladies, a toast: to the Jones Partnership. Long make it prosper.’ He paused and then grinned shyly at them. ‘And I have some other news. I wasn’t going to say anything; it’s early days yet. But I’ve found her. I’ve found Lulana!’

  ‘Damien, that’s wonderful news,’ said Suzanne. ‘Where’s she been?’

  ‘Well, when she went home in disgrace, her parents shipped her off to her grandmother’s house just outside Salvador. They knew their daughter wasn’t naturally violent and suspected there was something strange going on. She’s been virtually under house arrest for the past six months.’

  ‘But she’s okay?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Yes, and what’s more, she wants to see me again. I’m going down to see her over the Easter holidays.’

  Three days after the sisters return to England, they presented themselves at the Houses of Parliament and after the customary security checks, were shown to the office of the Parliamentary Under-secretary in the Department for International Development. Francine Matheson jumped up when she saw her visitors and rushed around the desk to hug both of them.

  ‘It’s so good to see you guys,’ she said, ‘You seem to have been having fun in Latin America.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure you could call all of it fun,’ replied Suzanne, ‘especially Charlie’s experience in Rio.’

  ‘But we’ve certainly got some interesting stories to tell you,’ said Charlie. ‘I do hope you’re not in a hurry to get rid of us.’

  Francine laughed.

  ‘I know better than try and hurry through any meeting with you two. I’ve cleared my diary for the next couple of hours.’ The three settled themselves in Francine’s cosy sofas and she poured coffee into delicate china cups. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘We’ve already talked about Sunshine Supplements when you phoned from the States, so let’s start with our friend Michael Hawkins.’

  ‘Well, it all began with a stroke of luck, really,’ Charlie began. ‘We knew Hawkins had last been heard of in São Paulo, and we hoped we’d be able to locate him, but Suzanne certainly thought it was a bit of a long shot and, if I’m honest, I wasn’t too sure. Then Damien gave us a brochure for the marathon and we came across a picture of Mercy Gove Hawkins.’

  ‘So we went looking for her and found both of them,’ continued Suzanne, ‘at the pre-race day, as soon as we arrived.’

  The sisters went on to tell Francine the whole story. There were some details Charlie hadn’t felt able to share previously and both Suzanne and Francine were shocked to hear of the risks she had taken in order to get close to her prey.

  ‘But in the end, what do we have?’ said Suzanne. ‘We have Charlie’s word that Hawkins confessed to changing his identity and possibly committing bigamy, if his first marriage was even legal. We have the recording taken in the car, but a clever lawyer would probably be able to discredit that. We know where he is, but he’s not moving from Brazil and we know how long an extradition would take, even if anyone would believe us.’

  ‘And,’ said Francine, ‘you have the backing of a government member who knows that everything you say is true—and who has fallen foul of Michael Hawkins herself.’

  ‘But do we know where he is at the moment?’ asked Charlie. ‘Felix was very vague when we asked what was going to happen to Hawkins after Demetrio and Benji drove him away.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had an update from the Embassy in Brasilia,’ said Francine, smiling and nodding her head. ‘Two days ago, during the night, there was a disturbance in the street outside the compound. A vehicle drove up, pushed a large bundle out of the back, right on their doorstep, and drove away.’

  ‘Terrorism?’ asked Charlie. Francine nodded.

  ‘Yes, that’s what they thought at first. So they went into red alert mode and used a remote camera to check out the bundle. And that’s when they realised it was a person.’

  ‘A person? Dead or alive?’

  ‘Very much alive—but out for the count. They think he’d been drugged. But they only realised that afterwards. Once they were convinced there was no booby trap involved, they pulled the bundle through the gates and into the yard. And they found it to be an elderly man, smartly dressed, drugged and with his hands and ankles bound with plastic ties.’

  ‘How strange,’ said Suzanne, starting to smile broadly. Francine grinned back at her.

  ‘But it gets better! There was a label pinned to his jacket. It said You may need to check with the Foreign Office before you let me go. So, they fingerprinted the man and it threw up a strange anomaly. He doesn’t exist! He died back in 2005. And his name is...’

  ‘Sir Fredrick Michaels!’ the three women shrieked together.

  ‘So, he’s back on British soil, for the moment,’ continued Francine when they’d calmed down. ‘He’s been put into custody for the moment until they can decide what to do with him.’

  The three turned the facts around a few times more. Finally, Francine looked at her watch and grimaced.

  ‘I’m sorry, guys, but I’m going to have to bring this to a close. I have a cabinet meeting I must attend. And the PM gets really testy if anyone’s late.’ She stood and the three hugged. Suzanne reminded Francine it had been a while since they’d all had supper together.

  ‘I’ll ring you next week,’ said Francine, ‘and we’ll fix a date.’ As the sisters walked to the door, she was already back at her desk pulling papers out of a pile and stuffing them into a briefcase. But she looked up as they reached the door. ‘Charlie, you’ve done a brilliant job,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry; we will get him in the end.’

  Once the regulatory authorities confirmed the nature of the samples the sisters had obtained from the Sunshine Supplements factory, things started moving very quickly. The FDA contacted the Brazilian authorities who descended on the company, seizing their stock and forcing a recall of all batches in the marketplace.

  Nigel Atkinson continued to protest there was nothing in his product that could have caused an allergic reaction. He produced a recipe sheet which listed a cocktail of harmless ingredients, common to most health foods and energy drinks. However, as a ‘gesture of goodwill’ he agreed to cease manufacture for the time being until ‘this misunderstanding’ was resolved.

  But this didn’t have any effect in convincing the authorities of his innocence and a detailed analysis of Super Fit confirmed the presence of psilocybin. Two weeks later he was arrested and held in custody pending extradition. Several countries issued arrest warrants and initiated proceedings, but when they realised the FDA
and the FBI were well ahead of them, they decided to sit back and see what happened. It looked as though Atkinson was going to be spending a long time in an American jail.

  Early in April, Suzanne was in the office, preparing for her trip to Armenia. The kick-off meeting for the project they’d won back in January had finally been organised for the following week. As she pulled her packing list up on the laptop, Charlie strolled in with the post in her hand and a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Bit of a mystery, sis,’ she said, ‘look at this.’

  ‘This’ was a postcard showing an ornate church on a hillside, with blue and yellow mosaic walls and a clutch of gold-covered onion domes. It was postmarked Kharkov and addressed to The Jones Partnership. The message was short and to the point: Rose, hope you got back to England okay. How’s the headache? It was signed MGH.

  One week later Francine Matheson received an email from the British Embassy in Brasilia: Extradition application will not be lodged. Michael Hawkins has been released from custody. His current whereabouts are unknown.

  She grabbed the phone and stabbed at the numbers as though trying to drive them through the handset and out the other side. It didn’t help make the connection any faster, but it did serve to absorb some of her immediate anger. By the time Rico Martinez, her contact in Brasilia, came on the line, she had calmed down somewhat and was able to speak normally to him.

  ‘Rico, your email. Please tell me it was a mistake. Tell me Hawkins has just been moved to another part of the Embassy. Or has been taken into Brazilian custody. Anything...’

  ‘Francine, it’s no mistake. I’m sorry. Our hands were tied.’

  ‘But how...? Why...?

  She heard the young man at the other end take a deep breath and she could imagine him running his fingers in frustration through his long dark hair.