The Nursery

by Asia Mackay

  ‘And I’m going to really enjoy getting one.’

  We walked in and flashed our police IDs to the mâitre d’, who was all too quick to point out Mark Somersby’s table and look both excited and terrified as to what was about to take place.

  As we approached the table Somersby looked up. He was a slight man, with glasses and thinning hair. Did he know who we were? Was he going to run? He sat perfectly still, watching us get closer, his face slowly losing colour. His dinner companion had his back to us and clearly hadn’t noticed as he continued to talk animatedly with big hand gestures.

  Jake went straight to Somersby and roughly pulled him to his feet. ‘Police. You’re coming with us, Mark Somersby.’ Jake raised his voice further to announce his name, before turning him round and clipping a pair of handcuffs onto him.

  The restaurant quietened, apart from the clink and clank of cutlery hitting plates as everyone strained to hear what was going on.

  Somersby’s companion turned around to face me, his eyes widening in recognition.

  I looked over at Jake. ‘I hope you have another set of handcuffs.’

  The man stood up. ‘Now, look here, you’ve got this all wrong.’

  ‘I always carry a spare.’ Jake threw a pair at me across the table and I snapped them firmly onto Charles Wycombe’s wrists.

  There were no such thing as coincidences in this industry and there was no doubt Wycombe was the third partner in Tenebris.

  *

  Charles Wycombe and Mark Somersby were officially the easiest subjects to get talking in all of Platform Eight’s long, bloody history.

  Blindfolded and handcuffed and thrown into the back of our van, they remained completely silent the whole drive back to the Platform. Yet as soon as they were alone in separate interrogation rooms they each started talking before Jake and I had even sat down in our respective chairs. Frederick may have told them enough about Platform Eight to be rightly terrified by exactly what we were capable of.

  Charles Wycombe blamed it all on his great big castle. It didn’t matter how much money he made at his hedge fund, it wasn’t enough to keep the place running. Breaking the law, betraying your country and getting our agents killed were clearly acceptable collateral when trying to keep the family seat.

  Mark Somersby had no excuse other than Frederick had come to him and Charles with what looked like a genius business plan guaranteed to net them each tens of millions. He admitted he hadn’t troubled himself with all the details and that yes, it probably was ‘terribly out of order’, but when he saw the margins it was impossible to say no.

  Jake escorted Mark to his St James’s office to retrieve his laptop, and with a push of a few buttons the Tenebris Network was taken offline for good and we were given access to their whole server of data. In our possession were the names of everyone who had registered as an Employee, and the bank details and contact details for each organisation who had registered as an Employer. It would take weeks to work through but our Security Services were going to be reaping the benefit of their databases for years.

  Cameron arrived back from guarding Miss Jenna and relayed what she had learned from her. I tried to imagine Miss Jenna’s sing-song voice as she detailed just how deeply involved she’d been with such dark people. She had been due to start at the nursery Little Lambs, which Frederick had Florence down for. Due to Dugdale’s insistence that Frederick switch Florence to Yvonne’s so we could use the school run to communicate, they’d had to improvise – by running over a nursery school teacher. It meant a lengthy hospital stay for the unfortunate woman and a panicked Yvonne having to find a last-minute replacement in order to meet health and safety teacher-child ratios. A teacher with a missing qualification was a better option than closure.

  Somersby, Wycombe and Miss Jenna were all very clear in pointing the finger at Frederick being the mastermind behind it all. He had killed his boss, Thatcher, when he started digging into Tenebris. And he had been the one to shoot Y. Y. – Peter Yan – really was a waiter at the Phoenix Palace restaurant. He had never worked for the Chinese Embassy. Frederick had just paid him to tell me information about Peng that the Chinese People’s Alliance had discovered from one of their sources. Yan was the disposable face of an inside man. Frederick killed him when he needed to make it look like he was the leak who had told Tenebris about the Dictaphone. He was just another pawn in the carefully constructed game Frederick had set up. I wondered if his plan was always to abandon Camilla and his kids. To leave them behind so he could enjoy his riches abroad without fear of capture.

  I wanted to do more to find Frederick.

  The sighting at Elstree Aerodrome wasn’t him. Having analysed the CCTV both at Elstree and at Avignon where the plane landed, it was clear it couldn’t have been him. There was a facial similarity but no one could fake being six inches shorter than their recorded height.

  I tried voicing my concerns with Jake and Cameron. Cameron was going to stay on for a few weeks to help us work through all the data from the Tenebris server. We were in the meeting room, waiting for Hattie to arrive back from Heathrow. Peng and the delegation had taken off and were now safely en route to Beijing. Peng may still be at risk from the Chinese People’s Alliance, who had ordered the hit on her, but at least it would be harder for them to get her back in China. Peng’s safety was no longer part of our remit – that responsibility was, as it should be, back with her own country. I hoped they looked after her. Everything she had achieved was admirable and I believed her when she said she still had so much more to do.

  ‘Come on, Tyler. Cheer up,’ said Jake. ‘Today was a good day. Robin is still alive. Only just but he’s going to make it – I know he will. Peng is officially no longer our problem. We’ve just crushed a multi-million-pound underworld recruitment website, saved the Security Services, and two greedy, self-serving city boys are headed for the Box.’

  ‘Frederick is still out there.’

  ‘He’ll be out of the country by now. He’ll be lying low, thinking of a way to get to the BVIs and his stash of precious paintings.’

  ‘Jake’s right,’ said Cameron. ‘Frederick will know it’s crazy to hang round here with a pack of Rats on the hunt for him.’

  The lockdown had officially ended. Platform Eight was now back up and running.

  ‘Wow. You and Jake agreeing. That’s new.’

  ‘Jake and I had sex.’

  I looked over at Jake. ‘Really?’

  He shrugged. ‘She seduced me. I was helpless.’

  ‘You’re really making yourself at home here, Cameron. Using my desk. Sleeping with my partner.’

  ‘You don’t own him. He can do what he wants.’

  ‘Of course he can do what he wants. I’m allowed to have an opinion on it, though. Are you going to do it again?’

  Cameron pondered. ‘I think I will. He’s good.’

  ‘He’s not that good.’ I wrinkled my nose.

  Jake got up. ‘I’m right here. You’re both talking about me and I’m right here.’

  ‘It wouldn’t interfere with my work,’ she added.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m still here. Do you not think I get an opinion in this? I might not want to have sex with you again, Cameron.’

  Cameron and I looked at each other and both laughed. ‘Come on, Jake, who are you kidding?’

  ‘Fucking great. You guys are friends now? I liked it better when you hated each other.’ He stalked out of the room.

  ‘You did a good job, Lex.’ Cameron looked at me with what seemed like a half-smile.

  I shook my head. ‘I should’ve caught it earlier.’

  ‘Perhaps. But let’s face it, we could all beat ourselves up about every job we do, but we need to take a win when it’s a win. Maybe the kid hasn’t ruined your career after all.’

  All this niceness from Cameron was disconcerting. This wasn’t us.

  ‘You do look like shit, though.’

  And we were back.

 
*

  The Platform was buzzing again. Back to how it should be. Rats and technicians scuttling through the corridors. The occasional flicker of the lights, the sizzle of bacon in the canteen, the slam of punch bags being pounded. We were open for business again. Another enemy defeated. We lived to fight another day and take down another target.

  I came out the meeting room to find Mrs Moulage waiting for me, resplendent in a fitted tweed coat with fur collar. A flower-shaped diamond brooch glinted on the lapel. She was holding a red box.

  ‘Siew-Yong asked me to give this to you. A token of her thanks for keeping her safe.’

  Mrs Moulage handed the box to me and I lifted the lid. A beautifully carved jade rat nestled inside. I touched the cold stone.

  ‘It’s very kind of her. But really it was a team effort.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘Take the credit. When you’ve done well you shout about it. No one else will. Take it from this old Rat; things haven’t changed that much since my glory days.’

  I tilted my head. ‘What was it like back then?’

  ‘Darling, it was wonderful.’ Mrs Moulage beamed. ‘I can forget now all the rubbish I had to put up with. And just think about the fun I had. The day they realised I wasn’t just decoration. But an equal. An agent. A Rat. It felt like coming home. To a place where I belonged. Where I could shine.’

  ‘Being the very first woman, the only woman’ – I shook my head – ‘I can only imagine how tough it was.’

  ‘To do a job like this takes a certain type of person. Even the most Neanderthal of men eventually realise what sex, colour, religion you are is irrelevant. It may have taken a little time but soon enough I was just one of the team, one of the pack. After every successful mission, we’d let loose down here. Good music and hard liquor. We all smoked, we all drank, we all didn’t think about tomorrow. The world was just as frightening then as it is now.’ Mrs Moulage cast a glance down over my jeans and T-shirt. ‘Except everyone was better dressed.’

  ‘Did you not always feel you had more to prove? More to lose?’

  ‘Back then none of us could afford to make any mistakes. My old chief, before every mission, he’d say, “DD, you get one shot. Make it count.” ’ She shrugged. ‘And I did. I always did. I had a near perfect success rate. Just like you.’

  She held up her hand before I could speak.

  ‘Yes, of course I’ve followed your career. I’ve felt proud watching each of you girls come through.’

  I smiled. ‘And I’m proud to be here. It’s not easy but I can’t imagine doing anything else.’

  ‘Quite right. What we do is too important. This is our life.’ She touched my shoulder. ‘We get one shot. And we make it count.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mrs Moulage.’

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

  I watched her walk down the corridor. The nods she got from everyone she passed. The Dior Dame, the Rat Queen.

  *

  It was nearing 1 a.m. by the time I finally got home. After we’d debriefed Hattie on everything we’d learned, we focused on chasing down any leads we could find with Frederick’s location. There had been another potential sighting at a small airport in Yorkshire. If he was trying to leave the country undetected, travelling north before trying to hire a plane was a clever move.

  The house was quiet. I wished Gigi was home and not staying with Gillian so I could go check on her. There was no better antidote to a long, stressful day at work than tucking her in and watching her sleep.

  I dropped my bag on the floor and hung up my coat. I checked my phone: a goodnight from Will, safely in Chicago, and an update from Kenny, confirming all was quiet at Gillian’s flat. I wondered how long I was going to need him for. How long it would take for me to believe that Frederick was really gone.

  I needed a drink to unwind. A drink to shut my mind down so I could drift off to sleep. One glass of red wine and I could retreat to bed and hopefully a good night’s sleep.

  I walked into the kitchen and stared at the item on the middle of the kitchen table.

  A small figurine of Snow White.

  It was missing its head.

  Part Six

  Hug

  hug, v.

  1. Squeeze (someone) tightly in one’s arms, typically to express affection.

  2. Congratulate or be pleased with oneself.

  One Month Later

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  IT’S DONE, WAS all the message from Jake said. I let, a long deep breath out.

  It was over.

  ‘Gigi, darling, time to pack our bags – we’re going home.’

  The Committee had wanted Frederick alive. They wanted us to track him down and bring him in so he could undergo interrogation at the Box. They believed that for him to be the successful mastermind of a plot like Tenebris, there could be other things he might be hiding. Other information that could be helpful. He had had direct contact with many of the Employers listed on the Tenebris Network – he would know things that weren’t on the databases.

  We had always respected orders. Always respected directives from the Committee.

  But the minute I saw headless Snow White, I knew there was only one way I’d ever feel safe again.

  Jake and I had both requested blowers and both packed a bag.

  I’d picked up Gigi immediately and retreated to the wilds of a remote island off the Scottish coast, having Will join me the moment he landed, in what he thankfully took to be a spontaneous gesture of reconciliation. Jake had gone hunting. Tracking down every lead he could. Guided by me and Geraint with remote access. We’d scour the online intel and lead him to places. A sighting here. A clue there.

  While we were away Hattie had sorted through the mess Tenebris had left behind. Going through their records, it seemed Wycombe, Somersby and Miss Jenna had been telling the truth. The Tenebris Network was Frederick’s brainchild. Gaining an understanding of how much enemies would pay for privileged security information had sent his entrepreneurial skills in motion. Wycombe and Somersby had bank-rolled Tenebris, hiring a few top-level IT experts and hackers to set up the website and the unhackable algorithms.

  Cameron and Jake had never managed to identify the hackers working for Tenebris as they were all based abroad. Frederick’s intel’s claim that Tenebris’s technological set-up was run from London was obviously faked. There were apparently a team of five of them working remotely from different international locations. Geraint was confident he would be able to find them all eventually. Having access to Tenebris’s internal records had given enough clues as to ways he could find their online footprint.

  Wycombe and Somersby were now incarcerated in the Sweat Shop – a prison we sent all individuals the Security Services deemed valuable or high-risk enough not to be contained in the normal system. At the Sweat Shop, prisoners’ individual skills were put to use in specially allocated assignments. It was run just like any large corporation – except longer hours, no pay and serious micro-management. Not so much Golden Handcuffs, just handcuffs.

  Those who completed their time without burning out were released back into the world, some even to the same job they’d had before. The majority became model citizens, now appreciative of a place of work that gave such civil liberties as days off and lunch breaks. Those who ended up back in the Sweat Shop for a second time didn’t get out again.

  The millions these two men had in the bank were directed to worthy causes, while they continued to do what they did best: hedging bets, making money – but this time it was all for the State. And if they didn’t reach their quarterly targets, their punishment was a little more upsetting than not receiving a six-figure bonus. Wycombe’s impressive castle had been taken over by the Security Services. It was rented out for company away days during the week and on the weekends the public were given castle tours and tea in the gardens. Allowing the common people full reign of his beloved family seat was apparently more upsetting than his incarceration.

  Ei
ght were able to get the names of every Employee and Employer registered on the Tenebris Network. Those for whom matches had been made and information sold were also sent to the Sweat Shop. Those who had just signed up but never actually committed a crime were fired immediately and black-marked for any future intelligence work. We distributed all the information gleaned from the Tenebris databases to our international counterparts. Cameron was particularly looking forward to bringing back to the States the list of US operatives who’d chosen to register as Employees. I had a feeling there would be no mercy for any of them.

  We all benefitted from being able to freeze the assets of all the Employers’ registered bank accounts. It wouldn’t hold them back for long, but for all of us in the intelligence services, knowing who wanted what information for what purpose was a massive win.

  Robin had been in the Kensington Wing for three weeks before he was well enough to be discharged. He’d taken numerous hard beatings from the Ghosts and had nearly overdosed on the sedatives he’d been pumped full of to ensure he was in a comatose state for being unceremoniously dumped in a crate with a bomb strapped to his chest. As soon as he was well enough to come back in to the Platform, Jake and I had approved his transfer to Jagger, to take over from a retiring Rat. As Jake said, ‘If you can survive having the crap kicked out of you and becoming a human bomb, it probably is time you got to decide your own destiny.’

  Will had only stayed with us in our beautiful Hebrides cottage for the first two weeks because of his work, but it had been pretty blissful. No arguments. No loaded comments about not really knowing me. We were back to being us. Able to finish conversations without one of us having to rush off or falling asleep as we were so exhausted.

  But then it was a holiday. It wasn’t real life. There was no Platform Eight, no outside pressures, just our little family fishing for our dinner and early nights by a crackling fire.

  And now we could go home.

  Now it was safe.

  It was going to be back to real life. The real test, when the demands of the Platform were back in my life.