Killing It

by Asia Mackay

  I went straight to our bathroom. Behind the panel under the sink, alongside my gun, was the old Nokia phone that I used to take with me on blowers. Eight didn’t know I had it so I knew they couldn’t be monitoring it. I switched it on and waited. I paced up and down the bathroom trying to remain calm. I couldn’t let the anger take over. I needed a clear mind.

  Ten minutes later the Nokia finally rang.

  ‘What the hell is happening?’ was what Jake greeted me with. Jake was the only one with the number. Back in the day, so far back I can’t even remember when, we had devised a simple one blink for email, two blinks for phone.

  ‘I have no idea. They’ve accused me of stealing cash from the op last night.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘They claim my head cam shows the safe was full of money and now the Nyan are complaining it’s all gone. It’s bullshit. There was nothing in there except the envelope and a couple of passports.’ I bit my lip. ‘You need to get hold of that footage. It’ll be on our main server by now.’

  ‘I’ll call back as soon as I can. Relax, Tyler. We’ll sort this out.’ The line went dead.

  There was nothing I could do until he rang back. I headed back down into the kitchen where Gillian was eating her lunch and trying to persuade her granddaughter to do the same. Gigi’s mouth was clamped shut in a stubborn line.

  ‘Don’t worry, Gillian, some days she’s just not hungry.’ I plucked Gigi out of the highchair and put her down on the playmat. ‘Can I get you anything else? A cup of tea?’

  ‘No I’m fine, thanks, love.’ She scraped her plate and checked her watch. ‘If I leave now I can get back in time for my programme.’

  Will and I had given up trying to explain to Gillian that she could record everything she wanted or watch it on catch-up. One afternoon spent trying to teach her how to use BBC iPlayer had caused more head-banging frustration than we would ever choose to put ourselves through again.

  ‘Now remember what I said about the Facebook. You mustn’t put any photos of Gigi up there or strangers can see them and find out where you live.’ Gillian frowned. She clearly couldn’t quite remember the article she’d read. ‘Or something else bad.’ She put her plate in the dishwasher and went over to Gigi. ‘Bye bye, my angel.’ She turned to me. ‘Let me know when you need me.’

  ‘I will do. Thanks so much, Gillian.’ I meant it. As infuriating as she could be with her constant safety lectures, I was grateful. Without her stepping in I couldn’t have gone back to work. With both Will and me often working late, Beata’s hourly rate would have eaten away any financial gain to me returning to the Platform. And it would have been unbearable confessing to Will that even running at a loss I still wanted to do it. Gillian fussed around looking for coat, handbag and car keys and then the door closed and we were alone.

  I lay down next to Gigi on the playmat.

  ‘It’s just you and me, bubba.’ She gurgled back and reached for Sophie the giraffe, sticking it straight in her mouth. I tickled her feet as she squealed. I passed her a squashy ball, she dropped the giraffe and tried to cram that in her mouth instead.

  I kept running over everything, trying to work out why this was happening. It was all linked to Dimitri, it had to be. I hadn’t Popped the Weasel and now it seemed I was the target. It must be the Nyan. I was on an op for them when I nearly got killed. They were the ones claiming money was missing. But how did that explain the video footage? It had to be a lie. A bluff to see if I would crumble and confess.

  Gigi threw the ball at my head. Boing. A tinny noise sounded which made her laugh. It was the best sound in the world. Even now, under investigation, cut off from my colleagues, potentially about to see my whole career tanked, seeing her happy filled me with joy. I watched as she concentrated on trying to get the ball to make a noise again. Maybe this was the wake-up call I needed.

  I could leave the whole underground world behind and embrace the daylight and the safety of my suburban bubble. This was a neighbourhood where the only violence making headline news was the murder of an aged oak tree with a preservation order protecting it. A rusty nail had been hammered into its trunk; the tree equivalent to slitting a person’s throat. Except without all that inconvenient blood spurt. Tree-assassin could be a nice job for my retirement. Housewives frustrated at pesky branches ruining the light into their fancy drawing rooms would covertly hire me to prowl the streets armed with a head torch and tool belt. In Chiswick I could be a more wholesome killer.

  My Nokia rang. I got up and went to the kitchen window. I was sure I had read somewhere that babies could pick up on stress levels. And this phone call was going to cause a lot of it.

  ‘I got the footage. It shows what looks like about five hundred grand in cash sitting in that safe next to a large brown envelope.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’ I stared out at the garden. A squirrel was burrowing into our immaculately laid lawn.

  ‘If it’s an edit job it’s a pretty professional one, and whoever did it would’ve had to take the time beforehand to set it up.’ I gently tapped my forehead against the window. ‘I spoke to Sandy and he’s effing and blinding and in a complete piss that you’ve been sent home when we should be getting ready to fly out to Moscow for the Back-up. We’re trying to get Robin up to speed to take your place. It’s a mess.’

  ‘How do they know the money didn’t go missing after we left? Anyone could have gone in afterwards.’

  ‘The Ruskis left straight after you and no one else entered the building until the police stormed it three minutes after your departure. They catalogued everything they found and the reports are saying there was no cash.’

  ‘What about—’

  ‘Before you ask there were at least four officers from two different units in that room when they discovered the safe. Not a chance all of them were dirty.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘So the case against me is the Nyan’s word there was money there and that video cam footage?’

  ‘Yes exactly. That’s— Gotta go.’ The line went dead.

  The situation was worse than I thought. Doctored video footage on our server meant a Snake. Someone inside Eight was dirty. Slithering through the underground tunnels alongside us. An unidentified threat poised to suffocate us in a vice-like grip when we least expected it. A Snake was a danger to us all. But right now that Snake was targeting me.

  Bennie.

  He wanted my job. And more than once I had hurt that most precious intangible essence: male pride. That was more than enough to make him take the leap. Pigeon to Rat to Snake. A busy few months.

  It had to be him.

  But who was he working with? And was there a bigger plan than just disgracing me?

  I looked at the playmat and watched Gigi trying to move. Lying on her front, her arms and legs flailing as she tried to propel herself forward. That was how I felt. On my hands and knees, barely making tracks, trying to work out what the hell was going on. She was so determined, though, pulling herself across the floor, in a half crawl, half roll, doing the best she could. And still smiling.

  She could do it and so could I.

  *

  I had a fitful night.

  Even before Gigi woke in the early hours.

  She fed from me sleepily, her eyes closed. One little hand resting on my breast, giving it the odd appreciative pat. By the time I put her back in her cot my mind was whirring.

  I couldn’t see a way out. If Bennie was a Snake what else could he have fixed against me?

  As light started to creep in through the curtains I gave up on sleep. I changed into my running kit, pulled on a baseball cap and turned the monitor up to full volume – Will could sleep through a foghorn – and left the house. I followed my usual route to Chiswick House – I knew it so well by now I went on autopilot, my music on full blast. I kept a fast pace, shaking the remnants of tiredness off.

  I passed down Duke’s Avenue and kept going. It would’ve been easy for Bennie to access the server and
edit the video footage. But how did he make the phone call in the restaurant at exactly the right moment? He would’ve had to have been monitoring our office remotely. Or actually working with someone in Unicorn.

  I could barely bring myself to think it – could someone in my own unit really betray me?

  Apart from the odd car passing down the High Road I had yet to see anyone. I came to the start of the underpass that would take me under the main road, to Chiswick House and paused my iPod. It was one of those habits I could never remember if it had been drilled into us or if it was now just instinct. As I entered the passage I saw a man wearing a hi-vis jacket, jeans and a hard hat on a small step ladder using a screwdriver on one of the overhead light casings. Every internal sensor I had started ringing. Workmen never started this early.

  There was a large piece of tarpaulin laid out beneath him. But no toolbox. He also hadn’t turned to the sound of my footsteps echoing down the underpass. He was trying a little too hard to pretend he was focused on the task in hand. I had three seconds to make a decision. I was unarmed in a tunnel, each end of which could by now be blocked by further hostiles, and this guy was big. He would not be an easy takedown. The only advantage I had was surprise. He wouldn’t expect an attack. Right now he was waiting for me to get close enough that he couldn’t miss. I started thinking back over my route here. My baseball cap would have mostly hidden my face from any prying CCTV cameras. If he did turn out to be just a poorly equipped, early-rising workman who got attacked out the blue by a deranged female jogger it would be hard for them to track me down. I made my decision.

  I sped up to a fast sprint and launched myself at him – with a fast stomach punch followed by a knee ball-crush he went toppling to the floor. The clatter of his gun, with silencer attached, falling to the floor confirmed that I had made the right call. I jumped on his back and put him in a chokehold until I felt the reassuring slump of his body going slack as he passed out. One down. But how many were out there? I gave him a quick patdown. He had an earpiece. Not a good sign.

  I took his gun and packed it into the waistband of my leggings. Now, which way to go? They could be at either exit or both. I looked from one end to the other and ran back up the underpass the way I had come, my hand resting on the gun in my waistband. I got to the top, and saw no one except a dog walker coming towards me down Duke’s Avenue, followed by a couple of cyclists. Exactly what I needed. Witnesses. An engine started. Turning towards the noise, I saw a van heading straight for me. I dived to the right but not fast enough. I felt a sharp pain as the van clipped me in the ribs. Lying there winded, looking up at the sky, I reached for the gun. If they were coming I would be ready. But I heard loud shouts and then the screech of tyres as the van reversed back and tore away down the road. It took two tries, but I got to my feet.

  ‘Christ, are you okay? What the hell was wrong with that maniac?’ The dog walker had run up to me, his panting spaniel alongside him. ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Thank you. Just a little shaken. Just want to get home.’ I attempted a slow jog, trying to ignore the searing pain in my ribs. I gritted my teeth. Every step was a further jolt of agony.

  ‘What about the police? I got a bit of his licence plate!’ he shouted after me. I kept on going. I knew the van’s plates would lead nowhere. Once the dog walker headed through the underpass he would discover a poor workman who had knocked himself out falling off his ladder. An eventful morning to report back to the wife.

  I ran as fast as my bruised and battered body would allow.

  Gigi.

  Will.

  If they wanted me dead, if they were coming for me, they could be after them. I kept having to stop to draw breath. My mind screamed at me to get home, but my body was letting me down. Like a bad dream where you need to run, but your legs won’t move. Where you need to shout for help but no sound comes out. It felt like running through treacle.

  I was shaking by the time I saw our front door. With one last burst of energy I raced up to Gigi’s nursery, flinging open the door. Her cot was empty.

  Jesus.

  They had her.

  I went charging back down the stairs to our bedroom and stopped.

  There she was, propped up in our bed surrounded by about five pillows, a sleeping Will’s arm around her and Peppa Pig on the television, with no volume. And the subtitles on. In his half-asleep daze Will had been thoughtful enough to consider that if there was no sound our baby needed another way to follow the plot. I picked up Gigi and held her close, covering her head in kisses.

  The gun tucked into my waistband was digging into the small of my back. A reminder of what I had just been facing, outside of this room that still smelt of musty sleep. I tucked Gigi back into her pillow nest and went through to the bathroom. I hid the gun behind the panel at the back of the cupboard and stripped off and got in the shower. The warm water helped soothe the aches all over my body. I dried quickly, changed and got back into bed and snuggled up to Gigi. Will started to stir and felt for my hand. This was my family. My world. I wasn’t going to leave them anytime soon. I was going to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this. Whoever the fuck was trying to take me away from them was going to pay.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  MY FAMILY WOULD SOON be safe. That was all I kept reminding myself of as I got breakfast ready. As soon as Will had woken up I had convinced him that Gillian seemed very down he hadn’t spent any quality time with her recently. I suggested that as I was on a big deadline and working horribly long hours for the next few days he and Gigi should go stay with her and he could cheer up her lonely evenings. The guilt of being an only son to a widowed mother meant he was notifying his office he’d be working from home as I was still talking. I had already briefed an old colleague who had moved to the private sector to keep watch on them at Gillian’s house. Before I could get to work I needed to feel completely confident Will and Gigi were not at risk.

  I stared down at the saucepan of porridge and kept stirring it. Next to the cooker lay Gigi’s bright pink plastic Peppa Pig bowl and matching spoon. Cheery Tupperware and cold metal guns existing in the same world. My world.

  I poured another splash of milk into the pan. Things were far from over. For my would-be killer to be waiting for me in the underpass they would’ve had to know my running route and to head to the underpass as soon as they saw me leave the house. They must have been watching me for who knew how many weeks, maybe even months. Long-term surveillance and an attempted assassination couldn’t just be about Bennie and some petty office rivalry.

  There had to be a bigger picture.

  And it must be linked to Dimitri and the failed Pop. Everything had started to fall apart as soon as I failed to push the button.

  Whoever was after me would strike again when the moment was right. I knew the drill. They needed to make me disappear but couldn’t afford a scene. Take me out early morning in an underpass and wrap my body in tarpaulin and into a van: that worked. Taking potshots at me in the street: that wouldn’t.

  The next hitman might not be as amateur as the one this morning or as easy to spot. In Eight the hi-vis jacket was the king of props for making you invisible to members of the public. Commuters seeing us walking through Underground tunnels, or stepping over a barrier marked ‘no entry’ would think we were maintenance and not bother with a second glance. The man in the underpass, just like us Rats, had chosen not to wear the matching hi-vis trousers. Real highway maintenance wore both, whereas those in covert ops wanting a token disguise, to easily shrug on and off, just wore the jacket.

  As for his partner in the van, who knew what he was trying to achieve? Trying to slow me down so the gunman could finish me off? Poor planning and poor execution by idiots who should’ve known who they were dealing with.

  I needed to go off the grid. But I had an important appointment this morning that I couldn’t miss.

  ‘I think that’s done now.’ I hadn’t noticed Will come up
behind me. I looked down at the pan. The porridge was drying out, the bottom stuck to the pan. I took it off the heat and spooned some into Gigi’s bowl.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ I dolloped two portions into our bowls and sat down at the table.

  ‘When do you have to be at work?’ Will poured milk over his rather congealed offering, followed by a gallon of honey.

  I glanced up at the clock. ‘I’ve just enough time to take Gigi to music class as soon as she’s finished eating.’ We both watched her smearing porridge into her hair.

  ‘Okay, ma chérie, you girls enjoy banging your tambourines together and I’ll pack up the car so we can leave as soon as you get back.’ Will stretched and poured himself another coffee.

  I gave him a kiss as I cleared the table and baby-wiped down my daughter, her highchair, the table, and parts of the floor.

  I winced as I picked up Gigi and strapped her into her pram. I quickly popped several Panadol from my pocket. ‘Period pain,’ I announced to Will’s questioning gaze.

  Once I’d checked that the bulletproof cover was securely fixed on to the pram, I picked up the nappy bag and stepped out into the crisp November air.

  I walked fast. We were halfway down the High Road when Gigi started crying.

  ‘What is it, bubba? Please be good, we’re nearly there.’ I peeked at her through the cover and recoiled at the smell. Great. I sighed and checked my watch. Babies never gave any warning. Just like in life. You think everything is going fine. Right up until the moment you’re surprised by a gigantic amount of shit.

  I detoured into Starbucks’ disabled toilet and after changing Gigi checked the bruises the van had given me. I looked from the angry purple marks on my stomach down to the soft pink cheeks of my daughter. I was going to get through this. Those wanting to take me down were going to suffer for daring to try to end my life and leave my little girl motherless. A capital punishment for a capital crime.