Killing It

by Asia Mackay

  I met Jake outside the storage unit. I unlocked the roller door and together we pulled it up. The light came on automatically as we walked in.

  The room was empty except for a large metal box in one corner and a metal chair in the centre. Jake walked up to it and, pulling at it, saw it was bolted to the ground. I moved fast and kicked his legs out from under him, the chair catching his fall as I handcuffed his right hand to it.

  ‘What the hell, Tyler? Motherhood is definitely making you kinkier.’ He pulled at the handcuff as he looked up at me.

  ‘Sandy’s a Snake. I’ve got CCTV footage of him going into the restaurant the day of the op.’ I stared at him, seeing what he would give away. I saw a flicker of confusion but nothing more as he processed what I was telling him and what it meant that I had handcuffed him to a chair.

  ‘And you think I’m in on it?’ He clenched his jaw and shook his head. ‘I don’t see any machines anywhere. No instruments of torture. Is there someone outside to come in and do your bidding?’

  ‘It’s just you and me, Jake. No props. I’m going old school.’ I straddled him, our faces only inches apart. I put my finger on his neck.

  ‘Do we really have to go through this charade?’

  I dropped my hand and stared him straight in the eye.

  ‘Jake, think about it. I’m being set up. By Sandy. Right now, Anne and her cronies are no doubt listening to him as he talks about how the Pop went wrong and next thing we know money is missing. Who do you think everyone is going to listen to? The hormonally deranged new mother? Or good old boy Sandy, twenty-five years in the service, few medals in there somewhere, and everyone’s favourite bet to be our next section chief? They think I am a traitor. A Snake who’s been bought off. Do you really think they’re going to give me the benefit of the doubt? Call me in for an interrogation, allow me to hire a lawyer, let me voice my concerns to HR? Or will they take me out and leave my daughter without a mother?’

  Despite my best efforts my voice caught a little when I said this – saying it all out loud made me focus on how terrible the situation was and how there was a very real chance that I might not see Gigi again. I took a moment until I was sure my voice wasn’t going to crack again and said calmly, ‘So can you understand why I’m being more than just a little cautious?’

  Jake sighed and closed his eyes. ‘I get it. Okay, I get it. Just get this over with.’

  I put my fingers back on his neck and my other hand on his heart. I locked eyes with him again.

  ‘Are you betraying me?’

  ‘No.’ No flicker in the eye, no twitch, no change of pulse.

  ‘Do you know why Sandy is trying to set me up?’

  ‘Tyler, I have no fucking idea.’ No change.

  ‘Can I trust you to help me?’

  ‘Always.’ Said more softly, but nothing faltered.

  ‘Have you been keeping anything from me to do with this Dimitri mission?’

  ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’

  ‘Where were you last weekend?’

  ‘Italy.’ His pupils dilated.

  ‘Lying.’

  ‘Okay, fine. But I can’t tell you. It’s confidential. Came direct from Chief.’

  ‘Still lying.’

  ‘It’s not relevant to this, trust me.’

  ‘Everything could be relevant. Tell me.’

  We were both silent as we sat staring at each other. I leant my forehead against his and whispered, ‘Please, Jake.’

  We sat like that for a minute before Jake turned his head.

  ‘Fucking hell, Lex,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Fuck this.’ He tugged roughly at his hand cuffed to the chair. The clink echoed round the small room.

  I leant back, waiting.

  ‘I was seeing Glenapp.’

  ‘Glenapp?’ I was confused. Glenapp had been Jake’s unit leader when he first joined the agency. I had only met him briefly a few times as he had taken early retirement just after I started. All I remembered was that Jake seemed to respect him and treated him with a deference I had not seen him show any other authority figure. ‘What were you doing seeing him? He’s out of the service, isn’t he?’

  ‘It was a personal matter. I was checking on him.’

  ‘Why? Is he considered a threat? What’s it to you?’

  ‘What’s it to me?’ Jake’s voise rose. ‘He was a friend. A mentor. I check on him every now and then. He has no one else. Look, as we seem to be all about making sure we trust each other, let me trust you with this: he has dementia. He left the service when he was diagnosed, didn’t tell anyone except me. He’s living in a small town in the South of France. He has a little shop, selling antiques. Mostly just sits there all day, drinking wine, telling stories. He’s doing no harm but just occasionally he has a bad turn and needs to be checked on.’

  ‘He has dementia. He’s drinking and telling stories. And he was previously level-five clearance? You don’t think that’s a cause for concern?’

  ‘Of course it fucking is. That’s why I check on him. I’ve also got a local woman I trust, she keeps an eye on him, reports back to me. It’s not ideal but do you really think after a lifetime of service to this country he deserves to be packed off to some secure hospital where he sits in a room alone all day? Or is conveniently wiped out in an accident? This is his retirement; he gets to enjoy the weather, enjoy the food, enjoy the wine and everyone he meets thinks he’s a kook. Tourists might get sold a total piece of crap he found in a junkyard or a genuine piece of Gulf War memorabilia. He’s just written off as a drunk with a good imagination. He gave his best years to the service, never married, never had children, never had much of a life outside of this grotty world we live in and now after all he’s been through I think we can at least let him have his retirement.’

  His heart rate had sped up, but I knew it was more because he passionately believed in what he was saying rather than because he was attempting to deceive me. I’d never realised Jake was so loyal. What he was doing was a big risk. He was putting his whole career on the line to try to allow an old colleague to have some kind of life.

  ‘So can I trust you to keep this between us?’

  ‘Of course. Anyway, you’re in luck. No one upstairs is listening much to what I have to say anyway.’

  We smiled at each other. It brought us back to the reality of the situation. Him cuffed to a chair, and me sitting on top of him.

  ‘Now can you take these stupid things off and let me help you get on with clearing your name?’

  I got up and uncuffed him. He stood up, rubbing his wrist.

  ‘Let’s not do this again. Next time you don’t trust me, just kill me. It’s far preferable to all this oversharing. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘Get to Moscow. Meet with any of the informants that were listed in the intelligence reports. We need to know if what they say in person matches their statements in Eight’s database. Then try to get to anyone in Rok-Tech’s inner circle. They must be getting ready for Dimitri to take over. They will know what he’s planning. Get them talking.’ I looked down. ‘Whatever it takes.’

  ‘Won’t you need me back here?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s more important you find out exactly what Dimitri is going to do with the VirtuWorld software. We can’t trust any of the intel we’ve had to date – Sandy’s been all over it, he could’ve altered it at any point.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘Sandy can’t have done all this alone. I’m going to figure out who else is working with him.’

  ‘I’ll fly out tonight.’ Jake headed for the door. I touched his arm and he stopped.

  ‘As soon as you don’t turn up at the Platform tomorrow they’re going to know you’re working with me. You realise what that means?’

  He turned to face me. ‘I get it, Lex, but I’m not doing this just for you. If they’re up for taking you out, it could be me next. And with you gone who the hell is going to come save me?’ He pulled his blower phone
out of his pocket. Like mine, it was an old Nokia. ‘Presuming we’re still using just these for comms?’

  ‘Exactly. But take a camera – you need to film all your meetings and send the footage to me. We need a new email address.’

  Us using email involved setting up an email account to which we both knew the password and saving messages in the drafts folder. It was the only way to make sure no one could track any emails being sent.

  ‘How about youmessedwiththewrongmum@gmail.com. Usual password.’

  ‘Very funny.’ We walked to the roller door and pulled it up together. We stepped into the corridor and I turned back to him.

  ‘What you’re doing for Glenapp is good. He must be so grateful.’

  He reached behind me and pulled the roller door down. It crashed to the floor with a loud bang, the sound echoing around us. Neither of us flinched.

  ‘He doesn’t have a clue, would be furious if he did. Before it got bad he told me if he ever showed any signs of being a threat to take him out myself rather than let him get carted off to what he called a “hospital prison”. Said he’d avoided being locked up his whole career and wasn’t about to end his life that way; would rather it be done properly and quickly by a friend.’

  ‘But you couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Of course I couldn’t. That could be me one day. Alone, washed up with nothing to show for it. Makes me think maybe you got it right with this whole settling down thing.’

  He started down the corridor. I followed him.

  ‘It’s not too late for you, Jake. Having a little normality in our lives is a good thing. There could be someone out there who might just be brave enough to take you on.’

  He stopped and turned to me. ‘Maybe it’s you that I want.’ He cupped my face with his hands. ‘Maybe you’re the one person who knows everything there is to know about me and it doesn’t scare the fuck out of you.’ He stared at me unblinking. ‘Maybe you’re my one reason to think there might be something worthy about me.’ He pinched my cheek. ‘Or maybe I really can’t feel anything and you’re just someone I liked fucking. And now I need you to stay alive.’

  He laughed and walked off. I exhaled slowly. Until then I hadn’t realised I had been holding my breath. I shook my head. Not the time to be drawn into Jake’s bullshit.

  *

  I got back to the flat and sank into the bed; it was as comfortable as it looked. Not that it helped me sleep. The room was dark except for the glow from the television broadcasting shots of the empty corridors and reception. I thought of Jake and how right now he was up in the sky heading out to Russia to do what he could to help save my life. I always loved that view of London. Flying at night and looking down on the bright lights of the darkened city below. All the people in it oblivious to the work we were doing around and underneath them to keep them safe.

  I used to pity them for not knowing the real truth. The real London. Now I envied them; right now I would give anything to be one of the Sheep tucked up in bed, oblivious to the real darkness of the place they called home.

  I let myself fall asleep in the early hours, just as light was beginning to seep through the curtains. I dreamt Gigi was in a snake pit, the largest one slithering up to her, ready to wrap itself round her and start squeezing, while I was chained to a chair, screaming.

  I woke with a start, drenched, my heart beating fast. Gigi in danger unleashed a primal roar, a knowledge I would do anything to protect her. Lock and load every weapon in my arsenal and charge towards anyone threatening us in an almighty Movie Star Run. Forgetting my own life in my quest to save her.

  I wiped my brow. Waking up covered in sweat reminded me of the first few weeks after Gigi was born. Hormones flooding out and soaking the sheets. Now it was just fear.

  *

  I went through to the kitchen and took a long drink of water. I fired up my laptop and tried Jake’s login for the Platform. ‘Unauthorised’ was the red message that flashed up. Jake’s absence had already been noticed and he was now joining me as persona non grata.

  Without access to any of Eight’s online resources, I had no leads to follow other than to head to Sandy’s flat. It was unlikely that someone who had made a career of life in the Secret Services would have a big folder with ‘My Cunning Plan’ written on it with a full breakdown of exactly what he was up to and who with, but a girl could hope.

  Sandy lived in a small flat in Westminster. He had moved in only recently, after his messy divorce. It was surprisingly easy to break in. Not a good sign for what was going to be within if he hadn’t even bothered reinforcing the locks. Inside, everything was as ordered as I would expect it to be from a man with a military background. It was sparsely furnished and very tidy. The open-plan kitchen and living room offered no clues as to anything other than the fact the person who lived there was a neat freak. I went through to the bedroom and opened all the cupboards, nothing but rows of folded jumpers and well-ironed T-shirts. Hanging on the side of the bed was a pair of handcuffs. Gross. I cringed at the thought of Sandy and some girlfriend using them to spice up their sex life.

  This was turning out to be a total dead end.

  Inside the small bathroom was a large mirrored cupboard, I opened it and was confronted with about five different bottles of pills. All prescribed to Sandy and all differing levels of pain medication. There was another bottle that was a strong sedative. The agony in his leg obviously didn’t let up enough to give him a good night’s sleep. I shut the cupboard. And then stopped. Something in there had looked familiar yet out of place. I opened it again. Aside from the medication there was a razor, shaving foam and a small bottle of contact lens solution.

  That was it.

  I saw a bottle just like it every time I went to the toilet at work.

  Sitting on the shelf above the sink.

  Nicola.

  Sandy had 20:20 vision. He’d bragged about it numerous times when boring us with stories of his years as a fast jet pilot. Yet here inside his bathroom cupboard was a bottle of contact lens solution. Of the exact same brand as the one Nicola used. The cliché of newly divorced man with much younger woman was only outdone by the cliché of younger woman sleeping with her older boss. I felt nauseous imagining Nicola in handcuffs looking bored as Sandy sweated and pounded away at her. I couldn’t believe it. I had always pictured Nicola with a good-looking twenty-something hipster with a man bun. Not our middle-aged boss whose idea of being well-dressed was a T-shirt he hadn’t managed to spill his breakfast down the front of.

  Nicola would’ve been the one to edit in the money in the safe footage, she would’ve been the one to call the Russian heavies saying there was no bomb. This was bad. With Nicola’s computing expertise and Sandy’s level-five security clearance, between them every single bit of intel we had could have been altered or deleted.

  My blower phone beeped. ‘Met with two Rok-Tech employees. Both separately stated Dimitri is planning great things for the company – starting with arranging the sale of the VirtuWorld software. Meeting with three more Rok-Tech contacts in an hour. Will update when can.’

  Nicola was obviously the one switching and falsifying intelligence reports to turn Dimitri into a deep-rooted President supporter putting national interests above his own capitalist ones. Sandy was the one pulling the strings and preparing the way for me to be the obvious fall guy. Fall gal.

  I texted Jake back informing him Nicola was Sandy’s partner. In more ways than one.

  My phone beeped again. ‘I never liked that grumpy bitch.’

  Things were starting to make sense now. But there were gaps. I needed someone to fill them in. Someone who had been at the very heart of this mission from the beginning, and if I was right, the very reason it had been initiated in the first place.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I LOVED BEAUTY SPAS. Little havens away from the dirt and grime of the streets. The air was always scented, the décor tasteful, the uniformed technicians brimming with the promise of transformation. L
eaving spas everyone always had a spring in their step; life was that little bit better now they were new and improved.

  I remembered Dasha’s schedule with ease. Today was waxing day at her favourite exclusive Knightsbridge salon. I approached the tall woman flicking through a glossy magazine behind the reception desk. She was wearing a crisp white tunic with the salon’s name embroidered on it.

  ‘Hello! I’m Dasha Tupolev’s PA. Please could you tell her technician to not come into her room until quarter-past? We have a few things to go over that I need her urgent attention on.’

  ‘Right.’ She didn’t look up from her magazine.

  ‘Please can I wait for her in her treatment room?’

  She looked up at that. ‘You’re her PA?’ I was wearing a black jacket and carrying a folder. She paused. ‘Then that’s fine. And I will, of course, let her know you’re waiting for her.’

  ‘Actually, it would be better if you didn’t.’

  ‘Really?’ she cocked her head. ‘That would be very unprofessional of me.’

  ‘Here.’ I handed her a fifty-pound note. And then another. It was hard to tell if her heavily pencilled eyebrows were raised in disgust at my first offering or if they were just drawn that high.

  She pocketed the notes into her tunic. ‘Mrs Tupolev is booked into the Zen room. It’s the third door on your left.’

  *

  I barely had time to appreciate the mood lighting, soft chanting music and scented candles before I heard the door opening.

  The Zen room was about to get not so Zen.

  Dasha walked in wearing a white dressing gown and holding her Hermès Birkin bag. I could understand why she didn’t want to leave an item worth twice the price of your average car in a changing room.

  ‘You.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why haven’t you been answering my texts?’

  ‘It’s time we had a little chat, Dasha. Your bodyguards think you’re having a bikini wax, so bear in mind they aren’t going to come rushing in if they hear pained screams.’