The House of Killers

by Samantha Lee Howe

  I’m lapsing, she thinks. Getting too comfortable here. Perhaps it is time to move again.

  The maid is holding a bucket full of cleaning products. She opens the door and then with a sharp movement she swings the bucket, almost catching Neva in the face. But Neva falls back, rolling with the potential blow and is up on her feet before the woman is on her.

  The maid is holding a syringe – a clear liquid inside it – in one hand and a gun in the other.

  Neva steps back around the coffee table in the centre of the room and keeps it between them. Without looking away, the maid closes the chalet door and locks it. Then she moves forward into the room and begins to circle the table.

  ‘I can take you in alive or leave you here dead,’ the woman says. Her English is perfect.

  Neva studies her. She’s in her late thirties, an older class than herself, but still strong and her reflexes are good. She must be confident of her abilities in order to get this close.

  Neva curses herself for her stupidity as she moves around the table opposite the woman. They will do this until one of them makes a move. I did put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign up on the door, she thinks. This woman has removed it and tried to catch her off guard. It almost worked too. But at the last moment, Neva saw the slight movement that indicated she was going to use the bucket as an initial weapon. There has never been anything wrong with Neva’s reflexes.

  Now she takes in the woman’s stance and the self-assured way she holds the gun and the syringe.

  There is no way she will let herself be taken alive.

  Neva leaps over the table, taking the woman by surprise. Hitting the assassin’s wrist hard, she knocks the syringe from her grasp. It tumbles to the tiled floor, and skitters across the room, coming to rest by the armchair near the TV.

  Neva’s full weight throws the woman to the ground even as she brings the gun forward. The assassin fires; the bullet passes Neva’s right cheek. She feels the heat from it, but is unharmed.

  The world goes into slow motion. Neva pushes at the woman’s wrist, but she is strong. They roll on the ground. With her now free left hand, the assassin delivers a blow to Neva’s face. Pain shoots through her cheek bone but she responds by elbowing the woman hard in the chest. The assassin is winded but still she comes. Blows are exchanged again. The assassin’s nose breaks. Blood splatters over Neva’s face.

  Then the gun goes off again.

  Outside, Neva can hear shouting.

  Neva frees the gun from the assassin’s fingers and throws it across the room. She grabs the woman’s head, smashing it down on the tiled floor, brutally, over and over. She wants her dead. She hears the crack of the skull as time speeds up again.

  Someone is hammering on the chalet door.

  ‘Was ist da drin los?’

  Neva hears the German and automatically translates it to ‘What’s happening in there?’

  She lets go of the assassin when the woman’s eyes glaze over. She’s dead or brain-damaged. It’s all the same to Neva. She stands now, walking calmly to the bathroom where she washes the blood from her hands and face. Then she returns to the living area, takes her weapons from the grocery bag and walks into the kitchen. She opens the back door and exits the chalet just as she hears the front door cave in. It could be security or even some more of the Network’s people. She doesn’t wait to discover. She hurries between the chalets and flats and heads out via a route she has already planned for such a contingency.

  Out in the woods she has buried an escape bag with passports, money, and more weapons. Covering her tracks, Neva makes her way to her hiding place.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  VASQUEZ

  After receiving the news that his assassin is dead, Vasquez hangs up the phone and looks around the small office in the Methuselah Club.

  Neva’s escape has left drama and chaos that need to be dealt with. It is a situation that neither he nor the Network will find easy to cover up. Even so, any decisions are not his to make. He needs to pass this up the chain, to a much higher authority.

  He pulls up the number for Mr Beech in his phone. Inside this room, conversations are protected. Even so, he hesitates to make the call. Beech will not be happy and, like Sharrick before him, Vasquez fears his wrath.

  Vasquez takes a moment to regroup. He experiences a flash of panic – something he’s very unused to. Everything has been spiralling out of control since he was told of Sharrick’s retirement, and how the man had ‘broken’ – a term no operative would ever want applied to themselves. Sharrick had been strong for so long; the whole situation appeared to be impossible, unlikely, and somehow wrong. Now, Vasquez is beginning to wonder if there are some issues inside the Network that he should be aware of. It won’t be the first time that a lesser agent has made a play for leadership. Is it a coincidence that these minor problems and retirements have occurred since Tracey’s death and Neva’s defection? Somehow, he doesn’t think so.

  One thing Vasquez understands: there was very little ‘accident’ in coincidences. Someone is always behind them. The question is, who?

  He looks again at Mr Beech’s number. He has to report this. Beech is his direct superior and the chairman of the board at the Network. A seat there is Vasquez’s ambition.

  If Vasquez fails to tell Beech what’s happened, the consequences could be terminal. But Vasquez isn’t ready to face up to such a catastrophic failure to capture or kill Neva, because Beech has expressed that he only expects success on this mission. They had, after all, sent one of their most successful operatives after her.

  Vasquez takes a deep breath and places his phone down on the desk. He has to compose himself and think how to word his explanation.

  Just then, his phone begins to ring. Vasquez jumps and glances down at the flashing screen. Mr Beech’s number is lit up.

  He can no longer avoid it; the decision has been taken out of his hands. He answers and launches straight into a matter-of-fact explanation. It’s all he can think to do.

  ‘Inga is dead. Neva gave our agents the slip.’

  Vasquez expects rage but Mr Beech is quiet. It is more terrifying than when he loses his temper. Vasquez continues to talk to fill the silence.

  ‘We don’t know where she’s gone, but the trail will still be warm. I have our best people working on it.’

  ‘Then Inga was not as good as she appeared,’ Beech says.

  ‘Inga tried to bring Neva in alive, as you wanted. Unfortunately, she was overpowered.’

  Vasquez explains what his agents have told him.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Vasquez asks now.

  ‘I had hoped that the distance put between her and us would have made Neva less cautious,’ Mr Beech says. ‘Now she will be on full alert. If she’s seen, tell your agents not to hesitate. Kill on sight. The time for recovery has passed.’

  Beech terminates the call and Vasquez places his phone in his pocket. The conversation has gone better than he expected. He had expected to be blamed, but Beech sounded calm and philosophical about Neva’s loss.

  Vasquez opens his laptop and sends out a blanket email to all handlers.

  NOTIFY ALL AGENTS: NEVA TO BE EXECUTED ON SIGHT.

  He then attaches Neva’s photograph and all known aliases. He gives as much information as he can without compromising himself or the Network, then he clicks send.

  Sending the email is a relief. Neva is now everyone’s responsibility. And, because of who and what she is, this is one job they will be vying for. Vasquez lets out a slow breath and sits back. He can almost see the handlers jumping over themselves to notify their operatives that a hunt is on. Now that the gloves are well and truly off, Neva will be found.

  It is all just a matter of time.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  MICHAEL

  ‘Don’t turn the light on,’ says a voice in the darkness of my living room. ‘Close the curtains first.’

  After all these months with no contact, I’m shocked to find Nev
a in my flat. Even so, I follow her directions, closing the curtains before switching on a lamp near the window.

  Neva is sitting in the chair by the door near my bedroom.

  ‘I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again,’ I say.

  ‘I had to go to ground. I’ve also been doing my own investigations. I couldn’t contact you until I was certain you weren’t being monitored.’

  The past few months I’ve been wary. Despite reinforcing my belief that all of my colleagues in Archive are clean, Neva’s words reinforce the nagging doubt.

  ‘Am I?’ I ask.

  ‘Have you noticed anything odd?’

  ‘If I’m being followed, the tail is good. I haven’t seen anything. What can you tell me?’

  ‘The word from my sources is that they are certain you’re being watched. They don’t know by whom, or why. But that was months ago and now I’m no longer in a position to use those sources anymore.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘The Network no longer wants to capture me; they’ve put a kill order out instead. When I learnt that, I had to sever ties with all my informants, just in case they were playing a double game.’

  ‘Then you’ve taken a massive risk,’ I say. ‘Why did you come? Surely if I’m being watched, it’s not safe for you.’

  Neva sighs. Then she meets my eyes.

  ‘I realised that it’s time I took a few risks. I’m trying to find out who kidnapped me as a child and made me what I am. I still need your help and resources. I think you’re in a position to find out more than I can right now. I’ve been watching and I didn’t see anyone on you. So perhaps my source way back was wrong. I also searched your flat when I got here. I didn’t find anything, other than your own security system which you have wisely disconnected.’

  I sit down on the sofa opposite her. ‘Maybe it’s time to tell me what you remember.’

  She sighs again, as though all thoughts of the past create great pain.

  ‘There’s a recurring memory. I was in a park,’ she says. ‘I don’t know where.’

  Neva’s mind slips back to the park.

  ‘I could feel the rush of air as the swing went higher and higher and then, somehow, my grip loosened and I fell, face first, onto the tarmac. I didn’t feel any pain at first. I was stunned by the fall. The au pair came running, yelling and frantic. Until then, she had been talking to a man. Giggling. Flirting … I think.

  ‘When the au pair lifted me from the floor, the man was there too. “Her face … is she going to be scarred?” he’d asked. “No, it’s just a scrape,” said the girl. My face began to sting then and I could feel blood trickling down my cheek.

  ‘He told her to take me home and wash it. The au pair nodded as though he was her boss and not my parents. I remember him telling her to look after me. That I was somehow precious.’

  ‘Did you know the man?’ I ask.

  Neva nods. ‘I think so. He might have worked for my parents too. I thought at the time he was scared they’d both get into trouble because they were paying too much attention to each other and not watching me. So I told my mother that I had let go of the girl’s hand and fallen as I ran towards the swings. I didn’t want her to lose her job, you see. She was always sweet to me and I liked her.’

  ‘Describe your mother,’ I say.

  ‘I can’t. All I see is this blank place where her face should be. Her image was taken from me.’

  I think for a moment and then prompt her again for information that might help us both.

  ‘What do you remember about the day you were taken?’ I ask.

  Neva thinks. ‘They spent a lot of time and energy trying to make us forget our past. I can only recall a few details. I was at school. I needed the bathroom and the teacher let me leave the classroom. On the way back … someone I knew was there. But the face is blank as well. I can’t see who it was.’

  ‘Could it have been the au pair?’

  Neva frowns as she tries to bring the person’s face up. Then she shakes her head. ‘I just can’t remember. I didn’t feel unsafe, or afraid. It was someone familiar.’

  I frown. ‘Perhaps it was one of the teachers at the school. That’s something I can do. I can look into that, see if there is any connection between the staff present at the time and other missing kids.’

  ‘It could have been a teacher, I suppose,’ Neva says. ‘Whoever it was, they took me outside and there was a black car waiting. I was put in the back and fastened in. Then I was given a carton of juice. I remember it tasted odd, and that was the last thing I recalled.’

  Neva explains how she woke to find herself being carried into a huge house.

  ‘Tell me more about the house.’

  Neva describes a large, old building. She tells me about the kitchen and the hot chocolate Tracey made for her.

  ‘It was the sort of place you could get lost in. A big rambling estate house. After Tracey gave me the hot chocolate, I was taken into a dormitory. There were three other girls of a similar age to me. The eldest told me we were in a boarding school. I asked why we were there and she told me that she’d been told it was because we were all “special”. We’d been chosen. None of it made sense, and I just wanted to go home. I soon learnt that was never going to happen.’

  I listen to Neva’s description of her first days at the house. It is a shocking tale of fear, and abuse, and treatments that are tantamount to torture.

  ‘Do you remember any other people, other than Tracey?’ I ask.

  ‘The doctor. Mendez. We were all so scared of him. When they told me the first time that I was going down the corridor to see a doctor, I wasn’t afraid. The few doctors I’d seen before had always been kind, there to help you if you were sick. But Mendez was cold. He spoke with an accent, very subtle, not originally English. He ordered me to sit in a chair and then yanked the sleeve of my cardigan up. He stabbed a needle into my arm without even pretending he wasn’t going to hurt me; he just didn’t care. We were cattle to him, you see. He had no feelings for us beyond his medical curiosity as he warped our minds. I think now that he actually got off on it.’

  I remain quiet as she speaks. I don’t offer comfort, or show any signs of sympathy, but inside I’m sickened that a child could be treated so viciously.

  ‘I wasn’t allowed to object to his rough treatment; no one was,’ Neva continues. ‘And tears … I cried that first time. I was scared and shocked, and Mendez slapped me hard across the face. He said my tears were wasted on him. He was going to make me into someone important, worthy, strong. Someone my parents would be proud of. If I was weak, though, they’d call me a failure and then I would never see my parents again. I never cried again and I learnt to show no emotion. That way it was all over with quicker.’

  Her eyes are shining when she finishes speaking. I wonder if this is the first time since then that she has allowed herself to be close to tears. As if she knows what I’m thinking, Neva swipes her hand over her face and pushes away any sign of the water that almost leaks out.

  ‘On my way here, I saw a baby bird in a park. It was on the pathway, chirping for its mother. I looked up at the tree above its head and realised the creature had fallen from its nest. I picked it up and put it back. I don’t know why, but I had to.’

  ‘You were feeling empathy for the bird,’ I say. ‘You’ve never felt that before?’

  ‘Since I last saw you, I’ve been picking at the memories. They haven’t all come back. There are so many gaps, but something else has come: emotion,’ Neva explains.

  ‘Understandable. They tried to take all feeling from you. It’s obvious, though, that you were stronger than they knew, Neva. You’re finding your way back.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you. A lot,’ she says.

  Neva stands and walks over to me. She kneels. There is a slight tremor in her hand as she touches my face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say.

  ‘I want to feel. I want to experience something with you, Michael.’


  ‘I can’t,’ I tell her. ‘You’re vulnerable right now. I’m not going to take advantage of that.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to take advantage of you,’ Neva says.

  She leans towards me. I try to turn my face away but Neva doesn’t let me.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  She kisses me. I’m a man. She’s beautiful and sexy and so mysterious. I stop speaking and respond. There has always been sexual tension between us, but only Neva is willing to acknowledge it.

  ‘We can’t,’ I say again, pulling away.

  ‘We can.’

  I get to my feet in an attempt to change the dynamic and get away from her. Neva sees the tell-tale bulge that shows my protests are a struggle.

  I help her stand. We stare at each other for a moment, then I pull her to me. I hold her. She lets me embrace her, wrapping her own arms around me. The hug is awkward, but I’m trying to show her that she’s safe. That this is the only touching she should have from me right now.

  I step back and look at her again.

  ‘You know I’m attracted to you. Far more than I should be. But this … it will blur the lines between us.’

  Neva nods and then as I begin to let go of her, she forces her way back into my arms and kisses me again. I feel a surge of lust as she presses against me. My tentative self-control is slipping. I kiss her back, pushing my tongue into her mouth and then she’s pulling me down again to the sofa.

  She tugs at my shirt. White buttons fall on the carpet.

  ‘Stop!’ I repeat, but my protest is weak.

  She kisses me again and my hand cradles her head, pulling her harder to my lips. I’m lost and she knows it.

  ‘Not here,’ I say when we break again.

  ‘The bedroom?’ She laughs. ‘How very traditional!’

  She stands, holding out her hand to me, and, unable to resist her any longer, I take it and lead her to my bedroom.

  We shed clothing at the foot of the bed. I look over her naked body as she lies down beside me. My hand traces a scar along her thigh, but I don’t ask her about it. The truth is, she hasn’t been far from my mind since that day in front of the tube station.