Song of Bees

by Andrea Hicks

  ‘But Plan Bee already has my blood, loads of it.’

  ‘Had.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Destroyed. There were break-ins at the laboratory your blood was sent to. Yes, we have an extensive lab at Plan Bee, but MI5 has its own lab and it was sent there. There was a break-in, they believe by someone trying to get their hands on the samples.’

  I shake my head, dismayed and terrified in turn at what I’m hearing. ‘Was it the pharmaceutical companies that broke in?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Anyone can set up a lab. It really isn’t that difficult.’

  ‘Shit. Did they get any of the samples?’

  ‘No.’

  We both go quiet. I’m not sure where this leaves me...or Cain. Cecily wants to get her hands on me, and Cain’s in a great position to turn me in.

  ‘So...what now? What are you going to do? Don’t you want to take me back? Cecily will love you forever.’

  He actually laughs. ‘Hm, not sure that would be an advantage.’ He looks serious again. ‘Why would I have sprung you from Plan Bee if I’d wanted to take you back?’

  ‘So why, Cain? You must be getting something out of it. No one puts themselves at such huge risk for no reason. You’ve found me and you could easily march me right back to the facility. I’m not getting it. You said anyone can set up a laboratory. Do you want to do that for yourself? Is that what all this is about?’

  He looks over my shoulder out of the café window. ‘You don’t need to know what I’ve planned. At least not yet. And no, it’s not what it’s all about. I’m not planning to make out of you, Nina. I hope I have higher ideals than that. Let’s just get that straight.’

  It goes quiet again. Cain is unreadable. His expression gives nothing away, but I’m my own person and it’s up to me to decide my own future, not him. I make to get up. ‘Well, Cain, it’s been nice, but I have to go. Things to do, places to go and all that.’

  ‘Going back to the hotel?’

  I stare at him. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Darren.’

  I pull a face. ‘Darren? Who the hell is Darren?’

  ‘Taxi driver? I had to pay him to keep quiet.’

  I slam my hand down on the table. ‘The bastard. He rooked me too, for a hundred and fifty.’ I bite my lip. I shouldn’t have mentioned money.

  ‘And you got that from where?’ He raises his eyes and looks at me steadily, unwavering. He knows where I got the cash from.

  ‘Yeah, well, I gotta go.’

  ‘Nina...!’

  ‘No Cain. It’s my life, my blood we’re talking about. You seem to have scouts everywhere, even the bloody taxi driver. For Christ’s sake can’t you see how this is making me feel. I’m terrified, and why the hell should I trust you? I don’t know you?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You stole from me.’

  Tears threaten and I turn away. He doesn’t get it. I wait for it to pass then turn back to him. ‘I have nothing.’ He shrugs like it’s not important. ‘Everything has been taken from me, Cain. I’ve no money, no home, and the only clothes I stand up in.’

  ‘I could help you with that.’

  I shake my head. ‘Why? Why would you. Unless there’s something in it for you.’

  ‘Come back with me.’

  To say I’m tempted is an understatement. My dad always used to say that we all have to trust someone. I can remember him saying it to my mum, why, I don’t know, but I’m guessing it had something to do with whatever it was he was studying, and I want to trust Cain because I don’t have anyone else right now. I take a deep breath, then pull on my coat and shove my hair up into the beanie hat, pulling the hood over my head.

  ‘There’s someone I’ve got to see.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Not your business.’

  ‘Don’t make it worse, Nina.’

  ‘You think it can get worse? How much worse can it get for me? You’ve just explained it all, blood or death. That's not much of a choice is it. And honestly, I think I'd like to take my chances. if it doesn't work out, I'll come back to you.’

  ‘If they let you. My instincts are telling me you're about to put yourself in danger and it’s not necessary.

  ‘There's only one way for me to find who to trust, Cain, and that's get both sides of the argument, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.’ Without bothering to say goodbye, I leave the cafe and make my way back to the hotel. Every few minutes or so I turn around and look behind me because I think there's someone following me. I'm in anxiety mode now, shit scared, thinking that every noise, every leaf fluttering on the pavement, every distant voice is someone about to shoot me or drag me off the street. I’ve only got Cain’s side of things because I didn’t have time to question the dorks. I’m hoping this is my chance. If I’ve made the wrong decision, then it’s on my head.

  When I get back to the hotel I switch on the TV. Nothing major coming up. The news is muted; it’s all about Christmas, films and whatnot, Hallmark mostly, The Grinch and Shrek. Are they still churning out this stuff? They were on when I was a kid. I know it’s Boxing Day tomorrow, but I intend to find out where Cecilia Cunningham is. I don’t care if it’s Christmas, she needs to know she’s made a huge mistake and that I have no intention of just allowing her and her thugs to get rid of me. And I’m prepared to disappear if necessary, anywhere, I don’t care. I have nothing. That’s not much to lose.

  I have a long bath, order myself a big dinner from room service, and settle in. Tonight, I have research to do. I’ve got a phone and the internet, and I can hopefully find out where Cecily Cunningham lives. There are websites that have that information, and I’m hoping that even though she’s in MI5 she’s still registered. Please, God, let her be registered.

  Chapter 7

  I put my head down as I walk face down into a flurry of snow coming towards me like a typhoon. Christ, I thought they said the planet was getting warmer. I’ve never known it so cold. They reckoned there might be another ice-age, but honestly, I don’t think anyone’s got a handle on it. All I know is the climate’s crazy, sort of upside down, but we haven’t seen snow for a decade. This is the first I’ve seen since I was a teenager. I think it’s lovely, always makes everywhere look nice, but not today. Today I want to be totally in control, not emotional, not sentimental.

  I found her. Cecily Cunningham. She was in a Parish Council Directory of somewhere in Oxford where she apparently has her main home, but her residence in London is in Covent Garden. They even gave the address. Bit remiss. Maybe she’d forgotten it was there, but Jesus, she must be getting a good whack for making it her mission to kill me.

  I’ve got a walk ahead of me from the hotel in Lambeth to Covent Garden. As I make my way across Lambeth Bridge I suck in a breath. London is so beautiful. It makes me feel proud, but I’m not proud of the people who run the country. I would have thought MI5 had got other problems to worry about, like the guys who tried to break into the Houses of Parliament protesting against the hike in our taxes, like the drones hovering over Buckingham Palace dropping acid bombs regardless who was underneath, to be concentrating on a nothing girl like me, even if they do regard me as a threat to national security. I screw up my face in derision. They’re just dickheads who’ve got nothing better to do, but it’s me they’re talking about and it’s me that must do something about it.

  It takes just over half an hour to get to Covent Garden. I glance at my phone again...Floral Street...a pretty address for a woman with a tough reputation. Cecily Cunningham’s London home is a serviced apartment in an eclectic part of London. It’s chic, it’s beautiful, but nothing like I thought it would be, surrounded as it is by high fashion stores and chichi cafes. I stand on the corner of the street and search the wall plaques which have the apartment numbers. When I find hers, I feel totally out of my depth. The apartment is over a string of shops, high-end with clothes and interiors I can only dream of. The apartment
s above have long windows with window boxes, now empty, edged with wrought iron. Cecily’s is over an art gallery, Contempo Art.

  Taking a deep breath, I push myself a way from the wall and put my hand in my pocket. Feeling the gun there gives me some confidence, although the thought of using it is like a nightmare, but if her plan is to find me and take me in I need an insurance policy.

  At the entrance I peer through the glass in the door. In the narrow foyer there’s a desk, but no one manning it. To my left there’s a chrome entry phone with a series of buttons and the apartment numbers etched in black. I push 2A, half hoping no one answers because I haven’t decided how I’m going to handle it. I could kick myself. I should have rehearsed it. In those few seconds I decide to channel Lolabelle, a series about a female private detective on Digiflix. She kicks arse every week. She’s the only role model I can think of and it’s her in my head as I wait for someone to answer.

  The speaker crackles and a female voice speaks, beautifully moderated, strong.

  ‘Yes, hello.’

  ‘Er...er, I have a delivery for Ms. Cunningham.’

  ’A delivery? On Boxing Day?’

  ‘Yes, sorry if you have company. Someone sent you something and I’m visiting so...so I thought I’d drop it off...for you.’ I cringe at myself. It sounds lame even to me.

  ‘Oh, well...I suppose it’s okay. Can’t imagine who it could have sent it. I’m not expecting anything. Come through the entry and I’ll meet you on the landing. I’m on the second floor.’

  The entry phone makes a beeping sound and I push open the door and go into the hall. In front of me is a flight of stairs, carpeted with light grey carpet. I look down at my boots and wipe them on the mat before I roll my eyes and shake my head. Old habits die hard. I can’t imagine Lolabelle wiping her bloody feet before she shoots someone. I follow the staircase up to the first floor. I hear someone cough above me on the second floor. It must be Her Ladyship waiting on the landing.

  She watches me through the bannisters as I make my way up to the second-floor landing. I go up the last step of the flight and face her, but there’s no recognition.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks frowning, inclining her head to see if I have something in my right hand.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘What?’ She looks annoyed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t recognise me, do you? I was at the Plan Bee facility for nearly three months and you haven’t got a clue who I am.’ Now I’m annoyed. This woman had me in her clutches for weeks, has ruined my life and doesn’t even have the grace to know me.

  She puts her hand up in front of her as if to halt my progress, and it’s then I notice she has a shawl around her shoulders and a bright beacon of a nose. Someone’s got the flu. ‘Hold on, hold on. What are you doing?’

  ‘Didn’t you want me brought in, Ms. Cunningham. Well, here I am. I’ve done your job for you.’

  She squints her eyes, then sneezes explosively. Twice. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I need to speak with you. I saw the news bulletin. You’ve told the government and the police that I’m a threat to national security. Why? It’s not true is it?’

  She stares hard at me, then turns and goes into the apartment. ‘You’d better come in. As you can see, I’m not at my best. My partner’s not here but she’ll be back in an hour or so. You’d better make it quick. It was stupid of you to come here.’

  The apartment is as I thought it would be, minimalist and chic, a bit like Cain’s place but with a few feminine touches. ‘Does your job stop then, when you leave the office, or because it’s Christmas. Did you enjoy your Christmas break, you and your partner? Do you want to know what I was doing?’

  She presses her lips together. ‘Why are you here?’ Her voice has changed and taken on a more officious tone. ‘You’ve got some gall.’

  I pull a face, astonished at her attitude and the fact that she seems to be blaming me. ‘Gall? Is that what you call it. You’ve fucked up my whole life. While you were stuffing your turkey and then your face, I was on the run, holed up in a shit hotel, too scared to ring for room service in case I was recognised, so you can drop the superior attitude.’

  ‘You’ll get caught, Ms. Gourriel. There’s no way you can escape from the police or MI5, and of course, you can’t possibly expect me not to alert them to your showing up here.’

  ‘But you’re treating me like a criminal. I’ve done nothing wrong. Okay, I’ve done a bit of coke here and there, but I’m hardly a criminal mastermind. You must have a very empty diary if I’m all you’re worried about.’

  She suddenly looks as though she’s going to vomit and sits heavily on the sofa. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Then tell me. I think I’ve got a right to know.’

  ‘I’m surprised you can hold your head up, Ms. Gourriel. You have a death sentence and a price on your head, depending of course on who gets to you first.’ She manages a sneering smile. ‘And as you’re here...’

  ‘And which camp are you in?’ She raises her eyebrows as if to say, ‘Don’t be stupid.’ So, Cain was telling the truth. Shit. I should have listened to what my dad said about the need to at least trust someone. I guess it should have been him. ‘What can you do? You’re away from your office, you have no staff here and your partner is not expected yet.’ She lifts her chin, then rolls her shoulders. ‘Ms. Gourriel, you’re naïve if you think I haven’t already alerted MI5. They’ll be here in minutes. And there’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind. If I had all my faculties I’d have you bound and gagged by now, but frankly I don’t have the energy, and it’s not really my job to do that kind of thing anymore. I left that behind in the army. I have people with the expertise to do the painful stuff. I know where you are and I know you stayed in a hotel, probably quite near here. You have little chance of getting far, particularly today. Good luck with that. If you’re going to save your own life you need to be more streetwise and not so impulsive.’

  ‘You’re not going to listen to me, are you?’

  ‘Well, you haven’t said much, and certainly nothing I’m interested to hear. You think you’re being badly treated. You think I should let you walk away and forget about you, cross your name off my list of traitors who need to be detained regardless of the fact that your being alive could end the world as we know it.’

  ‘Traitor? How am I a traitor?’

  ‘Because you’re putting your own needs and wants before those of your country. That makes you a traitor, and as head of MI5 I can’t let that go.’

  ‘So, you are head of MI5.’

  She purses her lips, then grins. ‘Yes of course. Did someone say otherwise?’

  I turn and run through the door, then down the stairs hanging on to the bannisters to stop from pitching forward. My ankle buckles when I get to the bottom step and I fall onto my face, but I pull myself up, barely noticing it. The urge to get away from her and that place, from the street and the people now shopping in Floral Street and Grafton Street who seem intent on stopping me from making a break sends panic down my spine. People tut as I push through them, turning to look at me in anger as I force my way through the crowds. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I gasp, but I hear the comments and see the expressions on the faces of those in front of me. I must have been mad to think she would listen. She’s so confident I won’t get away she didn’t even attempt to stop me. The woman has a shard of ice for a heart. Her face was impassive, expressionless, and I knew that trying to persuade her that I wasn’t a threat would do no good. It’s imperative for her to do her job and her job is to kill me.

  She wants me dead.

  Chapter 8

  I run like hell down Grafton Street looking out for the sign for James Street. I need to get there. The signs on the poles say that’s where Covent Garden Underground Station is, and I it’s where I’m headed. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a memory that trains run o
n Boxing Day, not like they usually do on an ordinary day, but it won’t be closed. Even if I can get to the station it’ll be somewhere for me to hide. For now. I must get off the street because I have this horrible feeling I’m being chased. Sweat is pouring down my back and I wish I could take off the Parka, but I don’t want to stop. I rip off the hat and I manage to unzip the Parka. It flies open as I run. I don’t even know where I’m running to, but the anxiety in my stomach is galvanising me to keep going, to somewhere that’s far from Floral Street. As I run towards the end of the street, I notice a black van with the side section open. Cain is in the driver’s seat, although he has on a baseball cap with the brim pulled down to his eyes, and a scarf covering the lower half of his face, I know it’s him. When I reach the van, I throw myself into the opening just as a gunshot goes off and a bullet whistles past my feet. As I slam the side door shut and Cain slams the van into gear and drives off, I hear people screaming. I peer out of the back window. People are panicking, running for their lives. They think they’re being targeted. Terrorists have targeted people in London in the past and no one could blame them if they thought it was happening again. Little do they know it’s their own security force shooting, almost at random. The bullet went through a plate glass window of one of the stores in Grafton Street, shattering it, the shards of glass falling onto the pavement. It sounded like an explosion. I can hardly believe what just happened.

  ‘They shot at me,’ I yell into the front over Cain’s shoulder. ‘How the fuck could they do that?’

  ‘Why d’you think? They don’t care who you are, Nina. You’re a number to them, one of many they want to get rid of. Cecily probably has a list of names that she considers threaten national security. I’m guessing you’re on it.’

  I sit on my butt and lean my back against the side of the van. I feel exhausted. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘Yep, it’s serious, and if you ever thought it wasn’t you made a big mistake. They’re after you and believe me...they’ll find you.’