Safe House

by Paul Starkey

She nodded. As Tyrell rose she kept her fingers tight around Cheung’s wrist. He didn’t try to lift the gun though. She kept her own weapon by her side, but if Tyrell so much as blinked the wrong way she was fully prepared to put a bullet in him.

  Tyrell didn’t stand. He got to his knees and then sat back, content to cross his legs. “That’s better, not sure if I can stand yet but this is comfier at least.”

  “Sod comfier,” said Cheung. “What do you mean, it fits?”

  Chalice felt more movement behind her. There were several sounds in the room; the ticking of a clock, the patter of rain against the windows, the laboured breathing of John Tyrell and the calmer inhalations of the others. She no longer heard footfalls, but someone’s in and out breathing was shifting position, ever so slightly.

  “Lucy wasn’t raped.”

  Tom actually gasped at that, it was a sound of disbelief, of derision. She heard nothing from Ibex, but that wasn’t unusual, the man was colder than an iceberg. She was surprised that Lucy wasn’t speaking though.

  Or maybe she wasn’t surprised.

  “The watch,” said Tyrell. “She was dressing when we got there, pulling on clothes that looked ripped, like Brendan had torn them off…just what you’d expect. But what kind of rape victim takes her watch off before she’s attacked, and what kind of attacker wastes time with a woman’s jewellery?”

  “Oh for god’s sake…” muttered Cheung. “Maybe she took the watch off before he even came into the room? Maybe she was already preparing for bed, eh? Ever think about that.” He was practically spitting the words. “Or maybe Fox did make her take it off, maybe it scratched him…or maybe she even took if off after the…after he was finished. She was hardly going to be thinking straight, was she?”

  Cheung had a point, several points. The evidence was circumstantial, and only barely at that, and if the explanations Cheung had verbalised had issued forth from Lucy’s lips she’d have been tempted to dismiss Tyrell’s suggestion as the ravings of a madman, or at the very least the delusions of a man with noted mental health problems.

  Except Lucy still hadn’t said a word.

  “Lucy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” came the reply after a moment, and with that single word Chalice revised her view of the universe. Up was now down, black was now white.

  “Anything to add?”

  “Nothing…I mean, I mean Tommy’s right. I took the watch off before…before…” Chalice couldn’t see her, but she heard the waterworks being turned on.

  “Chalice, don’t let this carry on,” said Cheung. “Not after all she’s already been through.”

  He was staring at her earnestly, pain in his eyes. She ignored it. “Lucy,” she said again, never taking her eyes off of Tyrell. She nodded towards him, and saw him reciprocate. He knew the score, and though she doubted he’d be able to do what she hoped he wouldn’t have to, he was all she had.

  She took her hand from Cheung’s wrist.

  “Yes, Chalice.”

  “If that’s true, why are you standing by the door? And why did I just hear the handle turn?”

  A nervous, giggle. “I don’t know what you mean.” The laugh had almost masked it, but Chalice had been listening out for the sound of the handle turning a fraction more.

  “Lucy, turn that handle another millimetre and I will shoot you.”

  “Chalice, what the hell…” said Cheung. He was still staring at her, but she wasn’t looking at him, nor at Tyrell. Her gaze had been drawn to the TV. There, just barely, she saw the room reflected in the glass, overlaid on the myriad views of outside like so many phantoms.

  She saw the movement before she heard it. Once more Lucy tried to cover the sound with protestations that this was ridiculous. Chalice said nothing. In one fluid movement she turned and dropped to one knee, the SIG Sauer tracking towards the doorway. The door was half open now, and Chalice thanked whoever the patron saint of spies was that it opened inwards. If it’d swung outwards Lucy might have had a chance to get clear.

  Her aim was measured yet loose. She didn’t have time for precision. She fired once, the gunshot seeming to echo throughout the house like a tiger’s roar. The .380 slug tore a hole in the far wall, less than an inch from the doorjamb. So close to Lucy that Chalice imagined the younger woman must have felt the wind of it as it streaked by her.

  The effect was instantaneous. Lucy Parrish froze, hand still gripping the door handle, one foot forward, already prepared to walk out of the door.

  Chalice heard movement behind her. A tiny grunt— of surprise rather than pain— followed by a curse. She didn’t look back, she had to trust him, had to keep her eyes on Lucy—she was the real threat, she’d already killed one of their number tonight, and Chalice wasn’t about to let her up her score. “You ok, John?”

  “Fine,” said Tyrell, and as he spoke he stepped into view. He’d done what she wanted him to do, he’d caught Cheung by surprise—again—and obviously jabbed a fist in his ribs, distraction enough to disarm him. He held Cheung’s pistol tight in his hand now, but he didn’t look remotely comfortable with it.

  “You ok, Tom?”

  “Fine,” came the surly response.

  “She tried to run, Tom.”

  “Presumption of guilt?” The man snorted.

  “Maybe. Maybe it is all a fantasy; maybe John’s playing us for fools. One way to know for sure.” She licked her lips. “Give him his gun back, John.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She stood, slowly, shifting her aim as she moved to keep the pistol aimed at Lucy’s back. The other woman still hadn’t moved a muscle. She knew Chalice’s next bullet might shatter her spine. Keeping her eyes on Lucy she stepped back, widening her field of vision until she could see them all.

  Tyrell looked perturbed. Cheung looked angry, yet also confused—he was rubbing his side. And Ibex…Quintus Armstrong was standing behind the table, sipping at the last few dregs of the scotch he’d been nursing since she told him he couldn’t have another. He looked perfectly calm, like a man watching a play unfolding rather than a life or death situation.

  She took her eyes off Lucy for a moment to meet Tyrell’s gaze. She doubted he would understand fully the thoughts currently percolating inside her mind, but he got the general gist. With a sigh he upended the gun in his hand and handed it towards Cheung.

  Tom took it, gingerly, pausing for a moment as if wary this was some kind of trap.

  Which of course it was. Chalice was convinced of Lucy’s complicity in Fox’s death, but was also certain some larger game was being played out here and she needed to know whose side everyone was on. Tyrell had pretty much convinced Chalice that he was on hers. Ibex was probably neutral. That left Cheung. Maybe he was as naïve as he seemed sometimes; maybe he genuinely didn’t want to believe Lucy was capable of cold-blooded murder. Or maybe he was her partner in crime. Maybe his coffee hadn’t been spiked. Maybe he’d swapped places with Fox to facilitate his murder.

  And now he had his gun back. Tyrell was unarmed and lacking the element of surprise, and she was aiming her own weapon away from him. If he was part of the plot his next obvious move would be to shoot Chalice.

  She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop him. Her reactions were good, and she was primed while he was not. Still he had the edge. As trust exercises went it wasn’t remotely perfect, but it was all she had.

  Cheung stared at the gun. Then he looked towards the door. Finally his eyes met Chalice’s. “I want to go home,” he said softly.

  She saw a torrent of conflicting emotion in his eyes. He still wasn’t sure of course, but Tyrell returning his gun had scored points.

  In truth he was locked into an unenviable position, because he thought he was culpable either way. It was either his fault that Lucy had been raped, or his fault that Fox had been murdered. She couldn’t know for sure, but Chalice had the terrible thought that she’d lost him, that from now on he’d be neither use nor ornament as one old instructor used to jest.

&n
bsp; “Can I turn around yet?”

  Chalice had almost forgotten about Lucy. Almost. Whilst she’d taken her eyes off the young woman, her pistol had remained pointed squarely at her back.

  “Slowly,” she said now.

  Lucy complied. For a moment, just before her face came into view, Chalice imagined that she’d have changed. That her visage would have transformed into some kind of demonic monster, face pitted and scarred, fangs instead of teeth…

  At the very least she expected to see her true self revealed. Devilish intelligence reflected in her eyes, the smirk of a betrayer.

  She looked no different. The same pleasant smile, the same slightly vacant look in her eyes. Chalice had worked undercover countless times, worked both alongside and against consummate actors, but if what Tyrell suspected were true, then Lucy quite possibly had them all beaten hands down. Because she still looked so damn innocent.

  For a moment Chalice began to doubt herself. Then she remembered that Lucy had tried to make a run for it. Not conclusive evidence, fear might have led her to run after all. Except she didn’t look frightened, and that was what dispelled the doubts in Chalice’s mind. There should be some fear in Lucy’s eyes, some panic or uncertainty. For god’s sake I almost shot her...

  There was nothing, nothing but bland, unthreatening loveliness. Chalice suppressed a shudder.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in denying it?” Lucy’s timbre didn’t waver. She spoke as calmly as if she were asking the time.

  “You don’t, eh?” said Chalice.

  Lucy shook her head. “I could bluff it out, protest my innocence, but you’re not stupid. You’ll get me to drink the cup of coffee I made for you, or the tea I made for Quintus. After I did that it would all become academic.”

  “Poisoned?” said Chalice.

  Lucy shrugged. “After a fashion. Nothing lethal. You’d have all died in your sleep.” And as she said those words, this mouse of a girl in the faintly frumpy clothing smiled innocently.

  Chalice felt the hairs on the back of her hands prickle at the normalcy of those words. Should have seen it coming, Chalice. There you were worried about being too paranoid. Turns out you weren’t paranoid enough.

  She glanced over at the mug of coffee, her coffee, which sat on the table, heat still wafting from within. She didn’t really want to know the answer, but she turned her gaze back to Lucy and asked the question anyway. “What did you use?”

  There was no hesitation. “Triazolam.”

  The name rang a bell, but one encountered so many drugs in this damn business it was hard to know for sure. She doubted it was a lie, what would be the point after all?

  Ibex laughed dryly.

  “Something funny?” she asked, casting a quick glance his way.

  Though he sounded amused, he was doing a good job of not showing any emotion as usual. “More that something is ironic. I had trouble sleeping when I was first posted to Nigeria. Doctors prescribed me Triazolam, or at least something that sounds like it.”

  “It was probably Triazolam,” said Lucy, nodding sagely. “It’s a Benzodiazepine derivative often used in cases of insomnia.” She stared at Chalice. “Of course the dose in your drinks was higher than would usually be prescribed, but I had to be sure of knocking you out.”

  There was no emotion there, just cold professionalism. Who the hell is this girl?

  “And what then?” asked Tyrell. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, back stooped: All the excitement seemed to have aged him yet further.

  “I’d have shot you all using Tommy’s gun.” Once again there was no attempt at delay or deception. Chalice almost respected her for that. If the situation had been reversed she doubted she’d have been so forthcoming.

  But that in itself made her worry. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucy was telling them everything because she didn’t expect it to be information Chalice or anyone else would ever have a chance to use.

  “Why my gun?” said Cheung. His eyes had widened at this revelation.

  Lucy smiled sweetly. “It always has to be someone’s fault, Tommy, why not the Chinaman? Especially since Quintus Armstrong works for them.” She suddenly looked concerned. “It’s nothing personal you understand. If Tyrell was an American I’d have chosen him, or if Ibex worked for the Israelis I’d have chosen her.” And she pointed at Chalice.

  “So you’d have shot us all and blamed Thomas. What then? What about you?”

  “I’d have been the only survivor, obviously. I would have been somewhere else when Tommy began his killing spree. Luckily I’d have your gun.” And she nodded towards the SIG in Chalice’s fist. Her gaze rose to meet the older woman’s. “A mistake on your part to leave it in the kitchen, I’m afraid this mission won’t go down very well for you posthumously.”

  “Wouldn’t have,” she corrected.

  “If you say so.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’d have shot poor, sweet Tommy in self-defence. After that I’d call in the cavalry.”

  “Nobody would believe it,” said Cheung. “There’d be drugs in our system, and nobody would believe I was a traitor.” With each passing moment he seemed to be becoming more unhinged. Chalice was considering asking him to surrender his gun, but Tyrell hadn’t seemed too enamoured at holding it earlier, and she didn’t want to end up carrying every gun in the place.

  “Triazolam metabolises very quickly. As long as I waited for at least four hours the chances are it wouldn’t show up in any pharmacological tests.”

  “Four hours?” Chalice laughed. “Sounds like a boring mission.”

  Lucy shrugged. “It’s amazing how patient one becomes when you spend years in dread of daddy’s footsteps outside your bedroom door.”

  “Quit the fairy tales.”

  “No fairy tale. What I told you was the truth. I was a proper little daddy’s girl and he loved me lots and lots, and in all sorts of ways. Why do you think letting Brendan screw me was so easy?” She raised an eyebrow, but that was as close to emotion as she displayed. “I had plenty of practice at lying back and thinking of England, thinking of anything except what was going on.”

  Cheung took a step towards her. “Brendan has a wife…he has kids,” he said, voice shaking. He was gesticulating with the gun in his hand, but not actually pointing it at her. Not yet.

  Finally there was a flicker of something there as Lucy narrowed her eyes dismissively in his direction. “He had a choice.”

  “Stop looking at Tom. Look at me,” said Chalice. Lucy obliged. “And shooting Brendan, was that part of the plan?”

  A ghost of a smile played across her lips. “You know plans, flexibility is important. You need a plan B, and a C. In my tale of woe to the authorities I’d still have been raped, of course it would be you who shot poor Brendan, executed him with his own gun. Another mistake on your part, you really should have called in the cavalry.”

  Chalice frowned. “And how exactly did you know I wouldn’t?”

  “I’ve read you psyche profile, Chalice. You score well in so many areas, but you have your weaknesses just like everyone else. Your score for control freakery is at the bottom of the curve. There was never any chance you’d abort the mission.”

  Chalice licked her lips. They were dry, but she doubted she was going to want to drink anything for a while yet. “Whose side are you on?”

  Lucy smiled crookedly. “That would be telling.”

  “We abort now, right?” said Tyrell.

  “Of course we do,” said Cheung before Chalice had a chance to answer. “The mission’s blown, the mission’s over.” He was staring imploringly at her.

  “And my agreement?” Said Ibex.

  “Fuck your agreement, and fuck you!”

  “Tom?”

  “What?” he snapped back at her.

  She forced a smile. “We’re aborting.” She looked at Quintus. “And before you say anything, the agreement is still on. I think you’ve given us enough to have earned your fee.” So much for fakin
g his death and sending false info back through those Nigerians though.

  For his part he didn’t seem too unhappy with this turn of events.

  “There are landlines hidden away somewhere, yes?” said Tyrell. “Tell me where and I’ll go find them.”

  “No need John.” She pulled the phone free from her jacket pocket. As it came clear of the fabric the single 9mm bullet she’d removed from the barrel of Fox’s Beretta popped out with it, tumbling to the floor. It landed silently on the carpet. For a moment every pair of eyes in the room was drawn to it, but all too soon they were drawn back to the mobile phone in her hand.

  “You had a phone?” said Cheung. If it were possible he looked even angrier, even more on edge, than he had a moment before.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t bring that with you, unless those scanners weren’t as good as you said.”

  “It was already here, John.”

  “That’s cheating,” scolded Lucy. She’d folded her arms now and actually looked disappointed.

  “Oh what a tangled web,” said Ibex with another cold chuckle.

  Cheung looked like he still had more to say, and opened his mouth to begin saying it. He never got a chance to utter a syllable though. Someone else spoke first.

  A disembodied Frenchwoman.

  “Entry violation; main gate.”

  “What the…”

  Chalice felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Times like this I really do miss long hair, she thought. “You, over there where I can keep an eye on you,” she said gesturing for Lucy to go and stand by the far wall, next to the TV. The young girl— the traitor, the murderess— complied.

  Now Chalice could keep her gun trained on Lucy whilst still checking the CCTV. Each of the scans was clear of intruders, except one.

  “Entry violation; main gate,” repeated the voice of Antonia Carmichael once more.

  And there, waiting on the outside of the gates as they slowly opened, was a single car. Before the gates even finished opening it drove through. She winced at how close it came to hitting the edge of the gates either side as it ploughed its way between them.

  She expected it to keep going, but instead it stopped just inside the gateway. A moment later a figure got out of the driver’s side door and walked back to the gates.