It took her two attempts to find Abdusamad—he was lying motionless on the river bottom, and his belt was missing. Hooking her arms under his armpits, she hauled him to the surface. It was energy-sapping work, especially when her squeeze of his abdomen brought him round and he coughed up water and began to struggle.
Something landed with a whump close by, drenching her with spray. Ash wiped her eyes clear and craned her head round. Floating on the surface a foot from her was a lifebelt. Relieved, she followed the line of the attached rope to the nearest pier, and gave the grinning engineer a thumbs up. Then she set about sliding it over the still coughing Abdusamad’s shoulders. An arm clouted her on the head before he realised what she was about and stopped flailing. At last the belt settled around his waist, and she signalled to the engineer to pull him in.
As Abdusamad was hauled away—sluggishly at first, then more swiftly—she backcrawled towards the north bank. The murky water had chilled her to the bone, and she wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a whiskey, and a warm bed with Jemma in it. Then the gate sank fully beneath the surface and the river rushed over its rim. Even this close to shore, she felt the effects immediately. Wavelets began to swamp her, and she swallowed yet more river water. The strength of the current increased until she was having to swim hard just to stay in one spot. At last though, the surge subsided and, gasping and treading water, she turned to check on Abdusamad’s progress.
Abdusamad had been hauled up and over the pier railing and was being relieved of his lifebelt by willing hands. From the look of him, his dunk in the Thames had knocked all fight out of him, and he wouldn’t make a run for it. Even if he did, in her peripheral vision she had spotted a familiar figure waiting for her on the bank. If Nolan was here it was a certainty other Organisation agents were around, waiting to take custody of Abdusamad.
Looks like my work here is done. With a sigh of relief, Ash completed the final lap to shore.
Chapter 10
“WE COME BEARING gifts.” Natalie held up a brown carrier bag, which bore the logo of the Chinese takeaway down the road and was emitting an appetising aroma. “Food …”
“ … and drink,” finished a grinning Gary, flourished three bottles.
“Beer with Chinese?” Jemma stepped back to allow them into the flat’s living room and closed the front door behind them. “No thank you. I’ll make us some green tea.”
“Wimp.”
Ignoring Gary’s insult, Jemma led them through to the tiny kitchen. While the tea brewed, she pulled out mugs, plates, forks, and serving spoons. With much bumping of elbows and apologising they decanted the contents of the takeaway containers onto plates.
“We brought enough for four,” said Natalie, giving the two sets of crockery on the draining board a meaningful look.
“Thanks. But Ash isn’t here.”
Gary opened a foil container of sweet and sour pork. “All the more for us.”
“Gone to sort out her flat?” asked Natalie.
“No.” Jemma tried not to sulk. “She’s chasing Khaleb Abdusamad.”
Gary looked up. “They’ve spotted him?”
“At Fenchurch Street station.”
“So why aren’t you with her?” asked Natalie, spooning bamboo shoots onto her plate. “You’re her partner, aren’t you?”
“Orders,” said Jemma shortly. “Besides, I’m on leave, and I knew you two were coming round.”
She pulled out a couple of trays, piled the plates and mugs on them, and led her friends back to the living room. There, she made herself as comfortable as was possible on the upright dining chair, and they took the sagging sofa. Contented munching filled the room, then Gary mumbled something round a mouthful of food.
“What?” Jemma looked up from her egg-fried rice.
“I said were they Thompson’s orders?”
“No. Ash’s.” She frowned, feeling her sense of grievance returning. “She went all mother hen on me.”
“Now that I’d like to see,” murmured Natalie.
Jemma ignored the aside. “Said she didn’t want me anywhere near Abdusamad.”
“You can’t blame her after yesterday,” said Gary, his tone reasonable. “How’s your stomach, by the way?”
“Bruised. That door sill really dug in.” She sighed. What was it about her and bruises? “I can look after myself, you know. Talk about one rule for her and another for me.”
“Blade’s just looking out for her partner,” said Gary. “Can you blame her, after Sam Carney? That stuff involving Morand and Cork will have hit a nerve too.”
“Even so.” Jemma knew she sounded like a spoiled brat but couldn’t seem to help it.
Silence fell and the sounds of chewing resumed. Then Natalie spotted Ash’s exercise mat and dumbbells in the corner. “How long’s she going to be staying with you?”
“Until she gets her flat fixed or finds somewhere else to live, I suppose.”
“Have you slept with her yet?”
Jemma’s piece of King Prawn went down the wrong way, and she spent the next few moments coughing and choking. Gary fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen, and she gulped it gratefully. “Nat!” she said, when she caught her breath.
“Come on, JJ. Don’t be coy.” Natalie tilted her head. “It’s obvious she’s not sleeping on this sofa—you’d have to chop her off at the ankles to get her on.”
Gary stroked his moustache. “Jemma’s only got a single bed,” he pointed out.
“Exactly,” said Natalie.
Jemma’s cheeks burned. “For all you know, I could have borrowed a camp bed.”
“Aha. Could have but didn’t, right?” said Natalie.
She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said through gritted teeth, “but—”
“Oh my god, you have.” Gary’s eyes were wide. “You’ve slept with Ashley Blade.”
“Yes, I have.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. “Satisfied?”
“Shouldn’t we be asking you?” sniggered Natalie. “Blade’s got quite a reputation in that department. Did she live up to it?” She winked.
Jemma groaned. Why me? She tried to regain her composure, though that horse had bolted. “Yes. I am very satisfied, thank you very much. Now can we please change the subject?”
“Sorry.” Natalie leaned over and patted Jemma’s hand. “But you can’t blame us for being interested.” She paused, her expression becoming sombre. “I just hope you’re not going to get your heart broken.”
Jemma grimaced. “Me too. But so far it feels … right between us. You know?” To her relief the phone rang, and she got up to answer it. “Hello?”
“Jemma.”
At the sound of Thompson’s voice, her heart skipped a beat. “Mr. Thompson. Has something happened to—”
“Blade’s fine.” She heard the smile in his voice and relaxed. “I thought you might like a progress report. There was a shootout at Fenchurch Street before she got there, and Abdusamad got away. But she’s just reported in. She’s picked up his trail. He’s in a speedboat heading down the Thames. And so is she.”
“A speedboat.” Jemma put a hand to her mouth, and Gary and Natalie exchanged a glance.
“It shouldn’t be long before she reels him in. I’m sending reinforcements just in case.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Thanks for letting me know. I was wondering, but she always turns her phone off so it won’t give away her position …” In fact if Natalie and Gary hadn’t been here embarrassing the hell out of me, I’d be chewing my fingernails to the quick worrying about her.
“You’re welcome.”
Jemma replaced the receiver and turned back to her friends. “Did you get that?”
“Most of it,” said Natalie. “A speedboat, eh? Typical.”
Jemma had to laugh. “That’s Ash.”
She retook her seat, but the rice and pork had gone tepid, so she pushed it around her plate then set it aside. Gary r
aised his eyebrows and pointed at it. “Help yourself, Dustbin.” He did. She warmed her hands on her mug and sipped her tea.
“The visit to your parents was a mixed bag, then?” prompted Natalie.
An age had passed since then. “Yeah. Mum and Dad like her a lot, but Maggie …” Jemma sighed, remembering.
“Does she know about you and Blade?”
For a moment Jemma wondered what Natalie meant then she shook her head. “Maggie knows we work together and are friends, but …” She shrugged. “She had a real go at Ash. Normally her insults would have been like water off a duck’s back, but Ash was feeling sensitive that day …”
Gary looked surprised. “Her time of the month or something?” He saw her expression. “What?”
“Honestly,” said Jemma, exasperated. “Sometimes you’re such a caveman. If you must know, she’d just finished a session with Aston, and was feeling vulnerable.”
“I’ve heard quite a few people say that,” said Natalie. “He seems to stir things up, and it can take a while for them to settle.”
“I’m not entirely convinced that’s a good thing,” muttered Jemma. Then she shrugged. “But Weatherby must think so, or he wouldn’t have hired him, would he?” She sipped her tea. “I felt off balance after my session too, guilty about Remington. It’s why I went to visit him.”
Gary took a swig of his beer. “Aston talked to you about Remington? Isn’t that a bit … unethical?”
Jemma’s brows drew together. “Why?”
“Well, him being Remington’s nephew and all.”
“What are you talking about?”
Natalie frowned. “Yeah. Spill it, Gary.”
“Last week I was at HQ, in the filing room, doing research for this really boring assignment.” He glanced at Jemma. “We don’t all get to go to Rio, you know.”
“Oh, get on with it,” said Natalie.
“Anyway,” Gary shot her a quelling glance, “I came across his file, that’s all. Aston is Remington’s nephew. In fact Remington provided a reference.”
“But he’s got red hair,” objected Jemma. “Remington hasn’t.”
“How many uncles do you know that look like their nephews?” asked Gary.
“Good point.” She bit her lip. “How odd. Why did he never mention it?”
“Perhaps he’s ashamed,” suggested Natalie. “Being related to that stuffy prat is something most people would want to keep quiet.”
“Or maybe he just felt the session should be about the patient and not about him,” said Gary. Natalie thumbed her nose at him, and he grinned. “His first name’s Keith,” he added, raising the bottle to his lips.
“What?” Jemma had lost the thread. “I thought it was Ian?”
“Not Remington,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Aston.”
Keith Aston. The hairs on the back of Jemma’s neck stood up, and a feeling of deep unease spread through her. KA.
“Are you all right, JJ?” asked Natalie. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”
“Sorry. I just realised something.” Jemma stood, her movements clumsy, and banged into the coffee table.
Gary rescued his beer. “Hey! Watch it.”
She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers for HQ. The ringing tone seemed to go on and on. “Come on, come on.” She drummed her fingers on the sideboard.
“Hello,” said a voice.
“This is Jemma Jacobs. I need to talk to the Counter Intelligence Section Head urgently.” She tuned out the murmur of conversation from Natalie and Gary.
“Password?”
For a moment she couldn’t remember it. “Sparrowhawk.”
“Thank you.” The ringing tone resumed.
“Thompson,” came a familiar voice. “Hello, Jemma. I’m afraid Blade’s incommunicado at present—”
“I’m not—”
“—as her phone’s at the bottom of the Thames.”
“Mr. Thomp—”
“So is her gun come to that,” he went on without pausing for breath. “If you could have a word, get her to take it easier on office equipment? I don’t mind, but it puts a strain on the departmental budget.”
“I wasn’t call—”
“I was going to get my secretary to pass on Blade’s message, but since you rang … She said she’s on her way home, but she has to pick up her car from the pound then get a change of clothes from her flat—”
“Will you let me get a word in edgeways?” shouted Jemma. “This is important.”
A startled silence greeted her outburst. “Er, go ahead. I’m listening.”
She took a breath. “Sorry. Look, this is going to sound insane, but I think we’ve been looking down the wrong end of the telescope. Remember that report we turned in about Chislehurst, those initials Janus scrawled on the floor?”
“’KA’?” he said at once.
“Yes. Suppose that doesn’t stand for Khaleb Abdusamad but for Keith Aston.”
“What?”
“That’s why the MOs have been so confusing. There have been two independent hostiles at work, their motives and methods quite different.”
“But Dr. Aston—” said Thompson.
“Has a medical background,” completed Jemma. “He would know what anectine does and how to inject it. It’s the perfect cover. All Organisation agents are scheduled to have a session with him. I’m betting if you check the records, you’ll find that both Martin Cork and Louise Brande saw him before they went off the rails.”
“Go on.”
“He’s an expert on brainwashing, isn’t he? Odd that he couldn’t help Corky. Suppose he didn’t even try. Suppose he was the one who planted the suggestion to kill Jeff Morand in the first place.”
“Hm. Okay. Let’s run with that supposition for the moment. Why would he do that, Jemma?”
“He’s Ian Remington’s nephew. He might think I caused his uncle to take early retirement and want to get back at me.”
A thoughtful silence met her statement, then Thompson said, “Why Cork though? He wasn’t involved in any of that.”
“A dry run?” guessed Jemma. “Aston had to prove his method would work. Only then did he trigger Louise’s conditioning so she would try to kill me.” The more she thought about it, the more the pieces fell into place.
“These are serious accusations, Jemma.” His tone was sombre. “You’re accusing one of our own of being a traitor.”
“Yes. And when similar accusations were made against Blade, she was taken into custody and interrogated.”
“Point taken. There’s enough substance in what you say to merit an investigation. I’ll have Aston picked up right away.” Thompson paused. “And I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Thanks.” She rang off and turned to face her friends.
“Is Blade okay?” asked Natalie.
Jemma smiled. “Sounds like it. She’s on her way home.”
“In that case.” Natalie stood up and hauled a complaining Gary to his feet. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
“Oh, but you don’t have to …”
“What, stay here and witness you two lovebirds playing kissy kissy?” said Natalie, with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t think so.” She saw Gary’s disappointment and murmured, “In your dreams, sunshine.”
“When you put it that way,” murmured Jemma. “Let me show you the door.”
JEMMA DRIED THE last of the plates and put it away. She placed the empty beer bottles next to the overflowing waste bin, and made a mental note to take them to the bottle bank. Then for the umpteenth time she checked her watch.
How long does it take to get a car out of the pound? There’d be paperwork, she supposed. And a fine to pay. And if Ash was calling in at her own flat on the way back … That gave her an idea. She returned to the living room and dialled the number of Ash’s flat—the phone in her kitchen there had survived the blast. If she’s there now … But all she heard was the answerphone message.
“Damn!�
� She replaced the receiver and began to pace. Then came the sound of a key in the front door. About time. The door opened and a tall figure stood framed in the doorway. “Ash. What kept y—”
Strong hands grabbed Jemma by the throat, cutting off both speech and air, and slammed her against a wall. Only now did she notice the pinpoint pupils, the expression of barely held-in-check ferocity.
Oh God!
She tried to pry loose Ash’s fingers, but they wouldn’t budge. Already darkness was creeping around the edges of her vision. If she didn’t break the stranglehold fast … She brought up a knee, but Ash evaded it. Then a technique Jemma had learned in Mac’s self-defence classes came back to her, and she rammed her thumbs into the nerve points on Ash’s wrists.
Nothing happened. Don’t tell me I got it wrong? White specks flecked her vision, and a roaring was growing in her ears. Her lungs burned. Desperate, she tried again, digging in her thumbs much harder this time. The grip around her throat relaxed, and Jemma sucked in a welcome gulp of air. But Ash was already shaking the feeling back into her hands and reaching for her once more.
Jemma turned and ran for it. She got barely three paces. Something wrapped itself round her legs and brought her crashing to the floor. Dust and carpet fibres made her sneeze, and she twisted onto her back. Normally she would have enjoyed having Ash’s long jean-clad legs wrapped around her but she knew that this time the outcome would not be pleasurable. She used a nerve block to the inner thigh to paralyse Ash temporarily, and struggled to her feet.
If she could lock herself in the bedroom, bar the door … And then what? Call HQ for backup? There’s no phone in the bedroom. And they wouldn’t get here in time, anyway. Even if they did, that wouldn’t be the end of it. Remember what happened to Corky? Ash isn’t going to stop coming after you. She’s relentless. They’ll have to kill her or lock her up. Is that what you want?
She slammed and locked the bedroom door behind her, then leaned against it, panting. It juddered as Ash cannoned into it from the other side. I need a barricade. Her gaze alighted on the dressing table and chair, and she carried the chair to the door and jammed its high back under the handle. Might slow her up a bit. Again the door juddered, and this time a screw popped out of a hinge. It held though. For now.
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