Licensed to Spy

by Barbara Davies

  Ash returned the embrace. “Ditto.” She glanced at the window, and at the rain beating against it. “What a lovely day.”

  Jemma followed her gaze. “Well, it’s not as if we’ve got any sightseeing planned. We’ve got that debriefing at HQ.” She examined the temporary dressing she had applied to Ash’s shoulder. “Afterwards you must get the company doc to treat your shoulder wound. Don’t want it getting infected. As for that thick skull of yours, you’d better check you haven’t cracked it.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  Jemma rolled her eyes. “If you won’t take care of yourself—”

  “And you should get your neck looked at,” interrupted Ash, brushing her thumb over the livid bruises that had appeared round Jemma’s throat overnight. “Does it hurt?”

  “A bit.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to leave my fingerprints all over you.”

  “A tattoo would have been better,” agreed Jemma, smiling.

  Ash blinked. “You’d wear my name?”

  Jemma cocked her head to one side. “Maybe. Ash is only three letters long, after all. Now if your parents had christened you Wilhemina …”

  Ash laughed. “We should get up,” she said, making no move to do so.

  “We should,” agreed Jemma, snuggling against her.

  Ash allowed her eyelids to close and was drifting into a pleasant doze when Jemma’s stomach rumbled. She opened her eyes and glared at the offending body part. Then her own stomach gurgled, and she felt suddenly hungry. Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

  “I do believe they’re ganging up on us,” murmured Jemma.

  “Little monsters.” Ash patted her belly. “Shall we get up and have some breakfast?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  ASH TWIDDLED HER thumbs and waited for the Organisation’s doctor to finish examining Jemma. Her own wound had been re-stitched and re-bandaged, and an x-ray of her skull proved it was still in one piece. Sometimes it pays to be hard headed.

  She surveyed the room, scanning the shelf groaning with medical tomes, the plastic replica of a human spine, and the cartons of drugs unavailable to ordinary GPs, among them the antidote for truth serum. Then curtain rings clinked, and a smiling Jemma reappeared from the curtained-off examination area, the doctor close behind her.

  “Everything all right?” asked Ash, rising to her feet.

  Jemma nodded and cocked her head at the grey-haired woman with the rimless spectacles.

  “Just bruises, I’m pleased to report,” said the doctor with a smile.

  Jemma retied the scarf Ash had given her, and with a rueful smile, Ash unfolded the sunglasses she had brought with her for similar reasons and put them on. She checked her watch. “Ten minutes. We’ll just make it.”

  With a nod of thanks to the doctor, who had sat behind her desk and pulled the computer keyboard towards her, Ash went to the door. When Jemma joined her, Ash reached for her hand, then hesitated. Perhaps Jemma would prefer no public display of affection. But with a look of delight and a wrinkle of her nose, Jemma grasped her hand and let herself be led her out into the corridor.

  “Wonder what Thompson wants to see us about,” said Jemma. “I thought we covered everything at the debriefing.”

  “Yeah.”

  It had been an exhausting session. Every section in the Organisation had been affected in some way by Aston’s clandestine activities, so all Section Heads were present. Even Weatherby himself had turned up, frowning and nodding his craggy head from time to time. To Ash’s pleasure, Corky had been allowed to sit in, as the events under discussion had a direct bearing on his case. He was handcuffed between two burly guards, but she was confident the restraints wouldn’t stay on for long. She patted his shoulder, and said a few kind words. Envy filled his gaze whenever he looked at her, and she understood why. She had believed she had killed Jemma for only a few minutes but the memory would linger much longer. Her nightmare had vanished in the light of day—Corky hadn’t been so lucky.

  If Jemma hadn’t taken such a risk to snap Ash out of her programming … With an inward shudder, she pushed that thought away.

  Jemma had taken the stand first, then Ash. The questions came thick and fast, as the Section Heads picked over every detail from their point of view, sucking the marrow from the bones of recent events until they were satisfied they knew everything. Finally, they reached their conclusions. Undoing the conditioning was top priority. A mind specialist, expert in the area of brainwashing and deprogramming, was being flown in from the USA. And he had conveyed in advance his considered opinion that those whose conditioning had already been triggered needed no further treatment. Ash was glad to hear it.

  While he was in London, the expert would take a look at Keith Aston too. Not that there was much hope of returning him to sanity. Thompson had brought video footage from his interrogations. The psychologist was as nutty as a fruitcake and a psychopath to boot. That he had managed to hide both facts for so long showed he was also a formidable actor—except when drunk.

  Ash sighed. Poor Janus.

  She had at last discovered the connection between her buck-toothed informant and Aston. Aston was a regular at Janus’s local pub, and they’d become drinking partners. At first Janus hadn’t known who this Jemma Jacobs was that Aston ranted about whenever he was blotto, but he soon found out. Learning that Aston was planning to take revenge on Jemma and on anyone close to her, the lure of quick and easy extra cash had proved irresistible. Unfortunately Aston wasn’t too drunk to notice the interest Janus was taking in his affairs and had taken steps to eliminate him too.

  But Aston and Abdusamad were no longer Ash’s problem. Let someone else worry about them for a while.

  “Maybe Thompson has a new assignment for us,” she suggested, as they walked along the corridor towards their Section Head’s office, clasped hands swinging, ignoring the glances coming their way. She found she was humming under her breath and knew the cause of her cheerfulness was walking beside her.

  “He’d better not,” said Jemma, indignant. “We’re still on leave.”

  “Some leave. Assignments are more restful. Talking of restful.” Ash glanced at her. “Why don’t we fly out to Tenerife for a few days? Sand, sea, sunshine. Hm?”

  “Oh! Could we?” Jemma’s face lit up like a child’s at Christmas.

  “Don’t see why not. After all, my flat isn’t habitable yet, and I did a pretty good job of wrecking yours.” Jemma gave her a wry nod. “Seems stupid to stay here when there’s a perfectly good casa going to waste in Santa Cruz.”

  Jemma squeezed her hand. “Hey, I’m not the one you have to convince.”

  “True. Well, as far as Thompson’s concerned, we’ve tied up all the loose ends, and as you pointed out, we are still on leave.”

  They reached Thompson’s office, and his secretary looked up as they entered and smiled. “He’s expecting you. Go on in.”

  He was sitting behind his desk. “Jemma, Blade,” he greeted them, without getting up. “Come in, come in.”

  He wasn’t alone, Ash saw, faltering. A thin man in a pinstriped grey suit occupied one of the two chairs. Remington. She exchanged a wary glance with Jemma.

  “As you see,” Thompson went on, “there is someone to see you.”

  An expression of dislike flickered across Remington’s face when he saw Ash. But he leaped to his feet and approached Jemma. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea Keith felt like that, or that he’d take things this far. If only I’d known I’d …” He made a gesture of helplessness. “Well, I’d have stopped him of course.”

  A cynical Ash wondered just how exactly. Jemma, however, was more forgiving.

  Jemma took the hand he was holding out and pressed it. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Remington. He fooled us all.”

  “Such a promising boy.” His face was as haggard as Ash had ever seen it. “I knew he shared my opinion that the Organisation owed me more but …” He darted a dark look at Th
ompson, then lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Well, well, that’s water under the bridge.”

  Ash wondered if he would ever acknowledge his own part in this sorry mess. Probably not.

  “Keith’s mother will be devastated when she hears about his nervous breakdown.”

  Nervous breakdown, my arse. What about murdering Janus? What about making Corky kill Jeff and then have to live with the anguish? What about sending Louise Brande to her doom in the waters of the Thames? Aston’s plans had been premeditated, cold-blooded, and ruthless. She opened her mouth to say so, saw the almost imperceptible shake of Thompson’s head, and subsided. Remington no longer worked here; some information was no longer his to know.

  “I’m really not looking forward to telling her.” Remington regarded Thompson with something like resentment. “Are you sure it will be best coming from me?” Thompson nodded. “Very well.” He shrugged his acceptance. “Perhaps you know best.”

  “Let’s hope your nephew can get the treatment he needs,” said Jemma.

  “Yeah. Perhaps he just needs to see a good shrink.” Jemma shot Ash a quelling glance, but Remington hadn’t caught her sarcastic murmur and in any case, he was bent on ignoring her.

  “That’s kind of you, Miss Jacobs. I knew you’d understand.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go now. I have to deliver this … shocking news.” He shook his head. “What a tragedy.”

  With a nod towards Thompson and Jemma, he made for the door, sidestepping around Ash without a word.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” she muttered.

  “Behave,” said Jemma.

  Ash turned to find Thompson regarding the interaction between them with interest. Her cheeks warmed, but she affected nonchalance. “So. Is that all you wanted to see us about, boss? An apology from Remington?”

  “Not quite.” He swivelled his chair around to get a better look at the pouring rain outside, then turned back to them, a faint smile on his lips. “Your leave so far seems to have been quite eventful.”

  “I’ll say.” Ash removed her sunglasses and gestured at her black eye. “We’re a mess.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve had worse. But it occurred to me … It turned out to be an assignment after all, so I’m extending it by a week. Does that sound fair?”

  “Whoohoo.” Jemma beamed.

  Thompson gave her a quizzical look. “Apparently it does.”

  “Canaries here we come,” she added.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Planning on staying at that casa of yours, Blade?” Ash nodded. “Then get going. And enjoy yourselves.”

  The briskness of his tone indicated the meeting was over, as did his picking up a file and studying its contents. Ash exchanged a glance with Jemma and jerked her thumb at the door. They were half way there, when he added, without looking up, “Just make sure you come back rested and ready for your next assignment.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” said Jemma. “We intend to.”

  “ARE YOU SURE this is a good idea?” Ash switched off the Lotus’s ignition. “Last time I was here, your sister treated me like some kind of criminal.”

  “Maggie might not even be here, but anyway that’s her problem not yours.” Jemma undid her seatbelt and opened the car door. “It’s only polite to tell my parents I’m going abroad again for a little while.”

  “There’s this wonderful invention,” said Ash, undoing her own seatbelt. “Called the telephone.”

  “Ha ha.” Jemma got out—she was getting better at extricating herself from the bucket seat, Ash noted—hunched her shoulders against the rain, and sprinted up the drive. In the porch, she turned. “Come on, slowcoach,” she shouted, beckoning with one hand and pressing the doorbell with the other.

  Ash donned her sunglasses and proceeded at a more sedate pace, arriving just as the door opened to reveal Jemma’s mother—if Jemma grew middle-aged as gracefully as her smiling mother had, Ash would be well pleased.

  “I didn’t know you two were coming. What a lovely surprise.” Mrs. Jacobs hugged her daughter then stood back to let them enter. “If I’d known, I’d have baked a cake. Your sister’s in the living room.”

  Jemma raised an eyebrow at Ash who shrugged. No session with Aston today—she could deal with any of Maggie’s barbs without needing to flee.

  “That’s a nice scarf,” commented Jemma’s mother. “Hermes, isn’t it?”

  Jemma glanced at herself in the mirror and nodded. “Ash gave it to me.”

  “You have good taste.” She led them towards the living room and paused at the bottom of the stairs with her hand on the banister to yell, “Jemma’s here. And she’s brought Ash with her.”

  “Really?” called a distant male voice. “I’ll be right down.”

  Mrs. Jacobs glanced at a raindrop-spattered window then at Ash, her brows drawing together. “Aren’t you going to take your sunglasses off, dear?”

  Before Ash could come up with a plausible reason for keeping them on, Jemma distracted her mother by looping her arm through hers. “Guess what, Mum? We’ve got a week’s extra leave, so we’re going to spend it in the Canaries.”

  “My goodness. What have you done to deserve that? No, don’t tell me. The Canaries? Weren’t you there a few weeks ago at that Carnaval thingy?”

  Thumping footsteps on the stairs announced the appearance of Jemma’s father. “Hello, hello, hello.” He swept up his youngest daughter into a bear hug. “What’s all this about the Canaries?”

  “I have a casa there,” explained Ash.

  “All right for some. We used to have a little caravan in Conway. Lovely when the weather was fine, but when it rained it sounded like peas banging on a drum.” With a final squeeze, he released Jemma. “Keeping you girls amused when it rained was no picnic either. You used to get through those Join Up The Dots books at a rate of knots.”

  Jemma rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Dad. Can we keep embarrassing tales of my childhood for another time? You’ll be showing Ash my baby pictures next.”

  “Now there’s an idea.” He grinned and moved through to the living room.

  “Look who’s here,” Ash heard him saying. “Your sister and her friend.” She couldn’t make out Maggie’s reply, though the tone sounded sulky. Ash squared her shoulders and followed Jemma and her mother through the door.

  An open library book, a romance by its cover, lay face down on the arm of the sofa next to Maggie. She smiled at Jemma, as her sister sat next to her, then glowered at Ash, who folded her arms and leaned against the wall. Maggie returned her attention to Jemma. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Last minute decision. I wanted to tell Mum and Dad we’re flying out to the Canaries again.”

  “You’re going with her?” Maggie’s gaze flicked to Ash’s face then away again.

  “Yes. And I’d really like it if you’d stop being so rude to Ash.” Jemma twisted so she could hold Maggie’s gaze, and her sister’s cheeks flushed, emphasising the family likeness. “An apology for last time would be a good start.”

  “Why should I apologise?” asked Maggie, looking mulish. “I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

  “Sisters,” said Mr. Jacobs, turning to Ash in embarrassment. “Perhaps we should leave them to it.”

  “I’ll go and put the kettle on, shall I?” said his wife.

  Ash was quite willing to leave the sparring siblings to it. But as she unfolded her arms and straightened up, a green glare pinned her in place.

  “Stay put,” ordered Jemma, her cheeks now as fiery as her sister’s. “You too, Mum, Dad. I have something to say to Maggie, and I want you all to hear it.”

  Blinking, Ash resumed her arms-folded pose against the wall. Jemma’s parents, meanwhile, regarded their youngest as though she had grown another head.

  “Well?” said Maggie. “Go on, then. What’s this something? And does it have anything to do with that?” She pointed at Jemma’s neck. “Because if it has, then that woman certainly doesn’
t deserve an apology from me.”

  Ash followed the direction of the pointing finger and winced. Jemma’s scarf had slipped to reveal the livid fingermarks left by her hands.

  “That is so unfair,” said Jemma. “If you only knew the number of times Ash has risked her life for me.”

  “Not very competently,” said Maggie. “Whose hands were around your throat?”

  Ash unfolded her arms and straightened. “Mine.”

  “What?” All eyes turned to regard her.

  “Ash!” Jemma surged to her feet. “This isn’t helping.”

  Mr. Jacobs stared at her. “You did that to my daughter?” When Ash didn’t answer he turned to Jemma.

  “Yes, Dad, she did.” Standing directly in front of Ash, Jemma yanked off Ash’s sunglasses, almost taking her ears with them. “But only after I did this to her.”

  Shocked gasps met the revelation of Ash’s black eye in all its glory. Then someone sniggered, and to Ash’s surprise, it was Maggie.

  “Shouldn’t you be fighting enemy agents rather than each other?” asked Jemma’s sister.

  “We were, as it happens,” said Ash dryly. “You should see the other fellow.”

  “This isn’t funny, Maggie,” said Jemma with some asperity. But the mental image of Jemma giving the much taller and stronger Ash a black eye had gained a firm hold on her giggling sister, and, if the attempts by Jemma’s parents to keep a straight face were any indication, it was contagious. Jemma threw Ash an outraged glance, but Ash shrugged and smiled. Laughter was a great tension reliever—if anything could clear the air, this could.

  A little later, when everyone had regained their composure, and Mrs. Jacobs had made a pot of tea and distributed chocolate biscuits, the conversation continued in an atmosphere far more relaxed and pleasant than it had been.

  “Did you two really beat each other up?” Maggie seemed to have forgotten her hostility towards Ash.

  “It’s a long story,” said Jemma, “and as I signed the Official Secrets Act I can’t tell you all the details, but … Yes. Someone wanted to kill me, and he tried to use Ash to do it.”

  “But you stopped him?” pressed her mother, sounding anxious.