I, Spy?

by Kate Johnson

“About ten minutes. You want some water?”

  I thought about it. Right now my oesophagus only seemed to want to operate one way.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, and stumbled from the bed.

  Sick I was, but I at least managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door first. Huddled on the floor, wiping vomit from my mouth, I sat and shivered, feeling pathetic. I hadn’t got this drunk since my eighteenth birthday, when I drank multi-coloured cocktails and threw up all over.

  Hmm.

  There was a knock on the door. “Sophie? You all right?”

  Peachy. “I’m okay,” I croaked.

  “Your cell phone’s ringing.”

  I crawled to the door, unlocked it, and accepted my bag from Harvey. Then I locked the door again and shuffled back to my hideout under the sink to pull the phone from my bag. The Nokia. Luke.

  Bollocks.

  “What?” I mumbled.

  “Several things. You have the James Bond theme tune on your phone?”

  How the hell did he know that? “How the hell do you know that?”

  “The wire. Remember? Sophie, did I hear that jockstrap saying you’d passed out?”

  “Mmm.” Where was the damn earpiece? My bag? My pocket? Christ, it was in my cleavage. Oh God, I was such a loser.

  “And threw up?” He made a noise of disgust. “Twice?”

  “I think I’m allergic to grenadine.”

  “Jesus, Sophie. What were you thinking?”

  “I was bored.”

  “You were pissed. Really, majorly pissed. Are you still in his room?”

  “The bathroom.”

  “Get out. Now. Get your arse down to the car. And put your fucking earpiece back in.”

  I ended the call, hands shaking, and hauled myself to my feet. I looked appalling. Worse than Sven had this morning.

  Jesus, Sven! What if he’d somehow spiked my drinks here? Maybe he was working with Harvey! Maybe Harvey really was the bad guy.

  Or maybe I’d really just had too much to drink.

  I glugged down a lot of water and half a packet of Smints to try and take away the taste of vomit, and opened the door. Harvey was sitting on the bed, tie loosened, shirtsleeves rolled up. He stood up when I appeared.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I replied, quietly.

  “Feeling better?”

  You know what I felt like? One of those zombies on the “Thriller” video. At least there was no vomit on my clothes, although there was some on my shoe. And they were nice shoes, too.

  I shrugged. “Ih.”

  “Never again, huh?”

  “I have a blue tongue.”

  He grinned. “I know. Look, Sophie—”

  “I have to go,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go? Where? You can’t drive like that—”

  “I have a lift.” I hefted my bag on my shoulder. “Thanks, Harvey. You’ve been really nice.” God, I was still pissed.

  “Any time.”

  We both frowned.

  “Well,” he amended, “maybe not any time. Tomorrow maybe stick to mineral water?”

  I nodded. Then I stopped, partly because I was still dizzy, and partly because I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Dinner. Remember?”

  That clinched it. I knew he was evil. Or insane. Why else would he be persisting in asking me out when I’d passed out on him and thrown up in his bathroom?

  “Uh, yeah. Dinner.” My brain was broken. I could think of no excuse.

  “I’ll call you later.” He looked me over. “Maybe tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

  I nodded. “See you, Harvey.”

  He came over and kissed my cheek. I knew I was all clammy. He must be up to something.

  “See you,” he said quietly, and I wobbled out of his room, down past a wet patch on the stairs, ahem, and out through the lobby where I swear everyone was looking at me. God, did I have vomit in my hair or something?

  It took me a while to find Luke’s car. It was so generic. When I eventually got in, he was steaming with anger.

  “Don’t,” I held up a hand. “I already know.”

  “You’re such a bloody idiot.” He started the engine and reversed out of the space at about fifty miles an hour. My stomach lurched.

  “I know,” I mumbled, hand to mouth.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Jesus, Sophie, you’re still half-cut. You’re going home, and you’re going to bed.”

  Right now, that seemed like a very good idea to me.

  All the way home he yelled at me, taking every corner so fast I nearly threw up again. I had to open the window and hang my head out, taking desperately deep breaths. If I was sick in the car, Luke would probably kick me out and run me over.

  I got inside the flat, peeled off my clothes on the way to the bedroom and crashed out in my underwear. I didn’t give a damn about whether Luke was watching me or not. I needed to sleep. I felt like seven kinds of shit.

  It was dark when I woke up. There’d been a bottle of water by the bed and I’d half-woken several times to swig from it and stagger to the loo before falling back down onto my bed. My bed. My lovely, soft, warm comfy bed. Mmm. I never wanted to leave it.

  Until I heard voices out in the living room. Male voices. Two. Laughing. And the TV was on, too. I staggered to my feet. I didn’t feel quite so bad any more. The water seemed to have worked.

  There was football on my TV and Luke and Tom were sprawled on the sofa, beers in hand. Look at that, football. Didn’t know I could pick it up. Wished I couldn’t. Maybe if I call Sky they’ll take it off my TV package.

  “So it’s okay for you to drink, but not me?” I said, trying to sound indignant but ending up sounding plaintive.

  They both looked up at me. Luke closed his eyes and muttered something. Tom shook his head in wonder. “Sophie. Babe.”

  I looked down at myself. I was sporting a g-string and a push-up bra that was slightly too small and not containing my already well-padded boobs very well.

  “Shit.” I beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom, wrapped my fuzzy terry dressing gown around me as securely as possible and splashed cold water on my face. I looked horrific. Even after I’d taken my smudged, panda-ish make-up off, I looked grey and clammy. The bruise on my face no longer looked cool and sexy. It looked ugly.

  I trudged back out into the living room. Tom looked disappointed at my new apparel. Luke looked relieved.

  “Are you done embarrassing yourself for today?” he asked.

  Somehow I doubted so. I sniffed and ignored him. There was a pizza box open on the coffee table and a few slices left in it.

  “You ordered pizza?”

  “Well, it’s a funny thing,” Luke said, “I opened the door and there was this guy just standing there offering me pizza. Even when I hadn’t ordered it.”

  So he was being sarcastic. At least he was talking to me.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked Tom.

  “Oh, a while.” He didn’t take his eyes off the TV. “You okay?”

  “Never better.” I threw myself at the beanbag by Luke’s feet and reached for some pizza. Pizza always makes me feel better.

  “I mean after last night. I called to see how you were and Luke told me to come over.”

  I flicked my gaze up at Luke but he was still watching the TV.

  “Did he now?”

  “Didn’t know you two were an item.”

  “That makes two of us,” Luke said, still not looking at me. Hmm. Maybe he wasn’t talking to me after all.

  Tom looked between the two of us, his eyes smiling but the rest of his face immobile. “Right,” he said slowly. “So, that guy from yesterday, Soph, was he just a mate then?”

  “Was,” I said.

  “You turn him in?”

  “We took care of him,” Luke said. He sounded lik
e a hitman.

  “So do I like have to make a statement or something?”

  “Write it down,” Luke said. “I’ll take it in.”

  Tom frowned, but he didn’t argue. The match ended, Man U won and I finished off the pizza, feeling better for it. In half an hour, I’d drunk a whole two litre bottle of water. I felt better for that, too, although my bladder was bursting.

  When I came back from the loo, Tom was shrugging into his coat. “Said I’d be back an hour ago,” he said. I nodded.

  “Nice of you to drop by.”

  “Just to see you’re okay.” He kissed my cheek. Aw. Sweet lovely Tom.

  I bet those are words that aren’t said very often.

  “How are you getting home?” I asked, knowing he didn’t drive.

  “Train.”

  Luke caught my eye and shook his head. I knew what he was thinking. The last person who’d helped me apprehend a criminal had been shredded.

  “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Are you legal to drive?”

  I scowled at him. “Yes.”

  Luke raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. I stomped back into the bedroom, pulled on a sweater and jeans and came back out for my trainers and keys. Luke was still standing there, watching me. I know I looked a wreck but really, he wasn’t allowed to comment.

  “What?”

  “What are you going to drive?”

  “Te—” Ted was at Luke’s house. “Bollocks.”

  “I’ll give you a lift,” Luke said to Tom, who nodded.

  “Wait! I’m coming too. I want my car.”

  Luke rolled his eyes but didn’t complain. First time for everything.

  We were all silent in the car. Tom was in the front and messed around with the radio, trying to get X-FM and mercifully failing. I had a feeling that Luke’s musical tastes might differ from Tom’s quite considerably.

  “Are you coming to the Cambridge gig on Saturday?” Tom asked as he got out of the car.

  “Where?”

  “Dunno. Ask Chalker.”

  “Like he ever knows anything,” I grumbled as I got into the front seat. “See you, Tom.”

  “See you.”

  He and Luke nodded at each other, then Tom was gone, sneaking into the garden for a crafty fag before his parents saw him. Luke turned the car around and drove away.

  “Will you be all right on your own tonight?”

  “If I throw up any more, I’ll be bringing up organs,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I feel okay.”

  This was a lie. My brain felt fat and sluggish and my body matched. But I didn’t feel like I was going to die any more, which was a definite improvement.

  We got back to Luke’s house, the yard silhouetted by a security light, and sat silently for a few seconds in the dark car. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs, feeling better for it.

  “Look,” we both began at the same time, and then both stopped. “You first,” Luke said.

  “I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

  “You were really drunk?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “Everyone gets pissed once in a while, Sophie,” Luke said, and I wondered, Even you? “Just don’t do it on duty, okay?”

  “Did you get anything from his room?”

  He shrugged. “If he’s involved in this, he’s hiding it damn well.”

  “He wants to see me tomorrow.”

  “Even after your spectacular—”

  “Yes, thank you. I figure he must be up to something if he still wants to see me.”

  Luke paused, smiling. “You’re not that unattractive when you’re drunk,” he said, unfastening his seat belt. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

  I’d probably be sick on him. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  He nodded and got out of the car. “By the way,” he said as I was unlocking Ted, “I changed the security codes. Knock next time.”

  I rolled my eyes and drove home. But I didn’t go back to sleep. I was all slept-out. I started up the computer and looked over Harvey’s alumni website again. He was definitely up to something. If it wasn’t a collaboration with Wright, then what was it?

  I needed to get him and Wright together. Then maybe I’d be able to see.

  I texted Luke, Do you know where Wright is?

  He replied in seconds. Checked in to B&B in village 2hrs ago. Why?

  I wasn’t sure why. Think I need to see him and Harvey together. Still don’t think Harvey is partner. Wright said was a woman.

  Wright’s an idiot, Luke replied, and I couldn’t argue with that. We’ll check out B&B tomo. Go to sleep.

  But I could argue with that. I wasn’t happy with waiting. I needed to know something.

  It could be that Sven had spiked my drink for his own selfish purposes. Or, given the fingers and the sniper and the firebomb, it could be that he was involved with whoever was trying to kill me. Whoever had killed Chris. Whoever was involved with the Brownie twins and whoever was Wright’s partner. I’d stake good money it was the same person.

  But I wouldn’t bet on it being Sven.

  I grabbed my keys and double locked the door, and I drove up to the office. I had keys for the outside door, and I was hoping and praying that my pass would swipe me in. The green one failed, but the red one worked.

  Note to self: do not keep PIN code on a Post-it stuck to pass.

  The office was quiet and eerie when it was dark. I don’t know why I didn’t switch on the lights. I suppose I wanted to be unseen. I don’t think many people use the business park after hours, but there could be someone around. Maybe Harvey. He seemed to have a knack for turning up in places he shouldn’t be.

  Oh, Jesus. Suddenly it came to me. I knew who Harvey was.

  I couldn’t wait for the computer to boot up. I wasn’t sure where the files were kept and it seemed like forever until I got the one I wanted. The log of people who’d gone airside the night Chris was killed. Ana’s name was there, but Chris’s wasn’t. I’d been assuming he’d been killed airside. But maybe he’d been killed somewhere else and taken through to the undercroft.

  No. No, you couldn’t just take a body through. The scanners were manned all night. Someone would have noticed. Just to be sure, I brought up a log of all baggage screened overnight. None.

  Which meant that, either dead or alive, someone had deleted Chris Mansfield from the log.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk, thinking. He’d been deleted. And whoever had killed him had been deleted, too.

  I stared at Alexa’s screen-saver of George Clooney pictures. There was an answer to this. Someone had deleted the information. What I needed was a BAA recycle bin so I could trawl through the deleted names.

  Idly, I searched the computer for Chris’s name and ID. It took forever, but one match came up.

  In the computer’s recycle bin.

  Was her computer networked? Had someone deleted the file from here? I opened up the deleted, but not eliminated, log. There was Chris’s name. And there was…

  I felt the nausea rise in my throat again. Quickly, I searched the recycle bin for media files. Whoever had done this had been stupid or careless, or both, because there they were, the BAA footage files from the night Chris was killed. I knew the spliced footage had been added before 0236, because that’s when the mouse ran across the floor. But what I had here were nearly two hours of footage, starting at just after two in the morning and running through until just before Ana came on screen.

  It was grainy and I couldn’t make out who they were. But I was pretty sure they weren’t who the log said they were. I was pretty sure those passes had been stolen. Or the names had been planted. That was all I could think of to explain it.

  I replayed the footage over again. There. Chris had walked into the undercroft, presumably waiting for Ana. He’d been early by about half an hour. Or she’d been late. Neither of us had thought to ask her if she’d been on time.

&nbs
p; But what Chris hadn’t known was that the undercroft wasn’t empty. Someone had been using it for a meeting. In the Ace staff room. Which was supposed to be empty. Which was why Chris walked in there. And why he was killed.

  And then they took his body and put it in the belt mechanism. I didn’t know why. Maybe they were coming back for it later. Maybe they wanted to make a point.

  They were long gone by the time Ana made her appearance. I’d even watched them clean up the blood.

  I sat back in my chair. Probably I ought to tell Luke about this. But there was something else I had to do first.

  I got out my phone and called Macbeth, hoping he’d be in. It was well after midnight, although I wasn’t sure why that bothered me.

  “Hey, babe,” he answered. “You locked in again?”

  “Locked out,” I said. “You know the lab under the office?”

  “I know it,” he said.

  “Can you get in?”

  “I can get in anywhere.”

  Ten minutes later he strolled through the door. “What you wanna do down there you don’t want Luke to know about?”

  “It’s what I want to say that I don’t want him to know.”

  Macbeth shrugged. “Can I know?”

  “You can watch.”

  He looked excited at the prospect and quickly pulled the files off the bookshelf to find the hidden keypad. The door swooshed open and we stepped into the lift.

  “You do know how to get through this lock, right?” I asked nervously. “I mean, it’s not going to fill up with poisonous gas or something if you don’t put the right code in in thirty seconds?”

  Macbeth was looking at me like I’d grown another head. “Girl, you watch too much TV,” he said, and swiped his pass on the machine. He keyed in a code, spoke his name—sadly, not his real name—and the lift started moving.

  “How come you get access and I don’t?”

  “I didn’t get blind drunk this afternoon,” he replied, grinning.

  “God, does everyone know about that?”

  He shrugged and grinned some more.

  The lift doors opened and I could see Sven slumped in the corner of his cage, a dark lump in the shadowy corner. “Hey,” I yelled, “wake up. I need to talk to you.”

  But then Macbeth switched on the light, and my blood suddenly froze in my veins, because it wasn’t Sven lying in the corner of the cell. It was One. And he was dead.