I, Spy?

by Kate Johnson

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Macbeth said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “That dude is dead.”

  “I know,” I said.

  We both stood and stared. In other circumstances we might have opened up the cell and checked for a pulse or something. But that seemed rather ridiculous when we could both see, quite clearly, a tiny bullet hole on one side of One’s head. And a giant bloody hole on the other side.

  “He ain’t the guy was down here earlier.”

  I concentrated on breathing. “When did you come down here?”

  “This afternoon. ’Bout four.”

  “Was there a formerly cute Norwegian guy in here then?”

  “Formerly cute?”

  “I changed my mind after he tried to drug me.”

  “Blue shirt, vomit in his hair?”

  “That’s the bunny.”

  “You reckon he killed Albert?”

  “Well, I think I just saw footage of him killing Chris Mansfield,” I said, “so I wouldn’t rule it out.”

  Macbeth walked over and ran his hands over the door of the cell. “But he couldn’t’ve broken out,” he muttered. “No one could. I made this thing everything-proof. This here is the only door I can’t break through.”

  I believed him.

  “But if Sven didn’t break out, then someone must have let him out,” I said.

  “Maybe Albert went in there and this Sven guy killed him,” Macbeth said.

  It was weird to hear One called Albert. “No—” I began, and he cut me off.

  “No, ’cos you need to swipe it shut. And this dude still has his pass,” he peered through the glass.

  “Plus, isn’t it voice activated?”

  “Sure is.” Macbeth turned back to look at me. “Which means only five people could’ve done it.”

  “Four,” I said. “I never got my voice activation activated.” To prove it, I swiped my card in the slot and keyed in my code. There flashed a green light to say the code was accepted.

  “Sophie Green,” I said, and the light turned red. Denied.

  “Which leaves Alexa, Maria, Luke and me,” Macbeth said. “And I know I did not do it. Albert had my respect.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with Macbeth. “It wasn’t Luke,” I said. “He’s been at mine all afternoon.”

  “You sure ’bout that?”

  “Why would Luke kill One?”

  Macbeth shrugged. “Why would anybody?”

  “Do you know where Maria was?”

  “No. I ain’t seen her since this morning.”

  It didn’t matter. I knew who’d done it. And I was very frightened.

  I took Macbeth back up to the computer and showed him the deleted log of people who’d been down to the undercroft. Christopher Mansfield. Sven Christensen. Alexa Martin.

  “Our Alexa?”

  “I thought maybe it’d been a plant,” I said. “Or someone had stolen her pass. Because, look,” I opened up the deleted footage and showed him the two people in the staff room before Chris walked in. A tall blond man and a petite blonde woman. Both standing. No wheelchair.

  “She was faking that?”

  “Must have been.” I was shivering. I’d trusted Alexa. I’d liked her. Was I really that bad a judge of character?

  Macbeth had his phone out. “I’m calling Maria. Get Luke.”

  I nodded and dialled him, but the number was engaged. Shit. “Luke,” I said to his voice mail, “listen, this is very important. Call me immediately. I’m at the office. Sven has escaped and One has been killed and I’m pretty sure it was Alexa who did both. I found the deleted footage from the night Chris was killed. It was Alexa and Sven.” Macbeth was signalling to me. “Macbeth’s here with me… but…” I held the phone away from my ear and listened to him. “But he’s going to go and see if he can find Alexa. Maria’s on her way. I’m going to stay here. Get your arse up here ASAP!”

  I ended the call. “You’ll be all right?” Macbeth asked.

  “I don’t think One’s going to do me any harm.”

  “They could come back.” He took something from inside his Puffa and handed it to me. A gun. “You know how to use this?”

  I hesitated. Could I bluff it out?

  No. I could not.

  “Nine millimetre Beretta,” Macbeth said. “Semiautomatic. Just point and shoot.”

  “How come you’re allowed a gun and I’m not?” I said, taking it and holding it gingerly.

  Macbeth grinned. “Who said I was allowed? Safety catch is here. Don’t use it unless you have to. It’s fully loaded,” he said, going to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  Then he was gone, and I was alone in the dark room.

  I sat there for a while, my heart beating fast, trying to think of something to do. Alexa lived in town and Maria was going straight there. Macbeth was going to back her up. I was going to wait for Luke.

  God, I was sick of waiting for Luke. My warrant card said I was a special agent. I had a gun, albeit unofficially. Yet here I was, waiting for someone more qualified than me to come and look after me. And look at how it turned out with the revolver. I’d been so damned scared of it I’d given it back.

  I was pathetic.

  I glared at the computer screen.

  No, wait, there was something I could do.

  I brought up the hotel reservations listing and found Wright’s B&B. Shit, it wasn’t far from where my parents lived. I’d been to school with the son of the owner. I dialled the number and waited for a long while as it rang out.

  “Hello?” came a sleepy voice.

  “I’m sorry for ringing so late. But I’m told my boss is staying with you? David Wright.”

  “Yes. He checked in this afternoon.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Asleep, as far as I know.”

  Excellent.

  “I need to give him an urgent message. It’s very important that he gets this word for word and as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll wake him up—”

  “Just give him the message. They know about the deal. Meet me at the office.”

  “That’s the message?”

  “That’s it.”

  “And your name?”

  “Alexa Martin. He’ll know me. I’m his business partner.”

  I was slightly scared Luke would turn up before Wright, but even if he did then I could say it was coincidence and get Luke to help me with the takedown. I could tell him the truth later. That I lured Wright here and handcuffed him to, erm, the desk while I got the important information out of him. Yeah.

  I swiped open the door and left it ajar so he could come straight in. And he did. Completely alone. Calling out for Alexa.

  I leapt out from my hiding place behind the desk and tackled him, every sore bone in my body crying out as we thudded to the floor. I had my gun ready and pointed at his head. I was doing fantastically until the door burst open and someone all in black yelled, “Freeze!” and aimed a gun at me.

  I swung the pistol at him. “You freeze,” I yelled, at the same instant I took in the hazel eyes, the shiny hair, the expression of disbelief.

  For a second or two we were locked like that, me straddling Wright, aiming at Harvey, while Harvey stood and aimed at me, our eyes on each other, neither quite believing what we saw. Of course, Harvey probably believed it less. I’d sort of guessed who he was; I’d be pretty surprised if he could reconcile “secret agent” and “drunken floozy” with each other.

  Then Wright threw me off, moving with surprising agility for someone so large, and I fumbled to get the safety off and aim after him, but he shoved past Harvey, who rang out a shot, and vanished.

  Harvey ran after him, but by the time I’d got outside, Wright had already driven away. Harvey fired after him but the car swerved and the bullet missed.

  I grabbed the keys from my bag, letting the SO17 door swing shut and lock itself. At least I hope it locked itself. I
jumped into Ted and gunned the engine, and to my amazement Harvey banged on the window to be let in.

  “Don’t you have your own car?”

  “Are you going after Wright?”

  I nodded.

  “Then we’ll go together. Two guns are better than one.” He’d hardly shut the door by the time I took off, rattling through the business park as fast as Ted would let me. “By the way, Sophie Green, who the hell are you?”

  “I could ask the same question,” I said, swinging us around a corner, making Harvey wince.

  “James Harvard, CIA,” he said, badging me. I only glanced at it for a second and pretty much had to take it on faith that the badge was real. But I’d pretty much figured him out earlier. He was part of exactly the same game as me.

  “Damn,” I said, “Luke was right.” And also hysterically wrong.

  “Luke?”

  “He said you were James Harvard. He also said you were Wright’s partner…”

  “Seriously?” He shook his head. “How do you even know about this Wright stuff? Who are you?”

  “Sophie Green. I’m not a stewardess.”

  “No shit.”

  “I’m a secret agent.”

  He laughed.

  I swung a corner extra hard.

  “No, really,” Harvey said, smile fading.

  “Yes,” I glared at him, “really. There’s a badge in my bag. Well, a warrant card.”

  He obviously didn’t believe me, because he looked through my bag for my wallet. “In here?”

  “No, on the chain. With my BAA pass.”

  “This says you’re a Passenger Service Agent.”

  “That’s my day job.”

  “Jesus.” He read my warrant card and seemed satisfied, if a little bewildered. “So you’re after this guy too?”

  “We have reason to believe he’s involved in the murder of a hundred and forty-five people,” I said.

  “A hundred forty-five?”

  “Plane crash. Mostly. The other two—” we reached the exit and I craned to see which way he’d gone, before deciding on right, “—were people who got in the way. My boss was one of them.”

  “And who’s your boss? I never heard of SO17.”

  “Lot of people haven’t. We’re very small. Just me and Luke and a couple of others.” I glanced over at him. Black jeans and sweater, gun holstered openly at his side. “So why are you after Wright?”

  “Fraud.”

  “Gee, you Americans take fraud very seriously.”

  “Didn’t you see Catch Me If You Can? He’s been skimming for years. Wrightbank made masses of money and Wright took most of it.”

  “I thought that was the FBI, not the CIA.”

  “He’s also been involved in some heavy-duty sabotage. You know he has a partner?”

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You know who it is?”

  “Luke thinks it’s you.”

  Harvey frowned at me, then his face cleared. “That’s why you turned up this afternoon!”

  “Yep.”

  “Were the cocktails part of the plan?”

  “If you mention them again, I’ll have to shoot you.”

  He grinned. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going after Wright. You can go where you like.”

  “I don’t see him.”

  “My car has many useful attributes. Amazing speed is not one of them.” Zero to sixty took a long while. Top speed meant waiting for next year.

  “No, I mean I don’t see any sign of him. He’s not on the road.” Harvey twisted his head to peer far to the left. “What’s that over there?”

  “Um, the motorway.”

  “I mean on the other side.”

  “The high school?”

  “I see headlights.”

  “Probably just some kids hiding out…”

  “Would you go back to your high school to hide out?”

  I wouldn’t go back to my high school if they sold Gucci. Half price.

  I turned off the main road into the school grounds and cut my lights.

  “Good thinking,” Harvey said, “but you still don’t have the quietest car in the world.”

  I parked Ted up and we got out and headed over to the sports field. The ground was slick and muddy and I wished I was wearing something other than my pretty trainers. My pretty, ruined trainers.

  “Damn,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “I got mud in my shoe.”

  “If that’s the worst thing that happens to you—”

  He stopped because a bullet whistled past his head, and we both dropped to the ground. Now all my clothes were muddy. Great.

  “Stay here,” Harvey whispered. “I’ll go see if I can get behind them.”

  That was great, but I didn’t even know where they were, so behind them was going to be interesting. I watched him crawl away and lay there, cold and muddy, Macbeth’s gun in my hand, feeling very small and scared.

  They were doing some building work on the other side of the field and there were a few huts set up on the edge of the site. I glanced over at them, and my heart stopped for a second. There were lights inside. I could see lights.

  I edged away from the muddy field, staying low, my heart hammering. Hey, at least it was beating again. I thought I’d died for a second there. Wright knew we’d be following him. He knew we were both armed and now we knew he was, too. And there was a distinct possibility that he wasn’t alone.

  Therefore what I did next might seem extremely foolish. But I think we’ve established by now that pretty much the only thing I’m really good at is being foolish, so I did it anyway. I crept and crawled through the shadows to the hut with the lights on, and when I got there, I saw Sven prowling round the outside with a gun.

  God. I used to fancy him. Now he looked pale and deranged, and instead of having the Johnny Depp/Christian Slater cute maniac thing going on, he just looked damaged. And kind of scary.

  I say kind of, because he still had vomit in his hair. Obviously he’d not been out of the cell that long.

  I saw him stare in my direction for a long time, and my skin came up in goose bumps. It occurred to me that I could be in this totally alone—I wouldn’t know a real CIA badge if it came up and snogged me, for all I knew Harvey could have been hitching a ride with me back to his partner, Wright—and that what I really needed was Luke to turn up and save the day.

  But Luke had no idea where I was and besides, how was I ever going to be a secret agent if I didn’t get off my arse and do some day-saving by myself?

  I was just about to lift my gun and take a rather ill-advised shot at Sven, when I caught a movement behind him. There was someone following him. Someone svelte and stealthy, dressed in black, taking careful steps, a pistol raised. A woman.

  Maria.

  I let out a long breath of relief, which Sven must have heard because he suddenly swung his gun around in my direction and then there was a shot and I hit the ground, shaking.

  It took me quite a while to realise that I was not the one who’d been shot. It took one more bullet report to convince me that I’d not been hit.

  But someone had, and I realised as I saw Sven start running towards me, that it wasn’t him. I lifted my gun and aimed and squeezed the trigger and nothing happened.

  I stared in shock. It was broken! Macbeth gave me a broken gun!

  Sven was three feet away now, pistol aimed at me, and I saw him nudge something on the barrel with his thumb. The safety! Of course! I pulled the catch, squeezed the trigger and shot Sven just as he landed on top of me.

  He lay still, and so did I, winded, horrified. I’d just shot him. I’d just shot him—I pushed him off me and stared in horror at the blood leaking from the hole in his chest—I’d shot him and he was dead. There was blood on me too, on my clothes, on my skin. He was dead.

  Oh, Jesus. I am in bad trouble.

  I heaved myself over his body and ran to the shadows un
der the hut. Maria lay there, a bleeding bruise on her head, her hand pressed to her flat stomach where the bullet had lodged. I fumbled for her pulse and found it. She was alive. Fuck knows how, but she was alive.

  I was just about to run back to the car for my phone to call for help when I heard movement from inside the hut. Whoever was inside was coming outside and I heard Alexa’s voice say, “…Hope the little bugger hasn’t got himself shot. He’s a bit too cute to—”

  And then she stopped, because she saw me, and she reached for a gun and so did Wright, and I aimed mine. And for a few seconds we all aimed at each other, hardly breathing.

  “How theatrical,” Alexa said. “You do see the dilemma, don’t you, Sophie? I always thought you were quite bright, contrary to appearances.”

  I looked between them. Dilemma? My whole freaking life was a dilemma. I was kneeling there with two people aiming guns at me. And I only had one gun. Which I didn’t know how to use.

  “I can only shoot one of you,” I said.

  “Leaving the other to kill you. Unless we both shoot you at the same time.” She glanced at Wright, who nodded eagerly.

  “Making the body count one-four-seven,” I said. If they thought Maria was still alive, they might shoot her again. “A whole planeful of people. All those children. Do you have something against schools, Lex?”

  She laughed. “I was a goddess at school.”

  “When did you get the wheelchair?”

  She cocked her head. “When I was discharged from the SAS because I’d never walk again. When they never checked properly. Clearly, their diagnosis was wrong.”

  “But you never told anyone?”

  “I never needed to. People never correct a disabled person. People never check their work. People never suggest they might be wrong, because that would be politically incorrect.”

  Jesus. So that was why One had never checked her files? Because he was afraid of upsetting her?

  Or because he was crap with computers? Talk about a tin-pot operation.

  “I checked your work,” I said boldly. I was still crouched by Maria and my legs were starting to cramp. “I found the deleted files. You killed Chris Mansfield.”

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” she shrugged. “I hear he went down there to screw his girlfriend. Speaking of which, how are you getting on with Luke?”