Exposure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  CIA: homeland security through obtaining information on foreign governments and political powers.

  Secret Service: protecting the President, VP, their families, former leaders, presidential candidates and foreign embassies.

  NSA: primarily Treasury roles, such as counterfeiting of currency and US treasury bonds and investigation of major fraud.

  She ruled out FBI as they were mostly involved with internal criminal investigations and intelligence gathering.

  Then she changed her mind: she couldn’t rule out anyone yet. Not even the UK National Crime Agency. After all, if they thought something was happening on their turf they’d want to know about it; it was always worth their while to keep in with the CIA. NCA looked into cyber crime, drug and people trafficking.

  MI5 and MI6: intel and surveillance at home and abroad – anything involving British security.

  Oh, and she mustn’t forget the Serious Fraud Office. In fact…

  She swore forcefully and slammed her laptop shut.

  Exhausted by the near endless possibilities, the faceless, nameless enemies that were arrayed against them, she felt helpless. She lay fully dressed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to take her. It seemed impossible that she would ever get her life back: how could she? How could this crazy rollercoaster ride end well? Or end at all. Maybe she’d condemned herself to a lifetime of running, of cheap hotels and an uncertain future. She descended further into the blackness until finally the tears ran down her face and she was wracked with sobs.

  It had been a long time since she’d cried herself to sleep.

  She woke up, her eyes hot and puffy, to find Charlie standing over her, his face concerned.

  “Helene? Are you okay? Has something happened?”

  She tried to speak but the tears and misery were too fresh in her memory and she choked on the words of denial that sprang automatically.

  He sat on the bed next to her and scooped her into his arms. Her body resisted for a fraction of a second, her back stiffening, and then her defences gave way. She collapsed into him, clinging on as if he were the only thing in the world that could save her from drowning.

  God! She so needed to be held.

  He stroked her hair gently, quietly, until her tears had lessened.

  Embarrassed she pulled away.

  “Sorry about that,” she muttered avoiding his hesitant eyes. “I’m just a bit strung out. Any luck with Uncle Bill’s place?”

  He let her change the conversation and didn’t mention what had passed between them. She was grateful.

  “The good news is it’s definitely him,” he said, watching her as she paced up and down the room.

  “And the bad news?”

  “The guy’s still a tosser.”

  Helene smiled weakly.

  “More joy. This is your call, Charlie. How do we approach Uncle Bill? Is this where I turn into Mata Hari and seduce him?”

  “That could work,” he said, smiling slightly, “Or...”

  “Or?”

  “I scare the crap out of the bastard until I get him pissing down his own leg.”

  She was surprised by his vehemence.

  “I think I prefer your way,” she said evenly, controlling the tremor in her voice.

  “Funny,” he said, “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

  Their eyes met.

  “Well,” she said at last looking away, “we’re invited by Jenny – maybe we should pay a call.”

  He smiled.

  “It would be rude not to.”

  Chapter 8

  Even if Charlie hadn’t already scoped out Uncle Bill’s place it would have been easy to find it. Loud, insistent music pumped into the soft night air. Party Central.

  Dozens of beautiful young things wafted around, adorned with leis and followed moonishly by a pack of surf rats with goatees and the ubiquitous flip-flops. This was a luau with attitude.

  Uncle Bill, it seemed, was spending his blood money as fast as he had earned it: every night was party night at his place.

  Which made things both easier and harder.

  Easier, because no-one was exactly checking ID at the door; and harder, because getting him by himself wasn’t going to be easy.

  Helene felt self-conscious. She was easily the oldest woman there, although leching over the party girls were several men who must surely be drawing their pensions, or near to it. They had the look of hard cases, maybe the ex-army buddies Jenny had mentioned. Helene gave them a wide berth.

  Of course the self-consciousness might have been to do with the fact that she was wearing a halter-neck velour jumpsuit in a lurid purple, slashed to the waist at the back and not much higher at the front.

  Charlie had chosen it for her from a cheap, beachfront store. He’d enjoyed her astonishment and appalled expression but pointed out that she needed a party outfit if their plan was to work. The jumpsuit fitted her like a glove, or possibly a bit more snugly. He obviously had a good eye when it came to sizing up women’s clothes. Perhaps practise made perfect.

  He was wearing the same baggy shorts matched with a loud Hawaiian shirt. Although to be fair, she hadn’t seen any quiet ones.

  It had made her nervous to leave the laptop, as well as the back up, in the hotel room but she couldn’t risk being caught with the memory stick on her in Bill’s house. Instead Charlie found a loose tile behind the toilet that was just about big enough for a makeshift safe. That was the best they could do. Helene chewed on a fingernail as she watched him stash it away.

  When they arrived there were people, cars and surfboards everywhere. Helene couldn’t tell if the party was in full swing or just getting warmed up: it had been a fair few years since she’d been to something like this. Helene suspected that if she did any deep breathing she could get high without trying. Either Uncle Bill had the local police in his pocket or smoking hash was so commonplace that no-one gave it a second thought. Probably the latter if their landlady’s comment earlier was anything to go by.

  “You look great,” said Charlie encouragingly, pulling her hand away as she tried to hitch up the front of the jumpsuit in a vain attempt to cover a bit more chest area.

  “I look ridiculous!” she huffed.

  He smiled.

  “No: hot, definitely hot. Come on, dance with me.”

  He pulled her into an embrace.

  “I can’t dance to this music!” she said faintly.

  “I’ll show you.”

  He moulded his body into hers and they swayed to the music. She could feel the strength in his arms, and the heat of his body was making her feel dizzy.

  Despite the crowds, Jenny spotted them instantly. Helene guessed she must have been looking out for her. She wasn’t sure if she was sorry or not that Jenny’s presence had brought the dance to an end.

  “Oh, April! I’m so glad you – and Wes – came. It’s... it’s pretty wild, isn’t it?”

  She hugged Helene tightly and Helene couldn’t help but respond with real warmth. Poor little bird.

  “So, where’s Dylan?”

  Helene looked around her.

  “Oh... somewhere. He went to get me a drink. I don’t really know.”

  She’d been dumped already.

  “Uncle Bill is over here: you wanna come meet him?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Charlie signalled with his head and wandered away. Jenny didn’t comment on his disappearance: she was too used to the men folk disappearing suddenly.

  ‘Uncle Bill’ was a man of about fifty: a dissolute fifty with avarice and alcoholism etched into his thin, mean-looking face. Helene could imagine that Dylan would look a lot like him in twenty years or so. Possibly sooner. She was also reminded of Charlie’s description of Bill as a ‘chiselling little weasel’. It looked pretty near the mark.

  When Jenny introduced her as ‘My friend, April’, Bill looked her up and down like a prize heifer. She wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he’d pulled h
er lip out to check her teeth. Although to be truthful, his gaze hadn’t lifted far above Helene’s small but shapely embonpoint.

  Helene tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and thrust out one hip. She felt a complete fraud, but Uncle Bill probably wasn’t a man of great subtlety.

  “Great party,” she said, trying to sound even more brazen than her outfit. “I like a good party.”

  “Do you?” he said, taking the bait.

  “The trouble is,” said Helene, lowering her eyelashes, “it’s so rarely worth the effort. Do you know what I mean? Most men seem to just want the entrée but I prefer three courses.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Poor Jenny looked from one to the other. This was not how she’d imagined it would go, introducing her friend to Uncle Bill.

  “Do you have anywhere I can freshen up?” said Helene.

  “Sure,” said Bill, an unpleasant leer spreading across his face, “if you go up those stairs, take the second door on the left.”

  “Perhaps you can show me,” said Helene.

  “I’ll show you, April,” said Jenny eagerly.

  “Oh, I don’t want to spoil the party for you,” said Helene, glancing at Bill. “I’m sure Dylan must be looking for you.”

  “Do you think so?” said Jenny hopefully.

  “Sure! Why wouldn’t he?”

  Helene felt a stab of guilt at the look on the younger woman’s face. In fact Helene could think of a dozen reasons why not, and all of them were wearing short skirts. He was a chip off the old block by the look of things.

  “I’ll show you the way,” said Bill. “I don’t want you getting lost. That would be a great shame.”

  “What a gentleman,” said Helene.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” said Bill.

  He showed her to the door and she sashayed up the stairs. Following her, his eyes were magnetically attached to her backside. She could feel them burning into her at every step.

  When they got to the top of the stairs he pointed to a door on the left that she suspected led to the master suite. She opened it and walked in. It was a large room dominated by an enormous bed. Bill followed her in, locking the door significantly behind him.

  The sound made her sweat.

  He took her by surprise when he pushed her roughly onto the bed.

  “Hey!” she said. “There’s no need for that.”

  Without warning he slapped her twice, hard.

  “Who are you?” he said. “What do you want?”

  Shock and pain made her eyes water. The tremor in her voice was real.

  “I’m just here for the p...p...party.”

  “Bullshit!” he sneered. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

  Obviously Uncle Bill wasn’t quite as stupid as he looked. An ugly, native cunning burned behind his watery eyes.

  He raised his hand again, but the soft click of a gun being cocked froze him.

  “On your knees,” whispered Charlie. “Hands on your head.”

  Through blurry eyes, Helene saw Charlie appear from behind a curtain. He moved with the controlled precision of a predator, but his face was taut with barely suppressed fury.

  Bill lowered himself to the floor and raised his hands.

  “I’ve been waiting for you – or someone like you,” he said hoarsely. “I always knew this day would come: I just didn’t know when.”

  He bowed his head, his body trembling.

  “Here’s the thing, Bill,” said Charlie softly, “you might make it till morning if you tell me what I want to know.”

  “I’m not in it anymore, man,” said Bill in a rush. “I’ve been out for a year now. I don’t know nothing.”

  “That’s alright, Bill,” said Charlie almost conversationally, “because I want to know about something that went down three years ago. I’ll refresh your memory: you picked up a package from Carmel, California and it was delivered to Nevada. You remember that job?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy,” said Bill, his eyes rolling, as if he’d be able to make them see the danger behind him.

  Charlie looked at Helene.

  “Throw me a pillow.”

  “What?”

  Helene was still frozen on the bed. She struggled to understand what was being said.

  “Throw me a pillow,” said Charlie quietly, “so I can shoot this bastard in the leg without upsetting all those nice boys and girls downstairs.”

  Helene was pale, except for the livid spot on her cheek where Bill had hit her. Awkwardly, she reached across the bed and threw Charlie a pillow covered in a black, silk pillowcase. At least it wouldn’t show the blood: it was so hard to get blood out of silk, she thought inconsequently.

  “Can you dance with one leg?” said Charlie, taunting now. “Shall we find out what happens if I shoot off your kneecap?”

  Helene could see the sheen of oily sweat break out on Bill’s face. Suddenly she was glad: those slaps had hurt. In some separate compartment of her brain the violence of her thoughts shocked her.

  “Okay, okay,” said Bill, licking his dry lips. “Maybe I do remember something but I don’t know anything. You dig?”

  Charlie processed his answer for a second. “Let’s go through it again,” he said. “Who contacted you about the job?”

  “It was through the employment listings page in the newspaper: The Los Angeles Times,” Bill stuttered quickly.

  “Don’t yank my chain, Bill,” said Charlie, an edge to his voice.

  “I’m not!” jabbered Bill. “That’s… that’s how I’d get recruited for a job: I’d look in the classified section and there’d be a coded message. I’d turn up at the location, get the brief, do the job and watch the money go into my bank account. That’s all! I swear. I never knew who booked me, it was safer that way: safer for them, safer for me. I didn’t want to know.”

  It was clear that Charlie believed him because he went on to a new question.

  “Did you see the target that night?”

  Bill’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  “No. I never saw his face. I was look-out; the number two guy did the snatch.”

  “Where did you take him from? Describe the place.”

  Bill shook his head worriedly.

  “Some clapboard place on the coast.” Then a thought occurred to him, a memory. “It didn’t look much from the outside but it had a whole bunch of security. The number three guy was some sort of computer geek cos he got us inside pdq. Whoever ordered the job must have expected that.”

  “Pen and paper,” said Charlie to Helene. “Bill is going to draw us a map.”

  Helene pulled a small notebook and pen out of her shoulder bag. With a shaking hand, Bill drew a rough sketch of the shack’s location and handed it to Helene. His eyes darted back and forwards restlessly.

  “And you never knew who he was?” said Charlie to Bill.

  “No, I swear,” Bill choked.

  “And you never saw the other men again?”

  “No. No, never. There was a fourth guy who flew the chopper but I never spoke to him. That’s all I know.”

  Helene saw Charlie give a small smile. But his next words didn’t match his expression.

  “You’re disappointing me, Bill. You haven’t given me anything useful and you haven’t given me a reason not to shoot you.”

  Bill started babbling. He hadn’t heard any hesitation or mercy in the cold voice behind him. A shudder ran through Helene as she watched the scene play out.

  “I... I think one of the guys, the number two guy, was some sort of religious nut,” Bill babbled. “I thought he was a Buddhist, maybe, cuz… cuz he kept chanting the whole time but it turned out it was some other Asian thing – ‘sin’ or ‘shin’ or some whacko thing. I don’t know! He kept chanting these words over and over again. I remember it because it was driving me crazy, and me and the number three guy gave him kind of a hard time over it. Really, I don’t know anything else, I swear it!”

  “I believe you, Bi
ll,” said Charlie. “But I think I’ll shoot you anyway.”

  He stood back and took aim.

  Helene gasped.

  “No!” she whispered. “Don’t kill him.”

  “We don’t want any loose ends,” said Charlie, frowning but without taking his eyes off the back of Bill’s head.

  “Please, don’t,” she said again, a wave of revulsion running through her.

  By this time Bill was begging and crying, snot and tears streaming down his face.

  Charlie finally looked at Helene, then back at Bill. He raised the gun and brought the butt down hard on Bill’s head, felling him instantly.

  “Thank you,” said Helene, her voice shaky.

  But Charlie wasn’t finished. He stepped forward and casually kicked Bill between the legs hard enough to rupture a testicle.

  “I don’t like men who hit women,” he said.

  Their eyes locked.

  “Then thank you twice,” she replied, huskily.

  He held out his hand and she took it gratefully. Together they walked down the stairs, his long arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her weight, and slowly made their way through the crowds of dancers, drinkers and smokers. From the corner of her eye Helene spotted Jenny, still alone, still looking lost and very young.

  Helene and Charlie made their way back to the boarding house by taxi. The driver kept looking at Helene in the rear view mirror as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just shrugged his shoulders and dropped them off at the harbour without comment.

  They slipped into their room without attracting the landlady’s attention. Then Charlie got some ice from a fridge in the kitchen, made it into a pack and held it gently against Helene’s cheek.

  “It’ll help with the swelling,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  She took the icepack from his hand and went to stand by the window, feeling the ocean breeze cooling the air.

  “Where do we go from here, Charlie?” she said. She turned to search for his eyes in the darkness. “I don’t really see how we can use what he told us.”

  She felt helpless, the weight of hopelessness pressing down on her.

  Charlie looked thoughtful.

  “Maybe not… but I’ve been thinking about what Bill said; about the fact that the guy was chanting during the job.”