"Wait, what? You? You made Russia happen? The civil war. That was you?"
"It was a little experiment."
"Russia, little?" He had influence, but to bring down a former superpower? Did he have that much power? "How the hell did you do that?"
"A sprinkle of truth here, a well-timed article there, a social media signal boost over here, a gentle nudge there and ta-dah."
"Death on a stupendous scale."
"Yes, that. But the Russian people have their country back. I'll do better next time."
"Next time? What exactly are you planning, Harry?"
"I'm planning what I always have, Eva. I'm planning on making the world a better place."
"Your definition of better."
"Which, as I recall, was also yours."
"This isn't a game, Harry. You're playing Risk with the world."
"I was never any good at Risk."
"I know, I kept beating your arse."
"I was always more partial to nude Twister." He cast her a cheeky grin. "And I'll be forever thankful to you for introducing me to it."
The mention of sex jolted her back to the reason she was there, with a side flashback to some very pleasant naked memories. And she had to stop thinking of that word. Naked. Naked. Naked. She had to focus on what she came for, not civil wars and world government problems.
Way to dial up the narcissism Eva.
She shook her head. "Look, listen–"
"You want me to do both?"
"I want you to shut up for a start. You have no right to send in your trained monkeys. I don't want your goons anywhere near me."
"They're there for your protection, if someone–"
She thrust her finger in the air again, and this time it worked. He stopped talking.
"Let's leave out the total creep factor that you've had me followed or bugged, or whatever it is you've been doing, but instead let's focus on the fact that you interrupted the first decent screw I've had in months. You have no idea what it's like to be that frustrated and to–"
"Yes I do."
"Wait, what? You haven't…in a year? Since we broke up?"
He gave a slight pitch of his head in acknowledgement and Eva was bombarded with a whole new set of emotions; less angry ones, but worse. Bordering on affectionate. Casting her gaze towards the London skyline, she tried to process what any of it meant.
No. This is what he does. What he always does.
Not this time.
She needed to gather her thoughts. She needed to shape them into a cohesive and adult response.
Eva sniffed. "I'm going to take a wiz."
She marched towards Harry's luxurious bathroom and didn't even wait to see his reaction. The door slammed behind her. She flicked the light switch and the enormous black tiled bathroom that was larger than her first apartment was bathed in soft light.
She stared at her face in the huge high-tech mirror. Stock prices and news feeds scrolled along its base. Even with the designer lighting she looked like hell. Eva was unsure if the wish for a less dishevelled face staring back at her was because it was the best form of revenge or because she wanted him to want her. If it was the latter, what would she do with that?
Her first instinct was to reapply her lipstick. She could have punched herself in the face. She stared into her bloodshot eyes. "He's really done a number on you hasn't he? You're a complete mess."
"I think you're positively adorable."
Her head snapped to the door, but it remained steadfastly closed. Did Harry have the bathroom under surveillance? His own bathroom? That was beyond creepy.
But it wasn't Harry's voice, so who?
The bathroom was huge, but not large enough to conceal another human swanning around in it. Glancing up, her hand shot to her mouth to stifle the scream.
Suspended by wires hanging from the open skylight in the ceiling was a man in a harness, dressed in all black. Chiselled jaw, blond cropped hair and a smile so incandescent it made the sun look like a blown light globe.
Raising one eyebrow he said, "I can assure you this is exactly what it looks like."
Chapter Four
Eva wasn’t a screamer.
That was a lie.
Eva wasn’t a screamer in a non-recreational sense.
Staring up at the intruder suspended from the ceiling she re-evaluated her screaming philosophy. As he unhooked himself from the harness, Eva wondered why she didn’t run into the other room and raise the alarm. His casual manner made her want to trust him. There were no fast moves. His actions, measured, unhurried. Confident.
That, and she’d met him once before.
It was eighteen months before, when she’d first started dating Harry. He’d tried to warn her off. It didn’t take. He obviously knew nothing about her, otherwise he’d have known telling Eva to stay away was the perfect way to make her run directly for whatever she was being warned about.
Using his impressive muscular ability, the intruder lowered himself and landed panther-like before her. He was tall, wide-shouldered. The smile never stopped beaming. His attractiveness was persuasive, yes, but there was more to it. His eyes. Oh she remembered those eyes. At once charming and mischievous. It was a shame the whole package came wrapped in a big blanket of chauvinistic piggery.
Was he the bad guy? Was Harry? She didn’t know any more. What Harry was trying to achieve on a world scale was breathtaking and audacious. If he could manage to pull it off the world would be much better for it, she honestly believed that. It were his methods she had issues with. So did every other Western government. Did blackmail and government manipulation justify the end?
If the man standing before her was there to stop him, where did she stand? Who wore the white hat and who wore the black? Especially in light of the Russian thing. Whose side was Eva on?
“Thank you for not alerting him,” he said in a whisper. “I spent a good hour and a half scaling this bastard in the middle of winter and didn’t fancy being tossed off straight after all that effort without so much as a gold star and a stiff whiskey.”
When Eva first met him he’d said he worked for MI6. She’d taken him at his word as she doubted he carried a business card.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t scream my head off?” she asked in a harsh whisper.
“Oh, my dear, I think that’s exactly the wrong phrasing. One thing at a time.”
Eva hated herself for letting a smirk escape. Then she saw his shoulder holster.
He followed the direction of her glance. “I’m not an assassin if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not.”
She was.
Eva had been in the bathroom too long. Harry would be getting suspicious.
He tilted his head, sizing her up, taking his time, lingering on her sleeve tats. “You’ve changed your hair. I like it. I was led to believe you and Mr Lancing were no longer an item.”
“We’re not. Just looking up an old ex.”
“How ex?”
“The ex-iest there is.”
“Good.” He seemed pleased by that. “And you’re still not easily rattled, I see.”
“You’d be surprised how many men I meet suspended from the roof.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. That amused him. “Somehow I believe everything about you would be surprising.”
Those eyes. Jesus. She could swim around in those baby blues for hours.
“Well, what are you here for?” she asked determined not to be swayed by his casual charm.
She saw him weigh up his answer. A darkness fell over his face. The smile remained, but was tainted by a hardness. His tone remained unconcerned. “You may have heard Mr Lancing has threatened to divulge certain information publicly tomorrow? Well I’m here to retrieve it as a matter of national security.” He glanced at his thick black wristwatch. “Before the airstrike.”
Eva spluttered, “Airstrike?”
“Yes, and…” he glanced at his watch again,
“every moment I spend in your company, while thoroughly delightful, means I’m failing in my mission. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
He made to walk past her, but Eva’s palm hit his chest. Hard as rock.
“Hang on there, Spiderman. You said airstrike. Here? You mean the English are going to fire on a civilian building in the middle of London?”
“Not us, no,” he replied peeling off her hand. “Now, if you could momentarily distract him, I can make my way to his study on the second floor. We haven’t much time.”
“You expect me to trust you? Just like that? Nope, it doesn’t work that way, Sunshine. You have to wine and dine me, put in the hard yards. I’m not going to metaphorically open my legs for you because you flash me a naughty smirk and spin me a tale about national security. This is our second date, at best you could expect a handjob if you’re lucky.”
A wicked grin crept across his face.
“Again, metaphorically,” she said quickly. “You have to earn my trust.” Eva shook her head. “Is that the way it normally works for you and women? Give them a story, slide them a sneaky smirk and they’re yours? Mission accomplished, cocktails at midnight and back to your place for a one-night stand they’ll never forget?”
He glanced at his watch and longingly spied the door. “To be honest, well, yes.”
Swamp donkeys, he was telling the truth. Were women disposable to him? Something to be conquered then discarded?
Eva clenched her fists. Priorities. This wasn’t about her. She had to decide if she trusted this man and, if she did, would she allow him to accomplish his mission? Did she still believe in Harry’s goals any more? His methods? Him?
“This is going to sound boorish,” he said interrupting her thoughts, “and as much as I’m enjoying our little tete-a-tete I really must insist that you–”
“Shit or get off the pot?”
“Yes, ah, that.” He glanced at his wrist.
“I’m going to need some proof.”
“I’m terribly sorry, my top secret dossier and wax-sealed orders from the PM are in my other trousers.”
“Hmm, mighty snarky for someone desperate for my help.”
“I will concede there may have been the slightest hint of snark, but you must appreciate there’s no time. You have to trust me or not. There’s no time to get the PM out of bed, plus she’s a heavy sleeper and gets most cranky when one calls her in the middle of the night. I can only implore you to have faith that I am on the mission I stated and it is of the utmost importance that I be allowed to complete it. We’re out of time.”
“What are you going to do?”
He held up a small USB stick. “The boffins have a program, but it needs a physical access point. In this case, Mr Lancing’s office computer. It will identify the hackers he’s been using, suck all the secrets he has and delete it at the source while retaining a copy on this.”
Eva mulled it over. “How about this for a compromise? I let you in and distract Harry long enough to get what you need. Then you hand it to me, all of it, at which point I get you out via a private elevator, alleviating the need for all that pesky building-scaling business. Then you prove to me you are who you say you are. If I’m satisfied, you may have your precious information. But no harm is to come to Harry.”
He nodded.
“Repeat it,” Eva said harshly.
“No harm will come to Mr Lancing.”
“Right. So how does that all sound? And before you answer, that’s the only deal on the table. The next best option is for me to run into the next room yelling, ‘There’s a spy in the bathroom, there’s a spy in the bathroom!’ Your call.”
His eyebrows met and he frowned approvingly. He almost appeared impressed. “What sort of madman lets a woman like you get away?”
“The kind of madman who thinks a man has any right to allow or disallow a woman to ‘get away’. Jesus, this isn’t the fifties. You know women have choices these days, right?” Eva didn’t attempt to hide the contempt in her voice. He really did believe women were objects. “Do we have an accord?”
“We do.” He motioned to the door. “Ladies first.”
“And patronising pricks second.”
Not waiting to see his reaction, she entered the open plan apartment. Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Holding the bathroom door open, she tentatively called out, “Harry?”
No answer.
She couldn’t usher in the spy or whatever he was until she knew where Harry was. The spy. You don’t even know his name. What the hell was she doing?
“Did you fall in?”
Harry stood behind the bar, shaker in hand. The city lights extended as far as the hazy London night sky allowed. The view left her speechless every time she saw it. Which had been a lot.
Eva grinned. “I’ll have an Old Fashioned, heavy on the bourbon.”
Harry looked despondently at the shaker in his hand. “I was making Illusions.”
“Sorry, I was unaware this was a nightclub in the nineties. Old Fashioned thanks.”
Harry turned as she knew he would. The bourbon was on the top shelf of the well-stocked bar. With her hand, she motioned the spy to go and she took the long way to the bar. From the corner of her eye she observed him sprint towards the stairs to the study. He didn’t make a sound.
“I don’t want to know what you were doing in there, do I?” Harry asked.
“You really don’t.”
Placing bottles before him, Harry paused. “I miss you, Eva. Every single day.”
“I haven’t missed your goons, I must say.”
“An overreaction.”
“An understatement.”
Harry placed a highball glass on the bar, filled it with ice and free-poured the ingredients. He asked, “Orange slice or cherry?”
“Neither.”
“Of course.” He slid it over.
Eva downed it one and slammed the glass on the bar. “Again.”
“Thirsty?”
“Pissed.”
“At?”
“Seriously?”
Harry poured another cocktail. “By the way, your gentleman caller is safely home, unharmed. He probably won’t call you again, but my men didn’t injure him.”
“It’s hardly the point.”
“Then what is?”
“Letting me go, Harry. That’s the point, it’s always been the point.”
“I know it’s going to sound all teenage angsty, but I love you, Eva. It’s not even the fact people don’t generally say no to me, it’s…well…” He poured the Illusion into a martini glass and took a sip. She could always tell when he was gathering his thoughts, the slightest crease formed above the bridge of his nose. “If you want, I’ll stop. Everything. The protective surveillance, the drunken 3.00 a.m. calls, the satellite tracking–”
“The what?”
“–everything. I’ll stop it all if you answer one question. It doesn’t even matter how you answer it, just look me in the eye and reply.”
Eva knew what the question would be. She didn’t want to answer it. She really didn’t. For all sorts of reasons.
“Do you still love me, Eva?”
How does he do that?
Before she could answer, two small flashes caught Eva’s eye in the sky somewhere over Waterloo. She was about to look away when she witnessed the unmistakable trails of two missiles. The jet fighter banked and bugged out. The missiles were headed straight for them.
“Uh, Harry, you might want to have a gander out the–”
Claxons blared and red lights flashed, piercing the soft lighting of the penthouse. His mobile rang and he grabbed it.
“What’s going on, Van? Can we–? All right, get everyone out. Go!”
Without hanging up, he tossed the phone aside and raced around the bar. He grabbed Eva’s hand and led her towards the centre of the vast apartment. Matter-of-factly, he said, “We’ll never make it in time.”
“A helicopter?”
“Not enough time. Sorry.” He stroked her chin and for an instant, it was if the last year hadn’t existed. His head swung towards the window. “It’s almost here, but we can–”
Harry stopped abruptly when he heard the thudding footsteps on the stairs. The dark-clad spy halted when he saw both sets of eyes on him.
The spy tossed a USB stick in the air. “Got it, cheers, Eva.” He grinned cheekily at her.
Harry’s head snapped around to her.
The expression of betrayal was absolute.
Eva had never been so gutted in her life.
Stepping away, Harry reeled backwards. In all they’d been through, the hardships and losses he’d suffered, she’d never seen him so distraught. So lost. So betrayed.
He half staggered, half fell into his sunken floor lounge and scrambled for a wooden panel. It slid across and he pressed a glowing red button. Steel shutters slammed together above his head forming a silver floor where there wasn’t one a second before. A whirring sound was closely followed by a whoosh of an escape hatch disappearing into the depths of the building.
It took a moment for Eva to realise what had happened.
“He left me. I can’t believe he left me.”
The spy grabbed her hand and wrenched her from her malaise. As they broke into a run he drew a pistol and fired at the window before them. It took four bullets before the floor to ceiling window shattered. The spy didn’t slow his pace. Eva did. Skidding to a halt, she realised the missiles were nearly on them.
He extended his hand. “Come with me if you want to live.”
In defiance of the situation, Eva said, “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Fragments of glass cracked underfoot. The wind buffeted them as they stood on the fifty-storey precipice.
Time had run out. With no time for debate they leapt out the building.
The missiles smashed through the windows on the other side of the building. In a deafening instant, reds and oranges assaulted her eyes as the terrifying roar, smoke and debris engulfed them. All air in her lungs was punched out only to be replaced by razorblades.
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 4