Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. She was being paranoid. Even more than usual. No, she had to keep going with her plan. Keep them occupied, ensure they stayed in the room and talking until she could find a way to escape and get back to the island. To him.
She scrunched her toes and caressed the bobby pin clasped underneath.
“You asked how I thought it was going to end?” she asked, interrupting the scowling match between Cole and Decker. “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. As far as I was concerned at that stage, nothing had started. And no, the date wasn’t a picnic. It was a little more exciting than that.”
Cole and Decker stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She had their rapt attention again.
“Well for one thing, a girl might expect flowers on a first date, perhaps chocolates if he’s particularly clueless. Most girls don’t expect spies, kidnapping and a gunfight.”
Chapter Eleven
This seriously can’t be the address, Eva thought to herself.
Checking her phone again, she confirmed that yes, this was the venue of her date with Harry, damn it, Horatio. She still hadn’t become accustomed to his other name yet. Riverside Building, Westminster Bridge Road. It didn’t make a lot of sense to Eva. She assumed that Horatio would shy away from crowds, not run head first into one.
As she watched the capsules of the London Eye slowly rotate in the grey London sky, she assumed Horatio had a reason. He seemed to be someone who always had reasons.
Eva shivered against the cold. She’d only worn a woollen jumper and an icy wind had picked up. She had several perfectly serviceable coats, but they didn’t enhance her curves like the jumper did. There she went again. Discarding her usual set of principles and good sense for Horatio Lancing.
The previous evening they had agreed a car would pick Eva up and they’d go on their first official date. This morning she’d received a text message from Horatio saying there had been a change of plans. Standing at the exact pillar in the message, she was beginning to regret the whole thing. She should be promising herself that she’d swear off bad boys rather than agreeing to date a man who gave the up yours to every nation on Earth. She honestly couldn’t see a future for them.
Then again, by Merlin’s pants, that man could kiss.
A cough distracted Eva from her pleasant thoughts. An impeccably dressed man with a severe haircut was politely attempting to get her attention. He wore a tight-fitting suit that did little to conceal a post-Hulk-out body beneath. He was huge. Like a gorilla wearing a Saville Row suit. A gorilla who worked out. A lot. He beamed a used car salesman smile and motioned her towards the crowds waiting to board The Eye.
The man mountain walked with her silently, half shoving her past the roped off hordes of tourists to a red carpeted area before an open capsule. There were minor grumblings from parts of the crowd when Eva was ushered forward. They were quickly silenced by an icy glare from her gorilla-in-a-suit friend. He pointed at the capsule, pivoted and promptly left.
Eva called after him. “Thanks. Been a pleasure. Catch you at book club.”
About to step in and ask why Horatio had sent hired muscle to fetch her and not himself, Eva stopped dead. She couldn’t ask Horatio. Because he wasn’t the one sitting cross-legged in the capsule. It was someone else entirely.
The man greeted her casually as if they were meeting at a garden party. The man before her was clearly tall despite being seated. Neatly trimmed blond hair, muscular wide shoulders in an expensive exceptionally well-fitted suit and vest. His smile shone brighter than the dull day outside. His deep blue eyes sparkled with mischief. He was clearly pleased he’d caught her off-guard.
“Champagne?” he asked spinning a bottle in the ice bucket beside him on the bench.
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“Terribly sorry. Is it too early for champagne?”
British. On the posh side.
Eva folded her arms. “It’s more a vodka time of day.”
“Isn’t it always?”
“Where’s Horatio?”
“Who can say with certainty?”
“He didn’t send you?”
“He did not.”
“Then how did I get here?”
“I’ll reveal everything if you come inside.”
“My mum taught me to never fall for a line like that.”
“She sounds like a wonderfully wise woman. No, I was wondering if you could join me to discuss Mr Lancing.”
“And why would I do that?”
“My boyish good looks?”
“Nope. Try again.”
“National Security.”
“Zero for two. On three I walk.”
He shifted in his seat. His demeanour told her this wasn’t going as well as he’d anticipated. There was something in his manner that told Eva that didn’t happen often. Tough.
“Alright, Ms Destruction. I shall be blunt. I work for His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service and I’ve been asked to speak to you on an issue of the utmost importance.”
“You’re a…see, I thought one of the fundamentals of the spy game was to not to let people know you’re actually, you know, a spy. When people ask you, you should say something like, ‘I’m in importing and exporting’, or ‘I work for the embassy’, or ‘Hey, look over there – flash bomb!’ I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to come out and say you’re a spy unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It’s absolutely necessary.”
“I see.”
“Officially, I’m not here but, Ms Destruction, I wouldn’t be speaking to you if this were not of the most critical importance. I’m asking for a few minutes of your time, after that you may do whatever you like, no ties. Talk, that’s all. All I ask is fifteen minutes to hear me out.”
“It takes half an hour for this thing to go around.”
“For the last fifteen minutes you can sit beside me and we’ll see what pops up.”
“Jesus, I haven’t heard a line like that since I was sixteen. Over-confident much?”
He outstretched his hand, his face serious. “Ms Destruction, please, I wouldn’t ask if it was not of the–”
“Utmost importance, yes I got that the first time.”
It was the eyes that did it. He wasn’t lying. His initial cavalier attitude didn’t hide the fact that he was telling the truth. Or at least, he believed what he was saying.
Eva was good at reading people. Even this Secret Service agent. He had his own secrets. The accent was Cambridge…only not. There was something distinctly working class in some of his inflection. Yorkshire probably. She scrutinised his hands. Smoother than her thighs. Probably one generation away from working class. He worked hard to conceal it, but it was there, bubbling away below the surface. The man was polished, but only to a point.
The self-confessed spy looked behind her at the crowd. “People are becoming agitated Ms Destruction. I must insist you come inside so we can continue our delightful discourse.”
“Well, you insisting is a guaranteed way for me to tell you to go to hell.”
“Can I politely request, then? Like I said, no obligation, just hear what I have to say and we can part with a hearty handshake and be done with it. I would ask if it weren’t imperative.”
Eva stared at her feet. They were firmly planted on the ground. The capsule a simple step away but in another world. She took a gulp of air and not entirely knowing why, took the step.
The door slid quietly shut behind her and she instantly regretted her decision. She was angry at herself for behaving recklessly again. Like a fire juggler with dynamite-filled pants, she was expecting bad things.
In contrast, his grin was incandescent. He motioned around the capsule. “Fit for a princess.”
Eva’s hackles weren’t just up, they’d been stuffed in a rocket ship and launched into orbit. Her jaw clenched. It took all her concentration to prize them apart. “Excuse the fuck me?”
He went pa
le. The Secret Service agent realised he’d messed up. Far worse than before. Although, if he really knew what was going on he would have asked them to open the doors.
“Princess? Princess?” Eva raised her voice. “Is that what you think women want? To be put up on a pedestal and treated like an eight-year-old who’s seen far too many Disney movies? Jesus, how about being treated as an equal?”
The spy’s eyes darted from the door to her and back again. There was a clunk and the capsule slowly rose. No escape. “I didn’t mean that you–”
“Sure, it was a slip of the tongue, a turn of phrase or some such bullshit, right? Well, I’m sorry that doesn’t cut it. Everything we say has weight. Everything. Casual sexism is still sexism any way you slice it. I’m going to tell you I won’t put up with that shit. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”
The man who may have faced off against armed terrorists for all Eva knew, simply stared at her. His ashen face told her people didn’t talk to him like that. Well, screw them. Eva wasn’t other people.
Arms folded, she stood across from the spy and raised a challenging eyebrow. She wasn’t sitting until she received an answer. The quality of the answer would dictate which way the conversation, or lack thereof, would go for the next half hour. She could let him off the hook with a laugh or change the subject. Only letting anyone off the hook wasn’t exactly in Eva’s repertoire.
“What I mean, what I meant to say was, that, look, what I mean, what I meant to say, ah…”
“I think the record’s stuck.”
“Nobody listens to records any more.”
“Tell me exactly how that’s helping you right now?”
“Point taken.” He centred himself and the transformation was astonishing. “Firstly, let me apologise for my insensitive offhand remark. It was crude, offensive and thoughtless.”
So far, so good, Eva thought to herself. Perhaps he was redeemable.
“I see what’s going on, and it’s fine.” He touched her crossed forearms. “Your reaction is understandable. You obviously noticed it the moment we locked eyes, there’s a chemistry here, and it’s confusing. There’s no need to lash out disproportionately, we’re both consenting adults, we can converse respectfully despite the simmering attraction.”
Eva was too shocked to respond. He grinned and touched her knee. Jesus, he was using the physical escalation technique. Maintaining the occasional non-sexual contact so when he went in for the kiss it would seem natural.
Ladies, we have a player. Eva shook her head in disbelief. He honestly thinks he’s in with a chance. She only had herself to blame. She did have a pulse after all. Hussy! Whether he was doing the mild seduction technique to sway her to his agenda or go in for the snog, Eva was having none of it.
There was no immediate response. She tossed up between stony silence or hurling him out the window to watch him scream to his eventual and painful death. In the end she chose neither. She wanted to know why the Secret Service agent wished to speak to her about Harry. Unfortunately in this instance curiosity trumped sexual harassment revenge.
Eva flopped onto the seat opposite, as far away from him as possible. “This thing better have a fucking bar.”
“Ms Destruction, it’s the London Eye, not a pub with unlimited choice.”
“I’m failing to see your point.” Eva grabbed the bottle and took a swig. The spy did little to hide his surprise. She tossed the half-empty bottle in the ice bucket. “Horatio messaged me to change the time to an hour earlier and changed the venue, why?”
“Well, he didn’t actually, that was me.”
“But it was Horatio’s number.”
“Well, no, it was made to appear as if it were from Mr Lancing, but I can assure you it was indeed from me. We could have made it look as though it came from the King if we wanted.”
“Except I don’t have the King as a contact.”
“Indeed. Horatio Lancing will still be waiting for you at the designated time and place later this morning. You can hang your hat on us not getting you in hot water.”
“I see you know which side of the fence your mixed metaphor is buttered on.” Eva glanced out at the slowly descending London skyline. “Why SIS?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said SIS, so MI6. You’re on British soil, shouldn’t this be an MI5 thing?”
“Let’s just say it was a personal request to have me intervene. I’m here as a favour to an old friend. A close friend.” He paused on the last sentence. “It’s not necessarily signed off by the higher ups.”
Right, thought Eva. That probably explained the almost aloofness of the spy. He was here on business, just not official business. So he probably thought that meant he could pull out all the misogynistic stops. Lucky me.
“Who made that request, this old friend of yours?” Eva planted her hands on her hips. “And don’t say it’s classified.”
“It’s a secret.”
“Who else knows this secret?”
“It’s classified.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You mispronounced adorable.” The spy tapped his foot. While the veneer of calm remained the same, it was clear he was losing patience. Bad luck.
“What’s all this about, Spy Boy?” She didn’t ask his name. She assumed whatever he said would surely be a lie. As for whatever else he had to say, she’d judge that as it came.
“As you know, Mr Lancing has accumulated and continues to accumulate vast amounts of information illegally from several governments and this has quite rightly generated an excessive amount of consternation. To date, as far as we know, he has not made this information public, but he appears to have coerced, some would say blackmailed, several key members of several governments to cave to his will.”
“Like ensuring water’s kept out of private hands in Africa and agreeing to set up free schools for women in the developing world? What a bastard.”
“Regardless of the spin his marketing team have managed to put on his current outward intent, there is a very real possibility that he may put this information to far more nefarious uses. We do not know what his intentions are, and that makes an awful lot of people tetchy. All we ask is that if you hear anything that is, shall we say, on the less altruistic side of the ledger, you contact me. I will be available to you whenever you need.”
“So, basically, you want me to spy. For you.”
“Spy? Of course not. Nothing of the sort. Merely advise us of a few things about Mr Lancing, his movements, any information that would concern His Majesty’s government here and there.”
“That sounds kind of like spying there, Dude.”
Eva remembered Horatio asking Paul about spies the night before. Was it already on his mind? If he was worried, should she be too?
She let out a frustrated sigh. The spy tilted his head. “You want me to get you off, Ms Destruction?”
“Wow, you’re just one big walking innuendo, aren’t you?”
His grin was luminous. Eva shook her head. Under different circumstances she might find his remarks playful rather than annoying. But these weren’t different circumstances. The spy possessed the charisma of Cary Grant but the subtlety of a kick to the balls.
As the capsule slowly crawled above the rooftops, the two of them fell mute. Eva had no intention of spying on Horatio or anyone else for that matter. It had been a mistake to agree to talk to this man. It was as though she was genetically programmed to make poor decisions. She had a lifetime of them and the trend didn’t seem to be reversing.
Breaking the silence, he said, “Can I ask a question? I’m not trying to be discourteous, but is calling you a princess really so bad?”
“It automatically makes a woman subservient to a man.” Eva paused and glared at the spy. “And that’s a bad thing.”
“Oh, right.”
He really did seem like a cretin. She sighed. “You see, calling a woman a princess is another way to put a woman in her place. Like automatically callin
g a strong woman a bitch. Well, we don’t need to be put anywhere, thank you very much. For a certain type of man,” she nodded in his general direction, “there’s nothing more intimidating than a woman who doesn’t require male validation.”
He nodded in understanding like a two-year-old would after someone had explained thermodynamics. In an obvious attempt to change the subject, he asked, “Eva Destruction,” as if rolling it about his tongue, “I assume there’s a story behind your moniker?”
“Oh yes.”
“And?”
“I’m sure a man of your profession knows everyone must have some secrets.”
The girl-slayer grin returned. He nodded in acquiescence.
The capsule ground to a halt. Below them passengers exited. Eventually the next set of tourists boarded. The capsule shunted and continued its meandering slouch skyward.
“You didn’t give me an answer about Mr Lancing.”
Each time the capsule crept forward meant it was that much closer to Eva’s release from captivity.
“I noticed that, too. What’s your rush?”
“Excuse me. Urgency dictates I dispense with any Victorian hypocrisy.”
“You form a sentence like that but can’t grasp the fundamentals of a metaphor?”
“And what do you like to take a grip of, Ms Destruction?”
“A great many things. Like when someone jumps ahead in the conversation without putting in the hard work first.”
The Secret Service agent eyed her up and down slowly. To use a metaphor, he viewed her like he was a man who had wandered out of the desert and she was a glass of icy water. Also, she was thirsty.
“Believe me,” he said with a slanted grin. “I’m willing to put in many hours of hard, hard work for you.”
“There you go again. Settle down, Tiger. How did you know about Horatio and me so quickly? I didn’t even know until last night.”
“I am almost certain I mentioned the spy thing, didn’t I?”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Sadly no. Mr Lancing has been on our radar for some time. Although it wasn’t until a few days ago we had confirmation of exactly who and where he was.”
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 12