The Barista’s Guide to Espionage

by Dave Sinclair

  Her life never felt like her own, as if she were living someone else’s by mistake. Nancy had been the first to notice and called her on it. Nancy knew she and Horatio had run its course even before she had. Eva never felt completely her independent rebellious self.

  After the first year, slowly the dissociative fugue had cleared and Eva had begun to question her life and what she’d become. She had grown increasingly suspicious that Harry was too good to be true. That, combined with an increasing exclusion from his life had forced her hand. He’d had too many solo trips and had been away too long which had given Eva time to bring herself around without the silver-tongued Harry to talk her out of it. Fed up, one night she’d simply packed up and left Harry with a note.

  She was sure there were others like Decker who believed she’d been in it all along for Harry’s wealth. If that was the case, she’d be still with him. It was never about Harry’s fame and money but, in quiet reflective moments, Eva had asked herself similar questions. Would she have been so drawn to him if he wasn’t threatening world leaders?

  She always loved a rebellious soul, a man who gave a ‘screw you’ to authority. Harry was the manifestation of that taken to the extreme. The world’s biggest bad boy. If he’d just been Harry from Accounts, would she have been so enamoured with him? She didn’t know then, and she certainly didn’t know now.

  Eva wasn’t sure why Decker’s accusations hurt so much. Maybe she wasn’t in control of the room as much as she’d thought. Perhaps they were wearing her down.

  Decker jeered. “Admit it, Destruction. You were after his money all along, weren’t you?”

  Between clenched teeth, she stared him down. “You sound just like Van Buren.”

  “Maybe he had your number too.”

  “No, that’s not–”

  “Bullshit, it isn’t.”

  “What kind of interrogation is this, Decker? You haven’t asked me about–”

  “You’ve been stringing us along for an hour. Wasting our time, feeding us a cock-and-bull story. You’re trying to paint yourself as some kind of innocent fawn randomly thrust into events. A cross between Mother Teresa and Lara Croft. But I’m not buying it. And as for this hokum story you’re spinning. How are the London riot and a bunch of snow assassins even remotely connected? They’re just random events. It’s so obvious you’re padding.”

  Sure, she was taking her time telling the tale, but she wasn’t telling them anything that wasn’t relevant. It had given her enough time to unpick one handcuff and work on the other. This new aggressive stance only made her double her efforts. Was she going to run out of time before she could unpick the second set of cuffs?

  “They are more relevant than you know,” she implored. “They all tie together, I didn’t know at the time. But they’re–”

  “And it’s all masking one point, isn’t it, girly? You were after his fortune from day one, so you might as well admit it. When all is said and done, you’re just a whore like every other bitch. Lie down, spread your legs and count the money.”

  Eva saw red. She leapt up and pounded her fist on the desk. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, you ignorant fuck!”

  The reverberations echoed around the metallic room. It took a moment before everyone in the room realised what had just happened.

  Eva stared at her unshackled fist resting on the table, the handcuffs clanged on the floor. “Balls.”

  Decker and Cole recoiled, scrambling out of their seats. Cole thumped on the steel door and screamed for a guard. She really didn’t pose that much of a threat. One wrist was still firmly secured in place.

  Decker beamed.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  He’d deliberately provoked her and she’d fallen for it.

  “Guys…guys…”

  Cole pointed at her hands. “How the hell did you undo that?”

  “Uh, would you believe it fell off?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” Decker crossed his arms. Satisfaction seeped from every pore. “I thought you were too busy with your hands down there.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re both reasonably attractive gents…”

  Cole shook his head. “But how? I fastened them myself.”

  Decker showed no sign of losing the smug grin. “It seems Ms Destruction is a woman of infinite skill. Able to leap off tall buildings in a single bound, expertly wield a baseball bat in a riot, take down armed assassins and seduce the world’s foremost self-appointed saviour. I believe everyone has underestimated her, probably her whole life.”

  Under her breath, Eva said, “Not everyone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So, Ms Destruction,” Decker said reclining comfortably, sipping tea from a silver mug. “Tell us more about this spy.”

  “Who me?”

  “You’re a spy now, are you, Ms Destruction?”

  “Mainly I’m a barista. I do some spy work. Occasionally.”

  “I see. A barista spy. What are you going to do to an enemy, make a frappé at them?”

  “I’m only speaking technically here, a spy-ish. I had a crash course.”

  “Of course you did. Did you happen to get this qualification online by any chance? Spies R Us dot com? Did you get a certificate from the Spy University of Nigeria?”

  “I can’t help but think you’re taking the piss…”

  Eva bitterly regretted joking about the plastic ties earlier. About a dozen held her legs and arms in place on the cold metal chair. Her arms were fastened so tight she couldn’t scratch her nose. Her legs were spread and secured to each chair leg. The white ties dug into her skin, making it purple in patches. She wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Which was a shame. She really had to pee.

  She had to be more careful with Decker. She’d made the mistake of underestimating him. She wouldn’t do that again.

  “Look…”

  Decker interrupted. “Tell us about the spy. Not you, the real one.”

  “Why would I do that?” Eva tried to keep her voice as casual as possible. She certainly wasn’t feeling it. In fact, she was fighting to keep the bile in her stomach from making an impromptu appearance.

  “You seemed awfully chatty before. Don’t tell me you’ve clammed up simply because we’ve taken your toys away?” He took his time leering at her restricted bikini-clad form. “You look like a woman who would enjoy using toys.”

  Another ploy from Decker? In her current situation she was vulnerable and they all knew it. With her legs spread wide and hands tied, if they decided to move beyond idle threats, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. An abhorrent violent image jumped into her mind. Believing it to be a ploy didn’t make it less intimidating.

  She fought the dryness in her mouth. “Oh, toys are for little children.” It was a lie, Eva rather liked the adult kind. She hoped connecting them with children would create a negative connotation if he was remotely thinking of employing what he was implying. She was in a far more vulnerable position, in all kinds of ways, than minutes before.

  She tried to remind herself that these were United States naval personnel. There were rules. There were ramifications for stepping over the line. It didn’t alleviate Eva’s fear.

  Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “So we’re done with Horatio, are we?”

  “We’ll come back to him in time. But now I want you to tell me about the Secret Service operative.”

  Eva’s plan had been to break free, subdue the sailors, get off the ship and back to the man she’d left behind. Sure, the plan was a little sketchy in places but now it seemed like that ridiculously misguided stratagem was far less obtainable in her current situation.

  A chill spread across her body. It was all her fault. The explosion. The end of a dream. It was all on her shoulders. Worst of all, she’d left him behind. The guilt was all-encompassing. The final image of him alone fighting for his life was heart wrenching. She had to get back to him. She had to do whatever it took to make it right again
.

  Her first plan in tatters, she now believed her best bet was to confide in the naval men. They might be on the wrong side, they might not. Regardless she had to try.

  “Look, there’s someone trapped on that island. You need to send people ashore. If he’s still alive…”

  “We are aware.”

  “You…you know? Well why don’t you send–?”

  “It may surprise you, but deploying armed troops onto an island not a part of the sovereign United States may be frowned upon by certain parts of the world. Shocking, I know, but true.”

  If the US Navy wasn’t going to intervene she’d find another way. Eva needed something new. She needed to know more about the naval officers and where she was. She needed information. Only then could she create a new plan. A plan to go back and save him.

  For all she knew he was already dead. If there was even the remotest chance he’d survived she had to take the chance. She’d made her decision to leave him behind and come back later. As with all her life decisions, she had to assume it was a bad one. But if he was still alive she would do whatever it took, no matter how vile or disturbing, to get back to him. She owed him that much. She owed him everything.

  “I’ll tell you about the spy if you tell me about this boat and why I’m being held. I’m not the bad guy here, fellas. You picked me up fleeing an exploding island. Hardly up there with Charles Manson or Nickelback now is it?”

  “I like Nickelback,” Cole said before covering his mouth.

  “Ms Destruction,” Decker said, ignoring his offsider. “I think it’s far too late in the game to be playing Little Miss Innocent. We all know how ridiculous that is.”

  “You want to know about the spy? Fine I’ll tell you, but you’re going to have to pony up some information too.”

  Decker scoffed. “You’re in no position to barter.”

  “You’re obviously asking me these questions for your higher ups. Hell, you’re still here after the handcuff stunt. The fact that you’re not interested in the island either tells me they already know or don’t care. Someone, somewhere is very keen on this information. If you want to be good lapdogs and keep giving them what I’m telling you, then we need to have a bit more of a balanced rapport. You don’t want me to clam up, now do you?”

  “What do you propose?” Decker asked leaning back and folding his arms.

  “Here’s what I want to know. What sort of ship this is? Why are you two interrogating me? No, actually, I’ll add one more. Why are you so hell-bent on finding out about Horatio Lancing and a spy right after an island exploded and the UN went into meltdown? I would have thought that would have been right at the top of your list.”

  Decker interlaced his fingers and rested them under his chin. “We may be able to share some of that with you. But first, the spy. You met him at the London Eye, then at Lancing’s apartment. I assume you saw him again after that?”

  “Yes,” Eva said firmly. “I saw a lot more of him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  ONE MONTH BEFORE THE ISLAND

  Eva stared at a tourist boat as it floated leisurely down the Thames. If anyone could see her through the window, which she seriously doubted given where she was, they’d assume she was an office worker in her sleek pinstripe suit. It had been hanging up when she’d stepped out of the shower. The shoes were her own, she had to assume they couldn’t find her size, but they matched the suit. Or was it the other way around?

  They’d promptly patched her up soon after she’d arrived at SIS headquarters. She’d made the mistake of calling it MI6 headquarters but was quickly and roundly rebuffed. The title MI6 didn’t actually mean anything officially. It was only ever used as a flag for the organisation, what the public know SIS as, but far from the endorsed title. Having said that, most people she’d encountered used the title MI6.

  An officious and silent doctor had seen to her numerous lacerations and administered a couple of stitches from their harrowing escape from the missile attack and subsequent stranding on the side of Lancing Tower. She hadn’t asked where they’d sourced her outfit. Apparently there was someone at headquarters who had a spare business suit her size. At least she hoped it was a spare.

  “You look positively radiant,” Bishop said as he strolled into the mahogany-lined boardroom. He appeared unaffected by their ordeal. He’d showered and shaved and was dressed in black trousers and a black polo. His gun holster clung snugly to his muscular frame. She assumed this was standard spy attire.

  Bishop stopped and squinted at her. Suspiciously, he asked, “What?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how you’re going to turn that into a sexual innuendo.”

  He opened his mouth in mock offence. “Is that how low your opinion is of me? That every sentence I utter is for the purposes of luring a woman into my bed? I’ll have you know I am a professional operative of His Majesty’s Secret Service. I have multiple degrees, speak five languages and have highly-refined skills. Not every sentence I utter has sexual connotations. I would hope you’d think I was more erudite than that.”

  Maybe she really had offended him. “Sorry. Just on past form you seem to turn every conversation into a Benny Hill sketch. I apologise for calling you a walking innuendo.”

  “Thank you, Eva. Why do you make it so hard? I wish you’d open up for me. It would be so pleasurable for us both.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There you go.”

  He gave her a wink. He really was incorrigible. How did he do it? If anyone else had spouted that type of misogynistic crap out their mouth she would have slapped it. But with Bishop, he delivered it in such a way that was half serious, half come-on. As if he knew he was a parody of himself.

  “How did you go with the USB doohickey thingumabob?”

  Bishop held up his hands. “Hey, settle down with the technical jargon there.”

  “I don’t do technology. Did you get what you needed from Harry’s computer before it, you know, exploded?”

  “Our boffins did their job marvellously. All the data was retrieved, as far as we can tell. We’ve identified many of the hackers, arrested a few, with others on the run. The operation was, as you Aussies say, as tight as a platypus’ behind.”

  “Nobody says that.”

  The boardroom doors swung open and a middle-aged man marched in. His features unmemorable. The perfect spy face. A completely grey man. He clutched a thick folder and had the demeanour of a man who took no pleasure in his job.

  Normally Eva had no trouble reading people. Even after watching anyone briefly she could tell much from how they moved, their personal ticks and gestures. This man was unreadable. A blank page.

  The grey man sat on the opposite side of the huge table without acknowledging her or the spy. Eventually he glanced up and motioned them to sit.

  Bishop nudged Eva. “It’s about time we got debriefed.”

  “Stop it.”

  For the next hour and a half they were subjected to incessant questioning. Eva believed the grey man was merely going through the motions. Not once did he seem surprised or pause in his relentless enquiries. He either knew all the answers or was completely unreadable.

  When he had pointedly asked about Harry, Eva’s blood boiled. He wanted to know how she felt about him? She was pissed off! Her former lover had been spying on her, apparently tracking her every move, sending armed guards into her bedroom, oh, and there was the minor issue of leaving her for dead. Not figuratively. Literally leaving her to die with a missile up her twat. She was beyond incensed.

  She didn’t give a crap about the betrayal in Harry’s eyes when he realised she’d let Bishop into his penthouse. That was nothing compared to the horror of him disappearing into the floor. How could a man who purported to love her be so ruthless?

  The burn carried her through the questioning, through the moments where it became personal, too personal, especially in light of Eva’s painful memories. As much as Harry was a threat to national security and even though she was s
till pissed at him, she hated the fact that deep within her soul there was a tiny flicker of affection. She crushed it as low as she could but even after the mind comes to a conclusion, the heart can sometimes lag behind.

  It was Bishop who eventually called for a pause in the questions to pour her a glass of water. He took his sweet time and there was a crack in the interviewer’s marble façade. He was annoyed with Bishop. She wondered if it was the momentary distraction or an ongoing frustration. She suspected the latter. Perhaps Bishop had that effect on everyone. Regardless, she was thankful for the opportunity to gather her thoughts.

  After a few more questions the grey man closed the folder and advised they were done. Eva wasn’t.

  “So where’s Harry now?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Horatio. Where is he?”

  “He is no longer on English soil.”

  “I’m amazed. After all the hospitality you supplied, trying to give him a missile enema and all.”

  “I’m amazed you can be so flippant,” the grey man advised. “We sent a SAS mobility troop to intercept him at the airport. They’re all dead. Twelve men whose family and friends will never see them again. I suggest you jettison any romantic meditations you may still possess. Frankly, your ex-boyfriend is now the most wanted man on the planet. Horatio Lancing has been considered a dangerous man for quite some time. Now he’s dangerous and desperate. The situation is infinitely worse.”

  She could see how they viewed her ex as the biggest threat to global security. But for Eva, it was far more personal than that. She wanted answers. She wanted to see his face to prove she could survive without him, even in spite of him. Eva wanted revenge. But most of all she wanted to prove to herself she and Harry were done.

  “Where was he headed?”

  “We are unsure at this time.”

  “So, you’ve got nothing?”

  “We have some leads. Some possibilities.”