The Barista’s Guide to Espionage

by Dave Sinclair

  “First partner then.”

  “I’m not a decoration either”

  “But it would be more than a mere token position. How would you like to be the chief advisor for women’s issues? You could guide key policies for education, domestic violence, anything you liked. You could affect real change.”

  It took a moment for it to sink in. Did he just offer Eva Destruction, a lowly barista from Melbourne, the role of guiding governmental policy? For all of Europe?

  By the balls of Bill Murray…

  “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly.” Harry slid around the booth until his thigh rested on hers. He ran his hand along her cheek, his fingers through her hair. She asked for another port. She’d need it.

  Her query went unanswered. His warm breath caressed her ear. She turned to see his gorgeous face. She recognised the look in his eyes. The hungry look.

  The performance she was putting on dictated she should react, respond lovingly to his advances. Yes, the performance. So many confusing thoughts coalesced in her brain at once.

  “I missed you.” He kissed her neck. “My whole body has missed you.” He kissed her nape, then around to just below the ear. Her toes curled in ecstasy. God damn it. He knew all her buttons. All her triggers. She forgot about the port.

  Eva had lost her place in the script.

  The sand squelched pleasantly between her toes. Eva held her shoes in one hand and held the hem of her dress in the other. She took in the crystal clear stars. With the moon the only source of light every star in the sky could be seen. It was awe-inspiring. The waves crashed against the shore, soothing her mood.

  Finally alone she realised how utterly confused she was. She hoped it was the booze. Was Harry a good man using bad methods to achieve good results? Was he an insane Machiavellian tyrant? Was he simply a good kisser?

  She gazed along the uninhabited stretch of beach on the island. Eva’s Island. She shook her head. What had she done to deserve a whole island? Or castle. Or, for that matter, Europe.

  She remembered the night he’d given her the castle. They had been high on the hills of the Rhone Valley on the balcony of a beautiful old villa. She hadn’t been able to fault the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, it had a kick like Touché Turtle. The night was clear and crisp, but not cold. The torchlight was more for effect. The two of them had sat alone overlooking vineyards below. Harry had made a big show of the reveal. He’d clicked his fingers and the lights of the castle were illuminated.

  At first she thought it was a joke. A million-dollar joke. It was actually more like twenty-million Euro non-joke. A castle of her very own. It had all the modern appointments, old world charm, spa, sauna, and helipad. You know, the basics. It was dazzling, amazing, but ultimately hollow.

  She’d realised it for what it really was. The desperate act of a man who knew the truth but refused to admit it. Their relationship had stalled, stagnated. They didn’t have a future. He knew it, she knew it. The castle didn’t fix it.

  He’d excluded her too much. Kept her at arm’s length too long. She’d been wavering. The frustrating thing was, she’d cherished every moment she’d spent with him, but they had become too infrequent. She wanted more time from a man that had none to give.

  Eva realised she’d become someone she didn’t recognise. She dressed differently. Long gone were the jeans and t-shirts. She wore refined clothes during the day as they often had private tours of museums or lunches with powerful figures. Dinner attire was generally graceful silky dresses to please him.

  As she walked along the beach she glanced at her dress. She’d fallen for it. Again.

  The night’s drink was starting to wear off and the brisk tropical night brought everything into sharp focus. Harry’s plans were too extreme, too destructive. Her former lover was a megalomaniac. Harry was a supervillain.

  She also shouldn’t have slept with him.

  There had been opportunities during the night where she could have resisted. She really could have. There were so many excuses she could have given. ‘It’s too soon’. ‘I’m not ready’. ‘We need to reconnect properly’. Something. Anything.

  Mad at herself for her stupidity, she tried to convince herself that sex with Harry was part of the role, a facet of her mission. Deep within her core she knew it wasn’t true. She’d joined him willingly.

  Sure, five screaming orgasms had cleared her mind, but with that clarity came a realisation Eva wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

  To escape, she’d told Harry she couldn’t sleep because of the time zones. By the time she’d reached the door of his bedroom he was asleep. As she strode along the beach the regret weighed down on her shoulders burying each step further into the sand.

  Regret and sex hadn’t mingled together in Eva’s mind since the age of sixteen, and yet, there she was. She was in unfamiliar territory in every sense.

  She glanced back at the main house and gave it the finger. Though it wasn’t really a main house at all. It was the evil lair of a supervillain.

  Why had he invited her there? Really. Was it to make him feel better? To be an ornament, a trinket? Was she there to be at his beck and call? She didn’t have any particular skill, well, not one that would be useful to his plans.

  The thought was so sudden she actually gasped. It seemed like the entire island had fallen silent, so complete was the revelation.

  Fucking hell, I’m a Bond girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eva was sure the entire island could hear her breathing. She tried to stop, but it was a habit she found hard to break. Like biting her nails or falling for bad boys.

  The sweat dripped off her, unfortunately not all of it. A bead managed to find its way down her back and between her butt cheeks. The startled shriek wasn’t in keeping with her stealthy endeavour. She wiped her brow and hoped no one had heard her. It has to be here.

  It had taken her the better part of the morning to wander about the main house and figure it out. Harry advised he’d be in phone interviews all day, decrying his innocence while pushing his political barrow. Not knowing the location of Van Buren had caused most of the sweat.

  It had taken far longer to find than she’d anticipated simply because of the sheer size of the mansion. Or evil lair. Eva had compared all room sizes and doorways, searching for inconsistencies. She was searching for hidden rooms.

  For someone who had founded their fortune on technology there seemed to be a distinct lack of it on the island. Harry had a few tablets – all password protected, she’d tried. She’d gone in search of more. In her mind there would be a temperature-controlled room of maybe four or five servers.

  Harry had claimed there was no other technology room on the island. She didn’t believe him for a second. Even a computer-averse entity like her knew there was no way a tech genius would not have a dedicated server room of some description. If there was a server room, there would be a computer. If there was a computer, there would be a chance she could get a message to MI6. Without it she’d be stuck on the island forever.

  The revelation she’d had on the beach as to what Harry perceived her role on the island to be had jolted her into action. She was no Bond girl. She was a feminist firebrand. She was a self-sufficient independent woman who defended her beliefs and was confident in her views. She’d travelled the world alone, forged her own path, built her own business, and taken no shit along the way. Eva wasn’t someone’s ornament.

  Unfortunately, she also wasn’t a technological wizard. She didn’t know anything about computers. She had to admit, a self-confessed technophobe hacking into what was most likely to be the most protected computer on the planet was going to be problematic.

  Harry claimed to only have hackers on his team to accumulate the data on politicians but she suspected he’d at least need some local storage. She’d read enough tabloids to know information and nudie photos were always being leaked from ‘the cloud’ so she was sure Harry wouldn’t risk storing it exclusively there.
And according to a book she’d read about Julian Assange, the physical servers, whichever country they were located in, would be liable under the laws of the hosting government. And there weren’t many governments sympathetic to Harry’s cause. So there had to be a server room here somewhere.

  All she had to do was find it.

  After two hours of searching, she’d done just that. Following the mental map she’d made in her mind, she’d determined there was something between the library, kitchen and master bathroom.

  In the bathroom she’d spent a good half hour pressing every tile and pulling every tap, soap holder and switch – nothing. Next she’d tried the library. As Harry had warned, it was sparse. Much to her disappointment, Eva had tilted every book but the bookshelf steadfastly refused to spin around to reveal a hidden room. Did he have no respect for clichés?

  Eva paced out the rough length in the kitchen, well the secondary kitchen. There was the main kitchen for the staff, where all the meals were prepared. Chen had shown her around the night before. The staff could prepare a fifteen-course banquet in there. She was looking in the kitchen you went to when you couldn’t be bothered walking the distance to the other kitchen. Billionaires.

  She’d determined the secret room had to be in the pantry. If the entrance was there, it would make the most sense. Wandering into the kitchen for a snack was a perfect cover. Also, she was peckish.

  For ten minutes she lifted cans of beans and packets of macaroni and cheese. Nothing. In retrospect, it would be dangerous to be so obvious. You wouldn’t want a guest stumbling onto a hidden room because they felt like baked beans on toast.

  Just when she was about to put the whole thing down to a quirk of architecture she spotted a metal support piece. It stood out as all the others were wooden. She ran her hand along its length until her finger came to the bottom end, nearest the wall. The metal slightly gave way when pressure was applied. Eva pushed it in. There was a faint click followed by a whir. The entire wall swung open.

  The victory dance was brief, but expressive.

  Instead of a bank of computers flashing at her, she was confronted with a downward sloping corridor. This was no server room. It was a secret passage. Fluorescent lights flickered on. The first twenty or so metres of the wide corridor were drywall but as it descended it cut into the bedrock of the island.

  Having come this far, she had no choice but to see where it lead. The passageway descended into darkness. There was no way of telling what was at the other end. It was silent except for a distant whooshing sound. To Eva, every footfall sounded like a bass drum. If anyone was coming the other way she’d be discovered in an instant. There was nowhere to hide.

  In contrast to the chilly atmosphere, she was sweating bullets. There was no way to explain away her presence. There would be no, ‘I took a wrong turn’ excuses. If she was discovered it would be all over. Van Buren would come in his pants at the prospect.

  The further she descended, the louder the whooshing noise. It wasn’t the sea. So what was it?

  Again she was struck by the thought that the island wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. Not only would the mansion have taken significant planning and effort to execute, so would whatever this passage led to. Harry had planned this for years, possibly decades. What was he up to?

  Did she even know Harry? She thought she had once, but was that the delusion of a love-struck fool?

  Thoughts of foolishness brought her thoughts back to the night before and sleeping with her ex-lover. It had been far too easy. So natural. So effortless.

  Eva could fool herself that she was playing a role and had done what she needed to do for her mission. But no matter how she examined it, she’d gone to Harry’s bed willingly. Wantonly.

  What did that make her?

  It had been naïve for her to think she could keep Harry at arm’s length on the island. There was no way she could stay in his orbit and not come crashing down to Earth. His pull too great, her strength around him far too weak. There it was, weakness. How did Harry get to her so easily? How did he negate everything she held dear? What did you do when the man you thought you loved cancelled everything that made you unique?

  Eventually the passage flattened out, came to a bend and narrowed. Muscles tensed, her senses heightened. Another loud whoosh stopped her dead in her tracks. Silence fell again and curiosity propelled her forward.

  Stepping through a slender doorway at the end of the passage, Eva’s mouth hung open. This was no server room.

  The completely circular tunnel was dimly lit, but there was no mistaking what it was. The single rail line gave that away. She was standing on some kind of monorail platform.

  A small blue sign stated; ETT Station – Main House Entrance B. Looking at the monorail, she guessed that ETT signified Evacuated Tube Transport. She assumed it was some kind of superconducting maglev train. A form of transport she’d read about in some speculative article. It may well have denoted Elephant Training Terminal for all she knew.

  Why the hell would Harry need a train? On a damn island? He’d claimed the island was a simple affair, a smattering of residences and not much else. The main house was large, but certainly not big enough to justify a technologically advanced railway. So what was it for?

  On the wall next to her, a small computer screen flickered on. A small blinking message appeared onscreen. One minute.

  One minute to what? A train? Armed guards to capture her? The launch of intercontinental ballistic missiles? Eva’s mind reeled. Everything made as much sense as Japanese Ikea instructions.

  The whooshing sound increased in volume. Should she run? Would she make it back to the kitchen before being discovered? Should she stay and find out what the hell the island really was?

  She stayed.

  Light shone around the corner. A quiet train carriage hurtled towards her. It was egg-shaped, glass and apparently unmanned. It slid noiselessly in front of her. With a small hiss automatic doors glided open. The carriage was empty. Having come this far, Eva stepped in.

  There was an electronic panel with four buttons.

  Main House Entrance A.

  Main House Entrance B.

  Warehouse Entrance A.

  Warehouse Entrance B.

  How big was this operation? The main house had two stations? It was big enough, maybe. It made theoretical sense. If there was another entrance Eva had missed, but it would be logical to have another. If one entrance was blocked, by an innocent guest or hostile force, you’d want another option. But what the hell was the warehouse and how big was it to justify two train stations?

  For no reason, she pressed the Warehouse Entrance A button. The doors hissed closed. The jerk of acceleration made her stumble. She only retained balance by holding onto a strap hanging from the ceiling. This thing was fast.

  Expecting a short trip, she was surprised when the train showed no signs of stopping. In fact, the tilt of the carriage seemed as if it was going deeper. The longer it went on, the more confused Eva became. It didn’t make sense. The carriage was travelling at speed and should have come to a stop relatively quickly. The island wasn’t that big.

  After what seemed like minutes the automatic train slowed and ascended. For all she knew it would end in a room full of Van Buren’s security guards and she would be done for. She clenched her fists and crouched.

  The train came to a station, slowed to a halt and the doors slid open. There was no reception committee waiting for her. There was not much of anything. It looked exactly like the station she’d just left. Plain walls, a small computer display, a doorway and nothing else.

  She’d come this far. Eva stepped off and headed towards the exit. The air was freezing. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. Choosing not to wait before doubt enveloped her, she stepped through the threshold.

  What was on the other side made her reel backwards.

  It was, in every sense, awe-inspiring.

  Before her was a cavernous space, easily the size of a football
field housing hundreds of banks of computers. It appeared forged from a natural cave. Overhead were a series of pipes that criss-crossed the entire roof, most likely sprinklers. If she had to guess, there would be tens of thousands of servers. Each blinking and doing computer things.

  No wonder she was freezing, the amount of computer power would need a ridiculous amount of air-conditioning. That’s why Harry needed unlimited thermal power.

  Again, it didn’t add up. Harry had always claimed the information used to manipulate politicians came from hackers. If that was the case, why would he need all this? Harry wouldn’t require that much computing power to blackmail a few politicians, surely?

  Eva had walked the island several times, she couldn’t place where this warehouse was located. Then it twigged. It wasn’t the island at all. At least, not the one she’d been on. This was the other island. That was why the train trip had taken so long.

  She remembered the exact words Harry had used when she’d asked about it, ‘I haven’t been over there, to be honest’.

  Another lie. What was he up to?

  Eva stared at the banks of servers. Each rack had many blinking servers, but no monitors. There were no labels to signify, even remotely, what they did. She stared like a primate before a great black monolith.

  She slunk towards the only desk she could see. One computer monitor sat alone on the table. There was no keyboard or mouse. She placed her hand on the table in frustration and the glow of a fluorescent keyboard appeared magically on its surface. Eva pressed a few random keys followed by enter and the monitor flashed Access Denied on the screen.

  Well, it was never going to be that easy. She tried a few random words. Eva. Nice Bum. No success. She stared dejectedly at the screen.

  The sound of voices pierced her malaise. There was nowhere for her to run. The entrance to the station was too far, the voices too close.

  She dove under the table.

  The voices grew louder and she could make out three distinct men. Only one she recognised and it wasn’t a welcome recognition.