“I don’t follow.”
“We wouldn’t have known anything about it, but the CIA became interested when satellites detected a statue erected in the town square of a little Chinese town. Not Chairman Mao, but Lancing. They sent in a local agent to do some digging and found the locals were being flown in and out of some isolated island in the Pacific, but no one knew where.”
“Until I clicked on that pen.”
“Exactly.”
“His own statue? He’d love that,” Eva said bitterly. “So is the British Navy awaiting your orders?”
“We haven’t had much of a presence in the Pacific since World War Two. No, I was dropped in a few miles off shore. We’ve no support.”
“You didn’t think to bring a gun maybe?”
“You saw the reception. Any equipment would have been confiscated immediately. I parachuted into the ocean, took a leisurely scuba scooter, then a nice little swim. A one way endeavour, I’m afraid. So from here on in we’ll have to rely on my ingenuity and dashing good looks.”
“Our ingenuity.”
“That’s what I said.”
They reached the end of the passage and the entrance to the underground train station. After tentatively checking for anyone planning to use them as target practice Eva approached the console. It lit up giving the four destination options.
“Where to?”
“May as well find out about this data centre I’ve heard so much about.”
Eva pressed the button labelled Warehouse Entrance B and waited.
She gripped Greta tighter and hoped the guards above hadn’t called for reinforcements who could be arriving on the same train.
To fill the void in conversation, she asked, “Why did you deliberately provoke Harry at dinner? I’ve never seen him so angry.”
Bishop shrugged. “We weren’t getting anywhere. Plus I didn’t come here to see him, I came here for you.”
“To save the damsel in distress? So far the only rescuing has come from me, Buddy.”
He sighed. “Are you going to turn this into a feminism thing again?”
“Feminism thing? I’m sorry, do my opinions bore you?”
“Not at all.” Bishop rocked on his heels. “All I’m saying is sometimes with all the feminist talk, it just…I feel it gets a might…I don’t know, tedious? Everything doesn’t have to be about feminism, does it? If I say I don’t like liquorice it doesn’t mean I hate women and need a fifteen-minute diatribe on a female’s eternal struggle. Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in a first year women’s collective meeting where you’re holding the talking stick way too long.”
The train carriage arrived empty. Eva was proud of herself for not pushing Bishop in front of it. She must be growing. If it was another time she may even have found the statement amusing. Her hackles were up but she was far too nervous and exhausted to debate him. She flicked him the bird instead.
The train journey was conducted in silence. The further the carriage descended, the deeper her trepidation. In retrospect selecting the second warehouse station may have been a mistake. For one thing, they had to go via the first entrance, subjecting them to potential discovery as the transparent egg passed through the station. Secondly, for all they knew the second warehouse entrance was the guard’s station. Dread gurgled in her gut.
As the train climbed towards the second island, Eva crouched and gripped Greta like a weapon.
“What are you doing?” Bishop asked, slouched against the carriage wall.
“Getting ready. I suggest you do the same.”
Bishop gave a nonchalant shrug and pushed himself upright. He hunkered into an old school boxing stance and rotated his wrists mockingly.
“You can really be a massive dick sometimes, you know?”
They stared at one another as the last sentence sunk in.
Eva raised a finger. “Don’t!”
“Perish the thought.”
Bishop was being more obnoxious than usual. Perhaps it was that she had rescued him and not the other way around. Maybe this was his default setting when in danger. She suspected the former.
The train carriage flew through the first station. There was not another human being to be seen. It slowed as it approached the second. In contrast to his flippancy, Bishop’s body became rigid. The carriage slid quietly to the second warehouse platform. It was empty. The doors hissed open and they exited. Eva found it hard to move as every muscle was tense.
Bishop jerked his head and sprinted towards a dark corner. She followed. They stopped in front of a large blank barrier. Above them a series of walkways were built into the concrete wall. Eva could faintly hear the sound of crashing waves, as if they were hitting the other side. It seemed the area had once been a cave mouth. It must have been closed up to accommodate Harry’s server farm.
They squatted, listening for any human activity. There was only the constant purr of air-conditioning and the occasional bleep of a server doing something computery.
After a few minutes, Eva thought it safe to whisper. “How did you survive Prague? I was sure you were dead in that river.”
“I almost nearly was. Fortunately I am blessed with high cheekbones and exceptional good luck.” His expression turned more serious. “I was underwater for a long time, but eventually managed to free my leg. When I was finally able to pitch my head above water, the storm surge had swept me well down the river. I managed to latch onto some flotsam and float for a time. When I finally reached shore I was rescued by an amenable farmer’s daughter. When I advised she would be rewarded handsomely for her kindness she took me in and I showed her my unrestrained gratitude.”
Eva groaned. “Did all that really happen?”
“You may substitute farmer’s daughter for an elderly farmer’s wife.”
“And the showing of unrestrained gratitude?”
He waggled his eyebrows.
“You’re incurable. You have the restraint of a dog in heat…”
Bishop raised his head in alertness, held up his finger and in a hushed tone said, “Shhhhhh!”
Eva stopped and became watchful, shrinking into the wall. As quietly as she could, she asked, “Did you hear something?”
“No. I just wanted you to stop talking.”
Fists clenched, she ground her teeth. “You’re pissed off that I saved you, again, aren’t you?”
“Of course not, why would you say that?”
“Because you’ve been a surly git since I blew you out of there. You didn’t like that, did you? Being saved by a girl? What’s the matter, bruised male ego? Diddums.”
“I’ll have you know I was working on my own fiendishly clever escape plan when you came barging in. I was waiting for my moment.”
“Right. Admit it, you’re narky because you weren’t the one to save the day.”
Bishop’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “I will concede it’s not usually my role to be saved, no.”
“As in, the male role, as in the prince sweeping in and saving the defenceless fawn of a princess? Well, bad luck but the rules have changed, it’s a whole new millennium. Gender roles are all fucked up, get used to it.”
About to launch into an all-out tirade, Eva stopped when she spotted distant movement. Only a flash, but it was enough. In the distance a shadow darted between two banks of servers. It was a stooped run, not a casual stroll.
A guard. Harry’s men knew they were there.
A finger went to her lips and she pointed where the figure was. Bishop nodded curtly, alert. The figure was fifty metres away, but they literally had their backs to wall. Not a lot of options. They could make a run for the train, but the carriage had gone and it would mean at least one of them would need to wait unarmed in the open until the next one arrived.
A click echoed through cavernous hall. Actually, in was less of a click, more of a cocking sound. A loud, close-by cocking sound.
They turned and glanced up to see a group of five heavily-armed guards above them on the walk
way. Front and centre was a furious-looking Van Buren. Lips hard, he said, “Oh, hey guys. Cosy?”
It had happened all too fast for Eva to process. She went to rise, but Van Buren aimed a gun at her chest and tutted.
“Sorry to interrupt.” His tone implied the opposite. “You seemed to be having an awfully interesting debate about equality.” His trademark sneer returned. “This is the side you’ve chosen? Incredible.”
Eva chose not to respond. He really did act like a jealous ex-lover.
Van Buren sucked in air. “Well this is all very awkward, isn’t it? You’ve left a whole mess of my guys bruised and blinded. You really are a destructive little bitch, aren’t you? Destroy everything you touch. Destruction by name…”
“Harry was going to execute him. I think that’s a pretty decent reason.”
A bitter laugh echoed around the cave. “You’re such a stupid whore, aren’t you? Horatio was never going to execute him. He just wanted to see what you’d do.”
A strange kind of relief washed over her. Had she read all this wrong? Was Harry as innocent as she’d always assumed? After the brief blip of thought, reality sunk in. It sounded too good to be true, because it was. Eva recalled the London bombings and the death and destruction that came with it. She hated herself for forgetting who Harry was for even a second. She remembered she was a fighter and her fight was with Harry Fucking Lancing.
Bishop gripped her wrist and squeezed.
Van Buren went on. “As it turns out, what you’d do is betray him. Again.” Van Buren positively glowed. “I guess I will really have to execute you now. Both of you.”
The guards raised their guns.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eva’s mouth fell open, but no sound tumbled out.
If Harry had been there she could have talked him out of it. Appeal to his moral compass. But with Van Buren, there was no appeal. Nothing appealing at all. They really were dead.
She lost her balance but Bishop wouldn’t let her fall. He held her firm, his gaze bore into Van Buren like a laser.
Bishop’s demeanour was casual, but Eva could feel his body become taut through the tuxedo. “So, Van Buren, do you have a first name?” Stony silence was his reply. “Fine, I’ll go with…Reginald. I have only one question for you, Reginald. This lot,” he threw a thumb towards the cavern of servers behind him, “isn’t about blackmailing a few politicians, is it? You’ve got more grunt here than the NSA. Lancing’s no longer about blackmailing a few select officials, is he? He’s collecting information on everyone, right? You don’t need this kind of power to play a few games of Tetris.” Bishop slapped his forehead. “Of course! I’m going to take a wild stab and say you’ve tapped into the submarine communications cable.” He waggled his finger at Van Buren. “That’s why you’re on this island, isn’t it? You’ve hooked into the intercontinental communications line?”
Van Buren’s face could have been carved into Mount Rushmore. The lack of response was confirmation enough. Eva should have known Harry wouldn’t have chosen the island location on a whim. Like everything the man did, there was a purpose.
Bishop continued. “I assume all of this is so you can comb everyone’s data, correct? Lancing’s moved beyond the odd bit of blackmail to spying on everyone he can. You might want to be careful associating with your boss. Do you know how many thousands of laws he’s broken? He’s violating the privacy of every internet-connected citizen on the planet. My question is, why?”
Van Buren tilted his head, like a lion assessing its prey. An amused smirk crossed his strained lips. “What you see here is the work of a great man. A brilliant genius whose vision you will never comprehend. What he’s doing is not as malicious as your tiny mind obviously thinks it is. The metadata retention on private citizens will only be used to persuade individuals who try to oppose his vision. A brainless blogger who wants to criticize, a turd-munching journalist who’s getting too nosy. Every moron out there has something to hide, everyone. Do they really want the world to know they’ve cheated on their husband or have been siphoning company funds? Is a blog post worth a family’s happiness or one story more important than their home? Is it really?”
“So everyone can have freedom unless they oppose the great and powerful Horatio Lancing?” Bishop’s tone was mocking.
“You know nothing. It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Eva was amazed she’d regained the ability to speak. “Because it bloody well sounds like that. Harry’s become what he always claimed to be fighting. He’s become his own enemy. ‘Four legs good, two legs better’. He’s twisting the world to only his way of thought. Freedom means people have the chance to choose the option that isn’t him. Otherwise it’s not freedom, it’s a dictatorship.”
“What Horatio is doing is for the greater good.” Van Buren was repeating the same phrase Harry had used countless times. The greater good. He’d drunk the Horatio Lancing Kool-Aid long ago. The Security Chief shook his head, as if he was addressing a particularly stupid child. “Any woman on the planet would have given her left nut to stand by his side. Any woman but you.”
“Or man, as it turns out,” Eva said.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Van Buren spat on the walkway. “You stupid slut. You squandered your chance to be part of his vision.”
Eva’s finger stabbed at the banks of computers. “This isn’t what I thought Harry’s vision was, not even close. I always believed in the core of what Harry wanted to achieve, but what he’s trying to do now is sick, it’s twisted. Surely even you can see that? It flies in the face of everything he said he stood for. I doubt he’d want all this to get out. Will his loyal acolytes love him when they find out he’s snooping on their email, their private messages? Harry’s become what he despised, he’s become a man with secrets he wants to hide.”
Van Buren glared at her with a face carved from rock. “Nice speech. Tell me exactly how that’s gonna stop me from killing you?”
“If you kill me now Harry will never trust you again.” That got through. There was the slightest turn of Van Buren’s head. “If you shoot me, even if you claim it was self-defence, Harry will always wonder. He knows you hate me and would be boning for an excuse to murder me. ‘Did it go down like VB claimed, or…?’” Eva shrugged. “The seed would be planted. He’d never fully believe a word you said again. And once that happens, well, you know as well as I do how it ends. Is it worth it? Contact Harry, let him make the call.”
Van Buren scoffed. “It’s obvious you’re filibustering. What’s the alternative? Lock you up? Yeah, that’s been a smashing success so far.”
She ignored him. “You want to take the chance? If you want to always be on Team Harry, I suggest you call him.”
He assessed her, part loathing, part reluctant resignation. Van Buren grunted. He took out a walkie talky, turned his back and had a hushed conversation.
Eva tried not to think about what she’d discovered about Harry. She had to focus on survival first. One day, hopefully soon, she could take her time to think about the scumbag douchepoodle lying sack of baboon shit that was Harry Fucking Lancing. But later. Presently she was all about avoiding death.
It was inconceivable that Van Buren wouldn’t win the case for getting rid of them. The logical portion of her brain could see that she and Bishop posed too much of a risk. The only way for them not to be a threat to Harry’s operation was for them to die.
If she could only see Harry, she’d have a chance. Talking him out of it wasn’t impossible. She could do it. She could convince her former lover not to harm them. She could. Probably. Possibly. Maybe. She had to try. It was their only chance.
“Hey.” Bishop’s quiet voice tickled her ear. “Give me your bra.”
Her head snapped around. “What? Uh, hell to the no.”
Did he want it for his trophy wall? He probably had a trophy wall.
He unleashed his girl-slayer grin. “Do you trust me?”
> “Not even slightly.”
“It’s important.”
She was too numb to be pissed at him. His problems must be genetic or something. Like expecting a rat to stay out of the garbage or a randy dog not to hump your leg. Maybe he wanted to build a slingshot. What did she have to lose?
Keeping her eyes on Van Buren in an intense but quiet argument, Eva unhooked her black lacy bra. She wriggled her arms out of the straps under the turtleneck. She extracted the bra from her sleeve like some sleazy magician.
Bishop gave her a slight nod of thanks. “It still fascinates me.”
“Boobs?”
“No. Well, yes, but I was referring to the ability of women to take a bra off while clothed. It’s beguiling for us mere males.”
Eva turned her attention back to the conference on the walkway. Van Buren’s hand on his hip, a faint smile across his scarred face. Diarrhoea monkey farts. He’d won. They’d be hauled up to the beach and shot by firing squad. It was over.
A flicking sound came from behind. She turned to see Bishop attempting to start a lighter. Her lighter.
“How did you get that? It was in my pocket.”
He splayed his fingers, jazz hands-style, and said, “Spy craft.”
In one hand he held the lit lighter, in the other her bra. He was trying to light it on fire. Was he making a feminist statement?
Finally the flame caught the bra on fire. Holding the smouldering underwear Bishop stepped out into the open and held it aloft. Every man on the walkway turned to him.
Thrusting the burning garment in the air, Bishop yelled, “We will never advance as a society until we rid ourselves of the shackles of male oppression!”
As if stirred by his words, the bra erupted into flames sending a plume of black smoke skyward.
As if realising what Bishop was doing, Van Buren stretched out his hand and yelled, “No!”
It was too late.
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 28