Rogue

by David Leadbeater

  Flashing lights were already painting the surrounding houses in lurid blue by the time they came to the fence. Rogue checked the area.

  “Cops have arrived at the other side,” she said. “Where the gate is. With luck they’ll catch that old bastard.”

  Not a chance.

  “C’mon, geek.” She pulled him through the chain link fence they’d cut earlier and in between parked cars. Another few seconds and they were running down a nearby street, cutting through alleys and meeting Juliani two streets over. They were just in time. Dozens of police cars and bigger, sturdier vehicles were closing in on the area no doubt due to reports of gunfire. Juliani had rigorously researched these streets earlier and drove them precisely where they needed to go.

  Rogue and Spencer cleaned up in the back seat. She’d brought wipes and towels for the job. They washed off the blood and dirt. They checked each other. She held Spencer’s arms for one long minute, trying to calm him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Shaken,” he said. “But stirred.”

  She smiled, feeling relieved. Proud even, that her presence had helped turn this young geek into a man. But they weren’t done yet. Not by a long way.

  “I’ve failed you,” she said.

  “No, no, I’m sure there’s something.” Spencer blurted too quickly.

  Juliani said nothing.

  But, in their own manner, they had both said it all.

  We just blew our last chance of getting out of this alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  The next morning Rogue woke with a deep anger inside her. Yes, they were safe, but they had failed to identify the last Old Man, and finally bring down the UK branch of the Hellfire Club.

  Spencer went down to the lobby, returning fifteen minutes later with two big carrier bags full of comfort food. He also brought coffee – lots of it.

  This hotel had one tiny window that overlooked a side street. They opened it now, taking in the fresh air whilst propping a chair under the door. They weren’t at risk, but it made everyone feel better.

  “Since it’s over,” Juliani said. “I have to know – where do we go from here?”

  Spencer bit down on a white chocolate and raspberry muffin, so desperate for food his hand was shaking. “High metabolism,” he said.

  Rogue couldn’t help but turn her mind to her own predicament. She would have to disappear, become the loner again. It would be tough, but she’d done it successfully before.

  “I’m sorry,” she said for the sixth time that morning. “We lost. You’ll have to go it alone. Vanish. Make a new life with Wildey if you can. Juliani, with your family. I’ll teach you the ropes. But the Hellfire Club has too much reach and firepower to make sticking together an option.”

  Juliani nodded as if he’d expected the harsh forecast Spencer paused with a handful of muffin close to his mouth. “You mean split? I can’t split. I can’t make a new life. How is that poss-”

  “Calm down,” Rogue said. “I’m working on it. But my failure affects us all. We have to go into hiding. We’ll be hunted for the rest of our lives. I blew it, guys.”

  Self-pity didn’t come naturally to her. She tried to explain. “I moved on a little during this mission. I made the mistake of thinking I didn’t need to be alone. I embraced the company. That just makes everything harder now.”

  “Hey, me too.” Spencer said. “I trusted in us. I felt stronger. I thought we’d make it. But couldn’t we try again?”

  “The chance is blown.”

  “Couldn’t we lure him out? You have his number. Can we trace it? Even to a general area.”

  Rogue didn’t hide the sad expression that fell over her face. “Sorry, Spencer, it’s just not that easy.”

  “How about those men we killed? Maybe there was CCTV? Can we track through facial recognition? Even take it back to when they arrived and backtrack.”

  “Where that would be an option for your larger agencies, we don’t have the resources. Or the time. London’s become a death trap for us.”

  She admired the young man’s enthusiasm. He desperately wanted to find a way to extract them from the hellhole they were in. A warm sensation filled her stomach.

  “Hey,” she said. “Don’t ever lose that spirit. It’ll help you stay strong no matter what comes along.”

  “I can take point again,” he said. “Be the bait. I’m used to that.”

  She found a previously unrealised fondness for him. He was taking responsibility, trying to work it all out on his own as she and Juliani wallowed. The feeling rose like an unseen shadow, surprising her and making her react appropriately.

  She jumped away, upsetting the tray of muffins and a large cappuccino. Spencer rushed to save them. She began to pace the room.

  “To be safe, I’ll leave you far behind,” she said. “Your faces are everywhere. The American desert might be a good move.”

  Neither Spencer nor Juliani answered. When she looked up at them, she saw glum acceptance on their features. The thought of setting up a new life far from them hurt her almost as much as it did them. They were integrated now, a part of her story, a big part of the memory of Tom.

  “If we were in the same town, we could watch over you,” Spencer said with a grin.

  The kid was unquenchable. She wondered if it might be true. A large part of her whispered that solitude and single-mindedness was a proven method, but an important part told her that life wasn’t worth living in isolation. She didn’t want to do that anymore.

  Spencer had changed her.

  Rogue sat down, considering everything that had happened. “Maybe we can move to the same town. We’d be safer as a three and I guess I could do with the help. It depends on your families and if you think they’d be adaptable.”

  Juliani stared at her, taking it in. Spencer wasn’t looking at anyone. He was gazing at the wall as if he’d found a rabbit hole to Australia. Rogue couldn’t help but look at him.

  “You all right, geek?”

  “I knew there was something,” he said. “All night and all morning I’ve been wracking my brains. I saw something. I know I did. But I was scared. And everything happened so fast and so violently.”

  “What did you see?” Juliani asked.

  “I think there’s a way to track down the Old Man.”

  Rogue saw he was clutching at straws. “Let it go or you’ll make it worse.”

  “You don’t know what I know. You can’t. You’re an assassin, right? A lethal government agent. You’re all about shadows and intel and low pay. And you Juliani – your head’s full of figures. You handle the cash, but you don’t see a lot of it. Am I right?”

  “I guess.” Juliani said.

  “What are you getting at?” Rogue asked.

  “Just this. We can track the old bastard. Last night, he used a pure carbon phone with a gold swirl. Now, I’ve seen that phone replicated. I’ve seen it in military games, in adventure games. I’ve seen in one recent movie. It’s a sign of real wealth just like, say, an all carbon Pagani car or a one-off ten-million-dollar watch would be.”

  Rogue shook her head. “You’ve lost me, nerd.”

  “That phone is a prototype of the latest Sciacca, and only four exist in the whole world. It’s far beyond the top of the range model. These things tend to make it into mainstream games and movies as kind of status symbols. The Sciacca is the lost Faberge, the underwater penthouse, the hundred-million-dollar casino chip. It’s unattainable.”

  “How the hell would the old man get one? He’s not Jeff Bezos.”

  “My guess is through his Hellfire Club connections. I don’t know how well connected they are, or how powerful, but I do know I saw a Sciacca phone, and there has to be a way to track it.”

  “You’re saying all we have to do is find out who sold it to him?” Juliani asked.

  Spencer dug out their computer and opened it up. “Easiest task in the world.” He said. Rogue shared a nonplussed gaze with Juliani before holding her ha
nds up in the air.

  “I won’t pretend to be on your wavelength, geek,” she said. “So, have at it.”

  She picked a blueberry muffin, a croissant and the biggest cup of coffee. Before she’d devoured even half the muffin Spencer was clicking his fingers.

  “They have one outlet in the UK, and it’s in London. Bond Street. Boom.”

  He turned, grinning at her. Rogue responded to his youthful charm by holding her coffee up in a cheers salute. She didn’t have to ask what he was thinking. All shops kept records of their transactions, and shops that catered to the wealthy kept detailed ones.

  “It has to be worth a shot,” Spencer said.

  “Well done, bud,” Juliani said, praising him for the first time.”

  “Yeah, well done,” Rogue echoed. “Now, how’d you like to be my kept boyfriend?”

  Spencer’s confidence wavered. “Your boyfriend. Have I missed something?”

  “My eye candy. My stud. My sometime lover. You up for it?”

  Spencer gawped.

  “Oh, he’s up for it.” Juliani said and laughed.

  Rogue nodded. “Then let’s make ready.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  At midday, Bond Street was barely navigable. Rogue and Spencer alighted from a taxi, stepped onto the pavement and walked arm in arm into the discreet but clearly exclusive shop. Lashings of gold glimmered and glittered and flashed wherever they turned. Security guards stood to left and right. The teller was draped in gold and diamonds herself and flaunted a flawless manicure as she moved toward them.

  Rogue wore a brand-new Gucci jacket. Spencer an Armani equivalent. They’d toyed with the idea of leaving the tags on and returning them later but decided they needed to go all in to pull this off.

  “How can I help you?” the woman oozed elegance. “A bracelet for the gentleman?”

  “A choker,” Rogue changed the dynamic of the conversation, a change the teller noticed instantly and went with wholly.

  “Ah, I see. An ownership symbol? Well, come right this way.”

  As they walked, Rogue gave Spencer a subtle, impish glance. He wasn’t enjoying playing the kept man. But she would hugely enjoy playing the wealthy widow.

  “The jade selection,” the teller waved at a glass cabinet and let them pass. Rogue stared at several black chokers inset with jade stones and clasps.

  “Will they fit his neck? It’s as thick as his . . . well, it’s pretty thick.”

  Spencer coloured immediately. The teller laughed and said, “Oh, how adorable. Yes, they’re designed to fit . . . all girths.”

  Rogue put an arm around Spencer’s waist and dragged him close. “Hear that, lover? We can get you the choker I always wanted. We’ll have to purchase the entire collection of course.”

  Finally, the young man found his voice and nodded to the left. “You promised me a phone too.”

  “Oh, yes. Something special, wasn’t it?”

  Spencer headed straight over. Rogue gave the teller an eye roll and then followed. By the time she got there, Spencer was glaring frantically from shelf to shelf as if seeking something lost.

  “It was here,” he cried so dramatically that Rogue almost broke cover and laughed out loud. “The internet said so.”

  The teller rolled her eyes back at Rogue, then said to Spencer, “What are you looking for, dear?”

  “The Sciacca,” he turned an appealing gaze on her. “Please tell me you still have it.”

  “Ah, I remember it caused quite a stir. Enquiries from a dozen clients in London alone. But a gentleman did buy it, I’m afraid. And as you probably know it was one of only four in existence.”

  Spencer looked as if he was about to cry and questioned the woman again. Rogue took the time to look bored and give the shop a thorough recce. In case this first attempt failed.

  Spencer touched her now. “Please.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake. You want to buy it off the man? Very well. Look . . .” she eyed the teller, waiting for a reply.

  “Justine.”

  “Look, Justine, he wants the phone. And I do like to keep him happy because he keeps me happy. I’m sure you’re acquainted with such deals.” She tried to share a knowing smile with the woman but received nothing in return. Still, Rogue hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in years. “You do know the deal, yes?”

  Justine nodded. “I have come across kept men before.”

  “Oh, me too. Every night in fact.”

  Spencer buried his face into her left shoulder.

  “The point is, he wants the phone. If you could let me have the address of the gentleman who purchased it, I’d be glad to offer a… ten percent referrers fee?”

  “Oh, that’s impossible. We don’t-”

  “Twenty percent?”

  Justine practically choked at the figures the percentage represented. “I really wish I could. But policy forbids me.”

  Spencer managed a sob. Rogue patted his head. “Are you sure, Justine?”

  It was a last resort. The sob, the personal address. Everything. In the end though, it went as they’d expected.

  “I’m sorry, miss. This establishment takes pride in customer privacy.”

  Rogue spun around and headed for the door. She didn’t turn around. When they were both outside they began to laugh as they walked briskly away. Finally, Spencer said: “Did you get a good look?”

  “Yeah, I got it all. I’m ready.”

  *

  They returned late that night. Even as they approached the shop Rogue wondered why the hell she’d brought Spencer along.

  She replayed an earlier conversation in her head:

  “I’ll make entry around 3 am and be out by 4. I have everything I need. Don’t wait up.”

  The last had been an attempt at brief humour but the determined expression on Spencer’s face stopped her. “What’s up?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “I go alone. That’s a mission protocol.”

  “I want to be involved.”

  “You’ve changed, and that’s good, but… do whatever you do to pass the time. I’ll be back soon.”

  “I know you like having me around. I’ve read it in your face and how your manner has changed towards me. C’mon, admit it. I’m useful.”

  “Toilet paper’s useful, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna take a roll with me.”

  “You want me there. We’re a good team.”

  His insistence had given her pause, made her reflect on his benefits in the field. He was right, of course. He’d come through half a dozen times already. And could it really hurt having him along on a low-risk mission like this?

  “All right,” she said, clocking Juliani shaking his head on the edge of her vision. “What’s up with you?”

  “Will the real Rogue just stand up? I mean, where’s she gone?”

  “I’m right here, Juli. It’s called evolving.”

  “It’s called suicide by geek. That’s what it’s called.”

  Three hours later they entered the shop side by side.

  First, Rogue ensured they donned masks and then disabled the backdoor lock. It was a sturdy affair, but routine for a jewellery store which usually relied on alarms. Part of Rogue’s early training had been intensive courses dealing with breaking and entering any type of establishment in the world. Government spies were routinely the best thieves on the planet.

  The door scraped as she opened it, but the sound was relatively low. From the earlier recce she knew the alarm box was situated behind the counter and that there were no lasers along the main walkway. The display cabinets themselves were separately alarmed and lasered, but that didn’t pose a problem tonight. The jewellery shop was protecting its valuables, not its data.

  Rogue had noted the model and type of alarm earlier. She’d later purchased a radio device from a crook, using a streetwise asset from the old days. The radio device used a microcontroller and a single-board computer to capture and replay codes by eavesdropping on
the radio frequency that alarms use. In short, it mated microcontrollers.

  She waited a short while after pairing the devices for the alarm code to appear on her mini readout. When that was done, she entered it and waited for the low-key beeping to stop. Spencer was already standing by the office door.

  “Follow me.”

  His confidence was infectious. Rogue let him lead as they entered a small office crammed with two desks, four filing cabinets, a coat rack, and a small sink. Rogue hadn’t expected much more since the shop dated back hundreds of years.

  “Desktop.” Spencer said and positioned himself before it. Rogue inserted a flash drive containing a frequent keystroke identifier hack, which showed them the password. Within two minutes Spencer was scrolling through a bunch of files.

  “Crap,” he said after a while.

  “What?”

  “I’m not getting anything. It’s all accountancy stuff. Files and files of it. There are sales figures but no client details.”

  Rogue elbowed him aside, but the geek was right. She stood for a moment, breathing in the silent office, staring at photographs of expensive Cartier rings and Tag Heuer watches. A pint of milk stood next to the sink, and the remains of someone’s lunch. The clingfilm wrapper was in the bin. She kept looking, following a routine that calmed her mind whenever she needed to think. Some discarded jewellery boxes sat on a low table surrounded by special gift paper and bows.

  “You think they don’t keep records?” Spencer whispered.

  “I was wondering if they had a basement, or a second floor.”

  “But there’s no door.” Spencer pointed out.

  “I know. But they could-”

  Her eyes fell on the filing cabinets. “How old is this place?”

  “Cretaceous period by the look of it.”

  “I think they still go old school.”

  She walked over and opened the first drawer. Nothing but supplier files. The second yielded the same results. By the time she opened the second filing cabinet Spencer was on the third.