Kill a Spy: The House of Killers

by Samantha Lee Howe

  When she reaches the top level, she stuffs the parcel back inside her backpack and retrieves her Glock from the bag instead.

  At the door to the studio apartment, Neva studies the lock. It’s an old mortise, incredibly easy to pick. She puts the Glock in the waistband of her shorts and takes out the lock-pick set from the front pocket of her backpack. She places the bag on the floor then presses her ear against the door.

  A loud drunken snoring can be heard from within.

  Neva picks the lock and she opens the door. The hinges creak, she pauses and waits, but Fracks hasn’t heard her and doesn’t wake – Neva sees him slumped and sleeping in a chair by the window, a bottle of French wine stands on the small table beside him, but even from the door she can see the bottle is empty.

  She picks up her backpack and brings it inside. Then closes the door.

  Fracks sleeps on, oblivious of her presence as she approaches. Neva looks down at him. She waits to see if he will wake, but Fracks is in a deep sleep and doesn’t move. Neva looks around. The studio consists of a large loft space: kitchen, living space and bedroom occupy different corners of the same room. The only separate space is the small bathroom to the left of the front door.

  Neva walks over to the kitchenette and runs cold water into a jug she finds there. She goes back to Fracks and throws the water over him.

  Fracks jerks awake, spluttering as he breathes in the same time the water hits him. He coughs and chokes, coming from his inebriated dreams back into reality.

  ‘Hello, Mr Fracks. I’m Neva,’ she says.

  ‘Oh my god!’ Fracks says. His ruddy face blanches white as he stares down the barrel of the Glock in her hand.

  ‘You’ve come to kill me…’ he whispers under his breath, and in that instant Fracks is sober again.

  ‘You and I are going to have a little talk,’ Neva says. ‘And if you lie to me or fail to tell me what I want to know, you are going to die.’

  Fracks shivers as though Neva is already stepping across his grave. She pulls up a chair and looks directly at him.

  ‘Beech was very upset when they lost you,’ Fracks volunteers. ‘He always saw you as some personal achievement. Like his son Michael.’

  Neva narrows her eyes and studies him.

  ‘It appears you know as much as Vasquez thought you did,’ Neva says. ‘Hence his people tried to find you.’

  ‘Did they send you?’

  ‘I work for myself these days,’ Neva says. ‘I’m here to find the names and addresses of the committee.’

  ‘I don’t know where they are exactly. I swear. Committee members move base at regular intervals…’ Fracks says. ‘Beech didn’t even know where they lived. Just areas they covered. They don’t trust each other, you see.’

  ‘Pick up that book,’ Neva says pointing to the book that Fracks had fallen asleep reading. She pulls a pen from the pocket of her shorts and places it on the table by the empty wine bottle. ‘Write their names and those locations in the front.’

  Fracks reaches for the book and picks up the pen. His hands are trembling as he opens the cover to the front blank page. He writes:

  Kritta (Berlin); Banwick (Cardiff); Subra (Jerusalem); Petters (Oslo); Conor (Edinburgh); Drake (Venice); Armin (Kabul); Stanners (Loch Lomond); Ruddy (Florence); Aelen (Belfast); Cruik (Madrid).

  ‘But… I heard that some of these were dead. And their locations are generic. Vasquez…’

  ‘What do you know about that?’ Neva says.

  ‘Just that Vasquez tortured some of them to find the others…’

  ‘Who was tortured and killed?’ Neva asks.

  ‘I heard Aelen and Ruddy are no longer with us…’ Fracks says.

  ‘You just told me that none of them know each other’s location. So, which is it Fracks? Do they, or don’t they?’

  ‘Some of them did, I suppose. The rumour was that Vasquez was fed information by another interested party who wanted in on the committee. Codename: Annalise,’ Fracks says. He’s breathless and scared as he speaks.

  Neva leans forward at the mention of Annalise: she is of interest. The person that Michael said could be her mother. Annalise had been at the Tower Bridge Hotel when shit hit the fan a few weeks ago. Her underling and other committee member, Subra, died that day – killed by Solomon Granger after he learned she was behind the death of his lover Angela Carter.

  Yes, the committee are a treacherous lot, and they’d turn on each other at any opportunity. This is proof of it. But it isn’t enough, and Neva believes that Fracks knows it. She needs everything she can get from him.

  ‘I know you have more,’ she says. ‘Where is Annalise based?’

  ‘Ah. Now she never moves…’ Fracks says. ‘And I do know that. A château in the South of France.’

  ‘If she never moves, then why is she safe from the others?’

  ‘No one will go after Annalise. They are all scared of her, and she has her own network. Beech even suspected her of being the leader of the Almunazama.’

  Neva has heard the name of this cabal through various sources. They are a corporation that rivals the Network and could possibly take over their resources if the latter failed to regroup.

  ‘I’d heard that Subra was working with them,’ Neva says. ‘Did you know Subra killed Armin?’

  ‘I’d heard rumours but nothing was definite and the committee would kill her if they suspect it.’

  ‘Subra is dead,’ Neva says. She explains how and why.

  ‘Why are you sharing that with me?’ Fracks asks. He looks scared, as though he knows his number is up. ‘Look, if you’re planning to kill me… I’m willing to tell you what I know but you should understand, I went to ground because I didn’t want to be part of the Network anymore. I wanted to be free of Beech, but knew I couldn’t escape while he was alive. I took my chance when MI5 raided the house. I won’t be talking to anyone about you. I can’t or they’ll kill me for my desertion. So, you see, they’ll never know you found me unless you turn me in.’

  Neva studies Fracks. He could be useful as an extra ear to the ground, but can she trust him?

  ‘Tell me exactly where Annalise’s château is,’ she says. ‘And everything you know about her security detail. Then perhaps we can discuss your future.’

  Fracks starts talking and Neva’s trained memory retains every detail as he describes the location of Annalise’s château, in Occitanie, just outside of Toulouse.

  ‘She has her own vineyards,’ he says. ‘I heard Beech telling someone he’d been once. He didn’t stay in the château as even then he didn’t trust her, and he had his own security in tow. He said it was a beautiful place and a working winery that produced wine which was popular with locals and which was also exported around the world.’

  ‘What’s the winery called?’ Neva asks.

  ‘I don’t know. Or its actual address. And there are several wineries in the area. But if you go there, I’m sure you’ll pick up on which one it is.’

  ‘You’ve earned the right to live,’ she says stowing her Glock back in the waistband of her shorts. ‘Don’t make me regret it, as I don’t give second chances.’

  Fracks nods, relieved, but his hands still shake as he holds out the book he’s written in and borrowed from the bookstore. The book will have to be paid for in full, but the price will be worth it to save his life.

  Neva stands, she picks up her holdall from the doorway where she left it. She stuffs the book inside.

  She smiles at Fracks. ‘Remember… I know where you live. I know who you are. I know your movements. So don’t try anything silly. We wouldn’t want the Network to find all that out, now would we…?’

  She winks at Fracks, opens the door and leaves.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael

  ‘My name is Security Agent Michael Kensington,’ I say.

  Debra O’Brierley was in London to collect Sinead’s body and I thought it best to speak with her face to face and see if she could shed any light o
n who Sinead might have been meeting on her trip. She has been invited to a local police station so that I could meet with her. We are now in a small and informal interview room.

  ‘You’re not the police? You’re an agent? I don’t understand,’ she says.

  ‘I’m a Security Agent. I work for MI5. We’ve been passed your sister’s case because it might be linked to another we’re working on.’

  ‘What other case?’ Debra asks.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say at the moment. But please be reassured we are doing everything we can to learn what happened to Sinead.’

  ‘Was she… tampered with?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Oh thank God! My mother was so worried about that. She was a good girl and…’ Tears spring into Debra’s eyes.

  I wait while she composes herself.

  ‘Why? Why did this happen to her?’

  ‘Sometimes these things don’t have a reason,’ I say. ‘I believe the Garda were given access to her computer. Did you or they find anything that could help us? Perhaps something linked to the Yin and Yang dating site?’

  Debra shakes her head. ‘She was just making friends… you know? It’s such a small town where we live. Sinead, she didn’t want to just end up with some local boy. So, she was talking to someone on the site. The Garda did look and so did I but I couldn’t find anything weird on there.’

  ‘But she came here to meet someone?’ I ask.

  Debra nods. ‘Yeah, but not a man. A woman. They both wanted a girl holiday but had no one to go with.’

  ‘They agreed to meet in London?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. But her new friend was supposed to share that place with her and ended up being a no show. She sent her half of the rental money though, so Sinead wasn’t out of pocket. She was just a little annoyed that she’d been let down. She said, “I guess that’s what you get for trusting someone you’ve met online but don’t really know.” Anyway, she did the sightseeing alone in the end. And she enjoyed it. But I guess it wasn’t the same as sharing it with someone else,’ Debra says.

  ‘Were you in touch with her while she was away?’

  ‘She was posting pictures on Instagram, and she sent me a few texts because I asked her to check in because she was alone. That last evening she said she was looking forward to coming home.’

  Debra begins to cry again. When the tears lapse, I show her Sinead’s profile on my phone.

  ‘Who was the girl she was supposed to meet?’ I ask. There are two females that chat to Sinead on the site and Debra looks at them. ‘There’s Stacey and Romy. Did she mention either of their names to you?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I had a look at those accounts. I remember the girl was called Julie… yes that’s right! Julie or Jules. She lived in Europe somewhere.’

  ‘Okay. One final thing. Did Sinead ever talk to this Julie directly? Either FaceTime or on the phone?’ I ask.

  Debra shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. I assumed she must have but I didn’t think to ask her. It all seemed above board.’

  I let Debra go and complete the transfer paperwork for the release of her younger sister’s body but I’m left with her final words ringing in my ears: ‘above board’. Is it a coincidence that this is the same language used on Yin and Yang’s terms and conditions? Or am I just reading too much into things?

  Chapter Twelve

  Mia

  ‘Is this just a temporary safe house?’ Mia asks as Ben unlocks the front door for the first time.

  ‘No. This is standard procedure. New build. New life,’ Ben says.

  They go inside.

  The house is an executive five bedroom with a large open hallway and wide staircase. It’s bigger than Mia expected, but no less ordinary. Ben goes back to the car on the paved driveway and brings in the one suitcase with their few meagre possessions, taken in a hurry when they’d left their own house to go into hiding. Mia places Freya’s carry car seat down in the hallway. Oblivious to the change of location, Freya gurgles and smiles. She’s five months old now.

  When Ben closes the front door, Mia opens another one inside. This leads to the lounge. Mia’s face falls when she sees the furnishings.

  ‘Who in their right mind has a white carpet with children?’ she says.

  She fights back the urge to cry. The furniture is all show house, she should feel grateful, but none of this is their taste, nor their choice.

  ‘I know this is an upheaval,’ Ben says. ‘But in a few years, when our identity is established, we can sell up and move where we want. We’ll be lost in the system. And you and Freya will be out of harm’s way. Life can resume and there’ll be no need for paranoia.’

  ‘Sell up? You mean we own this place?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes. Well… the new us, Mica and Brody, do.’

  Ben explains the ‘miniscule’ mortgage that helps them look real.

  ‘How miniscule?’ she asks.

  ‘We’ll be clear in the next few years. Financially this family is very secure. I have a guaranteed job. Our credit rating is as good as it gets and we’ll be mortgage free a lot sooner than we would have been with the farmhouse.’

  He points all of this out with enthusiasm as being the plus side of their new life. Anyone in their right mind would think so too, and Mia knows that. But none of it helps. She may have gained all this, but she’s lost everything in life she’s ever known. She is grieving and it will take more than the promise of being mortgage free to make that better.

  Upstairs she finds a wardrobe full of clothing, all the right sizes for her and Ben – but a little too suburban housewife for her personal taste.

  Mia bursts into tears. She sits on the oh-so-white linen on the bed and sobs until Ben finds her.

  ‘Mia. Sweetheart. Please.’

  ‘This is so awful. I hate it Ben. This isn’t our home. Or clothes. Or life. I don’t know how to be Mica Charter. I’m Mia Cusick.’

  ‘It’ll get easier. You’ll find yourself in Mica eventually,’ he says.

  ‘You don’t understand, I don’t want to. I want to be me,’ Mia says.

  She cries again. Ben holds her, but she knows he doesn’t know how to make this right.

  ‘What if I get Michael on the phone for you?’ Ben says.

  ‘Really?’ Mia says.

  ‘If that will help?’ Ben said.

  ‘You know it will!’ Mia said.

  Ben uses a phone that he takes from the suitcase. One that Mia knows is encrypted. Then he calls MI5 for her.

  After the phone call Mia is calmer. Michael has always been her touchstone and to have him cut from her life leaves an open and festering wound that no amount of reassurance from Ben can heal.

  ‘One day all ties will have to be cut, or he’ll pose a threat for you and Freya,’ Ben says. ‘You know that, right?’

  Mia’s mood plummets again.

  ‘Not yet, Ben. I can’t cope with all of this. It’s too soon.’

  Ben nods.

  She doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t tell her, but she knows why they are unsafe. Mia has felt it since the day Freya was born. A dark threat hangs over them: Freya is special. And though these thoughts loop around and around in her brain, Mia doesn’t know the answer to why this is happening, or what, other than disappear, they can do to protect Freya from it.

  ‘How long will we have to do this for?’ she asks Ben.

  ‘A few years. But I’d say… at least ten,’ Ben says.

  ‘Why ten?’

  He glances at Freya and his expression, though guarded, is somehow significant.

  A few hours later Ben goes out ‘to work’ but Mia wonders if she’ll ever trust Ben again. Despite her promise to try and see past it, Mia struggles to accept his betrayal. He’d lied to her about what he did, when all along he was spying on her for MI6. She still doesn’t know the full facts behind this surveillance. It is frustrating and makes her angry at times. But most of all the lack of control makes her afraid.

  Mia k
nows Ben is still keeping secrets from her. Like the fact that his new job really does appear to be the same as his old one. And she’s heard him on the phone, taking instructions. What’s more, she is sure it was his old boss on the other end of the call: she’d recognize Erik Steward’s voice anywhere, and Ben is being very surreptitious whenever the calls come in.

  She tries not to think about this now as she feeds Freya some baby rice. Freya is being testy and difficult, spitting out the rice over and over again until Mia gives up, knowing that she’s tired and ready for her afternoon nap.

  ‘I wouldn’t want this muck either,’ she says throwing the bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink.

  Mia wipes Freya’s face and hands with a soft damp face cloth before picking her out of the bouncy chair. Then she presses Freya to her breast, offering milk and comfort to settle her down.

  When Freya finishes her milk, Mia takes her upstairs to the nursery. It’s pink. Not like Freya’s old room that was a very pale lilac – it’s a minor point that irritates Mia – this assumption and choice someone made on her behalf, that a girl’s room should be pink. She decides then that she’ll go out and buy some paint, changing the colour to make the room feel more like it belongs to them. That at least will make her feel more in control.

  She places Freya on the changing table and changes her nappy. Just as she finishes someone rings the doorbell.

  Mia puts Freya in the cot for safety and then she goes down to the front door.

  There’s a state-of-the-art security system installed in the house, and Mia has it on an app on her phone. Taking her mobile out of her pocket, she looks at the camera and sees a young man, maybe 18 years old, standing on the doorstep.

  She presses the green button that allows her to speak to the person outside without opening the door. Ben insists they do this as a matter of habit for all callers – just in case.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks.