Kill a Spy: The House of Killers

by Samantha Lee Howe

  She shows him the article and photograph.

  ‘She’s another lookalike then,’ Elliot says.

  ‘Yes. But the missing horse is strange,’ says Beth.

  Beth leaves the stable and returns again to the office. She opens the filing cabinet and sees files under several horse names. She flicks through until she finds Princely Sun. She pulls out the green folder and opens it. There are a few pictures inside of Hilary working with the horse. But nothing else.

  ‘Gemma?’ she calls from the office door.

  Gemma comes to her.

  ‘Where did Hilary keep records of the owners?’

  ‘The filing cabinet. And probably on the computer too,’ Gemma says.

  ‘Do you have access?’ Beth asks.

  Gemma nods. She goes to the computer and tries to switch it on. Nothing happens.

  They check that the machine is plugged in.

  Beth goes to the security car and collects her bag. Inside she has a small canvas bag containing her lock picks and a few screwdrivers. She opens the back of the computer and discovers that the hard drive has been removed.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ asks Gemma.

  Beth doesn’t answer.

  Outside the mortuary van pulls up to take out the now bagged remains of Hilary Gillian. A further forensic team also stands by to bag and tag everything else they find. The computer will be taken, the files in the cabinet studied, but Beth already knows that any details of the horse’s owner will have been removed.

  Beth feels nauseous again. And an overwhelming sense of disgust and anger surges up into her chest. These deaths are getting out of hand, this is the worst yet. She wants to catch this killer. No one deserved to die like Hilary had. But how can they, when every way they turn evidence is going missing or was never left. Stifling down her wayward emotions, Beth goes outside. She sees one of Elliot’s helpers standing by the van.

  ‘We need to sweep the office,’ she tells him. ‘Take everything back with us for further scrutiny. Let’s find something on this bastard. Please.’

  The man nods, heading over to the office.

  Beth watches as they load Hilary’s remains into the van. Then she turns and walks away, pulling herself free of the crime-scene suit. Although her clothing was protected, Beth has an overpowering sensation of being contaminated. She can’t wait to get back home to change her clothes and wash her hands several times, as if this will help to wash the sight of Hilary’s corpse clean from her memory.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mia

  With Freya in the front of the trolley, laughing and gurgling, Mia heads down the baby aisle. She finds the nappies she’s looking for and slips a large pack of them under the trolley before moving on. The trolley is full with a week’s worth of shopping and a few extra treats that they didn’t need, but they all go towards making Mia feel a little more normal.

  Mia pushes the trolley out of the aisle and makes her way to the nearest, and least busy, checkout. She joins the queue as the woman in front of her begins to load her shopping on the conveyor belt. There’s a man on the checkout and he pulls the woman’s shopping through the scanner so fast, that Mia begins to wonder if he’s at the end of his shift and is in a hurry to close the till.

  Mia starts to load the conveyor with her own shopping before she notices the woman behind her. The woman is stunning. She has white hair and tanned skin and is wearing a black linen jumpsuit. Mia observes that she is only carrying a basket with three items in.

  ‘Would you like to go next?’ Mia says. ‘I’ve loads of shopping and I’m going to take ages.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ says the woman.

  She has the trace of an accent. Mia can’t place it but finds it sophisticated. She wonders how old she is because she has that classic, ageless beauty often found in mature models.

  The woman moves around her, ‘Are you sure?’ she says.

  ‘Of course. Please. It’s not a problem,’ Mia says.

  ‘Your daughter is adorable,’ the woman says.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How old is she?’ the woman asks.

  ‘She’s just over five months. Teething. But she’s good at night,’ Mia says, happy to talk about Freya.

  The woman nods. She smiles at Freya.

  ‘She’s like you,’ she says.

  Mia smiles as this pleases her. She thanks the woman again. Ahead of them both, the checkout assistant is ringing up the final amount on the till for the first customer who is still loading her bags and refuses to be rushed.

  ‘Can I help you pack?’ asks the man on checkout.

  ‘No thanks. I have a system!’ says the woman.

  Mia rolls her eyes at the white-haired woman, who shakes her head in silent agreement as she places her few items on the conveyor before Mia’s shopping.

  At last the first woman pays, and places her final bag into the trolley. But even then, she takes an extraordinarily long time to move away from the bottom of the till.

  The white-haired woman is quicker. She pays and thanks Mia again, before hurrying away.

  Mia continues to load the conveyor even as the overzealous checkout assistant gallops through her shopping.

  Outside, Mia takes Freya out of the trolley and fastens her into her car seat, then she begins loading the shopping into the boot of her car. As she slams the boot closed, Mia notices a man standing by the trolley park. He looks over at her and then away again as though he doesn’t wish to be observed.

  Mia has a flash memory of worrying she had been followed the day before.

  MI6 are watching over you.

  Mia remembers Ben saying this, but not when. She quells the initial panic that the man brought up in her. It’s fine. He’s MI6. Then she locks the car, and pushes the trolley towards the bay. As she approaches the man walks away.

  After stowing her trolley, Mia hurries back to the car.

  ‘Are you all right?’ a voice says.

  Mia turns to see the white-haired woman standing near her car.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she glances at the retreating back of the man.

  ‘He wasn’t bothering you, was he?’ the woman asks.

  ‘No,’ Mia says. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I was just about to drive away and I saw you. I thought you looked… worried.’

  ‘That’s kind of you to check on me,’ Mia says.

  ‘Well one kindness deserves another,’ she says.

  ‘I’d better go. Freya needs feeding,’ Mia says.

  ‘What a lovely name,’ says the woman. ‘It’s from Norse mythology, isn’t it?’

  Mia nods.

  ‘Take care,’ says the woman. Then she turns and walks away.

  Mia gets into her car. She glances at Freya, safe and sound in her car seat.

  ‘Yes. It is a lovely name for a very pretty girl,’ she says to the baby.

  Freya giggles as though Mia has just said the funniest thing in the world.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Michael

  The new safe house is bigger than the last one and I’m not the only occupant. In fact, the place is a high-rise block of flats in a very run-down part of London.

  ‘We’ll set you up somewhere else tomorrow,’ says one of the security men as they park the SUV outside the building. Not for the first time I wonder when I’ll be able to return to my own apartment.

  ‘This is a combined safe house. Sort of halfway until some of these people can be properly relocated,’ explains the agent. ‘This location is very “need to know” and so you have to forget being here after we leave tomorrow.’

  ‘We? You guys are staying here tonight too?’ I ask.

  ‘Security Agent Martin’s worried about you. Until we learn how much of a breach there’s been, you’re stuck with us.’

  ‘Right. You’d better tell me your names then, since we are going to be mates for a while,’ I say.

  ‘I’m Steve. This is Den and the two guys in the front are Will and Joe.�
�

  There are several other empty high rises. With doors and windows of the lower floors boarded up and warning signs plastered across them. The security team flank me as we get out of the car and walk to the building. It occurs to me how obvious they are being, but as I look around, I notice that this is the only occupied building in what appears to be a condemned area.

  ‘There should be no one about, but we’re even more cautious here, as by the empty location, we are somewhat exposed,’ Steve says when he sees me looking around.

  ‘When are they knocking it down?’ I ask.

  Steve shrugs.

  ‘This building is secure. The small apartments are stocked for sudden arrivals and kept clean. It’s not perfect, but the anonymity of the place works well for us.’

  The reception area of the building is off-putting. Graffiti covers the walls and the lift doors. But when Den calls the lift using a key card that he waves before a scanner, the inside is clean and looks new.

  ‘I take it the graffiti is a red herring,’ I say.

  Steve nods and as the lift ascends, I consider how much I don’t know about what happens in other areas of MI5. Like witness protection programmes. But then, as Steve had said, a lot of this is ‘need to know’ and it wasn’t an area I’d had to understand until I became at risk myself.

  When we reach the tenth floor, Steve uses his card again on the scanner and the doors open onto a spotless corridor. I’m less surprised to see the passage looking clean and tidy, as the exterior of this building doesn’t reflect the interior, which has been made very comfortable.

  ‘Every floor requires a pass key to get onto it from the stairs,’ Steve tells me. ‘And of course, you need one to get in and out of the lift.’

  He opens the door of the flat opposite the lift and ushers me inside.

  The place is lit up with lamps in each room as though someone has come in and prepared it for my arrival. By the door is a small table and I see the pass key left for me there. Though it’s unlikely I’ll need it tonight.

  ‘This is you for tonight. We’ll give you your privacy but we’ll be in the flat next door.’

  Steve leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I’m surprised to find all modern conveniences and nice furniture set out in this one-bedroom flat. I look at my watch and realize it’s after ten. I’m tired and so, after getting a bottle of water from the fridge in the small galley kitchen, I make my way to the bedroom.

  There I find the bedside lamp switched on and spare clothing – my size – left on top of the dresser. I look through the pile of clothes and find a T-shirt, two pairs of boxer shorts and a new white shirt still in the packaging. All of the clothing is new and still has labels inside.

  In the bathroom, clean towels and some accessories have been left for me to use.

  I strip off my suit and hang it up in the bedroom as I’ll need it for tomorrow. Then I take a shower. Afterwards I drag the T-shirt and a new pair of boxers on.

  I yawn. Then I climb into the bed. It’s comfortable. And despite being taken, once again, into a new environment, I feel safe. It’s unlikely the Network or anyone else will be able to find me here.

  On the bedside cabinet I notice that the lamp has a phone docking station. I place my phone on charge and switch off the lamp before turning over on my side.

  Even though I’m tired, the events of the day encroach on my mind, pushing back the sleep that I really want. Bringing me here feels like something of an overreaction on Ray’s part. Yet I know it’s necessary until we bring down the Network once and for all. I hadn’t argued with him about this move of location, because it had been one of Ray’s stipulations when I declined to go into the witness protection programme with Mia and Ben. Ray had only agreed to allow me to continue working for Archive on the promise that I take the protection offered. I knew he hadn’t wanted to lose me from the team even as I tried to bargain with him for my freedom. But Ray had been stubborn in his refusal to budge on this point. I’d been left with little choice but to defer to him in regards to my safety. And so far, the Network hadn’t come after me. Or been able to find me thanks to these precautions. It also meant I was able to continue doing my job, which was still a very important part of my life.

  Unable to sleep, I turn the lamp on again. I get out of the bed and go back into the kitchen. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime and I find some fresh bread and make myself some toast.

  Everything in the fridge is new and sealed, and I suspect, anything opened will have to be replaced for the next occupant of this apartment. For this reason, I don’t open the jar of marmalade that’s in there because it would be wasteful for just one night in this place.

  In one of the cupboards I find some tumblers and some mini-bar bottles of whisky. I open one and pour it into a glass. In the living room there is a modestly sized flat-screen television. I switch it on and discover there are several free channels.

  Sipping the whisky, I watch the end of the news until, feeling that pull of sleep tugging at the corners of my eyes again, I stumble off to bed.

  Like most nights I dream of Neva.

  We’ve just left Mendez’s room, but the doctor wasn’t present when Neva and I were there. We were talking to the trainer, Tracey. As I come out of the room the conversation slips from my mind and I can no longer remember it.

  We are children, but we don’t play, we don’t scream. Instead we walk back down the corridor and to the large hallway.

  At the door I see a man in a chauffeur’s uniform. I should know his name but it eludes me that day, just like the reason I’m here at the house again. At the sight of the man, Neva takes my hand. I look at her. She’s the only one here who ever touches me and it seems so important that she does.

  ‘Come back to me,’ she whispers. Then she releases my hand and turns and walks away.

  There’s a blur of time and another day at the house. I’m alone as I walk through the hallway. No chauffeur. No Mendez and no Tracey.

  Mr Beech comes out of his office then. He’s carrying a cake. Behind him, Tracey and Mendez smile and clap.

  ‘Happy birthday, Michael,’ Beech says.

  There are fifteen candles on the cake. I blow them out like any normal teenager but I know I’m not normal. And neither is this house. No. There’s something very wrong about all of it.

  ‘This is your heritage,’ Mr Beech says. ‘One day soon, it will all be yours.’

  Later, outside, Neva meets me. I’ve brought my piece of cake out to share with her. We nibble at it together, huddled at the back of the garage.

  ‘You have to survive this place,’ she tells me. ‘We both do.’

  I’m more afraid for her than I am for myself. I am, after all, chosen and Neva is merely one of Beech’s cannon fodder assassins.

  ‘You’ll forget me when you’ve gone,’ she says. ‘You always do. And I’ll forget you.’

  I deny it but know it’s the truth. Most of the time, away from here, I’m asleep. I’m only ever ‘real’ when I come back.

  Another time slip leads me back home: Mum, with her trademark flour smudge. Dad with his passion for gardening.

  ‘You have to work hard, Michael,’ Dad says. ‘You have to be recruited.’

  I apply myself to my studies just as I’m supposed to. Opposite me, studying just as hard, is my sister Mia.

  ‘You both have to be the best,’ Mum says.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Neva

  Neva is in a dilemma. After investigating Kritta further, and with more feedback from Elbakitten, she’s now certain that Mia and Michael are in danger. She contacts a source that can provide her with a new identity, but before she can go and take the pictures for another passport, she learns on the dark web that the forger she usually uses has been raided. He’s now facing a long time in prison. There are others of course, but the delay will cost so much time that she decides to risk an alternative.

  Neva spots a possible candidate laughing and drinking in a rive
rside bar. The girl is her height and build. She’s in her early 20s and appears to be travelling with a group of people. The main attraction is the heavy goth make-up that Neva can replicate and will help her disguise who she really is on airport cameras. She watches who the girl interacts with and there is no obvious sexual attachment to any of the other members of her party. Then she follows them back to the hostel where they are staying.

  After some enquires, she learns they are a group of students travelling from London. It all seems to be falling right into place. The trick, of course, will be to separate her from the others without causing alarm. After that she watches their movements at a distance, looking for the right moment to take the girl away from her friends and get possession of her passport.

  After a few days of tracking them, Neva follows the group, a mixture of young men and women, to a known gay bar not far from the red-light district.

  Neva has been studying how the girl moves, how she walks. With the right wig, Neva knows she could use her identity. At the club she watches her knocking back shots.

  Neva buys herself a drink at the bar and then wanders through the crowd of people. The disguise she’s wearing includes a fake septum ring and heavy sweeps of eyeliner along with black lipstick. Her fair hair is covered with a long black wig that’s crimped and backcombed. She fits in at this club, because anything goes here.

  As the evening progresses, Neva avoids contact with anyone in the girl’s group as she observes them, keeping her distance. She plans to make a move on the girl when the moment is right and she’s tipsy enough to make a new friend. Then she notices the girl accepting a drink from a woman in her 40s. Neva watches as they start hanging out together, dancing and drinking – all of which the woman pays for. They end the night with a full-on snog on the dance floor.

  Later, the girl departs the club with the woman she’s met. The group of students she’s with barely notice her absence and this tells Neva it’s not the first time she’s abandoned them for a casual liaison. It gives her confidence in the decision she’s made to choose her.