Emily’s mobile began to ring from within her handbag. Ignoring Ryan further, she half-twisted away and pulled free the Samsung Galaxy. Seeing that the incoming call was from Sophie she stood up and turned away from her SIS superior. “This will have to wait Ryan. I need to take this,” she said cold and abruptly.
“Hi, Sophie?” Stepping outside of Ryan’s office, Emily accepted the call as she forcefully closed the door behind her. For the moment, the awkwardness between Ryan and herself was forgotten.
“He’s dead, Emily... he’s dead... they shot him!” She was out of breath and sounded hysterical.
“Calm down Sophie, you need to relax. Where are you?”
The line went quiet for a moment as Sophie tried to think. “I... I don’t know. I’ve been running, putting a bit of distance between myself and the cops. But Emily... Barry’s dead!”
“Listen to me Sophie, I’ve had intel. I don’t think he’s dead. In a bad way, yes... but not dead,” adding as a macabre afterthought, “not yet at any rate.”
“Not... dead?” There was a note of disbelief in her hushed voice along with a discernible tremble. “But I saw... I watched as they shot him relentlessly... he had no chance.” There was shaking in the young woman’s voice. “I saw the look on that agent’s face. He shook his head!”
“We need to forget Barry − for now at least − and focus on yourself and getting you to safety. Did you find your father’s locker?”
She went quiet for a moment, before perking up “Yes,” she said. “The code you had cracked was correct. Inside the locker I found a case; dad had left some things within it; not much, you could hardly call it an ‘inheritance’. I’m not sure what to make of them though to be honest, I’m gonna need your help.”
“Whatever you need.” It seemed the earlier rift had been forgotten. “Can you elaborate?” Emily was pacing the corridor outside Ryan’s office. Not really thinking about it, she could feel the thick pile of the carpet beneath her shoes.
“Well, there’s a small bottle of liquid with a note on which my dad has written an instruction for me to drink; there’s a photograph of my dad with a younger woman... I recognise her from my days locked within Kaplan Ratcliff, and it recently occurred to me; I think it is Clara.”
“Clara? Ryan’s daughter?” My friend...
“Yes. How many Claras do you know?”
But Clara is dead, Emily reflected sadly.
“On the back of the photo,” Sophie continued, “my father has written an address, somewhere in the Czech Republic.”
“Okay... I can help look into that.”
“Thanks, but that’s not all. There’s also a thumb drive, very small, very discrete, the sort used in a camera. I’m guessing it holds a key to something. Knowing my father, it’s likely important.”
Emily sensed a degree of excitement in Sophie’s tone, or maybe it was her own enthusiasm interpreting the upbeat slant. “Well, your father went to a lot of trouble hiding it, so you’re likely right. You’d best keep it safe.” A moment after saying it, Emily felt stupid.
“Yes, mum! Don’t worry... It’s safe.”
“You need to get it back to me ASAP,” she said. “Do you have a get-out plan?”
Sophie laughed sarcastically. “Barry WAS my get-out plan,” she replied. “I guess travelling as Sophie Mason is now out of the question.”
“Leave it with me; I’ll see what we can come up with.”
“Don’t worry yourself. Let’s not over-complicate things. I arrived in America on my own, I’m sure I’ll be able to depart from it... one way or another. I’ll be in touch.” With no further thought Sophie disconnected the call.
“Just be careful,” Emily said to a dead end.
Chapter Twenty
Sophie
Stopping a short distance from where she had left the Chevrolet and abandoned Barry, Sophie turned her head about and watched from between the gaps of a dilapidated wooden fence that was held up by some frayed rope tied to a ponderosa pine tree and thickly coated green paint. The house behind her was in a similar state of disrepair; faded and flaking creamy-yellow − once white − paintwork, boarded-up windows, moss-covered roof tiles − some missing − and part of the chimney had collapsed.
“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Sophie had screamed.
Heeding Barry’s demands she had slipped out the driver’s side of the Chevrolet and had made to escape, but found after a few hurried steps that she couldn’t. She liked Barry... felt something weird burn inside her when she thought of him.
The thought of the sacrifice he was about to make for her was unbearable to contemplate. She didn’t want to leave him; couldn’t leave him.
Barry turned his head towards her, a look of sadness and regret flashing across his face. She could tell within that look that he was about to do something stupid. She hadn’t realised that she gave him little choice.
Sophie watched him lift the Glock her father had left for her, raising it purposefully, his intent all too clear.
“STOP! DON’T DO IT!” she screamed.
Calmly, almost reassuringly, he looked again towards where Sophie was standing, making her feel visible and exposed. He then turned away to face the still-gathering police officers and before he was able to squeeze the trigger of the gun a volley of bullets slammed into the Chevrolet with metallic clunks and peppered the unprotected parts of his body. The tyres blew out beneath the truck with four quick successive bangs and the glass in the door imploded.
Translucent liquid leaked out beneath the vehicle in a fast flow from the gas tank, punctured from a stray bullet.
The policeman who had taken charge shouted into the radio, his voice amplified by a speaker built into his car: “CEASE FIRE!”
A lonely gun fired a further bullet before the order was completely adhered to, taking Barry in the torso. He slumped to the ground, clutching his chest. He was breathing hard and gulping for air like an asthmatic desperate for oxygen.
“Barry...” Sophie whispered, feeling tears at the corner of her eyes. She watched Barry collapse in a heap, entirely defeated, the gun clattering heavily to fall a couple of feet away from him.
Almost in slow-motion, police officers charged around the scene, securing and making safe the area.
“Ah, jeez! Seriously? Wasn’t one bullet enough?” The man who she had first laid eyes upon at the airport spoke indignantly and looked around the scene perplexed. She could just hear him over the hubbub caused by the officers milling around. “Get a medic here!” he shouted urgently. “I need him alive!” The CIA agent crouched down beside Barry and, removing his jacket tenderly placed it beneath his head.
The agent said a few more things but Sophie couldn’t hear anything further, not until he looked up frantically:
“I’M LOSING HIM!”
“Hold on Barry... please... don’t you die on me as well,” she spoke quietly to herself, almost in prayer.
A pair of EMTs ran from an ambulance parked at the furthest point, to the rear of the motorcade of haphazardly parked police vehicles, a stretcher board carried between them. One had a red medical life support bag flung over his shoulder.
“...search the area.... she can’t have gone far...” A new voice penetrated the babble of frenzied police noise... female. She was directing her speech to half a dozen FBI agents as she walked up to where Barry was lying, the FBI agents trotting close behind in what looked like a bizarre follow-the-leader charade, their bodies concealed within black body armour, their hands clasping rifles menacingly.
The newcomer, in her late twenties, bustled onto centre stage; quietly attractive and wearing little makeup, she had long brown hair streaked with caramel highlights and tied neatly in a tail. She looked official in her white collared blouse, black skirt and matching blazer and carried an air of authority
that Sophie guessed meant she was partnered with the man still stooped at Barry’s side. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. The woman stopped next to her partner and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The blond-haired guy looked up and shook his head slowly. Sophie could read the body language and felt a gut-wrenching feeling tear at her insides.
Unaffected, the woman turned to face the FBI agents. “Remember... she’s camouflaged,” she said, not elaborating. “You won’t see her without thermal eyewear!”
“Sorry Barry.” Taking her cue, Sophie backed into the garden beyond the dilapidated fencing and charged through overgrown grass and knee-deep weeds and nettles, circumventing the house and scaling a boundary wall that bordered another, slightly better maintained property.
With finesse, she leapt over to the other side, landing smoothly and carrying on easily at a run. Despite being unseen, an angry Rottweiler sensed her presence and started barking threateningly. Chained to a post, he posed no physical danger, except for potentially exposing her whereabouts. She ignored the dog’s continued snarling and ascended a boundary fence across the other end of the garden. On the opposite side was another garden, and beyond that was another, then another, and so on and so forth. For ten minutes she hurdled walls, fences and hedges, some low and easy, some high and arduous, until she vaulted a mesh-wire fence into an alleyway that followed a short distance between a row of properties. Slightly out of breath, she quickly considered her options. To her left the alley led to a road. On her right, a wall blocked progress and, unknown to Sophie, her FBI pursuers were not far beyond it.
Sophie chose the road side and started running towards it. Not only would it allow her a vantage point for a few blocks, gaining her vital foresight of her enemies, it was − she reasoned − in a populated area. Unwittingly, the pedestrians and drivers passing by would give her plenty of cover and, should her pursuers discover her, provide her with necessary protection. She believed no one in law enforcement would risk killing or injuring civilians in a densely inhabited district.
Sirens in the distance caused her ears to prick up. Spilling forth from the alleyway, Sophie stopped long enough to consider the ambulance speeding off into the distance. It was hard to accept, but she knew Barry was dead. She remembered the agent kneeling next to him, the look of resignation as he shook his head towards his partner. It could mean only one thing. She swiftly dismissed those thoughts.
The ambulance disappeared around a corner, the siren sounding less insistent and gradually fading.
She ran across the road, dodging traffic, and sprinted along a busy boulevard, putting greater distance between herself and her pursuers. A couple of police cars sped past, their sirens screaming, light-bars splashing blue and red. Oblivious to her close proximity, they were heading in the direction from where, a short time before, she had come.
Taking no chances, Sophie kept on moving. In her jeans’ pocket she felt her mobile phone vibrate. It had gone a couple of times before but she hadn’t noticed until then, the buzzing sending a small pulsation to butterfly against her leg. She could guess who it was but didn’t yet feel safe enough to pause for the distraction. Instead, she allowed the call to go to voicemail as yet another police car blazed past.
“He’s dead, Emily... he’s dead... they shot him!” Sophie had only moments earlier thought it safe to stop running, stepping into a phone booth along a quiet stretch of road that offered seclusion and a blockade to the outdoor sounds. The fact that it was out of order − a sign plastered across the door − was a bonus, affording her unlimited privacy free from intrusion.
She was out of breath and found her emotions brimming to the surface and with them total understanding that her travelling companion was now dead.
“Calm down Sophie, you need to relax. Where are you?”
Sophie had explained that she didn’t know. Fresno wasn’t a place she’d ever frequented, and not likely someplace she’d ever dream visiting again. Her thoughts dwelled on Barry.
“Listen to me Sophie, I’ve had intel. I don’t think he’s dead. In a bad way, yes... but not dead,” Emily felt compelled to add, “not yet at any rate.”
“Not... dead?” she couldn’t believe it. “But I saw... I watched as they shot him relentlessly... he had no chance.” There was a slight tremor in Sophie’s voice. “I saw the look on that agent’s face. He shook his head!”
“We need to forget Barry − for now at least − and focus on yourself and getting you to safety. Did you find your father’s locker?”
Sophie went on to confirm that she had and proceeded to explain what she found inside. The small bottle of liquid, the photograph of her father with another, younger woman (a strange address scrawled on the back), and a thumb drive.
“You need to get it back to me ASAP,” stated Emily. “Do you have a get-out plan?”
Sophie started to laugh, almost hysterically. “Barry WAS my get-out plan,” she replied between whoops. “I guess travelling as Sophie Mason is now out of the question.”
“Leave it with me; I’ll see what we can come up with.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” now composed, she spoke with regained confidence. “Let’s not over-complicate things. I arrived in America on my own, I’m sure I’ll be able to depart from it... one way or other. I’ll be in touch.” Without further thought Sophie pressed the red icon on her phone and disconnected from Emily. Holding the mobile for a little longer, she stood for a minute mulling over things. This was the first opportunity to really pause and take a break since sitting on the flight from Miami, before the absurdity of jumping from the moving aeroplane, having to fight her way out from being held under siege at the airport, and facing the likelihood that her recently acquired friend was dead.
Oh Barry... She pushed the thought of him from her mind. There would be time to grieve later. She needed to focus.
Her heart was still racing from all the running, and despite all that she had been through, she still felt brimming with energy, still itching to get moving again.
That’s the adrenaline, she thought. When it subsided she would be in for a real treat of muscular soreness and fatigue. And then there was the added worry of having no serum − her supply and other belongings had been left in the cabinet above her seat on the Boeing 737. She couldn’t speculate what the result of using the small vial of blue liquid would be, but her father had left it for her in the safety box for the obvious reason of using it. Its presence dug reassuringly into her upper leg, beneath her right jeans’ pocket.
For now, she ignored it, using instead the adrenaline pumping throughout her body to motivate her further into action.
Seemingly, the problem wasn’t moving and running, it was knowing where to move to.
She pushed out of the phone booth, the door having the appearance of swinging open of its own accord to an elderly couple out for an afternoon stroll, arm-in-arm, and just a few feet away. Sophie bypassed them as they looked on in shock, muttering words of befuddlement, the utterances of the everyday senior generation.
Sophie walked further up the road, convinced that if she kept moving, it increased the distance between herself and her pursuers, providing greater security. For the time being, this was all that mattered; it helped buy her some time. Along the way, she concentrated on coming up with an idea for how she was actually going to be able to leave America.
At the end of the sidewalk, a pedestrian crossing started to sound its alarm, alerting a group of people waiting to cross into mobility. An old Chinese man wearing dark sunglasses and holding a white stick started forward warily, his right hand swaying the stick ahead of him, from one side to another, seeking out obstructions.
Sophie walked up beside him and gently took the man’s arm.
“Here, let me help you,” she said, not waiting for protest.
“Thank you...
so kind.” He had the slightest Chinese accent.
Sophie saw him to the other side of the road in silence. Upon reaching the pavement she released her hand, letting the man go.
The Chinese man smiled gratefully. “’tis very rare for young-uns to help these days... thank you kind lady...”
“You’re welcome,” Sophie replied, faking cheerfulness. “Tell me, do you know this city very well?”
The Chinese man laughed. “Jus’ cos I blind, don’ make me stupid! I’ve lived in Fresno mos’ me life... You’re English, yes?”
“Err, yes...”
“There’s somethin’... strange... about you,” he figured. “Other than being English! You’re...” he trailed off, not able to pinpoint or choose the right word; he made a face like he tasted cat faeces, his tongue turning over an invisible nut.
“Different?” volunteered Sophie.
“Yes...” he started smiling again. “That could be it...”
“You have no idea,” she muttered.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan
Emily had stepped out of his office, divesting him of any chance to explain his actions or give reasons for why he was secretly in commune with Jennifer Ratcliff. Ryan recalled his earlier conversation with Jennifer which, no doubt, Emily had overheard. It hadn’t been until shortly after that, and only by sheer chance, that he’d discovered the small listening device. Before Jennifer’s call, he’d been eating the club sandwich he’d ordered from Rumbles, a small sandwich shop situated just across the river. As soon as the call was over and after absently taking a bite from his half-eaten toasted sandwich, he realised he was no longer hungry. He had tossed the sandwich to the bin placed to the side of his desk, his aim useless. It had rebounded off the rim of the bin, falling apart upon impacting the carpet, spilling lettuce, turkey, bacon, tomato and a splodge of mayonnaise onto the thick pile. It was whilst cleaning up the mess that his eyes happened upon the small circular disk stuck to the underside of his desk.
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 15