Brayden looked down towards a spot not in camera-shot. He hesitated, raising a hand to his forehead where he massaged a worry line and the beginnings of a headache.
“Well, Agent Scott?” pushed the President, adjusting himself impatiently within his leather seat.
“I’m afraid she was one of the casualties,” Brayden said miserably. “She was dead before we could get her to a hospital. A GSW,” gunshot wound, “she lost a lot of blood.”
There were groans of dismay erupting around the table and General Eastman punched the table.
President Harrison felt the same disappointment. “I see,” he said solemnly.
“Um, if it’s all right with you Mister President, will that be all? It’s been a helluva long and telling day. I’ll send you my full report some time tomorrow.”
The President nodded in agreement. “Very well agent Scott; we’ll talk some more in the White House when you return to Washington.”
“Thank you, Mister President.” Brayden disconnected at the other end and his portrait was replaced by a screensaver of the presidential logo sitting in the centre of a completely blue background.
“Well, that’s a big kick in the nuts,” said Milo Calland, his only contribution to the meeting. It was at that precise moment that the President decided to replace the Deputy Director of the CIA.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Ryan
Her father had still been alive the last time she had sat within the living room of the small house, hidden beyond a row of trees that did well to conceal it from the road despite it being winter and the branches of the oaks, elms and silver birch trees being free of leaves.
Ryan’s safe house; the place Sophie had been directed to seven months earlier after her mother had been killed, and her father (seemingly) abducted. The car she had driven in was still parked out front, the blue Peugeot 206 a shameless reminder of that day’s terrible events, was dirty and uncared for, brown and white bird droppings caked the windscreen, bonnet and roof, and blood still stained the interior upholstery. Thomas Mundahl’s pepper-white Mini One was alongside it, sparkling clean by comparison.
It was now the first week of February, and her wounds had practically healed. The damage to her shoulder had required surgery to remove the bullet, but aside from the dull ache, the numbness around the surface area and the round, jagged scar, no one would have known. The knife wound to her stomach, and the cut to her forearm, both inflicted by Garret, were completely gone. Surprisingly, her body was still able to regenerate the flesh and tissue around the knife wounds to near perfection, but was less successful with deeper, bullet damage.
“I can’t stay here forever,” said Sophie, accepting a steaming cup of tea from the Norwegian. He had collected her from the hospital only the night before.
Thomas offered her a plate with an assortment of biscuits that were left over from Christmas. She rejected them with an outward turned hand.
“It’s nice here. You could grow to like it. It’s very peaceful. The people in the local village keep themselves to themselves. No one asks questions. No one cares.” Thomas spoke carefully, articulating each word in a concise way, his accent rich. He placed the plate of biscuits down, helping himself to a ginger nut. He dunked it in his tea. “It’s safe here,” he continued, “the perfect place to lie low and be dead to the world.”
Sophie looked down at the tea. Both her hands were wrapped around it, as though drawing warmth from it. She wasn’t cold; far from it. A gas fire burned brightly in the centre of one wall, heat billowing out. “I didn’t ask Emily to fake my death. I’m sure I could have handled things.”
“It was for the best,” Thomas replied. “Even without your… abilities, the Americans would still pursue you. You know that. After Dominic threw himself from that roof, it stood to reason; they wanted you still in connection to the Nevada attack last year.” He sighed. “This way, you can live relatively free.”
When Sophie had collapsed on the roof of Dominic’s warehouse, her pulse was weak and the truth of the matter was she almost died. With little time, Liam had transported her in the Westland Lynx back to HMS Ocean, where she received enough treatment to keep her alive. Shortly after, once her vitals were stable, she was secretly transferred by helicopter to a private hospital in London. Whilst travelling, the news of her ‘unexpected’ death was announced to Agents Brayden Scott and Christina Mullins (found bound and beaten within the warehouse a short time earlier).
Emily believed announcing Sophie’s death was the tidiest outcome.
“Being in hiding isn’t ‘living free’, is it?”
Thomas Mundahl understood her resentment. He’d felt much the same when Ryan had whisked and hidden him away, after George had destroyed the laboratory and killed his colleagues. But he soon adapted and learnt to live with it.
A dark-blue Mazda MPV pulled into the driveway outside the house, and parked up a little out of view. Following the sound of the engine turning off, a couple of car doors could be heard to bang shut, indicating more than one visitor.
“Ah, Ryan’s here,” muttered Thomas, standing up. He placed his cup of tea down.
“Ryan?” Sophie looked puzzled. “Shouldn’t he still be in hospital?”
Thomas shrugged. “He insisted on visiting… as soon as you were discharged. You know what Ryan is like. He can be very… persuasive.” He smiled. “I won’t be a minute.” He exited the room to welcome the newcomers.
Sophie knew exactly what he had meant.
The visitors took a long time to make their entrance, owing to Ryan’s disability. Since visiting him at hospital on New Year’s Day, his prognosis was unchanged; he was still paralysed from the neck down.
Someone was lowering an access ramp from the rear, passenger side, and then helping the wheelchair bound occupant onto the driveway. A few seconds later, pleasantries were exchanged between Thomas and Ryan, followed by greetings to Emily and another, unknown accomplice. Shortly after, Emily pushed Ryan into the living room.
“Ryan!” Sophie stood and crossed over to him, planting a kiss to his forehead. Two months earlier she had found it difficult to share a room with him. Now that he had lost the ability to walk or move a single muscle she’d found it in herself to forgive him… her pity had helped her find inner peace; finally, she believed Emily’s assertions that the MI6 man had nothing to do with her father’s death… even if he had been so vocal about wanting revenge on the man responsible for Clara’s death.
“Sophie… glad to see you looking so well. How are you feeling?”
“I feel great,” replied the blonde woman, sounding genuine. “Hi Emily,” she acknowledged the auburn-haired woman, though her natural, blonde colour had begun to appear at the roots and streak within it.
“Hi,” smiled the slightly older woman. She applied the brakes on the wheelchair then sat in a seat across from Sophie.
“Thomas will be with us shortly… he’s just outside. I brought an assistant to help me in and out of the people carrier; borrowed him from SIS. Before entering the man happened to notice a plant that caught his interest. Thomas said he’d take him on a tour of the garden. I do believe it was the monkshood that got him excited. We’ve got loads growing about the garden. Quite pretty when in bloom, but highly poisonous; I grew it for precisely that reason. Anyway…” he changed the topic, “what about… your…” he struggled for the correct word. “… enhancements?” He could have been talking about breast enlargements had Sophie not known what he was referring to.
“Gone,” Sophie said. She had tried to think herself invisible, whilst laying in the bed at hospital a couple of days after surgery. Concentrating, much the same way as she had all the times before, she focused on changing, on disappearing. But nothing happened. Her abilities had deserted her.
“Oh. That’s too bad. Seems like we’ve bot
h lost something precious to us,” said Ryan, slightly subdued.
“It’s probably for the best. My father was right: nothing good would ever come of being able to become invisible.” Sophie then changed the subject. “How’s Meredith?”
“Doing very well; your brothers too. She’s back at home now, though a few weeks away from returning to school. They all miss you. Theo too. They all took your death badly.”
This made Sophie feel terribly sad. She swallowed hard. “Well, I’d be there with them if it were up to me.”
“Someday, maybe,” replied Ryan agreeably, “when the dust has settled. You do understand… it’s for all your sakes?”
Sophie turned her head away. Reluctantly she conceded. “Sure. Thomas said as much.”
Ryan felt the need to elaborate further. “Alive, you’re a wanted woman, with… or without… your strengths. Some would go to extreme lengths to find you. Let us do what we must to protect you… and your family.”
It made sense but she hated hearing it. Dismissing it for the moment, she changed the subject. “What else have I missed?”
“Have you heard about Jennifer Ratcliff?”
“No.”
“She’s been taken into custody for her part in proceedings. She denies it, of course; however the evidence linking her and Kaplan Ratcliff to the entire enterprise is overwhelming; they funded everything and were involved in all of Dominic’s schemes. Monarchists are calling for her to be tried for high treason just because of the theft of the Crown Jewels, but in all likelihood she’ll be convicted under the Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act. Either way, she’ll be spending the rest of her life behind bars.”
“Good,” was all Sophie could think to say, her mood downcast.
“I brought you some of your things,” Emily interposed breezily in an attempt to cheer things up. She removed a bag from her shoulder and handed it to Sophie.
Sophie unzipped the backpack and pulled free Flopsy, her soft toy kangaroo. There were other items; clothing, her dad’s Nexus tablet, some photographs, but the only other thing she removed was an A5 manila envelope with her name written across its centre. It was unsealed and reminded her of the one her father had left her within the aluminium attaché briefcase at Fresno Airport.
“I thought you might like that back… now that we’ve done with it,” stated Emily.
Sophie upended the envelope and allowed gravity to assist its descent into her hand. A two-and-a-half-inch thumb drive. She felt a pang of regret overcome her. “Thanks. I’ll keep it together with the photograph – the last things my dad gave me.”
“Photograph?” Ryan threw Sophie and Emily puzzled looks.
“Now’s not the time,” advised Emily.
Sophie ignored her. “When my dad left me this thumb drive, he included a picture. It was of him… with your daughter, Clara.” Sophie stood up and reached for a wallet she kept in the seat pocket of her jeans. She opened the plastic billfold and plucked out a folded photograph. She held the image up so Ryan could view it.
George Jennings was smiling, looking happy. He had his arm around the shoulders of Clara. Together they looked intimate. Ryan made a little whimpering sound, seeing his daughter again; and seeing her murderer embracing her.
“There’s an address on the back. Norská 561/10, 101 00 Praha, Czech Republic. Does it mean anything to you?”
Ryan blinked back tears. After careful consideration he said: “No. Except Praha is Czech for Prague.”
“I did some checks back in the office… but found out nothing; it’s just a private residency,” ventured Emily, adding nothing of value to the conversation.
Sophie studied the picture. The faces of her father and her biological mother stared back at her. Carefully, she refolded it and slipped it back away. “Maybe I’ll take a trip, check it out…” Sophie saw a flash of concern flit into Ryan’s eyes, adding: “… one day… when the dust has settled, of course.”
Out in the hallway, the front door banged open. Ryan’s assistant followed Thomas into the house, closing the door behind him.
“Ah, that’ll be my right hand man returned from his excursion around the garden,” Ryan brightened. “You may know him.”
Following Thomas into the room, Agent Barry ‘Barrington’ Abney stepped in with the dignity of a rugby scrum half. “Sophie!”
“Barry!” she squealed in delight, jumping up and charging at him like an excited kid. “I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed. “A heart attack, they said… at the hospital.”
Barry accepted the young woman in an embrace. “You’re not the only one’s death they faked,” he said.
A short time later, Barry was giving Sophie the same tour Thomas had given him on arrival. It was the first time they’d been able to relax together since the hotel room in Miami.
“Monkshood,” he said, pointing out the plants bordering the garden.
“I know. I saw them in bloom last year. Quite poisonous, I believe.”
Barry was amazed she knew that. Was there no end to her talents?
“I really thought you were dead,” she said. Barry reached for her hand, and together they took a little stroll around the garden.
“I guessed you might. I don’t know how they managed it; somehow they simulated a heart attack I guess. Probably the nurse, she injected me with something just before it happened. One minute I’m lying in a hospital bed when I start feeling a lot of pain in the chest… I quickly black out… and the next, I wake up here… in England, two days later. I’ve been in hiding ever since.”
“Don’t you ever leave me again! D’you hear?”
“I promise.”
“Good. Then that settles it.” Sophie stopped walking and pulled free her hand. She reached to the seat pocket of her jeans and tugged free the wallet.
“What you doing? You paying me?”
“No. I want you to see something. It was in the locker in Fresno, amongst other things.” Sophie reached inside and withdrew the folded photograph. “It’s my father… with Clara.”
“They look cosy.”
“Indeed.” Sophie didn’t sound impressed. “On the reverse is an address, somewhere in Prague.” Sophie turned the photo over, giving him a look. “It’s in my father’s handwriting,” she said.
“What are you thinking?” asked Barry contemplatively.
“Fancy taking a holiday? A stroll on the Charles Bridge over Vltava River this time of year is supposed to be very romantic. Maybe we can have that talk you promised me; back in that cheap hotel we stayed in in Miami.” That awkward moment in bed entered both their minds.
Barry smiled, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know. What about Ryan?”
“Might be better that we don’t tell him,” Sophie said, evasively. “He wouldn’t be pleased.”
“About us eloping?”
“About me coming out of hiding,” she said.
“I don’t know.” Barry sounded hesitant. He was mulling over the prospect of another journey with the young woman. “Nothing good is likely to come of it.”
“Nothing good ever comes from the things I go after…” Sophie was full of sorrow.
Barry took Sophie’s hand in his, and they walked on in silence for a bit. When they’d done a full circuit of the garden, Barry stopped. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” He reached into a pocket and removed something that fitted snug in his enclosed grip. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Sophie did as bidden.
Barry placed the solid object into her hand and she flinched. It felt ice-cold to the touch.
“The Whisper of Persia?”
“We thought you might like to keep it… as a souvenir, after all the trouble you went to in getting it – twice! We prised it from Dominic’s dead
hand… he’d been determined to keep it, even after death.”
“Maybe you should’ve let him keep it.”
Barry shook his head. “I don’t think he was going to need it where he was going. His body was cremated three days later.”
“Even so… It doesn’t belong to me,” she replied, resolutely. “I guess it should be returned to The Queen’s Gallery, to its rightful owner.”
“It belonged to a Viscount who has expressed no desire for its return, claiming it to be cursed or bad luck. He’s cashed in on the insurance already… twenty million quid and change; if it’s recovered, he won’t see it… it’ll just go to the insurer.”
Sophie gave it a moment’s thought. “It’s not right for me to keep it, and besides, what could I do with it? What would you do?”
Barry shrugged. “It’s yours to decide what to do with. Keep it, or return it. You choose.”
Sophie sighed, raising the diamond up close to her face so that she could see light through it. For a long moment she studied it. The multi-faced stone glistened and almost shone as it appeared to draw in and capture the rays from the cool, midwinter sun. “No good would come from me keeping this stone,” she finally said. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”
Epilogue
Sophie
The Smartwings flight landed at Václav Havel Airport in Prague just a little over one hour and forty-five minutes after taking off from Gatwick. Unlike their last flying experience, Sophie and Barry disembarked the Boeing 737 like every other passenger, using the exit door and walking merrily into the departure building, looking like an ordinary couple away on a romantic break to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Passing through border checks was a formality, and despite feeling nervous, the passports they travelled with identifying them as Barry Jenkins and Sophie Matthews, gained only the slightest scrutiny. They were waved on casually, and within ten minutes were outside hailing for a cab.
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 46