by Joanna Rees
Peaches felt sick. With Marguerite to translate for them, the names and dates in Peaches’ black book would soon start to make sense. And if Marguerite was prepared to give evidence herself . . . ? Christ. Peaches suddenly thought of all the recent dates she’d sent her on with the Senator.
And if they linked Peaches and the Senator, all hell would break loose. She wasn’t stupid. The Senator would pile everything at Peaches’ door. That fat loud-mouthed asshole would make sure she was made an example of before any blame stuck with him.
‘It was Marguerite who told us about your party. All the secrecy. All the drugs you’d organized to be there. And how much cash you were gonna be pulling in. Tax-free . . .’
Peaches felt a hot flush of anger. After all the money and effort she’d laid out on security, the grass had been on the inside all along, coordinating the sting, waiting to give the signal so that the raid would cause maximum embarrassment to Peaches and her guests.
‘And she’s not the only one,’ Pounder continued. ‘You see, Miss Gold, it’s a bit like dominoes. One rolls over . . . ? It’s only a matter of time before the others start toppling too.’
And Peaches had a lot of dominoes. Who else was prepared to talk? Who else had they approached already? What other names were listed in that folder on the desk? Angela. Ella. Suzy too . . . all those girls she’d rescued from the street. And the undergraduates, and the actresses. Would they be loyal to Peaches? Or would they turn snitch, like Marguerite?
Hell, none of them would want to be dragged through a court case, forced to testify against her, asked in public about things they’d done that should only ever be spoken about in private. How the hell would a jury ever understand what they’d all been through? How would they explain away the tips, the lifestyle . . . ? Which one of them wouldn’t refuse the easy way out?
The room seemed to darken, as if a cloud had just slid across the sun. It was over: the game she’d been playing all these years, the one she’d vowed time and time again to quit, but somehow never had.
She didn’t consult Tommy. Didn’t need to. She made her decision quick.
It was the only choice she had. The only tiny chink of light she could see. Her only chance.
‘I want to make a deal,’ she told Pounder, looking up.
Pounder laughed. ‘Forget it, sugar. You’re in no position to make any sort of deal.’
Peaches leant forward. She took a breath. ‘But what if I said I could get you something far bigger than me? Even bigger than a bunch of Hollywood fat cats? What if I could give you something really big? International? The kind of catch that’ll make your career for good?’
‘Peaches, what’s going on?’ Tommy Liebermann asked.
Peaches shook her head to silence him. She looked Nancy Pounder in the eyes. She could tell she’d more than sparked her interest. It was time to call in the only contact she had in diplomatic circles. ‘Get Harry Rezler on the phone,’ she said.
‘Who?’ Pounder and Tommy asked at the same time.
‘US Embassy, Moscow.’
Surprisingly, Peaches had never been to Washington before. And now, as she and Tommy were escorted by two Federal Agents into the downtown high-rise and led through the airport-style security with bag and body searches by no-nonsense armed guards, she couldn’t help feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her more and more.
Somehow, in LA, the way she conducted her business had always seemed legitimate, excusable even, considering that the demand far exceeded the supply she was responsible for. She was just filling an economic gap, giving the great American people what they wanted, facilitating democratic freedom of choice and open market capitalism: no more, no less.
But in this grim, grey Government fortress her circumstances suddenly seemed so much worse. She no longer felt like the people’s champion, but their enemy. A huge crest hanging above her in the lobby loomed like a giant fly swat. Below it, the marbled floor was polished to a glossy finish with inlaid gold lettering reading Truth and Justice.
Whenever Peaches had thought about getting caught she’d always felt a shiver of anticipation along with the fear. She realized now she’d always known that one day, it would happen. She would get caught. Her freedom would be on the line. And only then would she face the ultimate challenge. She’d survived some terrible things, she knew, but would she be smart enough to survive this?
Well, she thought, following Tommy and the two agents into the glistening steel-and-mirror elevator, she was about to get her chance to find out.
‘You sure about this?’ Tommy whispered as the po-faced agents led them down a windowless corridor on the tenth floor. ‘I thought you said this Rezler guy was just a consul in the embassy. He must have pulled some pretty big strings for us to be meeting him here.’
Peaches swallowed hard. She didn’t tell Tommy, but she was just as surprised as he was. Maybe her gut instinct about Harry Rezler had been right all along. Maybe he was more connected than he made out. Maybe he was part of the Government. Hell, for all she knew, he could be CIA.
She certainly didn’t expect to see Harry in person, but he was already in the interview room as the guards opened the door and led her and Tommy in. It smelt as if it had recently been refurbished; there was a new-looking speckled grey carpet. A plain wooden table and chairs stood beneath a loudly ticking clock on the wall, next to a window covered with a closed grey slatted blind. The other wall had a large mirror panel on it, probably with a camera recording on the other side, Peaches thought, looking up at the ceiling tiles and their harsh, unflattering lighting.
Harry was sitting on the edge of the table reading a file. A pair of designer tortoiseshell-framed glasses were perched on the end of his nose, making him look more distinguished than she remembered. More intimidating too. He had on a grey suit, but it was well tailored, Peaches noticed. He looked less dishevelled than he had in Moscow and more in control. On the top of his game, in fact.
He looked up as the agents pulled out chairs for Peaches and Tommy. He nodded to the agents and they both left, quietly shutting the door behind them. Still Harry didn’t smile. He didn’t give any indication of what was going on inside his mind. He contemplated Peaches as he might a stranger who was standing in his way on the sidewalk: as a temporary inconvenience that would soon be brushed aside.
In fact, he was looking at her as if – the ego-crushing realization hit her – as if she was work. Peaches felt her stomach flip over. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was just that those eyes which had once given her a feeling of safety now seemed to contain no feelings at all.
Peaches had been allowed a shower and Tommy had brought her clothes from home, but she still wished she looked better. Her reflection in the elevator had horrified her. She’d looked five years older than she had done a week ago. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and sat with her hands on her knees.
‘Thanks for seeing us, Harry,’ she said, trying to smile her most friendly smile.
Harry ignored her. Tommy looked at Peaches, alarmed. ‘This is Tommy Liebermann,’ Peaches continued, ‘my attorney.’
‘I know who he is,’ Harry Rezler said, not looking up.
‘So, um . . .’ Peaches paused, trying to stop herself from sounding too nervous. She looked around, waiting for someone else to join them. ‘Are we going to see someone official?’
‘Official?’ Harry asked. He looked at her and her heart jolted.
‘You’re just with the embassy, right?’ Tommy asked. ‘We need to see someone who can help us.’
Peaches had assured Tommy that she’d be able to talk Harry into getting them to the right people. She knew how sceptical Tommy was about her plan. Until she’d seen Harry’s expression just now, she’d been convinced she was right. Well, anything was worth a try. Anything was a damn sight better than being in the clutches of that bitch Nancy Pounder. And no matter how Harry regarded her now, she still had her trump card to play. She could win him round. She had to believe
that.
Be confident, she told herself. Pull this off and it wouldn’t only be her own problems she’d be solving, but Frankie and Emma’s as well.
Harry Rezler walked to the other side of the desk and sat down. He looked at the file, then he took off his glasses and laid them on top of the paperwork. ‘It’s OK. I’m official enough. I can deal with this.’
Something in his tone, in the flicker of knowing amusement made the penny drop for Peaches. This office – the embassy job – it was all just a cover. Harry Rezler was way more official than she’d ever guessed. How else would mentioning his name have made this meeting happen so quickly?
He looked at her now, seeing that it was all sinking in, but he didn’t offer an explanation or give his real job description. Shocked as Peaches was, she realized what a stroke of luck this was.
‘Well, Peaches,’ Harry said, ‘you’ve made some pretty big promises to my colleagues back there in LA. And my associates and I had to do some sweet-talking to get you here. So why don’t you tell me what this is all about?’
His voice: Peaches remembered it now. It resonated through her like the sound of a soothing cello concerto.
Despite his frosty manner, she took solace from the fact he’d helped her get this far.
‘They’re cooking up some pretty big charges,’ Tommy said.
‘They want to take me down.’ Peaches looked straight at Harry. Into him. She prayed that their brief encounter in Moscow that night had left an impression on him too. How ironic, she thought, that she’d looked at a thousand men the same way, wanting them to do what she wanted, but this was the only time it had ever really counted. But if Harry felt anything, he didn’t show it. Still the neutral look. The work face.
Harry shook his head. ‘I’ve read the file. I’ve talked to the DA. You don’t stand a chance.’
‘Don’t I?’ she asked. She stared at him again. This time he looked straight back at her. She could tell her charm was lost on him. She felt a dart of panic. ‘I just thought . . . I mean, you said you’d help me. I thought we were friends.’
Harry raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Friends? You sure had me fooled in Moscow. I had no idea you were this sort of—’
‘I was being myself in Moscow, Harry,’ she interrupted. ‘I wasn’t working.’
And you’re not exactly a lowly embassy consul yourself, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. He held her gaze for a moment and she knew that they were both acknowledging how little they’d really known about each other.
But despite all that, their meeting in Moscow had mattered and just because they’d both lied about what they did for a living didn’t change that, did it? But she could see his scepticism. Why would someone like Harry ever believe that someone like her could have real feelings?
Peaches cautioned herself not to crumble before him. Don’t take it personally, she ordered herself. Just because you like him doesn’t mean you have a right to expect him to like you too. He’s a pro. Deal with him professionally. Give him what he wants. But still, her hands started sweating.
‘So what you got?’ he asked. ‘What’s this deal you want to make?’
‘Yuri Khordinsky,’ she said. ‘I have a way to bring him down.’
‘Excuse me?’ he said. Of course Harry Rezler knew exactly who Khordinsky was.
‘You heard.’
‘You think you could help us get Khordinsky?’ Peaches didn’t like the note of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Really?’
‘Through Alexei Rodokov,’ Tommy chipped in.
‘Rodokov?’ Harry Rezler said, looking at Peaches. ‘I see. He’s one of your clients, is he?’
For a fleeting second, his mask of neutrality dissolved, giving Peaches a glimpse of something else: his thinly disguised revulsion. And his crushing disappointment in her.
Peaches felt herself automatically go into her defensive mode, but somehow she couldn’t stomach any of the usual bullshit that sprang so readily to her mind. Seeing herself through Harry’s eyes and his assumptions about her, she felt ashamed of what and who she’d become. Ashamed that her lifestyle and career had moved on from one of necessity into one of choice. Why hadn’t she got out sooner, as she’d always vowed she would? Why hadn’t she quit when she’d had the chance?
‘No, no, not at all,’ Peaches said quietly. ‘But I know him well enough to know that he could give you and the Kremlin all the information they need on Khordinsky.’
The last time she’d seen Alexei Rodokov was when she’d delivered him into the room with Frankie and Tommy Liebermann. Tommy had said he’d told Rodokov everything they’d agreed he would, but he had no idea how he’d taken the information. Or how he’d reacted to Frankie being there. Peaches hadn’t heard from Frankie or Alex since. But then her phone had been confiscated and she hadn’t been allowed home.
Now Peaches realized that she was going to have to do something she’d never done before. She was going to have to trust Frankie. Completely. She was going to have to believe that whatever bond she had with Alex, it was stronger than the one Alex thought he had with Khordinsky. Because surely, after what Harry and Frankie had told him, Alex had to help them. Didn’t he?
Peaches sure hoped so, but Alex was a man, and Peaches knew how men reacted to tough information. What if Alex had gone after Khordinsky himself, because of those photos? Alex might already be dead. Or even Khordinsky. Either way, Peaches would be out of bargaining chips and going straight back into Nancy Pounder’s loving embrace.
Or what if Frankie and Alex had got back together and they’d taken off already? What if Frankie had left Peaches to fend for herself? And Emma too? Peaches would be just as screwed that way too.
No, Frankie wouldn’t do that to her. Have faith, Peaches told herself, hoping with all her heart that she’d got the kid right. That she’d do the right thing. They were in this together, all the way. They’d agreed.
Harry Rezler laughed, as if it was all a big joke. ‘And you think . . . what?’
Peaches took a deep breath. ‘What if I told you that I could get Rodokov to turn state?’
Harry Rezler laughed again. Peaches felt the blood rush to her face. What do you think I am? A fucking comedienne? She nearly voiced the thought out loud, but managed to bite her lip just in time. Don’t lose it, she told herself. Keep talking. Reel him in. Make him believe.
‘What if I could?’ Peaches said.
‘She’s telling the truth,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ve met Rodokov. He knows that Khordinsky is using him. He knows that he’s Khordinsky’s fall guy. I’ve given him proof. Documents. Evidence.’
Harry thought for a moment, his smile fading. ‘Do you know what you’re dealing with here?’ he asked Peaches.
Peaches felt herself stiffen. ‘Of course I do.’ She knew better than goddamned anyone. Khordinsky had nearly killed her, for Christ’s sake. Harry Rezler clearly didn’t have the faintest idea. She felt the urge to tell him everything, to confide in him, building up inside her, like a charge. To tell him about Khordinsky being her father and about what he’d done to her and her mother. But most of all she wanted Harry to listen to her like a human being again.
Once again, though, she kept a lid on it. Not now, she told herself. Don’t confuse the issue. Keep him focused on how you can help him, not on how much you want him to help you.
She paused and leant across the table, her eyes beseeching Harry’s. ‘Think about it, Harry. With Alex’s help, you could nail Khordinsky for good. Think of how good it would be for international relations. The Kremlin would kiss your feet—’
Harry held up his hand. He’d got the point. And he clearly wasn’t going to be drawn on his exact job title and what this would mean to him personally. He frowned. ‘But Rodokov . . . ? He and Khordinsky are like this.’ Harry held up his fingers twisted around each other. ‘The Government has been tracking Khordinsky for years. He’s got interests in Europe and in the US, none of them legal. But he’s Teflon man. Nothing sticks to him. And someone clever li
ke Rodokov, he could make out he’s on your side, but it’ll just be yet another scam.’
‘That’s what you think,’ Peaches said. ‘But we’ve got a case that will stick.’
‘OK,’ Harry said, spreading out his hands in surrender. He sighed and Peaches felt a bubble of hope rise inside her as she watched his expression finally soften and his shoulders sag, like a weightlifter who’d finally let the barbell drop, finding the strain of it all too much to sustain. ‘Go on.’
‘Khordinsky set up an English aristocrat called Julian Harvey with a fake mine in Russia and we’ve got access to the documents to prove it.’
‘Slow down, slow down,’ Harry said. ‘Julian who?’
Peaches nodded to Tommy. ‘Tell him what you told Rodokov,’ she said. Quickly, Tommy told Harry Rezler the details of Julian’s failed mine. Of his suicide. Of Matryoshka-Enterprises in Tortola and the secret asset stripping of Forest Holdings.
In the middle of it all, Harry’s eye caught Peaches’ for a second. She saw that the neutrality had gone, and the revulsion and disappointment too. In its place was something that Peaches had never expected to see switched on for her again: fascination, curiosity, and the thirst for more.
‘I see,’ he said eventually. He paused for a long time. ‘And you say Rodokov has just found all this out?’
‘He’s mad as hell,’ Tommy said, sneaking a sideways glance at Peaches. He’d sensed the tide had turned.
‘And he knows that Khordinsky abducted his girlfriend and had her drugged and had pictures taken of her. Bad pictures,’ Peaches said, thinking of Frankie. ‘So the point is, he’ll help us.’ She paused. ‘If the deal’s right. Right for everyone, I mean.’
‘Meaning you too?’ Harry said. Peaches felt her confidence grow. She took a deep breath.
‘Harry, listen. I want nothing more than to walk away. If you give me this chance that’s what I’ll do,’ she told him, looking straight at him. ‘I should have done so a long time ago. I’m done with it. You’ve got to believe me. It’s the truth.’
Harry Rezler sat for a moment. Then he stood up. He walked to the window and twisted the blind. Peaches suddenly saw the bright blue sky outside. She knew that he was weighing up whether to trust her or not. Whether to risk his career on what they’d told him.