The Shadow Behind Her Smile

by Janene Wood

  The one and only time Marc had stepped foot inside Bureau of Justice headquarters was three years ago, when his cousin Leo Sant'Angelo interviewed him for a position as an analyst. That was also the last time he spoke with the BoJ's Director, Edwin D'Raegan, Earl of Emberley, who offered him the job at the conclusion of that meeting. Coincidentally, that was also the same week he met up with Makamu Zende and learned the truth about his parents.

  Unknown to Marc until that day, his father had also been a Guardian. Marc was only a kid when David Sant'Angelo was killed, so he supposed his mother hadn't want to overwhelm him with the truth. Which meant he had lived his entire life up to that point without ever knowing the Brotherhood existed. When Makamu, an old friend of his parents', phoned him out of the blue and said he had something Marc might be interested in – the very same week Marc returned to the UK after the Scrappers went their separate ways – his curiosity was aroused and he agreed to meet.

  That was arguably the most important day of his life and he couldn't help but be thankful for the opportunity it gave him to be better. The past would always torture him, but his life was his own again, and he now had a new purpose, one he could be proud of. A purpose that used all his hard earned skills, while gradually expunging the guilt that had dogged him since Eritrea. It was a unique opportunity to mitigate some of his past actions and cleanse his soul.

  Given a choice between the Brotherhood and the BoJ, Marc didn’t hesitate.

  Originally an old tyre factory, “the Shed” had been reconfigured during the war to manufacture spare parts for the RAF’s Spitfire fighter planes, before falling derelict in the late forties. A few years later, it was gutted completely and fitted out as the new headquarters of the Bureau of Justice. In the interests of dissimulation, the old facade was maintained, hence the uninspiring nickname, but the building now contained five levels of modern offices, training facilities and laboratories, including three subterranean, bomb-proof levels housing giant IBM mainframes and state-of-the-art electronic communication and satellite tracking systems.

  Superficially at least, nothing much had changed since Marc’s first visit. A security pass was waiting for him on arrival and he was soon on his way to the second floor, navigating his way past rows of empty workstations toward the executive offices at the end. Before leaving Paris, he had spoken to Leo, the Deputy Director, who advised him an office and a computer would be waiting for him when he arrived on Monday morning. He planned to take advantage of his cousin's efficiency to run some searches through the Bureau's database before settling down to work on the job he had been brought here to do.

  Only a handful of people were in the office at such an early hour and Marc nodded politely to the few who looked up from their work as he passed. The only Bureau employees he knew were his two cousins, Leo and Chris Sant’Angelo, and the director, Lord Emberley, none of whom he expected to see at 6am on a Monday morning. Which was why the sound of his name being called came as such a surprise.

  “Marc Webb! Is that really you?” called a voice he would have recognised anywhere. A tall man with a conservatively short haircut made his way through the maze of cubicles to where Marc stood watching, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Well, if it isn’t the dishonourable James Paxton-Heyward the Third!” exclaimed Marc, astonished by the sight of his old friend. “I heard a rumour you were here, Pax, but didn't think it couldn't possibly be true.” After embracing warmly, the two men pulled apart and examined one another critically until they were both satisfied nothing much had changed since their last meeting. “So Leo finally drafted you. I have to say, I'm surprised.”

  “I'm glad to hear you and your cousin are as close as ever,” remarked Pax with a sardonic chuckle.

  “You know how it is,” said Marc vaguely.

  Pax nodded knowingly. He had witnessed the interactions of the Sant’Angelo clan at close range for many years and knew it was a complicated dynamic. “I’ve been here six months now,” Pax informed him. “Leo and I worked on a joint task-force together earlier this year and I guess I must have done something right, because he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Pax's grin was contagious and Marc found himself cheered by the unexpected meeting. “Good on you, Pax; I’m glad. I suspect there’s more to it than that, though; I’ve been telling you for years to move your arse on over to the private sector. Wasn’t it you who said you’d never work for a bunch of ‘prissy, overpaid dilettantes’?”

  Pax laughed at the rude reminder. “Yeah, well, I finally got tired of working with one hand tied behind my back, didn’t I?”

  “So are you working on anything interesting at the moment?” asked Marc curiously.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” replied his friend with a cryptic smile. “As of today, you and I are working the same case: the mysterious Russian and his little cross-channel drug operation.”

  “Hey, that's great.” Marc smiled, but there was no humour in his serious brown eyes. “I look forward to getting your input. I'm glad Leo's put his best man on the job.” Pax was one of the Met’s most respected investigators before joining the BoJ; if anyone could track down their quarry and build a winnable case against him, it was Jimmy Pax.

  “Ha! Flattery will get you everywhere. The good news is that Leo’s been instructed to give us whatever resources we need to do the job.”

  Marc nodded approvingly. “I'm glad to hear it. I really want to nail this bastard, Pax. I owe it to Errol to put his killer away for good.”

  Pax nodded in understanding. Some cases got under your skin and there was nothing you could do about it. “There's not much we can do until after Leo's briefing, so why don't we get some coffee and you can tell me about this hush-hush job of yours.”

  Marc gave him a quizzical look.

  “Don't look so surprised,” laughed Pax. “You know there are no secrets around here.”

  “That’s what you think,” muttered Marc. “Actually, there are a couple of things I wanted to check out before the briefing. Personal stuff.”

  “Anything I can help with?” offered Pax.

  Marc was thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe. You could introduce me to your East Africa expert.”

  Pax frowned, looking at Marc with renewed interest. “I’d have to check who that is. Does this have anything to do with that business a few years back? I thought you put all that behind you.”

  Marc hesitated before answering, though he knew Pax would keep anything he learned to himself. Besides, Pax already knew the first part of the story, and could be counted upon for good, objective advice. The two of them had been best mates for nearly twenty years, since their first day of boarding school. Even after their paths diverged, meaning months, sometimes years without contact, they still shared a bond that made it possible to pick up their friendship after long periods apart, as if no time had passed.

  “So you remember me telling you about Kate?” asked Marc at last.

  “How could I forget? I thought you’d never get over her. I was really worried about you for a while there, Marc. So what's going on?”

  “Jimmy, she’s alive!” The words exploded from Marc's mouth before he had consciously formed a reply. “I was walking through the airport yesterday, when this girl caught my eye. I knew it couldn't possibly be her, but I decided to follow her anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, as if to say, what else was I supposed to do? He still had trouble believing any of it himself. If it hadn’t been for Jules’ unimpeachable corroboration, he might be doubting his observations even now, telling himself that the pressure of his job had finally gotten to him. “It was Kate – very much alive.”

  “That’s incredible! But good, right? So what's her story? Where has she been all this time?”

  Marc gave a rueful sigh and confessed, “I haven't actually spoken to her yet.”

  Pax raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “It’s complicated,” explained Marc unsatisfactorily.

  “Okay,”
replied Pax patiently.

  Marc breathed deeply and explained, “I followed her to her house. I was just about to call out to her when this bloke appears and she runs straight into his arms...” His voice trailed off and it took him a moment to recompose himself. “It was obvious they were lovers. I should have known she’d be involved with someone, but I had no chance to think that far ahead. It shocked the hell out of me,” he admitted unselfconsciously. “So I drove to my sister's to regroup.”

  “Man, I'm sorry. That's rough. But once she sees you again...?”

  Marc shrugged. “I honestly have no idea what she'll do. But regardless of how she feels about me, I need answers.”

  “Fair enough. So you thought you'd try and find the bastard who told you she was dead in order to figure out what the hell is going on,” surmised Pax.

  “That’s the plan,” said Marc, swallowing the lump in his throat and thinking what he really wanted to do was beat the crap out of the bastard. No one would ever be able to comprehend the guilt he had lived with every single day, from the moment he heard Kate was dead, or the white-hot anger that now replaced it. He’d blamed himself for so long. Kate had taken a bullet meant for him. It was his fault she was dead. Or so he had believed.

  “The problem is, the last time I saw the lying prick was right after he told me Kate was dead, so I have no idea where he is now.” Marc had been trying to think where the bloody Frog bastard might have gone since leaving Eritrea, but he was as likely to win the lottery as he was to win that particular guessing game.

  “Tayo was a greedy, ambitious bastard, with fingers in lots of different pies,” said Marc. “The organisation he worked for was a major supplier of ordnance to the Eritrean Liberation Front during the period I was seconded there. He had a guy inside one of the relief agencies helping him smuggle guns and ammo into the refugee camps, inside legitimate shipments of medical supplies.”

  “Creative,” admitted Pax grudgingly.

  “I couldn't understand why he kept hanging around, even after the shipments arrived, instead of scuttling back to wherever he came from. At first I thought he was interested in Kate, but when I told her my suspicions she just laughed. She said she and Tayo were friends, nothing more. He was definitely up to something, though. There were rumours some of the nearby villages were being paid to plant opium poppies instead of conventional food crops. I suspected he was behind it, but the powers that be ordered me to let it go. They didn't want anything to interfere with the flow of arms to the ELF, even if it meant half the population starving to death.”

  “Wow, that’s harsh...and pretty hypocritical in view of the official stance on drugs.”

  “Hypocrisy is what governments do best,” remarked Marc cynically. “At least the BoJ doesn’t bother to hide its self-interest.”

  “So if your boy disappeared back in, what... ‘75, do we know if his little scheme is still operational? And if so, who's minding the shop? Maybe we can pressure them into helping us out.”

  “That’s where I was hoping your East Africa guy might help.”

  Pax stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Getting back to his motives... If you already knew about the opium, and couldn’t do anything about it, what was he trying to achieve by faking Kate’s death?”

  Marc sighed. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “And how did he get Kate to go along with it?”

  “That part, at least, I think I understand,” replied Marc. “Kate and Tayo go way back. There’s a lot of history there and she trusts him implicitly. If he concocted a plausible story, I think she would have believed it.”

  “It must have been a ripper of a story.”

  Marc nodded his agreement. “He always knew which buttons to push. It pissed me off that she couldn’t see him for what he really was.”

  Pax squeezed Marc’s shoulder in a silent show of support. “Forget about that, man. Let’s find the prick.”

  Marc followed Pax back to his office, a modestly sized room containing a large L-shaped desk, secure filing cabinets and tall shelves packed tight with thick volumes and folders of various colours and sizes. Further down the corridor, Marc identified Leo’s huge corner office, flanked by the slightly less commodious one belonging to his brother Chris, his second-in-command. Pax must be doing well to be located so close to the centre of power, mused Marc, though he wondered how much of his time was now spent behind a desk, instead of out in the field doing what he did best.

  “So, give me some details and we'll see what we can find out,” offered Pax, taking a note pad from his desk drawer. “Let's hunt the bastard down and cut off his balls.”

  Two hours later, Pax's assistant poked her head into his office and informed them Deputy Director Sant’Angelo was ready to see them. It was quarter to nine, the office was now bustling with activity and more than a few curious eyes followed them down the corridor to the large corner office of the DD.

  Leo Sant’Angelo was only five years older than Marc but his dark hair was threaded through with silver and his skin was pale from lack of exposure to the sun. The pressure of responsibility was starting to take its toll, Marc noted sadly, but this job was what Leo had aspired to his entire life. He didn't think his cousin regretted one minute of it, not even the late nights and weekends at the office that kept him from his family.

  Nodding to Pax, Leo rose to greet his cousin and they shook hands across the table. “It's good to see you, Marc.” His expression was serious as always.

  “You too, Leo,” returned Marc. “How are Grace and the kids?”

  “They're well; thanks for asking.”

  “Please remember me to them,” said Marc politely.

  The cousins had always gotten along, but had never been close. Their relationship was cordial, with no strong feelings either way. It was probably as well Marc declined the BoJ appointment, or the gulf would have widened even further. While Marc remained grateful to Leo for the offer, he was pleased not to be beholden to him.

  Leo nodded and resumed his seat behind his desk, the pleasantries dealt with. “I appreciate your help with this, Marc, I know you're a busy man.”

  Marc and Pax took a seat opposite Leo. Just as they were getting settled, the door opened and they were joined by Leo's younger brother, Assistant Deputy Director Chris Sant’Angelo. Marc stood to greet him and was surprised when Chris pulled him into a hug.

  “It's great to see you, cuz!” exclaimed Chris. Stepping back, he took a good, long look at his cousin, proclaiming, “You're looking good, Marc; working for the Brotherhood seems to agree with you.”

  Chris was only a year older than Marc, and a lot less rigid in outlook and manner than his brother, which probably explained why he and Marc had always had an easier relationship. Marc smiled and relaxed a little. “Yeah, I think it does, thanks Chris. How's Celia and the little guy?”

  “Fantastic,” said Chris with a contented smile. “You should come around for dinner while you're in town. You'd better bring Jules too, or I'll never hear the end of it. It’s ages since the girls had a good old natter.”

  “Sure,” agreed Marc, surprising himself. “That sounds good. I'll check with Jules and let you know.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said Leo stiffly, “but time’s getting away from us.” While the others were talking, he had opened a large safe, concealed behind his desk in a wooden cabinet, and removed an orange storage box with lockable clasps at either end of a black lid.

  Leo looked from Marc to Pax and back again, making sure he had their full attention. “This box forms part of his lordship’s personal archive. It contains all the notes, reports and photos from the investigation into the 1949 murder of his granddaughter, Lavinia James. You may know her better as Vinny J, the singer.”

  Marc's eyes widened in recognition of the name. Only someone living under a rock for the last thirty years would not know who Vinny J was. Her death at the age of 37, at the peak of her career, was considered one of the great tragedies of the mod
ern age.

  “I thought her death was accidental,” said Pax.

  Leo looked even grimmer than usual. “I'm afraid not; that was just the official line. In view of her celebrity and who her family was, the authorities agreed to keep the real story from the press. In actual fact, Ms James was brutally raped before she bled to death. The perpetrators then set fire to the house in an attempt to destroy any evidence of a crime having taken place. Fortunately, the body was recovered before being damaged too badly, and the pathologist was able to determine cause of death.”

  “What sort of injuries are we talking about?” enquired Marc.

  “That's the interesting part,” said Leo. “It was only upon close examination of the body that a pair of injection sites were observed, on the inner side of each arm.”

  Marc took a moment to digest this startling piece of information. “Are you saying someone deliberately drained all the blood from her body?”

  “That's correct,” said Leo. “And we believe that person to be her cousin, Anastazia Bouvré, and an accomplice.” Leo took a key from his drawer and unlocked the orange box before pushing it across the desk. “Marc, if you wouldn't mind taking a quick look inside?”

  Frowning, Marc stood and removed the lid from the box. There were several files stacked one atop the other in the bottom, but he didn't get as far as those. On the very top was an old photo of Bouvré with the man Marc had seen at the Spanish restaurant in Paris last Saturday night. He picked the photo up to examine it more closely, just to be sure.

  “Who's this?”

  “His name is Dmitri Wulverov, aka The Wolf,” said Leo. “After the war, he and Bouvré went into the…er…entertainment business together, here in London. It's believed he played a significant role in Lavinia’s death. Several witnesses saw both him and Bouvré at the scene shortly before Vinny's house went up in smoke.”