Spying With Sir

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Spying With Sir Page 17

by Judy Jarvie


  Andreas shook his head. “Guard’s spooked,” he whispered. “One of the ransoms hasn’t materialized. Katsaros does not deal well with failed plans.”

  “Poor guy. Heart bleeds. You know why Havana was rumbled?”

  “News to me. Cancelled payments a problem? Give him the cash and stop the bastard.”

  The guard on the high perimeter post lays down a heavy stream of fire in our direction.

  “Fuck it.” A bullet whips past my left ear. So close that I almost have a new natty piercing. Andreas rolls one way and I the other. We tumble down the hillside, rolling at speed. It’s a bigger drop than I’d’ve predicted, and a jagged rock, unseen in the dark sand, swipes a hefty slice at my neck. A boulder just misses taking my balls for dessert. I’ll so take a cut neck over any crown jewels emergency any day.

  Ten seconds later we land in more rocks than would be sensible, were it not out of necessity. It’s arid and dusty and I choke on the throat-clogging sand storm my descent’s caused. This job may pay well, but it sure as hell ain’t restful. I’m sweating buckets and not just from these clothes in this dry heat.

  I give Andreas another chance to reconsider. “You can come back with us and bail. Why not leave now? Come back with us?”

  The other guys have been setting up traps and incendiary devices at strategic places for tomorrow night’s bust out. Two appear, nodding their success. We can feasibly take Andreas now the mission’s on for tomorrow.

  “I’m not coming back until that bastard is under lock and key. Wanna be there when you take him down. Let’s nail it.”

  I dab at my neck with my hand. I’m making too much of a habit of losing blood in the last few days. “What the hell? A shoot-happy guard? Hope I’m not a man down out there.” I won’t settle until we’re all back in the boat.

  “Rabbit probably. With Katsaros in a foul mood, they’re shooting at shadows. Rabbits are the scourge of the place. They take the flack.”

  “Hope you’re right. We’ll make sure he’s fed salad nightly when he’s inside. For the rabbits.”

  I part ways with Andreas, having received his USB, and I skirt away to the coastal pathway that leads towards the boat. Andreas will lurk until it’s safe to return. Reconnaissance objective nailed even if I’m bleeding over my shirt and hurting like hell with a face like an opened crate of catastrophe that crashed on a cobbled street.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kate

  I’m shaking when I leave the medical room. I’m no natural nurse and tonight I’ve seen my seven shades of hell.

  “You okay?” Dr. Lekkas has amazing skills that make me feel my own job is a faked rubbish waste of time in comparison. Saving lives. Sorting out mortal mistakes.

  “I’m fine,” I bluff.

  “You can assist my operations in future any time. The shaking hands have almost stopped now.”

  “Only because we’re almost finished. I think if I had to do that again I’d pass out.”

  But I glance over at Hav, who is lying there, still anaesthetized, but looking so peaceful and serene, with a machine that tells me her heart rate seems fine, and Rocco guarding her like her very own avenging angel. If he wasn’t in total love with her before, he definitely is now.

  “I think there’s a man who’ll be forever in your debt.”

  Dr. Lekkas grins. “Keep an eye on our patient. I’ll be sticking around for a day or so to check on her. For now we both need rest.”

  All I’d had to do was keep the doctor’s tools close at hand and ensure that the light was where he needed it to be to undertake Havana’s bullet removal and stitch up. I didn’t dare open my eyes during most of the procedure.

  Or think about anything. I was just super delighted she pulled through, the bullet came out, and she’s been stitched right back up good as new.

  What’s Dan doing now? asks a voice in my brain.

  But I quash it.

  Doctor’s right. I’m exhausted. Dead on my feet.

  And I’m just heading toward my room—I can just about now work out where to find it by myself—when I bump into Ivan.

  He grins. “Fancy meeting you here, and this time, I’m giving you directions whether you need them or not.”

  Ivan’s smiling down at me with glassy, glittering eyes. He’s tall—almost seven foot I’m guessing—a basketball coach’s dream. Some women would likely go ga-ga for Mr. Tall Gunned-Up and Gutsy. But he’s so not my type.

  For starters, my jokes jar in translation—never a good sign when you feel even less funny than you think you are. Our dates would be awkward meets bored. For seconds, he’s a great, skinny beanpole with prominent teeth and no tatts or personality. I smile—politeness making me aim for friend over harsh-tongued harpy. I need pals in this place, and if I ever need escape without an available ladder I sense he’ll be a great guy to know or climb onto.

  “Hey, Katie. Boss said I should give you another briefing. Ready for a quickie with me and some one-on-one fun?”

  So wish he hadn’t just said that.

  My grin is now a grimace and turning that back to happy zone is a near impossible feat.

  And shit. I’ve just stood in on a long, grueling operation on a shot woman. I’m still wearing stores’ scrubs and I’d kinda hoped bedtime might be soon. As in alone bedtime. Not yet more agent demands, agent detailing and boring bullcrap.

  Do these people ever frickin’ sleep? Are they robots? Workaholic weasels without apology or intention of ever calling it a day?

  “Kinda tired. Can’t it wait for morning, Ivan? Seriously. I’m the walking dead here. Need my zzzzs.”

  “Afraid not. Sir was very specific before he left. He wants photos and fingerprints taken. You need to get on the system. Protocol, but I won’t detain you for long.”

  My mind flicks to Dan, wondering where the hell he is and what he’s doing. There’s a tiny coil of worry tightening inside my belly. It’s next to the part of my anatomy that sits up like a frisky puppy begging for a biscuit at the mere mention of Sir’s name. I hope he’ll be okay. How would I cope if he came back wounded like Hav or worse? We’ve shared intimate moments. Showered and swapped sexy maneuvers. In a manner that will have me having solo fun just reliving it in my head—seriously, that hot and good. Yet there’s so much that’s uncertain. So much more to be discovered.

  Does he really even like me? Sometimes I’m hardly sure.

  And is there even an us? Am I being a crazy lovelorn weird wisher just imagining such a thing? Do I need a get-a-grip- kick in the crotch?

  Ivan disturbs me from my in-head doodles on Dan. “So. You ready to come with me? Or you gonna stand here all night yawning and looking delightfully dopey on me. Man, you’re some cute kinda squeeze, aren’t ya?”

  “Um, can you lay off? Do I have a choice? Can I substitute a me clone to take my place?”

  Ivan stares at me oddly. With Dan he’d’ve realized I was teasing and come back with a line, or a glower that slayed me back. With Ivan he’s too gullible and we don’t align.

  Which dings my tolerance. “Of course I’ll come, I was kidding,” I clarify.

  Then he takes me off guard completely. He walks along the corridor where there’s some sort of laundry trolley with a big basket on wheels contraption and slides it back to where I stand.

  “Your carriage awaits.”

  “Yeah. Great joke. Ivan. Never kid a kidder.”

  “I need to take you in this. It’s quite a walk. Hop in here and I’ll do the hard bit.” He opens the basket where there’s room enough to sit, if you curl up super-tight and pretend you’re a squirrel hibernating.

  I do my ‘as if’ face. “You’re so not being serious.”

  Ivan nods his head, then bodily picks me up in a fairytale damsel move that shocks me rather abruptly. Mostly because his hand is tight on my arse.

  “Nope. Hop on—seriously. We won’t detain you too long—it’s quite a way, and it’s uphill to the security office. Just following orders, Miss.” />
  I sigh, but let Ivan drop me into the cart’s basket. I sit very uncomfortably, thinking any minute the bloody thing will collapse in a heap of trashed bits. But it doesn’t and Ivan merely shoves laundry over me as if I’m buried alive by wash-basket blues.

  “You okay in there?” asks Ivan. Not that he stopped to check first.

  “It’s lovely in first class, thanks for asking,” I sass back, muffled by a king-sized duvet and a set of towels. If anybody’s slimy flannel comes within an inch of me I think I may scream my lungs hoarse. “It’s bloody ridiculous actually.”

  “Oh, quit with the drama already.” Ivan stuffs yet more linen on top of me, drowning out my complaints. It makes me shout in surprise, but the trolley is now moving at a fast pace, making further discussion hopeless.

  Why do I feel like the bearded lady waiting for the big unveil at the freak show fair? Come to think of it, maybe that’s what he’s planning? I’ll wake up in some Nordic illicit circus act surrounded by Norwegian dwarves on stilts. Shit. Not funny. I have the creeps just thinking about it.

  Bring back Dan and his grumpy stuff—all is forgiven.

  Bring back Dan, because he’d never shove me in a laundry cart or squeeze my butt in a way that made me feel bleh and itch to scram. With Dan I’d follow willingly.

  So why am I feeling so uneasy? Where is Ivan taking me? Why the crazy trolley cloak and hide under the airing cupboard contents daggers? I’m thinking I’m so not going to like the answers.

  * * * *

  It turns out that Ivan is smuggling me out of Troika in a laundry cart. As in properly smuggling me out of the place that’s been driving me nutso, but in a way that’s making me think of spitting frying pans and roaring lethal fires.

  “Hey, I’m struggling to breathe in here.”

  “Quiet. Shit,” he commands

  And for some weird reason I draw my cell phone from my pocket and set it to record. Some bumping around happens then a long period where it feels like we’re in some strange mineshaft type elevator. It’s amazing what you can imagine when all you have is your ears dulled by duvets for sat nav.

  Eventually, the clothes that are piled on top of me—they’d better bloody well be clean—are pulled aside. Ivan’s head appears, and he grins.

  If this hadn’t really been happening to me I’d’ve sworn it was a cheesy plot from some terrible film I’d’ve walked out of and demanded my ticket money back for.

  If this is how spies operate in the field, then the future of our secret global law enforcement service is totally screwed and then some. I know he’s smuggled me out as soon as I feel the breeze and smell the ocean.

  I’m so overjoyed to be out of my underground prison, I almost forget to get pissy about what’s going down without my consent.

  “I’m out.”

  “Yep, angel. Thought I’d give you a surprise. Great isn’t it?”

  Is it me or has he just got a bit smarmy ‘angel’ step-back-and-mind-your-place Mister-ish with me?

  My too close to me hackles have risen and I feel the need to keep a healthy distance, but he’s got his hands on my waist and he’s lifting me out of the basket he’d thrust me in. The Police’s song—Don’t Stand So Close To Me—is already playing in my head—I can’t turn it off. Especially as his hands stay on my waist and back, pissing me off, so I step away.

  “Why are we here? Where is this?”

  “Welcome to Jenny’s Taverna, the Achilles heel escape hatch from Troika Base, and if anybody knew I’d brought you here my career would be blown to shit. We never use this exit. It’s hidden in the vending machine behind the bar.”

  Ivan’s face is way too close to my own. He holds out a hand to assist me and I grab it, making sure I hurt his fingers in the process, like a mad wife in labor taking contractions pain out on the sperm provider and ruining his future hand function.

  “Jenny’s Taverna?”

  “Yeah, she’s Rich’s wife, she runs a dating agency from this place,” says Ivan as I dust myself down, trying to find my equilibrium. “The lady herself is heavily pregnant and is staying with friends until the baby is safely here, so this place is temporarily closed.”

  It’s only then I realize that the Santorini dating story wasn’t as much of a fiction as I’d assumed. Jenny Redman really does exist after all.

  “But why are we here? Doesn’t look like a security office to me.” I feel his hand slither to softly caress the small of my back, and it’s a private eek moment. So I take control and step out of his reach.

  “I lied about the photos and prints,” says Ivan. “Figured while Bullet Man was away you and I could have a play.” He slowly smiles and it creeps me to creepy town by the creepy ville back roads paths and turned-off and needing distance b-roads.

  The very word ‘Dan’ lights a flare in my heart.

  “You like dicing with death? He’ll have your balls for cufflinks. They’ll probably end up in space or something. He strikes me as the out-the-park revenge type.”

  “You and he poke pals? Is that it?” The sneery look on Ivan’s face shows he’s a man of jealous emotions and questionable ego. Shit. Hadn’t quite pegged him as this bad.

  “Nice turn of phrase. Isn’t that my business, not yours?”

  He grasps my wrist tightly. I may not know agent protocol, and might not have known Dan that long, but I do know he doesn’t wuss about when the shit’s going down. And my shit radar’s bleeping like a mother, with an arrow pointing at Ivan. The words “vacate any way you can” spring to mind.

  Again, his other hand is on my back. While I’m kept captive by my wrist.

  “Maybe you’re worth it? Maybe I don’t care?” says Ivan. “Maybe I’ll take any way I can to get you alone and see where things can lead?” He says it way too close to my ear. I get the creepy creeps with a big dose of person-aversion to go. I don’t want him getting so up close to me. I’m not sure I want to be broken out by him, even if this was Alcatraz and I was bunking with the mad Taxidermist Head Boiler Killer.

  What the hell’s he planning? To get me drunk? For us to bunk? To force me to jazz dance to Uptown Funk? Is Scandi Man a thrill-chasing stalker on the side who forces his foibles on ladies?

  “We are going back, though? I mean, you don’t wanna lose your job.”

  “Never fear. Falco is prepared. Nobody will know. We could be here all night if you wanted.” Ivan goes behind the bar. “What would you like me to get you?”

  A cab.

  He watches me again. “A drink? Anything you want, honey? Falco can bring what you most desire.”

  Never trust a man who talks about himself in the third person.

  A Tarzan vine to swing on and escape might be nice.

  A phone to call a Dan-bulance with full flashing sirens is my final choice.

  “I’d like to be taken back, please. Then we shall never talk of this again.”

  “C’mon. Live a little, angel,” he smoothly entices. Yeah right. Then he sings, “Dance…a few kisses…caresses in the moonlight…”

  “Seriously. I made my wishes clear, didn’t I? Let’s get back before this gets any more stupid for either of us.”

  But Ivan has swooped to holding me even tighter before I register. I’ve no idea how. “I’ve liked you since we met. Didn’t you realize I hung about that corridor for hours waiting for you to come out that day? But that prick watches you like a hawk. Gives no chance to any other man. Loser.”

  Holy restraining orders.

  But I have to seize control. For sanity’s sake. “It’s a shame I’m in love with him. There really can never be anything more between us. Not when Dan breathes oxygen. I crave his body like no other.”

  Ivan’s face veers from euphoric to psychotic. Knew he was a psycho. Something just told me. Maybe watching too many episodes of Silent Witness and noting down Jack and Nikki’s processes in three shades of highlighter pen has helped my crime deduction skills and psycho spotting.

  Or I’m a Miss Marple-Jess
ica Fletcher doppelganger.

  “You’re not going back,” he says. “Indulge me. I want to chill here with you. I haven’t even kissed you yet… You aren’t going back until I do.”

  And my stomach falls twenty elevator floors of doom. Shit. Where are a girl’s nunchuks when she needs them? Why is Havana wounded and recovering when she should be dropping in through the ceiling to pulverize Ivan’s balls?

  Ivan slides his hands over my body, nauseating me beyond bearable point. I can’t free myself from him and a violin squeals a movie horror requiem in my ears.

  “So…” he begins. His mouth nears mine.

  “Didn’t you hear? I like Dan and he’ll be mighty pissed off at you.”

  “You think I’m scared of the Dan man?”

  I sense if I let him start the sweet talk I’ll be lost and he’ll be doing things to me I really don’t want to witness. The thought of him touching my skin makes my knickers turn to instant-set concrete. So I stall with efforts to psych him the hell out.

  “And here was me thinking you’re a career-centered guy. You’re kinda keen on promotion aren’t you? What’s gonna happen when the CCTV guys catch evidence of you and me AWOL?” I nod toward the cameras in the three corners of the room.

  “Taken care of.” He grins like he’s been so very clever and devilish. Hands down a Jack Nicholson scary face. “My friendly neighborhood aerosol skills happened to come by for some prep graffiti. Nobody can see a thing. Smokescreen.”

  Now I’m really scared. “Your superior is a clever guy. He’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.”

  “You think I really care what Cockface Draven thinks? Or Redman? They’ve no proof. Dan hates me anyway. I hate him. But on this one—and on the promotion when I stitch him up—I’m gonna win. I’ll be promoted and he’ll be out when I have my way.”

  “He’s your superior. You should show due respect.”

  “In Norway I’m equal rank with Draven. We’re same grade, only here the Yanks run the show and it pisses me off. He’s got the bad stuff coming to him.”

  I figure we’ve just struck the raw seam of Ivan’s deep set gripe mine. Dan and job envy. I look around the dark taverna. Desperation and self-preservation dance an unwieldy polka in my innards. Even the sea view of inky ocean lapping and tantalizing can’t sweeten my soured unease.

 

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