Colback was stunned. “And she told you all this, in detail?”
“Better than that, she narrated the video for me.”
“She recorded it?”
“Every second. She put three cameras in his office the first day she was there. Once it was over, she removed them and made several copies of the recordings. She took the first one to the sheriff’s department and after filing her complaint, she asked for a receipt. As expected, the following day the video had been mysteriously lost and they said there was nothing they could do.”
“What did she do then?”
“She mailed copies to the local judge, newspaper, and Herron’s wife. Not only that, she sent copies to all of Herron Construction’s clients, along with a note saying the case wasn’t being pursued by the sheriff. You can imagine the shitstorm that kicked up.”
“Wait. Wasn’t she worried that she’d be recognized if the video got onto the Internet? She doesn’t seem the kind of person to make a rookie mistake like that.”
“No, she’d altered her appearance enough that even I didn’t recognize her from the video.”
“So, what happened to Herron?”
Farooq smiled. “I followed events for a few months and it wasn’t pretty. He went to the hospital, obviously, but he must have had a fabulous excuse because his wife was quoted as saying she was devastated by the result of the ‘industrial accident.’ It wasn’t until a week later, when Eva posted the recordings, that he was arrested. His wife filed for divorce the next day and Herron Construction folded within two months. The last I heard, Mike Herron was doing fifteen to twenty-five in prison, even though the victim had disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Colback sat back in his chair and smiled. Eva had taken action he would never have dreamed of. While he would have simply beaten Herron to a pulp, she’d seen the bigger picture, played a slightly longer game, and ruined him for life. His admiration for her cranked up another couple of notches.
They spent the next half hour trying to find reasons why the ESO would want Colback and his squad dead, but nothing made sense.
“We need Eva’s analytical brain working on this,” Farooq said.
As if she’d been summoned, Eva walked through the café door and made a beeline for their table.
“Time to go.”
Colback smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The men followed her outside, where a nondescript Ford was waiting by the curb. Eva took the wheel and drove them through town, heading east until they came to an industrialized area that looked long-abandoned. The landscape was gray and lifeless, like the set of a zombie-apocalypse movie.
She pulled up outside a two-story building that had a metal grille over the window and a door that looked like it hadn’t seen a paintbrush in a couple of decades.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Colback had no intention of going anywhere. Thirty yards away, on the corner of the street, a couple of gangbangers had noticed their arrival and were taking an interest in the cheap Ford rental. As they started walking toward the car, Colback took the Glock from the small of his back and chambered a round in full view of the approaching punks. The young men stopped, conferred for a few moments, then sauntered back to their spot on the corner, all prospects of a simple carjack gone.
One situation averted. What would come next? Farooq remained silent in the rear, while Colback kept his eyes on the mirrors. No one else approached by the time Eva emerged.
“Get what you came for?” he asked her.
“Not yet. I have to come back in a couple of hours. In the meantime, let’s get you guys a room.”
Ten minutes later she pulled up outside a seedy hotel in what was clearly Louisville’s red-light district. A couple of hookers were already out in the hope of attracting some daytime trade, but apart from them, the streets seemed quiet.
Eva reached into her bag and pulled out a wad of notes, handing it to Colback. “There’s five grand. If I’m not back in three days, take off. That should keep you going for a while. Farooq, you’ve got my bank account number. If things don’t work out, transfer the money to your own bank and spend it wisely.”
“You don’t sound too confident,” Colback said. “Maybe the England trip isn’t a good idea.”
“That part will be a walk in the park,” Eva told him. “But planes crash, and people get killed just crossing the road. Go book yourselves in for three nights and stay in the room. You’ve got enough supplies to last you until I get back, so there’s no need to go anywhere. Oh, and Rees, stay away from the local women.”
“Not my scene,” Colback assured her as he pulled a few notes off the bundle and put the rest in the bag he’d bought at the gas station.
Farooq and he exited the car and watched Eva drive away.
CHAPTER 24
Eva Driscoll’s first stop was a department store in a mall, where she bought a tweed skirt and woolen top that were a couple of sizes too large. She topped off her new ensemble with a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of frumpy boots. Happy with her wardrobe for the flight, she also bought two separate changes of clothes to put in a suitcase she planned to buy. Minor details counted, and she didn’t want to attract attention by flying across the Atlantic without any luggage.
After completing her shopping, she still had an hour to kill, so she got a coffee and sandwich and ate them in the car.
At one in the afternoon, she drove back to the shuttered building and rapped on the door. As before, a panel slid open and a pair of eyes looked her over before a deadbolt was pulled aside and she was allowed into the drab room.
The guard was still alone. A cigarette burned in an ashtray on the small table that sat between an ancient leather chair and a television. The room was otherwise empty, with only a wooden door to break up the monotony of the nicotine-stained walls.
The man frisked Eva again, then searched her shopping bag. He inspected her cash and every other item she carried. Satisfied she was unarmed, the guard gave a thumbs-up to a camera hidden in a wall vent. The internal door clicked open, and Driscoll walked through.
“Watch the car,” she said, tossing the keys to him, then climbed the stairs. At the top, another door clicked open and she once again stood before DeBron Harris. In his late forties, the 280 pounds of muscle he’d once carried as a high school linebacker had long since turned to fat.
“Welcome back,” DeBron said from behind his desk. On the wall to his right hung a bank of CCTV monitors; on the other side of the room, a woman sat on a sofa. “This is Nolene. She’ll be doing your makeover.”
The woman stood and held open a door, and Eva walked into what looked like a stage actor’s dressing room. Eva put her bag of clothes on the table and sat in a swivel chair facing a huge mirror.
“DeBron said you wanted to add thirty years and forty pounds,” Nolene said.
“That’s right. I also want the nose a little bigger.”
“No problem.”
Nolene worked nonstop for more than three hours, barely speaking a dozen words except to ask what Eva thought as the work progressed. When she’d finished, the transformation was stunning.
Eva looked at the unrecognizable senior citizen in the mirror. The extra weight did wonders, as did the wrinkles and liver spots that Nolene had added to her hands.
“Let’s try the bodywork,” Nolene suggested.
Eva stripped down to her underwear, then pulled the padded vest over her head and fastened the Velcro straps. She then stepped into the leggings that added another inch or two to her waist. After putting on the woolen top and skirt, the result was impressive.
“Are you going to be traveling in those clothes?” Nolene asked.
“Yes, later today.”
“Then wear this shirt instead.” She handed Eva a flowered blouse. “It’s not a good idea to have your passport photo taken in the clothes you’ll be flying in.”
Such professionalism was the reason Driscoll had dr
iven so far to avail of DeBron’s services. While the CIA had their own department that handled alternate identities, she’d thought it prudent to seek out someone who worked outside of official channels. This was the third time she’d been here, and she’d never walked away disappointed.
After having her picture taken, she put the woolen top back on. Nolene gave her a touch-up kit and instructions on how to use it. With that in hand, Eva went to sit with DeBron while he created her new documents.
“Your name will be Adele Bennett,” he said, his tone suggesting it wasn’t up for discussion. Others in her profession might have asked for the new name to have the same initials as their own, making it easier to remember, but it wasn’t a technique Eva cared for.
The first thing DeBron handed over was a prepaid credit card in her new name.
“It’s loaded with two grand,” he told her.
That was more than enough for Driscoll, who only intended to use it to purchase her plane ticket.
She watched DeBron as he skillfully crafted a driver’s license, followed by a passport with an issue date of three years earlier. A smattering of stamps showed the holder to be an infrequent traveler.
Nolene provided refreshments while Eva waited, and it was almost six in the evening by the time DeBron was done.
Eva scanned her new passport and found it impeccable.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” she said as she handed over two bundles of hundred-dollar bills that she’d withdrawn from the bank earlier that morning.
Back out in the street, having collected her car keys from the guard downstairs, she saw that the Ford thankfully remained in one piece. The locals had clearly been warned not to mess with DeBron’s clients.
Eva got in and used her phone to look up a flight. The earliest available flight to Heathrow had a brief stopover in Paris, but it would get her to London by two in the afternoon, leaving plenty of time to get into the capital and intercept Andrew Harvey on his way home from work.
Her ticket booked, Driscoll found a gas station and filled the tank, then began the seven-hour drive to Atlanta.
CHAPTER 25
The encounter with the TSA agents at Atlanta Airport couldn’t have gone more smoothly. They barely paid Eva any attention as she walked through the metal detector, and the contents of her handbag gave them no cause for concern.
The flight to Charles de Gaulle was wonderfully mundane, and after switching planes in Paris, she was soon jetting over the English Channel. Eva guessed that getting through Heathrow would be a completely different challenge, but she felt confident that she wouldn’t be seen as a threat to the nation’s security.
At the immigration desk, she was asked the standard questions regarding length of stay, purpose of visit, and funds available during her stay. She had already prepared her story, and after explaining that it was a fleeting visit to get fitted out for her niece’s upcoming wedding, she was allowed to pass through and collect her suitcase before exiting through the Nothing to Declare lane. She changed five hundred dollars for the local currency at a miserly exchange rate, then walked out of the terminal. The weather was as glorious as it had been back home, slightly warmer if anything.
With only two hours until five o’clock, Driscoll decided to take a taxi into London rather than rely on public transport. She wanted to be outside Andrew Harvey’s house when he arrived home from work, otherwise it could be awkward. The last thing she intended to do was involve anyone else, and that included Harvey’s fiancée Sarah.
His home turned out to be a three-story townhouse in a crescent off the main road. Eva asked the driver to drop her at the corner, then walked back past the building and continued to the other end of the street, getting a feel for the area. She saw no off-road parking, so Harvey would either have to pull up to the building in his car or walk to it. With that in mind, she decided to wait for him in the park opposite.
As the clock edged toward six in the evening, Driscoll feared that Harvey might pull an all-nighter. She’d known some men with newborns who had spent as much time away from the family home as possible, but most couldn’t wait to get home to see their baby. She wondered which category Harvey fell into.
It had been a decade since she’d last seen him, and during their two weeks together there had been no talk of kids or settling down. Harvey, unable to admit to his role in the security services, had told her he was in finance. She’d taken great pleasure in watching him squirm as she pressed for details, but he’d worked hard on his legend and had been able to hold his own as their brief time together progressed.
Eva looked back fondly on the time they’d spent together. Andrew Harvey had been a considerate—not to mention gifted—lover, and she’d always regretted the day she’d walked away without a word. She’d completed her mission, earned top credits for her course, and it had been time to move on, but that hadn’t stopped her thinking of him from time to time.
While reflecting, she almost missed Harvey’s arrival. He was striding toward the house with his jacket over his shoulder, a spring in his step despite having just spent nine hours at the office. He looked much as she remembered: six feet tall, same slim build. If anything, his brown hair appeared a little longer than he’d worn it back then, but the face was unmistakable.
Driscoll sent the text message she’d prepared, then sat back in her seat to await his reaction.
Andrew Harvey bounced up the stairs to his front door, the keys already in his hand and a smile on his face. The weekend was approaching, and the fabulous weather they’d enjoyed for the last few days looked set to continue. It was the perfect opportunity to get away for the weekend, and he planned to raise the idea with Sarah. A couple of days at the beach, soaking up the sunshine—
His phone chirped and he dug it out of his pocket. A new text message from an unknown number . . . and its first line made him frown.
Walk across to the park and . . .
Harvey unlocked the phone and read the entire message.
Walk across to the park and sit on the bench facing your house.
Harvey looked around to see who could possibly have sent the message, but the street seemed empty. Whoever it was, they had to be in the park, waiting for him.
His first thought was to ignore the message and go inside, but something stopped him. Few people had his number, apart from his colleagues at MI5, and their name would have been displayed if it had come from one of them. Could someone have typed his number by mistake? It was possible, but the reference to the bench opposite his house was too much of a coincidence.
Harvey slowly descended the stairs and peered through the trees into the park. The bench was occupied, by an elderly woman from the look of it.
Something wasn’t right. Warning bells were going off inside his head, and he knew that going into the park alone would be foolish. The least he should do was let a colleague know where he was going. Or tell Sarah . . . But he didn’t want to worry her needlessly, especially when she was looking after Alana.
He opened his phone and selected Hamad Farsi, his most trusted friend in the office. He’d just pressed the Call button when a new message came in from the unknown number.
There’s no danger. I just want to talk. Emilie.
Despite the years that had passed since he’d last seen her, Harvey instantly recognized the name. In fact, a crystal-clear image of her popped into his mind’s eye.
Harvey disconnected before Farsi could answer. He looked again at the woman on the bench, who appeared to be reading a paperback. He put his phone back in his pocket and crossed the road, then walked through the entrance to the park. As he strode through the gates, he scanned the area, looking for someone of similar height and build to the Emilie he remembered.
No matches.
He continued his search as he made his way for the bench, his head aiming straight ahead but his eyes darting from side to side. The message said there was no danger, but Harvey remained wary.
As he approached t
he seat, the old woman glanced up, then returned her attention to the novel in her hands. Harvey sat down at the other end of the bench and took his phone out. He opened Farsi’s contact page once more and started typing out a quick message. That way, he only had to press Send if things turned ugly.
“It’s been a long time.”
Harvey’s head snapped up as he looked for the owner of the voice, but he saw only the elderly woman sitting next to him. She looked up and winked as he stared at her, and he recognized the smile from a decade earlier.
“Emilie?”
She looked down at her book once more. “You’re looking good, Andrew. The years have been kind to you.”
“I wish I could say the same for you.”
She chuckled, a sound that pulled at his heartstrings. “It’s makeup and you know it. I also know you work for MI5, which is why I chose you all those years ago.”
Harvey’s mind was racing, a thousand questions battling to be asked.
“I know you want to get home to Sarah and Alana, so I’ll be brief. My name isn’t Emilie.”
“So what is it?”
“That doesn’t matter. When we met, I was training with the CIA. Clandestine services. My task was to create a legend and have it scrutinized by the best. I picked your name from the CIA station list at the US Embassy, and I passed my assignment.”
“Wait. You used me to get extra credits? That’s it?”
“Essentially, yes, but it doesn’t change how I felt about you. Now, please, save any other questions until the end, or Sarah will start worrying where you are.”
She was right about that. Harvey had sent a text to say he would be home within thirty minutes, and that time was almost up.
“I’m sorry, this is all just a shock.”
“I’m sure it is. Let me be frank. I’m here to seek your help. For reasons unknown, agents of the US government killed my brother, and now they’re after me. I need you to put me in touch with some of your ex-colleagues who can help me get to the bottom of it.”
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