by Helen Harper
Rawlins remains calm. ‘We don’t have much money.’
He inhales sharply. ‘Then that might be a problem.’
Adam shoves his way forward. ‘How much?’
‘Depends if you want biometric or not.’
‘Let’s say we do,’ Rawlins answers as I suddenly realise why we’re here.
The man spits out a few splinters of wood. ‘Ten grand each. Ten days for delivery.’
We don’t have close to that much money and we certainly can’t allow for that amount of time. I turn to go. ‘This is a waste of time.’
My mother looks confused. ‘What’s going on? Where are we?’
‘Hold your horses,’ the man drawls. ‘I can do you a rush job if you like but it won’t hold up to much scrutiny. If you get stopped and searched it’ll get picked up.’
If I get stopped none of this will matter: I’ll be recognised in a heartbeat.
‘We need something now,’ Rawlins says.
He shakes his head. ‘No can do.’
Unruffled, Rawlins tilts up her chin and folds her arms. ‘Then what can you do? Because I was told you were the man to come to.’
He laughs. ‘I am. But I’m not a magician.’ He sweeps his gaze over us then he jabs a dirty thumb in my direction. ‘She’s the priority, right? She’s the one everyone’s looking for.’
I open my mouth to say that I’m not quite as wanted today as I was yesterday but Rawlins jumps in. ‘You could say that.’
He sucks on the pencil. ‘Well, I have something for her that might work.’ He casts a critical eye over me. ‘Call it serendipity, if you will. She’ll need to cut her hair and dye it but it could work. If the rest of you want documents, you’ll have to wait. There’s nothing I can do to change that.’
‘And what price would you charge for this … serendipity?’
‘Two grand.’
Rawlins nods. ‘Give us a moment.’
He smiles. ‘Of course. I’ll go put on a brew.’ He whirls round and leaves the room.
‘Two grand?’ I say as soon as he’s gone. ‘We can’t afford that.’
‘We’ll manage.’
I’m not convinced. ‘Are the rest of you going to use your own passports?’
‘We can’t. It’s far too risky and they’re already on the lookout for a group of four. It’ll be safer for us to stay here while you go do your thing.’
Until this point I had not appreciated how much I’d come to rely on the three of them. Despite their foibles, they have become my safety net. Venturing out on my own – especially like this – is a terrifying prospect.
My mother’s face clears. ‘Hang on. That man with the ridiculous excuse for a beard is going to make a fake passport?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘From the sound of it,’ Rawlins says, ‘he already has one in his possession. Zoe just has to match her appearance to whoever the passport belongs to. Some poor tourist who had her bag nicked, probably.’
Adam stares at her. ‘Why aren’t you arresting this guy?’
She looks exasperated. ‘First of all, this isn’t the UK. Secondly, he’s on a list.’ We must have looked confused because she sighs and taps her foot. ‘He works both sides.’
I’m immediately alarmed. ‘He’s an informer? Won’t he give me up then?’
‘It’s pretty obvious to anyone who meets you that you’re neither a career criminal or a terrorist. It’s something about those big eyes and permanently frozen expression of fear.’
I cross my arms. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Get over it.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘If you need to go abroad, this is the fastest and easiest way to manage it. It’s up to you. We have the funds.’
Barely. ‘If I do this, you’ll need to take care. You can’t let the Department get hold of you.’
‘We’ll be careful.’
‘I mean it.’
My mother sniffs. ‘Worry about yourself, darling. We’ll be fine. You’ll be the one flitting around with a fake identity.’
She has a point. ‘Is this really a good idea?’ I ask Rawlins anxiously.
‘You can stay here in Zurich if you prefer. It’s your call. What’s the bigger threat? The police? Or the Department?’
No contest. I lick my lips nervously and realise I’ve been pinching the tips of my fingers. I thrust my hands behind my back to stop myself. ‘Okay then,’ I whisper. ‘Okay.’
Chapter Six
Since knowledge is but sorrow’s spy, it is not safe to know.
William Davenant
I walk through the terminal doors trying not to look like I’m a wanted criminal, allegedly or otherwise. My scalp is itchy from the dye and my newly cropped hair feels strange. I still don’t think it makes me look like the Elizabeth Jones in the passport but Rawlins was satisfied, telling me that no one ever looks like their passport photo. I suppose she’s right. Nevertheless, this is extraordinarily dangerous territory. Part of me keeps expecting to be rushed at and thrown to the ground by yelling men holding guns.
I find the right desk and join the back of the queue. My heart is pounding and not because I’m here on a false passport. It might be some time since I was an agoraphobe trapped in my own home but some of my old terror lingers, especially here with all the unfamiliar sounds and chattering crowds. I keep my gaze focused on the lipsticked woman at the desk whose smile is professional but whose eyes are distant. I cross my fingers tightly for some on-the-job ennui.
When she beckons me, my hands start to shake. If the woman notices, she doesn’t comment. Maybe she thinks I’m an alcoholic drying out. Whatever, she takes Elizabeth Jones’s passport and scans it in. She raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re flying to Istanbul, Ms Jones?’ I nod, not quite trusting my voice. ‘You have some time before your flight. It doesn’t depart for another four hours.’
I lick my lips. ‘Yes, I…’ I mentally slap myself to get it together. ‘I’m a bit scared of flying. If I arrive early it usually calms me down.’
She offers a sympathetic smile; I guess I’m more believable than I realised. ‘It’s a short flight and we have an excellent safety record.’
I nod my head dutifully. I’m still half-expecting her to sound the alarm, even though there’s no recognition or suggestion of panic in her eyes.
‘Do you have any bags to check in?’
I lift my small suitcase onto the conveyor belt. I won’t be picking it up on the other side – it contains little more than some olds books for weight and one of the hotel pillows. Its purpose is to ensure that I look like a harmless tourist. She ties on the airline identity tags and returns my passport to me together with the boarding pass. ‘Have a pleasant flight.’
I grimace. ‘I hope so,’ I manage, then I dart away before she takes another long look at my face.
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I force myself to stroll casually towards departures – and the emigration checkpoint. The airline rep might have been uninterested in me but here it’s likely to be a different story. Even from a distance, I can see the alert expressions of the security men as they sweep their eyes across the myriad of travellers.
Swallowing hard, I take my place behind a sweating, overweight man. He’s ushered forward and passes his passport to the security man. I watch carefully. It’s a long time since I flew anywhere. Eventually, after a few glares and frowns from the official, his passport is stamped and he moves off. It’s my turn. I’m not nervous, I tell myself. I’m Elizabeth Jones on my way to Turkey for a weekend trip. Why would I be nervous?
I walk up, offer a tight smile and hand the man my passport. He flips through the pages. ‘How long have you been in Switzerland?’
I resist the urge to turn and run. ‘Three weeks,’ I answer in a half-whispered lie. Then, for no apparent reason, I add, ‘It would have been a shorter visit but I’ve been looking for the perfect cuckoo clock as a present for my mother.’
He grunts then he stares at the photo, looks up at me and stares back down again.
Oh no. He jabs his thumb. ‘You should get a new passport,’ he says. ‘You are much prettier in real life than in your photo.’
I have no idea how to react. How would Elizabeth Jones react? I straighten my shoulders and meet his eyes, going for the simplest response I can think of rather than the bristling response I’d like to utter. ‘Thank you.’
‘Come back to Switzerland again,’ he replies. ‘Winter is a beautiful time of year to visit.’
I nod and hustle myself away. My legs feel like jelly and I’m still partly expecting to be stopped and thrown into a cell but another person is already taking my place at the desk. I tell myself that was the hardest part; everything from here on in will be a walk in the park.
My handbag is scanned by the X-ray machine and I step up to the metal detector. My stomach lurches when it beeps loudly but the security man simply points at my belt. Nodding in understanding, I go back to the machine’s entrance and take it off. This time I let out a silent sigh of relief as the machine silently lets me pass.
I don’t start to relax until I reach my allotted gate. I fumble in my bag for my sunglasses, painfully aware that I could still be recognised despite my terrible new hairstyle. I slump down in an uncomfortable plastic chair and take out the cheap mobile phone that Rawlins’ dodgy contact gave me for a horribly inflated price. I tap out a message to the number I memorised long ago: Meet me now.
As soon as the message is sent, I yank out the SIM card and snap it in two. Dante is a bounty hunter as well as a tracker; I can’t risk him finding me in real life. Not yet anyway. I toss the plastic away and close my eyes. Now the fun really begins.
It takes longer than usual to drift off, no doubt because of a combination of sitting half upright and the terrifying surge of adrenaline that propelled me through the airport. When my ears finally prickle and I apparate in the Dreamlands forest once again, I allow myself a moment of absolute relief. Then I scan round for as many brittle twigs and branches as I can find and arrange them in a loose – hopefully indistinguishable – circle around the area before sitting down with my back against a tree to wait.
It doesn’t take long.
‘You rang?’ Dante’s silky voice enquires.
I tilt my head to look up at him. The bastard looks good. His white shirt contrasts with his tanned skin and he has a relaxed air, as if he knew I’d contact him sooner or later.
I shrug and point to a spot across from me, encouraging him to sit down. He eyes it for a moment then does as I ask and stretches his long legs out in front of him. He knits his hands behind his head and offers me a crooked smile. ‘Are you alright? Did that Department freak hurt you?’
‘I’m okay,’ I tell him. I fidget with my cuffs and try to look frightened. Unsurprisingly, it’s not very hard. ‘They want me to work for them. I’m supposed to meet them tonight to agree to their terms.’
Dante’s silver eyes grow hard. ‘And will you?’
‘I don’t know.’ I drop my gaze. ‘They’re not going to stop, are they? They’ll keep looking for me and manipulating me until I do what they want.’ I blink rapidly as if I’m fighting back tears. ‘You have to understand how hard this is for me. Flitting from country to country…’ My voice trails off and I gesture helplessly. Dante is well aware of my agoraphobia.
‘Oh, Zoe,’ he sighs. He leans forward, his fingers under my chin as he gently tilts my head up. The empathy in his eyes is clear. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this. We can go home together. I’ll protect you.’
‘The Department painted me as a terrorist, Dante. And everyone believed it! They won’t let me sit at home and stay safe, whether you’re with me or not.’ I pull back from his touch. I need to play this carefully or he’ll realise what I’m up to. ‘And I don’t think I trust you any more than I trust them. The things you’ve done are horrifying. If you think I can forget them, you’re as insane as they are.’
He crosses his arms and watches me for a moment, his expression hooded and dark. ‘I told you,’ he answers evenly. ‘I had my reasons.’
‘You hurt Ashley.’
‘No.’ He’s adamant. ‘The Department hurt Ashley.’
‘You can’t deny you were working with them!’ I burst out.
‘As a means to an end,’ he asserts. ‘That’s all. There are a lot of them and I don’t have powers like you do. I’m not saying what I did was right but I was trying to get them to trust me. You’ve seen for yourself how powerful they are.’ His eyes bore into mine. ‘And how dangerous they are. I had no choice but to play them at their own game – just as you’re doing with them now.’ He leans forward and speaks with sudden, blazing intensity. ‘The only way out of this is to make sure the Department are controlled. The only people in a position to control the Department are you and me. We can do this, Zoe. If we work together, we can stop them in their tracks.’
I bite my lip. ‘At least they’ve been honest about what they want with me,’ I point out. ‘All you’ve done is lie.’
He runs a hand through his dark hair. ‘I was waiting for the right time. I couldn’t trust you when I first met you. Afterwards I wanted the right moment to explain everything to you.’
‘You had plenty of moments.’
His gaze is steady. ‘I know. But I was afraid.’ He leans forward again. ‘You know how good we are together. You know what I feel for you.’
I shake my head. ‘No. I don’t.’
He heaves in a breath. ‘How can you not?’ he asks. ‘Being here with you, even knowing you hate me, makes me feel like a teenager. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.’ He laughs hoarsely. ‘You probably think I’m being an idiot. I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else. That ex of yours? Adam? Is there something going on between you?’
‘No.’
Dante’s shoulders drop. ‘You have no idea how happy that makes me.’ He takes hold of my fingers. ‘I know you feel like you can’t trust me and I know I’ve done wrong. But give me the chance to make it up to you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I want you to realise the possibilities if both of us work together. The dream tracker and the dreamweaver.’ His eyes gleam. ‘We can change the world. We can make it a better place.’
He keeps harping on the same lines like I’m hard of hearing. ‘You would have hurt that girl.’
‘The kid? The one with the fish?’ He sighs. ‘I didn’t want to. And what I did was wrong. But I didn’t realise she was a Traveller. I had to find a way to get you to listen to me. I won’t ever do anything like that again.’
‘Even if I can trust you,’ I whisper, ‘we can’t beat the Department. They’re too strong, both here and in the real world.’
‘There’s always a way, Zoe. Always. They’re not as intelligent as they think they are.’
Somehow I doubt that. I stand up and brush off my hands. ‘You’re the lesser of two evils. That’s all.’
Dante gets up and stands less than a foot away from me. ‘I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be a good man, Zoe. That I can be the man you deserve. I don’t care how long it takes.’ He narrows the distance between us until we’re almost touching. ‘I’ve fallen for you so hard.’ He takes my hand once more and holds it against his chest. ‘There,’ he whispers. ‘Feel my heart racing. That’s what being here with you does to me.’ I stare at him mutely. He cups my face with his other hand. ‘Don’t you feel anything for me at all? Just a little bit? Nobody’s perfect and I know I’ve made mistakes. We could have such a future together, Zoe.’
I feel his hot breath against my skin as his head dips. The yearning in his expression is almost too much. I groan and yank him towards me, sinking the length of my body against his. His kiss is hard – and coupled with a grunt of possessive triumph. Pinned between his hard body and the tree behind me, with the taste of him in my mouth and on my lips, makes it difficult to think straight. My senses swim. Then, panting, I push him away. Breathing hard, I stare at him. ‘I want you,�
� I say frankly.
‘I want you too.’
I hold up my hand. ‘But I still don’t know if I can trust you.’
His eyes don’t leave mine. ‘I understand.’
‘Give me time to think.’
He nods. ‘Of course.’
‘I’m still in Switzerland,’ I say softly. ‘The police…’ I sigh. ‘I can’t leave the country until all that is sorted out.’
‘I can help with that.’
‘The Department…’
‘Don’t worry about them. We can work against them together. They’re too complacent. They don’t think anyone can beat them.’ His expression is earnest. ‘But we can. I’ve already saved you from them once. I’ll do it a million times over if that’s what it takes.’
I take a deep breath and place my hand against his chest again. ‘I wish I wasn’t in love with you,’ I whisper. And then I disapparate.
When I open my eyes, my heart is still racing, thrumming an irregular beat against my ribs. Almost unconsciously, I press my fingers against my lips. They feel faintly bruised. I take a deep breath and gather up my belongings. The flight is already boarding and I need to get a move on.
I dash into the nearby toilets and change my clothes, swapping my jeans and T-shirt for dark trousers and an even darker top. As soon as I’m done I head out again, ignoring the tuts as I push past the patiently queuing tourists and Swiss business travellers. The flight isn’t going to leave without me but I’m on the clock and I’ve got very little time to manage this.
I get on board, shove my bag into the overhead locker and jostle for the window seat. It’s twenty minutes before take-off and I pray that we’re going to leave on time. I have to include being in transit and moving into a different time zone if this is going to work. Even if things go to plan, it’s still going to be dangerous.
I turn my head away from the other passengers and the polite flight attendants, and lean against the window. I block out the noise and the cramped conditions and make myself fall asleep again. It’s not easy – but there’s no choice.