The Colours: A spy thriller packed with intrigue and deception

by T. M. Parris

  “I’m not interested in selling.” Fairchild cut him off sharply.

  Murat didn’t like that. “Well, it’s just that these woodblock prints don’t carry a particularly high value. A skilful early print from the original blocks might fetch a few thousand if part of a set, but really, the costs of keeping it in a facility like this over time are going to amount to more than the item is worth by quite some margin. Of course it’s not in my interests to point that out, but…”

  Fairchild finally turned to look at the man.

  “That’s it, is it? You see nothing here except what it’s worth? Dollars, Euros, nothing more?”

  Murat stumbled over his words. “Well, I mean, most of our clients are investors—”

  “Well, I’m not most of your clients. This was in my family. It was passed to me by my parents. It was important to them. I don’t care what it’s worth and I don’t want to sell it. Now, if you don’t want my custom I’m sure I can find some other facility to store it, perhaps one that’s a little more up to date.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I didn’t mean…” Murat responded in the only acceptable way, with a torrent of reassurance about how important Fairchild’s custom was. Fairchild zoned him out and focused again on the print.

  Why this print? In the legal mess during which his parents’ assets had eventually passed to him, it came out that they had gone to the trouble of specifically bequeathing this to him on their death, in a letter which only mentioned this one work, none of their other possessions. It was not their most valuable item and Fairchild could remember nothing in particular about it from his childhood, other than it being up on the wall in most of the places they lived. It must have some particular meaning, but he’d never come close to understanding what. In their time at MI6, neither of his parents had worked in Japan or had any particular dealings with the country, as far as Fairchild knew. He took scrupulous care of it, moved it around periodically, carried out detailed research on it, but it was still a mystery.

  Or maybe there was no mystery. Maybe they just liked the print. But he wasn’t satisfied with that idea. His parents were in the habit of playing games: puzzles, riddles, cryptic messages. For as long as he could remember they made a point of involving him as well, setting him challenges, constantly testing him, as if they were training him for something. This print felt like that. Some message, some meaning lurked here, but he couldn’t fathom it. Maybe he never would. But he wasn’t ready to stop trying, not yet.

  It was probably time to move it again. The facility here was far from impressive; newer Freeports offered greater reassurance. Fairchild had fulfilled the other purpose of his visit today. He knew how Rose and her team could get in and search for the Van Gogh. It would be challenging but possible with the right know-how and resources. Reason in itself to protect this print even more, from theft and damage but also from prying eyes. Until he could figure out its importance, he didn’t want anyone else getting close.

  He’d seen what he wanted to see, but the money-minded obsequiousness of Henri Murat left him irritated. So he sat for a few more minutes in silence while the agent hung around impatiently behind him.

  Chapter 16

  On the way home from work, Zoe got off the train one stop early and walked towards the Port of Nice. She found the bar and went inside. It was nothing special, a place like many others round there. At that time on a weekday it wasn’t busy. Anna was at the back, like she said she would be. It all seemed like a pointless game now. But she had to go through with it.

  She slid in to the seat next to Anna. The woman insisted on doing kisses like they were friends, although who would be watching, and how could it matter? Anna offered her a drink; she asked for a peach schnapps with lemonade.

  “So, how are you?” she asked.

  “I’ve got what you want, if that’s what you mean.” Zoe couldn’t find it in herself to be polite.

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean, how are you?”

  “Let’s just get this over with.” Zoe’s bag was on the couch between them, below the level of the table. She got the tampon out of her personals bag and offered it to Anna on her palm, out of sight. Just like she’d give another woman a tampon, like you do sometimes. Anna looked surprised, but took it and put it in her backpack.

  “It’s in the tube,” said Zoe. “In case I got mugged.”

  Anna nodded. “Good thinking.”

  The drinks arrived. Zoe took a long swig of peach schnapps. Anna was watching. When the waiter had gone, she said:

  “So, now that’s out of the way, how are you?”

  “What do you care? You’ve got what you want. Just give me my money and that’s it.”

  “Sure.”

  Anna opened her backpack and the envelope was there, just like the first one, but she didn’t hand it over.

  “Any problems?” she asked. “Anyone see you getting the information? Asked you about it? Behaved strangely towards you?”

  “No, nothing. It was easy. No one’s going to suspect me of anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m unimportant. Just a PA. I fill in forms. I sign things. I forward mail. I take notes. I change nothing. I just do as I’m told.” Zoe took another swig.

  Anna was thinking. Then she asked: “You gave Noah the cash from before? That’s all sorted now?”

  Zoe put the glass down. She wasn’t normally into sharing her problems, but this woman seemed to know everything about her business anyway. So what difference would it make?

  “Sure, I gave him the money. And he gave it to them. But now they want some more. Another thousand. They think they’re onto a winner now. Ask for two thousand Euros, you get it. So he must be good for another pay-out! Then we give that and there’ll be another and another. Never mind it was their money in the first place. Never mind he didn’t want anything to do with them anyway. We’ll tell the club, that’s what they’ll say. He’ll be labelled a gang member and thrown out. That’s what you get for wanting something in this life. For thinking you can break out. They just slam you down.”

  She felt tears coming. She blinked them back and took another drink. Anna waited. She was doing that thing when people wait for you to fill the gap. Which Zoe did. She wasn’t in the mood to hold back.

  “What’s in there, they’ll end up with all that.” Zoe nodded down at the envelope. “But there’s no more coming. He can’t get out of there. He’s got nowhere to go. Unless I quit here. Move to Marseille. Get a job there. We can find a place in a different part of town. I won’t get a job as good as this one, though. Rents are higher there, as well. And they can still find Noah if they want. They could just hang around near the academy. Shit, this is so rubbish!”

  Zoe drained her glass. Anna sipped on her wine.

  “Well, we don’t want that, do we?” she said.

  “What does it matter to you? You’ve got what you want. It’s over now. That’s it, finished! That’s what you said.”

  “And it is. But it’s kind of useful knowing you’re there. In case we ever needed to come back. I’m not saying we would. But just in case.”

  “You said this was a one-off.”

  “And it is. But I also said, didn’t I, that we didn’t want you to lose your job. Look, don’t do anything straight away. Give me a bit of time. We’ll see if we can help with this. You’ve done us a big service here and maybe we can help you out.”

  What could the woman really do? It sounded like just a load of big talk. Anna could see what she was thinking.

  “We all have our fields of expertise. You know about money and accounts and corporate entities. I know about bully-boy gangsters who coerce teenagers. You leave them to me.”

  She got up. “Go home. Have a nice evening. Go to work tomorrow. Stop worrying. It’ll be fine. And thanks.”

  It was only when Anna reached the door that Zoe remembered the money. She jumped up to go after her. Then she realised that the envelope was already in her bag.

 
; Chapter 17

  All three of them went over to Marseille the next morning, Ollie and Rose in the car and Yvonne on the moped. They needed to wait, in any case, for the FININT team to run Grom’s Monaco identity through the systems before they could do more planning. Rose had passed the name on as soon as she got it from Zoe. She’d also given Grom’s principality address to Fairchild to see if he could get them access to his penthouse. Fairchild had reported back on his visit to the Freeport. Last night they’d thrown some ideas around for getting in there, some of them more credible than others. But a few days’ prep would sort it, especially with Fairchild playing the role of client. Rose wasn’t at all happy with how much they seemed to rely on him. But she was just following orders. If it went wrong, no one could claim she hadn’t warned them.

  It didn’t take her long to justify this excursion to Marseille as mission critical. Strictly speaking they were finished with Zoe, but what if FININT needed something else, some further detail? Knowing what she now knew made Zoe a potential vulnerability to the team. They had to watch their backs, particularly if the Russians showed up. That was why Rose used a pseudonym with the woman. But if they could get this right, Zoe was also a resource that others could call on. Once you’d had some involvement with secret services, it was never really and truly over. Zoe wasn’t an asset but she was a name, a contact, someone who could be approached. A friend, maybe. It was always good to have friends. If things went smoothly in Marseille, they could become pretty good friends.

  She’d made it clear to her team that Fairchild wasn’t to be a part of this little trip. There was no reason for him to know anything at all about their informant. Besides, Fairchild was busy trying to get access to Grom’s apartment.

  The sun shone as they bowled along the autoroute past shopping malls and business parks and sprawling warehouses. Rose kept an eye on the mirrors. The incident with the moped rider on the seafront still tugged at her subconscious. She hadn’t shared the detail of this with the others, but was insisting on their vigilance.

  “So he calls himself Epée,” she said to Ollie.

  “Yep.” Ollie nodded as he drove.

  “Seriously? ‘Sword’? Not very subtle, is it?”

  “Subtlety’s not his strong point.”

  They’d formulated a plan last night but it wasn’t really much of a plan. It all depended where the Pirats were hanging out when they got there.

  “Where shall we start?” asked Rose. “What’s their most likely activity of a late weekday morning?”

  Ollie had spent several days watching them and their interactions with Noah.

  “There’s a park near one of the schools. They wait for the kids to come out and trade cigarettes. Amongst other things.”

  “And it was definitely them that took the cash?”

  “Oh yes. Different people of course, but once they’d laid into Noah, beat him up a bit and emptied his pockets, they went straight back to Epée and handed it over. Minus a small fee. It was all pre-arranged. They knew he’d have it on him.”

  “Something neat about it, isn’t there? Give a guy two thousand Euros, rob him to get it back then persuade him to repay you anyway. A one hundred percent profit.”

  “One hundred and fifty, if they get the extra thousand as well.”

  “They won’t.”

  Ollie glanced over at her. “You’re not worried about them carrying? I said they might.”

  “I have excellent back-up.”

  Ollie smiled. He was better at this than windsurfing.

  They tried the park first but no luck. They made a plan to split the estate into east and west and meet back at the park, keeping in touch via mobile. Rose and Ollie were back there first. After a few minutes Rose called Yvonne. No answer. A cold feeling spread up her spine.

  “What’s she doing?” she muttered.

  “Probably just in traffic,” said Ollie.

  “She’s got a hands-free. Why isn’t she using it?”

  Ollie looked at her curiously. Her phone rang. It was Yvonne.

  “Where are you?”

  “A street away. Police patrol cars pulled up. I gave them a wide berth.”

  Rose breathed out. It was a good move. The last thing they wanted was to be on the radar of the local police. Yvonne’s moped rounded the corner in front of them. She pulled in but didn’t acknowledge them.

  “I just found them, anyway,” she said through her hands-free. “Hanging around a bench near some shops.”

  “Great work.”

  Yvonne gave some details of the layout and they came up with a plan. Nothing too dramatic: they were going to do a little leaning, nothing more. A nudge, as some liked to say. A gentle nudge. They got into position.

  Ollie and Rose were watching when Yvonne walked across the middle of the square towards the group of three. She was dressed for the part: skin-tight leather trousers, three-inch heels, a plunging lacy blouse and a short leather jacket. She was intending to be noticed and she was, by the three of them and any number of passers-by. As with so many French women, there was something naturally stylish about her shiny straight brown hair, the subtle make-up on her face, and the pink scarf tied so casually around her neck which covered up so very little.

  She addressed them, standing in front of them, legs apart. All three were taking a good look. The guy sitting on the bench stared at her face before his gaze moved back down to her crotch. He was thin, white, muscular. The other two were bigger, but this one had more purpose to him. Of the other two, one was black and the other white; clearly the Pirats didn’t discriminate in terms of who they drew in to their world.

  Neither Rose nor Ollie could hear what was being said, but Yvonne was managing to make some kind of point, as they were spending more time listening to her and less time looking at her body. Yvonne nodded towards a corner hidden from view, a gap between the back of some shops and a multi-storey car park. Eventually the guy on the bench got up and gestured at Yvonne. She led the way and the other two stayed behind. Rose, viewing all of this from the second floor of the car park, descended into the alleyway and was waiting there when Yvonne arrived. Ollie, she knew, was somewhere behind her.

  Yvonne gestured for the guy to go in first. He did, but stopped when he saw Rose.

  “What the hell is this? You said Salvato was here!”

  He was speaking to Yvonne who had come up behind him.

  “I lied,” she said.

  “You little bitch!” His hand came up to slap her but it never reached her face. Instead he shrieked as she pinned his arms behind his back. Ollie came forward and frisked him. No gun. Rose watched, arms folded.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he said to her. His voice was loud.

  “I wouldn’t call your friends over,” said Rose. “Unless you want them to see you get beaten in a fight by a woman. We just want to talk. You’re the person calling himself Epée, I take it?”

  “And what do you call yourself, as you’re not Salvato? Are you with him? Is he here?”

  “I expect he’s back on Corsica, continuing to get rich on all your earnings. I’ve never met him. Just heard the name.”

  “Heard the name how?”

  “Not important.”

  “So who are you, then?”

  “That’s not important either. This is what’s important: Noah Tapoko. Mean anything?” She kept her language plain and formal; she wasn’t posing as one of them.

  “The footballer? Guy’s an idiot. Lost our money.”

  “He was mugged. It was stolen from him.”

  “Yeah, he said that.”

  Rose stepped forward and slapped him in the face, same as he wanted to do to Yvonne earlier. That drew a string of expletives. Yvonne’s grip tightened as he struggled.

  “He said that because that’s what happened,” said Rose. “And those muggers were working for you. As soon as they got their hands on the cash they brought it to you and handed it straight over. You set it up. You recruited Noah, loaded him wit
h cash, had him beaten up then leaned on him to double your money. Then you went back for more! What a little dirtbag you are.”

  A key part of Rose’s preparation for today was getting Yvonne to list the most suitable French insults. Epée had stopped struggling.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “We know a lot of things. All your dirty little secrets.”

  “Well, how?”

  “Because we’re clever. Cleverer than you. You should remember that.”

  He looked round at all of them. “If you’re not with Salvato, who are you with?”

  “Someone bigger than that. Much bigger. Much better. Much wealthier. Whoever you think you can buy or intimidate, we can do more.”

  His face widened into a grin. “Oh, you’re scaring me! What is this bullshit? I’ve never seen you before. You’re nobody!”

  Rose stepped forward and stamped on his foot. He shrieked and doubled up, or would have done if Yvonne had let him.

  “I’d be quieter if I were you,” said Rose. “Or your two friends might make an appearance. You wouldn’t want them to see you like this, would you?

  “Whatever.” It was just a mutter.

  Rose leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you something else you don’t want them to see. And that’s how much you’re skimming off the top without them knowing.”

  He took a sharp breath and looked at her.

  “It’s meant to go three equal ways,” Rose continued. “Isn’t it? What you make from the drug runners in this area. And so it does. Except for the runners who only come to you, the loot that you pocket without anyone else seeing. Except for all that.”

  His mouth curled in contempt. “They won’t believe you.”

  “Oh, you think we can’t prove it? You see, this is what I mean, Epée. You need to revise your view of us. Wherever you’re thinking of going, we got there first.”

  She turned to Ollie, who stepped forward and showed him a series of photos on a mobile phone that he’d taken during surveillance. Epée twitched and slumped.