The Colours: A spy thriller packed with intrigue and deception

by T. M. Parris

  After Monaco, very late last night, Rose had passed by Zoe’s flat in Nice. No sign of any Russian heavies hanging around. Hopefully that meant that Zoe didn’t return there and the Russians had withdrawn. They still had a day in hand; Zoe told the Russian goons Yunayev was arriving in Monaco tomorrow. It was then, when he didn’t appear, that things would really start to get ugly.

  So where was the woman? She could be anywhere. Most people, though, would not be able to stop themselves making contact with people in their lives and going to familiar places. That would make it easy for the Russians to find her. If they got to Zoe before Rose could, it didn’t bear thinking about. But Rose was running short of people. Ollie she’d sent back to Monaco, to the bank. That would be tough for one person, as they’d already discovered that the bank had multiple ways in and out. He’d have to do his best; she needed Yvonne in Marseille. Zoe’s apartment wasn’t being watched. Rose had to trust that Zoe was smart enough not to go home. As for finding a new base, that was on hold; all efforts had to be on Zoe for now.

  Even though Fairchild was in Marseille, no way was Rose going to appeal to him for help on this. From what Zoe had said, he bore at least some of the blame. On top of everything, Fairchild had texted late last night claiming a possible sighting of the Freeport heist gang. Well, that would just have to wait for now.

  Noah finally appeared mid-afternoon. Yvonne was watching the flat while Rose staked out the Metro. Rose caught sight of him coming out of the station and followed him to the square below the flat where Noah went into a shop. He emerged eating something packaged and unhealthy, and stood around chatting with a couple of other young men. Rose and Yvonne kept away from each other, but Noah seemed very aware of his surroundings, looking around frequently. He noticed Yvonne, standing well back smoking a cigarette. He gazed curiously. Rose walked towards Yvonne and let him catch her eye. Then he stared at her. It was as if he were expecting them.

  He finished eating whatever it was and set off towards Rose, though that wasn’t the way up to the flat. He didn’t go straight to her, but glanced as he walked past. They both followed him, Rose moving ahead of Yvonne. Noah carried on out of sight of the square, then slowed to a halt and turned round, folding his arms. He’d picked a good spot, next to a busy road, plenty of people. They stared at each other.

  “Whatever you want, I can’t help,” he said finally.

  “But you knew someone would come here asking,” said Rose.

  His eyes widened. “You’re not Russian.”

  “Lucky for you, no. But they’ll be here.”

  Yvonne came up behind them, hanging back slightly. He looked from one to the other.

  “Holy shit! Are you the babes from Paris, that had Epée on his knees? You know he’ll never get over that.”

  Rose acted cool. “Well it’s good to know word’s got round on the estate. Positive female role models are no bad thing. You’ve spoken to your sister, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t try to deny it.

  “What’s she doing? Where is she?”

  “I dunno. She said she didn’t know either.”

  “Can you get in touch with her?”

  “No. No messages.”

  “What about her phone?”

  “She said she wouldn’t be answering it.”

  He didn’t seem overly concerned. But he should be.

  “Listen, Noah. Zoe’s in a lot of trouble. Maybe she made light of it, but she is. Not because of something she’s done, exactly, but —”

  “Yeah, I know. Wrong place, wrong time. She saw something, didn’t she? A witness.”

  Not quite, but there was no benefit to Noah having the full story.

  “We can help her, Noah. We know how to keep her safe. And you as well. But we need you both to trust us. Can you do that?”

  “Hey, I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Zoe knows who we are.”

  “Well, she didn’t say anything about that to me. I trust my sister. I do what she says. She’s always looked out for me.”

  “The thing is, Noah, I’m partly responsible for all this. That’s why I want to fix it. Zoe may think she has it sorted, but she’s out of her depth. She doesn’t even realise how much.” Rose saw a shadow of doubt cross Noah’s face. “Of course she’s doing her best by you, but you both need help and we can provide it.”

  A pause. Noah looked at his feet.

  Rose continued. “Zoe told you to look out for Russians. Did she tell you they jumped her after work?”

  He looked up, alarmed.

  “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

  He frowned. “She’s okay, though.”

  “So you’ve seen her in person? She came here? When was that?” Silence. “Is she still here now?”

  “No, she’s gone. But I don’t know where, like I said.”

  “How did she look, Noah? How did she seem?”

  “Good!”

  “Really?” Rose couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “Yeah. Different. Older, thinner. Had a scarf on. Her hair was – different.”

  So she’d changed her appearance. A positive sign but unlikely to be enough given who was after her.

  “Okay. And what did she say exactly?”

  He was still holding out. “Like I told you. She’s going away for a while, doesn’t know where or for how long. And I can’t contact her. And,” – a shadow of a grin – “if any Russians show up, I tell Epée they’re after his turf.”

  “Epée?”

  “Yeah. So he’ll chase them off. Make them feel unwelcome.”

  That sounded like a bold move.

  “Epée is a friend these days, is he?”

  “Nah. He keeps his distance. So do his people. He seems almost – scared of me.” Noah frowned. “Was it you that did that? What did you say to him?”

  No way was Rose going to tell him that.

  “You think he’d go for it? Face off the Russian mafia if they show up?”

  “I reckon he’d try.”

  It was a clever idea of Zoe’s and might just work. Alternatively, it could pull a lot of people into an ugly confrontation and get Noah involved with the Pirats again. Worst-case scenario.

  “Well, if that happens, let them know you had a visit from the babes from Paris. Tell them we don’t like the Russians either and we hope he’ll sort them out. Otherwise we may have to get involved as well.”

  “Sure.”

  He liked that idea. Rose got out a business card and passed it to him.

  “Listen. If she gets in touch, will you let me know?”

  He took the card but looked uncertain.

  “At least tell her I was here. Tell her I want to help. Tell her to call me. Will you do that? That’s not breaking a confidence, is it Noah? It’s just passing something on.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Okay then. But I’d still like to know if she gets in touch.”

  A pause. “We’ll see.”

  It was the best she was going to get. “Okay. Well, go safely, Noah. Your sister’s a pretty impressive person. You’re lucky to have her.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Quietly, with meaning. He ambled away.

  Rose meant what she said. Somehow Zoe, a complete novice, was a step ahead of her. But with Russia involved, and with Grom’s non-appearance tomorrow, that couldn’t possibly last. Which made it all the more frustrating – and probably tragic in the end – that Zoe now seemed out of reach.

  Yvonne checked her phone on the way back to the car.

  “Oh, great. You’re not going to like this.”

  “What?”

  “Gustave Fournier’s dead. He was shot last night in Marseille.”

  Chapter 45

  The sun was setting, turning Marseille’s Fort St Jean and the spidery walls of the MuCEM complex across the harbour a delicate pinky orange. Fairchild had suggested a small bar a few streets up from the Old Port, overlooking the harbour mouth. Pleasure boats filled the l
ong rectangular port, their masts criss-crossing as the yachts gently bobbed. Most of the bar’s few pavement tables were occupied, the ambient noise was congenial, and the whole scene looked restful and idyllic. However, from the tone of Rose’s message demanding a meet, Fairchild suspected this encounter would not be idyllic at all.

  Rose was already there, sitting with her back to him, looking out over the harbour, two drinks in front of her. He slid into the empty chair.

  “I got you a gin and tonic. The ice has melted,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  Fairchild took a sip. He waited.

  “So you got what you wanted, then,” she said. “Last night?”

  “You mean the print? Yes, I did. But I also located the crew, and told you where they were.”

  He leaned back, giving an appearance of nonchalance that didn’t match his mood. Her eyes were cold.

  “Care to talk me through it?” she said.

  He gave her a quick summary of what happened on the hill. Her expression didn’t change as she listened. He downed his gin; he was going to need it.

  “Let me get this straight,” she said. “One of them was tied up, and the other two were passed out on the ground. And the only thing you could manage to do was grab what you wanted and get out of there? You’ve heard the news. Now Fournier’s dead and the others are in the wind. How did that happen, Fairchild? Could you not have incapacitated them, or stayed on their tail?”

  She was pale and furious. There was more to this than the job in hand. Something else was troubling her. But she was still out of line.

  “I led you to them. I located them for you. That was the deal. Where was your team, Rose? There was nobody else up there. The police were on their way. What did you expect me to do? I can’t explain myself to the police any better than you could have done. I said you should have had people in Marseille already. What were you all doing that was more important than this?”

  She ignored the question. “What the hell even happened up there? How did Fournier manage to overpower both the others and start a bonfire?”

  “I don’t know. He was manic. Somehow he kept the others with him so that he could pull this stunt, but they can’t have known what he had in mind. The big guy, the getaway driver, was out for the count. Pippin, the thief, was tied up at the back of the van. He was just watching.”

  There was something in her face when he mentioned Pippin, something unreadable.

  “And you made sure to retrieve what was yours.”

  “Yes, actually. Like I said I would. Then I heard the police sirens. I don’t know who called them. Maybe someone saw the fire.”

  “Couldn’t you have tied them all up so they were there when the police arrived?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “You could have untied Pippin. There was time for that.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, clearly he wasn’t a willing participant.”

  “In the fire, no, but in the theft he was, wasn’t he? What’s this really about, Rose? Why wasn’t your team there? You haven’t answered that.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you what this is about. My team wasn’t there because they were on a crash mission to bring in an informant who’s now disappeared. Her name’s Zoe. I believe you’ve met.”

  If Rose’s look was cold before, it was freezing now.

  “In Grom’s penthouse apartment?” she continued. “She decided to see if she could talk her way in, and you were already there. Offered her a drink, judging from those two glasses. What did you tell her, Fairchild? That messing around with people like Grom was easy? That anyone could do it? That she should carry on playing her little games?”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. He’d worried about Zoe right from the start.

  “Exactly that, Fairchild. Gone. She’s been having a good old laugh, by the sound of it. Getting a tour of Grom’s super-yacht by posing as his secretary. His secretary, Fairchild! The Russians spotted her. They found out where she lives. They cornered her coming out of work. She said Grom was due in Monaco. The Russians took all this literally. They’re expecting Grom to arrive tomorrow. What do you think they’ll do to her when he doesn’t show up?”

  Fairchild didn’t want to think about that.

  “When did you last see her?” he asked.

  “I spoke to her yesterday. She phoned me just after it happened.”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “Not seriously. Very shaken up, though. I sent her instructions to bring her in, but she didn’t show.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Monte Carlo. They were waiting for her outside the bank. They also sent someone to her flat in Nice. They associate her with Grom now. Think what that means. Did you put her up to it?”

  Was that what she thought of him? “No, for Christ’s sake! I had no idea who she was when she showed up at the flat. Then I realised she must be your informant at the bank. I warned her off, Rose. Told her not to mess with people like Grom.”

  “Well, clearly, whatever you said didn’t have a great deal of impact. I can’t get in touch and I have no idea where she is. This time tomorrow she’ll probably be dead.”

  Her tone was too accusing for him to ignore.

  “You’re blaming me? She was your informant, Rose. You’re the one who approached her and got her involved in this. Before that, she’d never have considered it. What did you say to her, to get her to start spying for you? What kind of warped justification did you give her? Did you tell her it was important for the defence of the realm? Did you promise her you’d keep her safe?”

  He was spouting bile and it wasn’t meant for Rose. It was the organisation she represented, the high-minded ease with which officers justified putting others in harm’s way, their making light with human lives, their balancing of means versus ends, that could be used to explain away anything they wanted. How many people like Zoe had done what they were asked for good reasons, only to find their lives altered beyond all recognition and their fates written off, while the people they’d risked everything to help shrugged their shoulders and carried on?

  “In case you’d forgotten,” said Rose, “this whole operation is designed to disempower the man who killed your parents and came very close to killing you. You’re just as much against Grom as we are. You may dislike any whiff of loyalty to queen and country, but about this we’re on the same side, or so I thought. Zoe’s role was already finished. She looked up a name, that’s all. A name and an address. It was made very clear that was the end of the arrangement. And she was paid pretty generously for her trouble. Whatever she did later was her going completely off-piste. It wasn’t in any way sanctioned by me and if I’d known about it I would have put a stop to it pretty sharply. Aside from the risks to herself, she’s put the whole mission in jeopardy.”

  “Oh, I see.” Fairchild couldn’t stop himself. “You’re concerned about her, but also the mission. Of course.”

  “Well yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not going to apologise to you because I believe in what I do. We make a difference, Fairchild. We save lives, though we’re not perfect. The way you go about things, you don’t seem too worried about that.”

  “You’re accusing me of what, exactly?”

  “Indifference. You’re so caught up in your own crusade you’re not looking out for anyone else. Your talents, Fairchild! Your skills! What could you do with those if you chose to? But instead you’re intent on pursuing some personal crusade, even now, even though you’ve got the answers you were looking for. But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough because you’re locked in now to everything being about you and your parents and how you were betrayed and how unfair it all is. You recruit all these people to your cause but do they mean anything to you? Zoe may have worked for me, but if you said anything to encourage her in this, her blood is on your hands.”

  Fairchild couldn’t trust himself to say much.
/>   “I didn’t.”

  “But you didn’t tell me about it, did you? You managed to figure out she was involved, but you didn’t say a word to me about what she was up to. What else have you messed with? Are you ever going to figure out whose side you’re on? Or will you forever be happy in self-satisfied isolation, congratulating yourself on never getting your hands dirty with any cause except your own?”

  A long pause. Fairchild felt the soft breeze, heard the buzz of conversation around him. It was as if she were writing the words with a knife on his skin. Did she know the impact she was having on him? He’d never told her how he felt about her, and he probably never would. It was his misfortune to be in love with someone who stood for everything he hated the most.

  Her phone rang. She answered and her expression changed.

  “When? Okay. Yes, send it.”

  She hung up and waited, looking at her screen. Something popped up. She stared at it, then looked up at him. He recognised what was etched into her face: fear.

  “Well, I guess we were both wrong. Yvonne got a tip-off via Paris Station that some Russian claiming to represent Yunayev showed up at the office of the Monaco clearing agent this afternoon. Angry, shouting, accusing everyone of being in on a conspiracy. Threatened to break the receptionist’s fingers, apparently. The police were called. Ollie just managed to talk his way in and view the CCTV footage.”

  She held up her phone. There on the screen was a photo of an old man with white hair, solidly built, less sure of himself than when Fairchild last saw him, his face angry, accusing.

  “Not someone representing Yunayev,” she said. “That is Yunayev. And Grom. And Khovansky. And Sutherland. He’s broken all the rules and come here himself. He’s desperate, Fairchild. And we know what desperate people do.”