Zero kill, p.12
Zero Kill, page 12
A helicopter flew above a building. A moment later, a pair of police vehicles sped past in the opposite direction.
Moving into a creeping stream of traffic, Camille rested her elbow on the open window of the driver’s side. Her fingers lightly tapped the wheel. They crawled along for several minutes, Elsa’s nerves screaming; it seemed to her they were going in circles, continually doubling back towards the square.
‘Camille, what’s going—’
‘Not now.’ Camille pulled out of the crawling line of traffic and into a narrow street, where another car sat idling, the doors open.
Camille pulled up beside it, and they changed vehicles again. Two women sitting outside a café jumped up and climbed into the Astra, which roared off.
Now hidden behind tinted windows, driving at a steady speed, they drove for another fifteen minutes, moving steadily in heavy traffic, waiting patiently at lights and junctions, as police vehicles and vans screamed in every direction.
At a red light, Camille pulled up behind an SUV. ‘Come on.’
They climbed into the vehicle ahead, swapping with another two women who didn’t even glance over as they passed in the road. The lights changed and Camille pulled across the junction, edging to the side of the road to let a police car roar past.
‘Where are we going?’ Elsa asked, but Camille didn’t reply.
She drove once again across Oxford Street, and into the cramped streets of Soho, careful to give plenty of space to the evening crowds who swarmed across the road in search of bars, pubs and restaurants.
Finally, Camille swung into an underground car park. At the entrance a barrier rattled to the floor, and they clumped across a metal ramp, riding the curved band of concrete down into the gloom. When they reached the wide concrete basement, there were only two or three other cars parked in the entire space.
Waiting at the door of a lift at the far end was a group of well-dressed men and women. The car glided to a halt in front of them, and Camille killed the ignition.
Two men walked towards the car. One had a device in his hand, which looked a lot like the dust-buster Elsa kept in her kitchen; the second carried long pieces of coloured fabric.
Camille nodded at the pass in Elsa’s hand. ‘Give me that.’
Elsa handed her Zoe Castle’s ID. When Elsa climbed out, the man with the dust-buster shut the door behind her, and said, ‘Raise your arms, please.’
Elsa glanced at Camille, who nodded. Considering she had just saved Elsa’s life, it seemed churlish to object, so Elsa raised her arms. The man lifted the device to her head and slowly pulled it all the way down her body. Satisfied, he nodded to Camille. ‘She’s clear.’
The other man came forward and, like a department store shop assistant, held up two cocktail dresses. One was red and sparkly, the other emerald green. Strappy silver high-heeled sandals dangled from one of his hands.
‘Which one?’ he asked.
Elsa stared in incomprehension. She had nearly been gunned down, there were probably still bits of a dead woman’s brain matter in her hair, and he wanted her to play dress-up.
‘Get away from me,’ she told him.
‘You have to choose one,’ he insisted.
‘Step. Away.’
Camille came round the side of the car and told him, ‘Not now.’
‘She can’t go upstairs like that,’ the man protested. ‘I have strict instructions.’
‘We don’t have time for this.’ Camille pushed him away and handed the other man Zoe’s pass. ‘Get it to our tech guys as quick as you can. We need to use it tonight.’
The man took it and walked off. Behind them, the car was already being driven back up the ramp. Elsa wondered how many decoy cars were being driven around the streets of London, pulling the security services in every direction.
‘Come with me.’ As the other people in the car park melted away, Camille led Elsa to the lift.
When the doors opened, the deep-red walls and perfumed interior contrasted with the exhaust-blasted concrete car park.
As soon as the doors closed, Camille smiled for the first time. ‘Hey, Elsa.’
‘Hey, Camille.’
Camille had come back into Elsa’s life in her moment of need to save her skin all over again, and she fell into her friend’s arms. Elsa almost imagined she could rest there forever – until she felt a sharp sting in her arm. She pushed Camille away with such force that she slammed into the wall.
‘Sorry.’ Camille quickly held up the stubby needle in her hand. ‘It’s to neutralize any trackers you may have inside you, it’s not going to do you any harm. I come in peace.’
Elsa breathed hard. ‘For fuck’s sake, Camille.’
Camille laughed. ‘How many times do I have to save your life? It’s getting embarrassing now.’
Elsa couldn’t help but smile. ‘You look great.’
Her friend’s hair was longer, but she still had the severe fringe that bladed across the top of her forehead, and those amazing cheekbones looked sharper than ever.
‘You too, darling.’ When Camille came close again, Elsa felt herself tense, wary of more needles. But Camille gently inverted Elsa’s hood to let the shards of glass trapped inside it fall to the floor. ‘It’s good to see you again. I just wish the circumstances were different.’
Once upon a time, Camille had been the nearest thing to a best friend that Elsa ever had. They were comrades, had worked together all over the world, had watched each other’s back. But what Camille didn’t know was that they had loved the same man, and Elsa felt that familiar surge of guilt.
When Elsa left the business after the Buenos Aires fiasco, when that part of her life was over, it was inevitable that she and Camille would lose contact. Elsa could have made more of an effort, of course – Camille was grieving for the loss of her husband, after all – but the shame she had felt was too much. Camille had saved Elsa’s life, and in return she’d had an affair with Steve Carragher, had fallen in love with him, and become pregnant with his children.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Elsa, as the lift began to slow.
‘Someone wants to talk to you,’ Camille told her.
Elsa’s suspicions had proved correct.
RedQueen.
When the lift doors opened, Elsa stepped out into the middle of a crowded cocktail party.
19
‘Wait here,’ Camille told Elsa and she walked into the crowd of smartly dressed men and women chatting and laughing over drinks.
Elsa pressed herself against the on-trend bottle-green wallpaper. In her hoodie, leggings and trainers, she stuck out like a sore thumb among all the expensive suits and frocks; almost wished she’d picked one of the dresses.
They were in the top-floor bar of an expensive Soho hotel, the kind of place she only saw reviewed in online magazines these days. A long counter dominated one end of the room and floor-to-ceiling windows ran the entire length, looking out over the West End rooftops. The sun was going down, the sky brushed with wispy pink cloud. The flashing lights of helicopters swept back and forth above the cityscape.
Elsa watched the men and women in designer labels flick their shiny hair in delighted laughter, and wondered how the hell she had ended up here.
Less than an hour ago, Zoe Castle’s body had lifted in the air, twisting in a graceful slow-motion pirouette, her feet leaving the ground as the top of her skull blew off.
Elsa shut her eyes and pressed her fingers into the lids to try to dismiss the image. She had seen worse, much worse, in her time. But she had gone out of her way to involve Zoe in this situation. She was an innocent woman who was just trying to do the right thing, and now she was dead.
And yet somehow or other Elsa was still alive; it didn’t make sense.
She made a silent vow to make whoever was responsible pay for Zoe’s death.
But then her own children flashed again into her mind, and she felt fear surge through her body. Harley and India were all that mattered to her. She had last seen them at the crack of dawn; had left them in the hands of her estranged parents, of all people. What kind of mother was she, anyway? It was her job to protect them, nobody else’s. She had a very urgent need to know they were safe.
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ said a voice, and she opened her eyes to see a woman in a glittery ankle-length dress and swept-back hair coming towards her. When the woman grabbed her hands, Elsa’s frazzled nerves crackled; she was ready to slam her into the wall. ‘I know everything! I hope you don’t mind me saying, I think you’ve been very brave. Very brave.’
Elsa looked for Camille.
‘Considering everything, you still look radiant, a picture of health.’ Placing fingers that sparkled with rings to her chest, the woman spoke in an emotional whisper. ‘Well done you. Well, well done.’
She turned to a man in a dinner jacket who had followed her over. ‘Isn’t she looking fabulous, Melvin?’
Melvin regarded Elsa’s scuffed hoodie, torn leggings and dirty trainers, from all the fighting and rolling on the ground in dirt and glass and blood, and said with a lack of enthusiasm, ‘We wish you all the best. Come away now.’
‘She’s so brave,’ said the woman to a glamorous senior lady, who hurried over with Camille.
‘Isn’t she just?’ said the older woman. Her sparkling silver hair was worn in a towering bouffant, an alarming helmet of the kind that went out with the Eighties. Her thin figure was crammed into a long white dress that fell to her feet and accentuated her deep mahogany tan. Extravagant jewellery of diamond, gold and other precious metals sparkled in the soft light on her ears, the folds of her neck and on her fingers. The woman’s very straight teeth were such a dazzling white they were almost fluorescent.
‘Why don’t you and Melvin help yourselves to a drink at the bar, Tasmin, and I’ll be along in a few minutes?’
When the couple had gone, the older woman flashed her high-voltage smile at Elsa. ‘I’m going to give you a big hug for the benefit of the room, so please don’t hit me.’
She draped her arms around Elsa’s stiff, unyielding body and hung there for a long moment. Her perfume was overwhelming.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, leading Elsa into the crowd. ‘Do try and smile, darling, you’re among friends.’
Elsa looked anxiously over her shoulder at Camille, who stayed by the lift.
‘Don’t worry, Camille isn’t going anywhere,’ said the woman. ‘I know how busy you are, tonight of all nights, so I promise not to keep you very long.’
Another guest loomed out of the crowd and pumped Elsa’s hand. ‘God bless, we’re all rooting for you!’
‘Thank you, Samantha,’ said the older woman, and pulled Elsa past her.
Elsa was bewildered by all the attention. ‘What’s going on?’
‘They think you’re my drug addict granddaughter just out of rehab,’ the woman said in a low voice. ‘Forgive me, it was the only way to explain how you’re dressed. I do wish you’d worn one of the pretty dresses we hurriedly organized for you; it would have been much more satisfactory if you’d made the effort. A little make-up wouldn’t go amiss, either.’ The woman smiled sadly. ‘Or a shower.’
‘Who are you?’
The woman offered a manicured hand tipped with long silver nails. ‘I’m Mrs Krystahl, so pleased to meet you.’ Her attention was caught by a distinguished-looking man in the crowd.
‘Christian!’ She lifted herself on her toes to kiss him on both cheeks. ‘We must catch up soon!’
She whispered to Elsa, ‘That’s Dr Christian Vaida, one of the very top cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. If you ever have problems with your ticker, Elsa, he’s the consultant to see.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘And, my, isn’t he handsome?’
‘You’re from RedQueen,’ said Elsa.
‘Oh, come now.’ Mrs Krystahl spoke in a strained sing-song. ‘Wait until we’re out of earshot.’
Elsa felt exposed in the glare of the vast windows. The upper storeys of the building on the other side of the narrow street felt oppressively close. Snipers could lurk on the rooftop or behind the blank windows; it wouldn’t be the first time tonight.
‘Oh, that darned sun is in my eyes.’ As if reading Elsa’s mind, Mrs Krystahl lifted a hand to get the attention of someone. Within moments, the windows darkened, dampening the red glare, making it impossible to see inside. They came to a space at the back of the room. ‘We can talk here.’
Everyone was middle-aged and well dressed, and seemingly intent on having a good time, but Elsa couldn’t shake the feeling there were trained killers in the crowd, maybe several, and scanned the room carefully.
‘What am I doing here?’
‘I thought we might have a little chat, you and I.’ Mrs Krystahl snatched two martini glasses from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘About this mess you’ve found yourself in. It’s clear that someone really doesn’t want you to give yourself up to British intelligence.’
‘I’m lucky to be alive.’
‘I’m not sure that’s altogether true. If the sniper wanted to kill you, Elsa, I imagine they could have done so easily. And I believe you suspect the same thing. I think the aim was to sow panic and confusion at SIS, and to implicate you further in whatever conspiracy is unfolding. If that’s the case, it was mission accomplished.’
‘Implicate me in what?’ asked Elsa.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Mrs Krystahl handed her one of the martinis. ‘I imagine you would.’
‘How very convenient that RedQueen swooped in to save me.’
‘You’re meant to have just come out of rehab so perhaps we shouldn’t give you that.’ Mrs Krystahl took back the glass and placed it on a table. ‘It’s bloody lucky, is what it is. We have people embedded in SIS, so we knew of their intention to bring you in. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here now, not enjoying cocktails at an exclusive Soho soiree. They’d be torturing you, dragging information out of you in a variety of unsavoury ways.’
Elsa’s head spun. ‘I don’t have information.’
‘Well, you know something, darling, otherwise the world’s intelligence agencies – along with at least one dangerous and as yet unidentified private party – wouldn’t be so keen to put you in the ground. All we know is that you went into that apartment with Steve Carragher – and came out alive. Which means while you were inside, you likely saw something you shouldn’t.’
‘All I saw,’ hissed Elsa, ‘were men trying to kill me.’
‘Well, you must know something, my darling, or you wouldn’t be in this pickle.’ Mrs Krystahl sipped her martini. ‘The best thing you can do right now is think. Try to work out what on earth happened during that mission that has made you a target.’
‘Why don’t you ask Camille?’ Elsa nodded towards the lift. ‘She was there.’
‘Oh, believe me, we’ve spoken about it in great detail. But nobody’s showed the slightest interest in hunting and killing Camille, it’s you all the agencies have the hots for. It’s quite remarkable, Elsa – the world and his wife wants you dead. It’s totally unprecedented, darling, I’ve never heard the likes of it.’
‘RedQueen employees are given the bare minimum of information they need to complete the mission. Besides Carragher, none of us knew anything about the target – that hard drive or whatever it was. You’ll know more about it than I do.’
‘I wish I did.’ Mrs Krystahl played absently with one of the many necklaces that hung on her wrinkled brown chest. ‘But Pilot Fish was too classified to even place in the drawer marked Top Secret. The precise objective was known by very few people within SIS. As an outside contractor, RedQueen was told nothing about the target.’
‘You sent your people in without knowing what they were destroying?’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Krystahl frowned. ‘It’s easy to disavow that way, you understand the game.’
‘You must be able to find out.’
‘We’re trying, darling, but RedQueen has been locked out by the global intelligence community. There’s a lot of suspicion, Elsa, and because you were our operative, we’ve lost a lot of credibility. Our sources inside SIS and the other agencies are coming up with nothing that makes any sense right now. And it may interest you to know that an unusual proportion of the very few people who knew what was on that hard drive are not alive today. They have died of cancers, car accidents, unexpected heart attacks, and so forth.
‘With you being hunted by all and sundry, RedQueen stands to lose the reputation it has built carefully over many decades.’ Mrs Krystahl raised the glass to her red lips. ‘And we cannot allow that to happen.’
‘I’m very sorry about your reputation,’ said Elsa wearily. ‘But they’re trying to kill me.’
‘Then it’s in both our interests to find out what the bloody hell – excuse my language, Elsa – is going on. We scanned you downstairs for any data tag you may unwittingly be carrying under your skin and there’s nothing.’ Mrs Krystahl turned away to kiss a woman who came over. ‘How are you, Katherine? So lovely to see you again. We must do lunch.’
Elsa bit her lip, frustrated by all the interruptions.
‘If my being hunted for whatever it is I’m supposed to have done, or seen or heard, is such a burden to you, why not just hand me over?’
‘Oh, believe me, the back and forth we had about it!’ Mrs Krystahl drained her martini. ‘The fact is, delivering you dead or alive to one of the agencies will do nothing to exonerate RedQueen of whatever conspiracy is currently unfurling. We have valuable contracts worldwide, Elsa, worth tens of millions of dollars, which are hanging by a thread. RedQueen has built an unparalleled reputation for trust and discretion within the intelligence community. They are the core competencies and values on which our business was founded. And they are being questioned, Elsa, they are being trashed.’ Mrs Krystahl spoke with quiet anger. ‘This is a state of affairs that cannot be countenanced. RedQueen faces an existential threat. For a hundred and fifty years we have diligently toiled in the shadows of history, and we cannot risk our activities being brought into the light to be prodded and examined. That simply cannot be allowed to happen. Which is why I have been given the authority to provide support to you in your efforts to discover why you have been targeted.’
