THIRTY-ONE

Jim Turner?’ Jay felt breathless, as if her lungs were being compressed. ‘Yes.’ Emilie twisted a paper napkin between her fingers. ‘I rang Max immediately. I knew I was in terrible danger, but I didn’t dare say much on the phone. I was terrified Turner might be listening. I didn’t want Turner to know I really had overheard his conversation, and I certainly wasn’t going to risk mentioning his name. I wanted to talk to Max face to face. But before he got to me, I was already ill. I could barely talk.’ Her gaze turned distant. ‘I can’t even remember what I told him.’

‘But Turner trapped Nahid.’ Jay was having trouble computing Emilie’s information. ‘To find out who’s running the Garrison. He gave us Stephanie Legrand’s address. Gave us samples of the drugs. I don’t get it.’

Emilie’s mouth tightened. ‘From what you say, a lot of people know about the Garrison now. The police, your ex, that doctor, your housemates, Blake, you, me . . . It’s not containable any more. I bet he’s pretending he’s undercover, so that he looks squeaky clean. But he’s not. He’s the boss of the Garrison. The one who pulls the strings of the organization.’

‘Are you sure?’ Jay couldn’t help the doubts crowding her mind.

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure. And I’m the only witness. Who he tried to eliminate.’

Jay reran every conversation she’d had with Turner. How at their first meeting he’d warned her off, and when she hadn’t taken heed, and had involved the girls, Tom, and Nick, he’d switched to helping her and Blake. What about Turner’s assistant, Brian Keith? Now, Jay took out her wallet and withdrew his card. He’d written his mobile number, and what could be his home number, on the back. He’d also scribbled, Battle of Britain Monument, Embankment. Why? Was it an RV point? A coded reference of some sort?

Did Keith know his boss was part of the Garrison? He certainly knew about the organization . . . She remembered Keith shielding Turner from Nick, but how, when she had rung, Keith had made an immediate arrangement for her to come to Thames House. But Keith had seen her himself. He’d said Turner was in a meeting. And when Turner had turned up, Keith hadn’t been comfortable. Keith had, she realized, wanted to see her on her own. Why?

Jay wanted to call Brian Keith, but distrust made her circumspect. Hadn’t he warned her about using his numbers? She tried to remember what else he’d said, but too much had happened since, and the memory evaded her. Besides which, she’d better use her phone only when she was back in the UK, she thought. She didn’t want the spooks to home in on her and Emilie.

‘I think we should go,’ Jay said. The sooner she, Tom, and Emilie reached the safety of Blake’s home, the better.

‘Fine by me.’

All three of them were jumpy on the return journey. Even Tom, who was pretty imperturbable, kept glancing round, keeping an eye on the traffic. If Turner knew Emilie was alive – which he had to by now – he’d be pulling out the stops to get to her.

At Calais, Jay hoped they’d be waved straight through when they showed their British passports, but no such luck. They were pulled to one side, along with two other vehicles, for an apparent spot check. Two uniformed cops gave their car a perfunctory search.

‘Tom,’ she hissed. ‘Should I use my false passport?’ She showed it to him.

‘It looks nothing like you,’ he said.

‘Quite. What if they think that too? The last thing I need is to be stuck behind bars.’

A cop tapped on the window asking for their passports.

‘I’d use your own,’ Tom said. ‘I am.’

‘I’ll use Max’s,’ said Emilie. ‘I’ve used it before, so I know it’s OK.’

Jay handed all three passports over: two genuine, one false. Her pulse picked up as the cop studied Emilie’s closely, peering at her in the back seat. Emilie smiled. He didn’t smile back. Instead, he took their passports to a booth at the end of the lay-by and made a phone call. He glanced their way a couple of times, and dread settled in Jay’s stomach. Was Turner being alerted to them being at the tunnel? She could practically feel his hot breath on the back of her neck as he hunted them down.

The cop returned. He said, ‘This passport –’ he held out Tom’s – ‘is due to expire in a week. I suggest you get a new one.’

‘Will do,’ Tom said.

The cop returned all three passports and waved them through.

‘Phew,’ said Emilie.

But it wasn’t over yet. After they had driven off the train at Folkestone, and were back on the M20, Jay pegged a motorbike that seemed to have been following them since they’d disembarked. She exited at the Ashford junction to see if it followed, but it continued straight on. Two cars joined her at the roundabout. Tom made a note of their makes and numbers before they rejoined the motorway.

It wasn’t until they began to skirt the south of London that Jay saw the motorbike again, lurking behind several trucks on the inside lane. All the hairs on the back of her neck rose. ‘We’re being followed,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of it. He’s using a team.’

Tom cursed. ‘We’ll have to ditch Blake’s car.’

‘What if,’ Jay said, ‘I drop you guys off without them seeing, and you make your way to Blake’s while they follow me on a wild-goose chase?’

‘No,’ said Tom. His voice was firm.

‘Or I could drop you guys off . . .’ Emilie said.

‘No,’ said Jay. ‘Your brother will kill me if I leave you on your own.’

‘We stick together,’ Tom said.

‘How?’ Jay asked.

‘Give me a minute.’ He was frowning as he thought. Jay kept checking the vehicles all around, and not just the ones behind. Now she knew they were being tailed, she was sure she recognized the grey Volvo ahead of her. It had dropped back a couple of times and would, no doubt, pull forward at some point to confuse her. These guys were pros. No wonder it had taken her most of the journey to peg them.

‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘We go to Goose’s, borrow his car.’

‘How do we do that without them seeing?’

‘First,’ said Tom with a grin, ‘we visit Scotland Yard.’

After parking Blake’s BMW on a meter around the corner from St James’s Park, they walked up Dacre Street to New Scotland Yard. Tom flashed his police ID card at the security guards and asked if he could speak to DI Lark. Luckily, DI Lark was free, and within three minutes all three of them were ensconced in the reception area. Jay felt the muscles along her spine relax a little now she was surrounded by cops – and what she hoped was bulletproof glass.

‘Goose.’ Tom introduced them. Goose was a big man, carrying a roll of fat that bulged over his belt. He had a warm smile and humour in his eyes. He gave Jay a peck on the cheek, shook Emilie’s hand. His nickname, Jay already knew, came from his colleagues teasing him he wasn’t anything like a lark, but more like a goose being fattened up for Christmas.

‘Of course you can borrow my shit heap of a car,’ Goose said. ‘It’s actually at the garage, but it’s been fixed up. Should take you anywhere you want to go. You can pick her up now, if you like.’

‘Great,’ said Tom. ‘But we need one more favour before we do that.’ He glanced through the tall glass windows. ‘We need to get out of here without anyone seeing us.’

‘Trouble?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Tom.

Goose’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I join in?’

Tom considered it. He said, ‘Could you smuggle us out? We don’t want to be seen.’

‘This to do with our phone conversation last week?’

‘Yup.’

‘I think we’d better have a word.’ Goose glanced at Emilie and Jay. ‘You OK to stay here for a bit?’

‘Sure.’

Jay watched Goose and Tom vanish through the security barriers. Although she knew Goose, and knew that Tom trusted him with his life, Tom had also said he trusted Superintendent Clarkson, but Clarky had warned Tom off. Was Goose part of the Garrison? While Emilie took a chair in the corner, Jay paced the reception area, unable to stop worrying. She paused by a leather-bound book in a glass case, which listed officers who had lost their lives in the line of duty, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to read anything. As the minutes ticked past – ten, twenty, thirty – her nerves tightened. Was Goose setting a trap with the Garrison? She looked outside, letting her eyes run over the pharmacy opposite, the newspaper kiosk, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Not that that meant much. The entire place could be heaving with Special Forces, and she wouldn’t know it. They were consummate at camouflage.

She wished she had Emilie’s patience, and then realized the woman had fallen asleep. She’d only been out of hospital for five days. Little wonder she was exhausted. Jay didn’t disturb her, but let her rest.

After an hour had passed, Jay was ready to grab Emilie and flee. She was convinced Goose had Tom in handcuffs, and that Turner’s troops were approaching. When Goose and Tom finally appeared, she was as skittish as a racehorse at the starting gate.

‘Take it easy,’ Tom told her. ‘I had to fill him in. He made a recording. He’s on our side, Jay, I swear it.’

Only slightly mollified, she was still jumpy as Goose led them into the underground car park. Fortunately, Goose had a nice large Vauxhall Insignia, so ducking out of sight didn’t pose too much of a problem. With Emilie tucked low in the front passenger seat, almost buried in the footwell, Jay and Tom hunkered down on the back seat.

Nobody spoke as Goose drove up the ramp, paused at the barrier to insert his card, and exited Scotland Yard’s car park. After a while, Goose said, ‘You can sit up now. I can’t see any tail.’

All three of them scrambled upright. ‘Thanks, mate,’ Tom said.

‘No probs.’

Just past five, the streets were dark and dampened with a fine mist. Goose parked outside a garage in Clapham specializing in renovating classic cars. ‘I’ll bring it out for you. Wait here.’

Jay joined Emilie and Tom on the pavement. She stretched and yawned. The air was cold and smelled of diesel. She said, ‘I don’t think we should go to Blake’s. They’ll have his place covered.’

‘Agreed,’ said Emilie. ‘Do you have some change? I’m going to ring him.’ She indicated a phone box at the end of the street.

Jay passed Emilie a handful of coins and half-watched her go into the phone box, dial, and begin speaking on the phone. She wondered what Emilie and Blake were saying. Was Blake telling his sister that he’d been sleeping with Jay? He’d already told Emilie about their missions, and about Tom. What else had he said?

She turned when a gleaming red Jaguar XJ6 purred out of the garage. Goose hopped out, passed Tom the keys.

‘It’s not a shit heap,’ Jay said. ‘It’s beautiful. Are you sure you don’t mind us borrowing it?’

‘Bought her from my brother-in-law last month for two grand,’ said Goose with a grin. ‘If you trash her, you owe me three. She’s just had a brake overhaul, including front calipers and new shock absorbers. I even got her front bumper re-chromed.’

‘What year?’ asked Tom. He looked as though he was admiring the car, but Jay knew him better. From the way his head was tilted, his gaze moving across the street then back, he was thinking about something else. Something was bothering him.

‘Nineteen seventy-one. Look, she’s still registered in my brother-in-law’s name, so Turner shouldn’t be able to track you.’

‘Great,’ said Tom, shaking Goose’s hand.

‘No worries. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. When you’ve got a plan, count me in.’

‘Thanks.’ Tom bit the corner of his lip. Turned to Jay. ‘Look, I’m not sure how to say this . . .’

Jay watched him cautiously, wary of what was coming.

‘So I’m just going to come out and say it.’

She nodded her head. Licked her lips.

‘You need to know that I rang Sofie from Goose’s office. She’s OK, but I’m worried for her. She says she saw a dark-haired man hanging around after school yesterday. When she pointed him out to Heather, he vanished, but he was there this morning.’

Tivon? Dear God, no.

‘Tom, you’ve got to go to her. Make sure she’s not in danger.’

‘I don’t want to leave you.’ His face spasmed. ‘But I don’t want to leave Sofie either . . .’

‘Of course you don’t.’ She stepped forward, took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. ‘She’s your child, Tom. She needs you. I’m an adult, OK? I’ll be fine.’

‘I hate it when you say you’ll be fine.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Because you rarely are.’

‘In that case –’ she smiled back – ‘I promise I won’t say it any more. Go to Sofie, Tom. She’s your priority.’

‘If anyone comes asking about you, I’ll tell them you’ve got a family emergency in Scotland. How does that sound?’

‘Fine, as long as Turner doesn’t send his goons up there,’ Jay said.

‘Doubtful, but if he did, he wouldn’t find anything but your Dad and his cows.’

Emilie returned, looking pale and fragile. ‘She needs to rest,’ Jay told Tom.

‘We can’t take her to my place,’ he said. ‘Nor yours, nor Blake’s . . . Turner will have them all covered.’

Emilie spoke up. ‘Jay knows a safe house. From their last mission. Max said to use it. Jay knows where the key’s kept.’

A rush of relief washed over Jay. Blake’s safe house, set deep in the countryside east of Canterbury. Brilliant.

‘You’ll stay there until I get things sorted?’ Tom said. ‘Keep your heads down? If Turner doesn’t know where you guys are, you’re safe . . .’

He paused in front of Jay. His hands were balled into fists, and her heart went out to him. He was in much the same place as she’d been when she’d watched him drive away from Blake’s place. His heart was torn in two, between her and Sofie.

‘We’ll stay at the safe house and not make a peep,’ Jay assured him. ‘We’ll use the village phone box to stay in touch.’ They quickly made up a code for two rendezvous points and another set of code words to alert the other to any potential dangers.

Tom hugged Jay close. ‘I hate to leave you.’

‘I know.’

This time, she kissed him on the lips. Immediately, his arms tightened around her. He slid his hand to her nape. He let his breathing mingle with hers. Gently, he lowered his head and deepened the kiss. Her fingers clutched his shoulders as a rush of heat filled her.

It was Tom who broke the kiss. He looked down at her, his eyes as dark as midnight.

‘I want you,’ he told her. ‘I want you in my life.’

‘Yes.’

‘Take good care.’

While Tom walked to the tube, to catch a train to Paddington and then on to Bristol, Jay drove Goose’s Jag out of London, joining the M2 east, which then turned into the A2, a dual carriageway. After they passed Canterbury, Jay took the A28 towards Margate, and soon afterwards ducked right on to a country lane. She recognized a farm as they passed, then a river, and by the time she drew up outside the small brick cottage it was nine p.m.

Jay climbed out of the car. The air was cold and smelled faintly of dung. She could hear water flowing nearby, which she knew was the river they’d crossed earlier. She’d only stayed here once, but oddly it felt as though she was coming home.

Jay walked to the front porch, plucked a key from beneath a flowerpot, and opened the front door. She went to turn on the heating while Emilie pottered round the cottage, snapping on lights. Nothing seemed to have changed. Same simple tones on the walls, faded pinks and beiges, the furniture neutral. Same three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a downstairs loo. Kitchen cum dining room, and a cosy living room with wooden beams and an open fire that was already laid with logs and newspaper. Using the matches on top of the mantelpiece, she lit the fire.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Emilie said. She looked dead on her feet.

‘You should eat first.’

‘In the morning.’

Jay followed her up the stairs. Made sure she had towels and was warm enough. She was about to leave, when Emilie said, ‘Jay.’

Jay paused in the doorway.

‘I can’t thank you enough for coming to get me.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘I owe you.’

Downstairs, she opened a can of tomato soup and heated it in a pan. Toasted some bread from the freezer. The cottage was better stocked than her kitchen, but that was Blake for you, she thought. Always well prepared. Blake had rustled up a Thai curry out of seemingly nowhere when she’d stayed previously, which had been delicious.

After her soup, Jay poured herself a brandy from Blake’s supply in the living-room cupboard. Rémy Martin, only the best. She didn’t turn on the TV. Just sipped and gazed into the fire. Finally, after making sure the house was securely locked up, Jay washed her underwear and put it to dry over the radiator. It was the best she could do since she didn’t have a change of clothes – they hadn’t wanted to show themselves unnecessarily, and possibly for the second time, to the cameras outside Scotland Yard, and had left their overnight bags in the back of the BMW.

As she drifted to sleep – the smell of the countryside seeping through her open window, the sound of the river in her senses – she dreamed she was swimming with Blake somewhere warm and tropical, with a full moon and silver sand. They were both naked.