I ARRIVED AT THE FASHION SHOW unfashionably on time, 9 p.m. on the dot. A few people were already seated. The designer was an up-and-coming Eastern European with a name that consisted of so many consonants that it seemed wholly unpronounceable. The music was pounding. It was so loud I could barely think. How could anyone talk over this? Was it really necessary? God. That was it. I was officially old.
I scanned the front row until I spotted Ling Ling sitting with two friends. Pixie and Geraint may have got Cameron and me passes for entry but they had failed to secure us front row seats.
I stood by the door watching people enter.
Cameron strutted in. She was wearing a sleek black dress with mesh panels and towering Louboutin heels. Her peroxided blonde hair was slicked back. She looked amazing. She came straight up to me.
‘What the fuck, Lex?’ She cast a glance over what I was wearing. ‘Are those your work clothes? Is that the BlockRelease2000 suit?’
‘I was short on time.’
‘What is it with women letting themselves go as soon as they pop out a kid?’
I gritted my teeth. Working with Cameron meant keeping a hold of your temper was as challenging as the mission itself.
‘Have you located Ling Ling?’ she asked.
‘She’s over there. Front row. No point making a move until the show is over. We won’t be able to get close enough.’
It was nearing 10 p.m. by the time the show actually started. I watched a long parade of skinny women strutting down the catwalk in strange outfits. I didn’t get fashion. I got stuff that looked nice. But who the hell was ever going to wear a dress stuck together with two thin straps and that opened to show your granny pants? The last time I had worn underwear that high was post C-section.
It went on for twenty minutes. Ling Ling was transfixed. Her phone never left her hand, her bag positioned firmly on her lap. Soon as it finished she clapped enthusiastically, nodding to her friends.
‘Now what?’ asked Cameron.
Ling Ling and the rest of the front row were being herded straight along the catwalk and through a large set of double doors.
‘Let’s just try not to lose her.’
The doors opened into a huge room that was already packed. It seemed the people in the know had bypassed the show just for the actual party. I remembered from the blurb that this warehouse used to be a slaughterhouse. The line of giant meat hooks that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room was an ominous reminder. A headphone-wearing DJ of indeterminate sex, in a tight corset and feathered hat, was dancing in a booth that was fixed halfway up the back wall.
I spotted Ling Ling and her two friends for a moment before they were once again lost in the crowd.
Getting the Dictaphone off Ling Ling in such a crowded place would be easy. If we could actually get close to her. I motioned to Cameron that she take the left side of the room.
Trays of champagne held aloft by waiters in black were circulating. I looked at my watch. It was nearing 11 p.m. and I wanted to be in bed. Or at least in pyjamas on the sofa in front of Netflix. Not at a party in a skintight catsuit surrounded by fashionistas, working out how to rummage through another woman’s handbag. The music had now ramped up a further notch. I looked over at Cameron. She was swaying to the beat with a glass of champagne in one hand. She was having fun. I remembered when I thought nights like this were a perk of the job. Just like her I’d roar into a party, in my best dress, my highest heels, and I would drink and I would dance and I would feel the beat of the music, soak up men’s stares and feel good. I was strong, powerful and just the right level of drunk.
I could have them or I could kill them. I was invincible.
Working late now held no appeal. I’d rather have an early night with my husband and then feel less exhausted when getting up early with my daughter. I looked again at Cameron. She wasn’t that much younger than me. We’d been in this business for nearly the same length of time. My desire to have a family was what changed me. I wanted to be a Rat and I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to do both. That moment might never come for Cameron. She would carry on steamrolling through life just as she was now and be perfectly happy. The real difference between her and me was that I could respect her choice, while she couldn’t respect mine.
I finally caught sight of Ling Ling. She was at the stainless-steel bar that ran along the back of the wall underneath the DJ booth, waiting to be served.
I nodded over at Cameron. She elbowed her way across the room to the bar, squeezed in next to Ling Ling’s friends and within seconds had the bartender’s attention. Ling Ling’s bag was on her right shoulder. I jostled past a group of men with handlebar moustaches, until I was just behind her and waited.
Pixie had briefed us that at the end of the last meeting Robin had seen Ling Ling replace the Dictaphone into the middle section of her large Balenciaga tote bag.
Cameron came up to them with a tray of shots, big party-girl grin in place. With a few whoops of encouragement each of them took one. As they downed the shots, amid the bustle of clinking glasses and grimacing faces, I reached into the middle section of Ling Ling’s bag. I clasped my hand around what felt like the Dictaphone. I quickly pulled it out, put it straight into my bumbag and turned around. I was officially a bumbag convert. It wasn’t a dated 80s accessory, it was a hands-free handbag allowing me to be fully operationally effective. I fitted the iPhone charger to the Dictaphone and turned back to check on Ling Ling and her friends.
Cameron seemed to be trying to persuade them to do something but there were a lot of shaking heads. She glanced over at me as they left the bar and headed back into the throng of people.
I looked down at the iPhone charger. The small light on the back of it was still red. The transfer wasn’t complete.
We had to get the Dictaphone back inside that bag. With the remote bug in place, transferring audio files back to Geraint’s IP address, we would be able to hear everything at every meeting.
This late night was not going to have been for nothing.
We followed Ling Ling and her friends as they negotiated their way through the crowds. We were halfway across the room when the light finally went green. I disconnected the Dictaphone and handed it to Cameron. She strode ahead and I watched as she danced up to Ling Ling as if they were now old friends. She could be nice when she needed to be. She put an arm round her as she shouted something into her ear and slipped the Dictaphone back into her bag. Cameron then high-fived Ling Ling and her friends and sashayed off, hands in the air. Party Girl and Rat was definitely an easier fit than Mother and Rat.
Our mission had been accomplished. Now back home to bed.
And then I saw a Ghost.
He was broad with clipped hair and wearing straight-leg jeans with a light green fleece. He had a nose that looked like it’d been broken more than once. He was not far behind Ling Ling. Ignoring the music. No phone in hand. That and his unfashionable attire made him stick out. I scanned the room and saw another Ghost not far behind him. He was a thickset man, stood alone, just staring at Ling Ling.
Why the hell were Ghosts following Ling Ling? Were they also wanting the Dictaphone? Were they going to grab her? Was it a trap to draw us out? To see how much we knew?
Ling Ling was still talking to her two friends, mobile clasped in one hand, drink in the other, her Balenciaga bag still slung over her shoulder.
Cameron looked over to me and I gave a nod at the two Ghosts. She turned to look and then reached for another glass of champagne.
We couldn’t leave. Ling Ling wasn’t going to stand a chance if they came for her.
We needed to watch. To wait and see what they did next. Ling Ling and her friends were now dancing. So much for hoping they were on their way out.
I checked my watch. It was coming up to 1 a.m. Surely she must be wanting to go back to the hotel. I remembered the delegation’s schedule. She had an early start. She should really be in bed. All around us people were dancing, heads swaying, hands moving.
The Ghosts kept Ling Ling in their sights. I knew why they hadn’t made a move. Too large a throng of people. No fast exit.
I scanned the room again and spotted a third Ghost. This was not good. Assigning this many to her meant they were after something.
Ling Ling and her friends huddled together as one held out a phone and snapped a photo. They walked towards the exit, arms linked.
Cameron looked totally absorbed in the good time she was having but seeing them move she immediately extricated herself from the man she had been gyrating with and followed me towards the door.
The large warehouse opened out into a side street. Ling Ling and her friends came laughing out the door with me directly behind them. There were small groups of people outside smoking and vaping.
The side street had been closed to cars. The three women walked down it, back towards the main road. Cameron arrived at my side. We watched their progress down the street.
One of the Ghosts followed them. He came up on the right of them and overtook them. What was their plan?
I turned to look for the other two Ghosts. One was far over on the left. The third? The third I spotted as he followed directly behind the women.
They were in formation.
They were going to make a move.
The third Ghost would make a grab; if he failed, the first was up ahead to try again. The second Ghost was now peeling off to another side street – he must be retrieving their getaway vehicle.
The minute those women turned off the street out of view of the smokers, the Ghosts would pounce. We had to wait until they did.
Cameron clearly reached the same conclusion. ‘I’ll get the one going for the wheels.’ She set off after the second Ghost. Cutting off their means of escape was a good bet at upsetting whatever they had planned.
Ling Ling and her friends kept stopping to look and laugh at one of their phones. They turned onto the main road. I waited a beat and then followed. I turned the corner in time to see the Ghost pull the bag off Ling Ling’s shoulder and push her to the ground. She let out a cry of pain as she hit the ground. Her two friends went to her and shouted at the departing Ghost. I didn’t understand Mandarin but it sounded far angrier than anything that could’ve been said in English.
I chased after him. He had the bag. We had to get it back. What Ling Ling might write off as an unfortunate incident with a random London mugger, we knew must be a tactic to find out Peng’s schedule for the next few days.
The Ghost was fast. I was grateful that Pixie had allowed me to wear my trainers. I sped after him at full pelt. He turned back once to see who was after him. Seeing a woman in a catsuit with backbrushed wild hair and sunglasses on her head was probably not what he expected.
There was another warehouse on the corner. I was betting it was where their vehicle was parked. He would have to slow down to turn the corner – that’s when I needed to hit.
I kept up my pace, never more grateful for the fact that despite work, despite Gigi, I still made the time to run twice a week. The Ghost slowed slightly as he approached the corner. I pushed myself further; I was nearly there. He turned the corner just as I came flying at him. We both fell to the ground. He landed badly. With me on top of him. He was unconscious, or doing a good job of pretending to be.
A van came screeching down the road towards us and pulled to a halt. Cameron got out the driver’s seat.
‘So you can still run. Even though you are a bit more . . .’ she tilted her head, ‘squashy.’
I tried to get my breathing to return to normal. My heart was still racing.
‘My Ghost is in the back.’ She motioned towards the back of the van. ‘Any sign of the third?’
A small Vauxhall Astra came racing down the road and passed us and the van without slowing. It turned left down the main road at full speed. The final Ghost was leaving. No attempt to retrieve fallen colleagues. No honour among thieves, no loyalty among Ghosts.
‘I already spoke to G,’ said Cameron. ‘He’s wiping us from any CCTV but we need to move fast. A police car will be here in seven. Ling Ling’s friends called them. I’ll play the helpful American tourist, return Ling Ling’s bag to her and then we get back to the Platform.’
The Ghosts needed to be logged in and interrogated, the Dictaphone recordings safely delivered to Geraint, and Hattie updated. Considering this latest attempted attack, we were going to have to up our protection of Peng. They were getting ready to strike.
I got up. My breathing was slowly returning to normal. I managed an ‘OK’.
‘How did the Ghosts know she was here?’ asked Cameron.
‘They must have all of the delegation under surveillance. We’ve got to be more careful. If they made a play for the Dictaphone, chances are they aren’t waiting until Lord Wycombe’s shoot to make the hit.’
We bent down and together picked up the unconscious Ghost and dragged him into the back of the van to join his friend. We slammed the doors shut.
‘Do you Rats always work like this? This buddying up to do missions?’ asked Cameron.
‘We always work as a team.’
‘It’s strange this whole hanging out together. The jokes. The chit chat. We usually just get a secure encrypted email and we go out and do it. Alone. I can go weeks, months even, without going into Track 101.’
‘Don’t you want to know why the target needs to die? Doesn’t it help to understand why what you’re doing is for the greater good?’
Cameron frowned. ‘I don’t need to know. The order’s been given. I follow it.’
It didn’t excuse Cameron being Cameron, but it did help explain why she was so bloody difficult to work with.
‘It sounds lonely.’
Cameron shrugged. ‘It’s less complicated. You learn to rely only on yourself. No emotional attachments. Track 101 don’t have to worry about your mental state if anything happens to anyone on your team. It’s a more efficient way to work.’
‘It doesn’t mean you have to apply the same attitude to your personal life.’ It must be my maternal side. Trying to help Cameron be a better person.
‘Not everyone wants to end up a monogamous martyr and ruin their body and career prospects by popping out a kid.’
It was a lost cause.
I handed Ling Ling’s bag to Cameron. ‘Go give it back and we can get out of here.’
We both turned at the sound of a van approaching down the road. It slowed as it came past us. A man popped his head out the passenger window. We both tensed.
‘All right, darlings, give us a smile,’ he leered as the van passed us by.
We ignored him.
For us the Ghosts were easy to spot. Hired muscle looking like hired muscle.
We were written off as women on a night out. They wouldn’t know the power we had. The men who’d fallen at our hand. It was still there. This belief we didn’t need to be taken seriously. This idea that we could be overlooked as a threat. More fool them. We were still the unexpected. It’s what made us better than them. They never saw us coming.
*
Daylight was slowly starting to creep in by the time I got on my bike and headed home. I ran over the evening’s events. I might be a little more tired. I might be a little more squashy. But I could still do my job just as well as before Gigi.
And now I got to go home to her.
The feeling of watching her sleep. This little person that I made. Pulling her duvet over her. Tucking her in. It felt like another life. One I didn’t deserve.
Everything else melted away.
Whatever was going on with Will would get better. It had to.
Marriage was tough. Marriage after kids was tougher. What the hell was that phrase ‘band-aid baby’? How could a baby hold a relationship together? ‘Baby-bomb’ would be more accurate. It could blow you apart. Less sleep, less sex, less fun.
I thought of the three of us in our bed yesterday morning. Her sweet round face, her dimpled cheeks, her rumpled hair. Lying between us as Will stroked her head and I held her hand. As she sang along to the Peppa Pig theme tune, we’d caught each other’s eye and laughed. Isn’t she perfect? Isn’t she wonderful? Aren’t we lucky? She’s ours.
Day to day it was harder. But Will and I were bonded together. Connected for life through the child we made. Our love for her plastering over the cracks.
Band-aid baby.
She helped us want to make ‘us’ work.
I parked my bike down the road from our house. The streets were empty. I figured I had enough time to creep in, change into whatever clothes I had in the clean laundry basket and pretend I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Coming home at this hour was not going to help a relationship that was currently blighted by claims I worked too much.
I was nearly at my front door when I heard a ‘Lex!’ I turned round to see a smiling Rochelle in running gear jog over to my side of the road.
Rochelle seemed to be making a habit of turning up without warning at particularly inopportune moments. She was an early period on a white jeans day.
‘Look at you. Very impressive. Do you always run this early?’ I tried to start a conversation as if I didn’t look as if I was dressed like a prostitute crawling home on a walk of shame.
‘Always. I go for an hour, come back, quick shower and a green smoothie, catch up on emails, and then I get the kids up for school.’
‘Right.’ Of course she did. You didn’t get to be Supermum by starting your day whenever your child woke you up and by cramming jam crumpets in your mouth with a litre of caffeine.
‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘I’m just on my way back from the shops.’
Rochelle looked at her watch. ‘It’s 5.40 a.m.’ She gave me a once-over, taking in my smudged eye make-up, tight black catsuit and rumpled hair.
‘There’s that big twenty-four-hour Tesco’s.’
‘What did you need to get so urgently it couldn’t wait?’
‘Baking stuff. For that charity coffee morning today.’ Take that, Supermum. ‘You know how it is. I couldn’t sleep and suddenly remembered I hadn’t made any cupcakes. And I couldn’t let the school down.’
‘Right. So you got up, got dressed in a catsuit . . .’
‘It’s actually a Weight Loss Onesie. It’s made of special imported Italian fabric that burns fat while you sleep.’
She looked at each of my empty hands. ‘But you didn’t buy anything?’
‘All in here.’ I tapped the bum bag. ‘Vanilla essence and sprinkles.’ She couldn’t catch me out. I was a trained liar. ‘You’d better get running if want to get that full hour in.’
‘I can’t wait to taste them. Make sure you show me which are yours.’ She gave a little wave as she jogged off.
I doubted I had convinced Rochelle. But at least what was reassuring was that she would just presume I was cheating opposed to fighting.
It wasn’t easy leading a double life. If a nosey school mum could spot the cracks, my husband could too.
I had to be more careful.
From: noonewants@genitalwarts.com
To: lex.tyler@platform-eight.co.uk
Subject: TOP SECRET Natural Herpes Remedy!
MISSION: #80521
UNIT: WHISTLE
DATE: Thursday 3rd October
ALERT: 3 DAYS UNTIL PENG’S DEPARTURE