They took the ride to the next floor in silence. Laurel did her best to avoid Astrid’s gaze by staring straight into the scratched metal. Astrid speculated on how the marks had got there, imagining the prisoners throwing themselves at the door in desperation, clawing at the freedom they wouldn’t see again.
They stepped out on level two and a hive of activity. A dozen agents sat at desks, staring at digital screens, moving between workstations while looking busy, or standing around chatting. All the men wore similar clothes: dark-coloured suits, white shirts and regulation ties. The women were just as conservative: the same blouses, half wearing trousers, half in plain skirts which ended below their knees. The Agency frowned upon anything above the knee. On her first visit to the building, not long past her eighteenth birthday, Astrid had marched through its doors wearing a sleeveless top and bright red miniskirt. The security had palpitations that day, as did most of the agents.
Astrid smiled at her former colleagues as Laurel led her to the facilities; might it be someone here who’d framed her?
‘You remember where the showers are?’ Laurel said.
‘Unless things have changed.’
There was no escape through the back, no window to crawl through. She pushed the door open and found the area empty, with no chance of fraternisation. In her time with the Agency, she’d never used the private showers before, always preferring to get home and relax. And delouse. To wash away the smell and grime from those she dealt with. She removed her clothes, dumped them onto the floor and walked into the first cubicle.
‘I’ll be right outside,’ Laurel shouted through the whiteness surrounding Astrid.
She pressed her head against the tiles and turned the water as hot as possible without burning her skin. It came shrieking from the shower like a tormented banshee.
There was no soap or shampoo, the Agency likely fearful she might choke or poison herself. She smiled as the water pounded her skull, amused at how little they knew her. She switched back to her current problems: how to get out of the building and find the killer. As the scorching water pummelled her neck, Astrid twisted her head to scan the room. The Agency was either generous or lax with the amount of freedom they’d given her. Or they were overconfident.
She turned the shower to the highest it would go, the pressure so strong it could peel the paint off the walls, and stepped out and into the rest of the washroom. She moved quickly, checking the other cubicles. A brush or comb, perhaps a discarded earring, any of them would help with her escape. A pair of scissors would be perfect. But the showers were spotlessly clean. She stepped away from them and towards the toilets, pushing doors open and running her fingers under the bowls and delving into the cisterns. Nothing. The escape map in her mind was shrinking by the second. Some exquisite refinement in the architecture of her brain told her not to panic. Other opportunities would be on the horizon.
‘We have to go.’ Laurel banged on the door as she shouted. Astrid waited two minutes before turning the water off, enjoying what might be her last minutes of freedom. As she strode from the showers, she didn’t think about towels or clean clothes. She stood there naked and wet, wondering if her appearance would affect Laurel. Hoping it would for several reasons, but Lee’s face was unmoving. Towels draped across her arms. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ She held out two cream coloured towels.
‘You’ve got plenty of time.’
Astrid shook her body like a dog crawling from a bath, her lengthy hair flying around her head, splashing Lee and getting her immaculate suit wet. She was only a few feet away from Laurel. She assumed the good religious woman would avert her gaze, but she didn’t, never taking her eyes from Astrid’s athletic physique and the way her skin glistened under the fluorescent light. Laurel handed her the towels, but didn’t leave.
‘I need something to wear, unless you want me to parade around naked?’
How wonderful that would be.
‘There are fresh clothes for you outside. We have to go.’
Astrid took the small towel to dry her hair. She did a cursory brush with the cloth over her head before doing the same with the larger towel across her chest and stomach. The water cooled against her skin as she dried from the bottom of her foot to the top of her thigh, all the time keeping her eyes fixed on Laurel’s unmoving face.
‘Okay, let’s get this started.’
She threw both towels at Lee and walked outside to grab the regulation Agency garments she expected, surprised to see a set of her own clothes waiting for her: skinny jeans, orange blouse, and matching cream coloured underwear. Laurel exited without the towels.
‘I went to your house for those.’
Astrid stared at Laurel and reconsidered her initial thoughts. Earlier, she’d blushed at mild flirting; now, she didn’t flinch at Astrid’s nakedness: the woman was a curious enigma.
‘Did you have a good nosey around?’
‘No. Other agents had searched your house.’
‘Of course, they had.’
‘How do you even get those on?’ Laurel asked as Astrid pushed her legs into the jeans.
‘The tighter, the better.’ Astrid buttoned her blouse. She tried the pockets of the trousers, expecting nothing, and was unsurprised when she was right. The jacket she’d been wearing when they’d brought her in, with its many zips, would be useful. ‘I expect I’ll be getting my jacket when I leave.’ Laurel ignored her and removed a set of handcuffs from her pocket. Astrid sighed. ‘I guess it’s time, then.’
She held out her arms, her mind racing through the chances of escape: now, in the building, zero; when she reached her destination, zero. Her only chance, slim that it was, would be during transportation.
Laurel brushed her skin as she slipped the restraints on to Astrid, the cold metal of the cuffs sending a tiny shiver across her flesh. They walked through the main office again, turning at the lifts, then down a corridor towards the exit.
‘It’s time to go, Astrid.’
Astrid stared at her; Lee wouldn’t be the problem. The two armed guards posed the biggest challenge. The Agency always used ex-SAS as their muscle. They would sit opposite her in the van, weapons pointed at her chest, their eyes never moving from her. Her escape might be possible if they were overconfident and didn’t realise who she was. Another potential route appeared on the map in her head.
She formulated the plan as they stepped out of the room, an idea quickly consigned to the rubbish heap when six guards walked towards her. The Agency was not messing around. As the security surrounded her, she thought again about how that glass with her fingerprints on it ended up next to a dead body.
Getting the glass was easier than I expected. The ferocious hot weather helped. They said on the news it was the hottest in southern Europe for more than a decade, so she sat outside for breakfast on both days. It was a little cafe specialising in Czech dishes, not the commercial western junk dotted around the main road: the unappetising burgers, deep-fried chicken and underground sandwiches. Not like the place I frequented, opposite her and across the street, with its American menu of limited options, zero taste and a million calories.
She spent forty minutes there each morning, no more or less, partaking of scrambled eggs, toast, local tea and the cafe’s homemade lemonade; the empty lemonade glass I took and left in Agent Dark’s hotel room. As soon as she paid and wandered off down to the river, I was across the street, sitting at the same table, slipping the evidence into my bag, dark shades and hat keeping my features away from the sun and anybody who might stare at me too closely.
My confidence had grown after Berlin, so I got a ticket for the same journey to Prague she took, sitting three carriages behind her in first-class. She was in with the proles. I had no fear she would wander through the train and find me there, but the thought of it made my skin shiver with tension and excitement.
First-class wasn’t worth the extra payment, all you got was more legroom. The four-hour journey allowed me time to dwell on what I’d achieved in Manchester and Berlin, and to look forward to what was to come.
I was only a few hundred feet behind her at Prague station, able to get close enough to hear her give the address of the hotel to the glum-looking taxi driver, smiling to myself when I found it was near mine. Agent Dark stayed further away, but that was for the best, limiting the chances of her stumbling into anyone she shouldn’t, apart from me.