A chauffeur-driven limo arrived at six thirty a.m. and took Jessica to a large derelict chemical factory on the edge of Paris. The driver kept the doors locked and the partition screen up during the journey so she couldn’t ask to borrow his mobile or charger. From a distance, the large steel columns rose majestically into the air, but as the car finally glided through the barbed-wire-covered gates, an air of decay crept over the site. The rusting steel tanks had been long abandoned and weeds sprouted up through the latticework of pipes. A sulphurous smell greeted Jessica’s nostrils as she climbed out of the car. It looked like somewhere a mobster would carry out a hit, not a location for a modelling shoot.

The sight of an ambulance parked outside the building didn’t steady her nerves. A paramedic eyed her curiously as he puffed on a cigarette. He nodded towards a door. She picked her way over rusty girders and potholed, cracked concrete, through the heavy, wrought-iron door. It banged shut behind her, scaring a couple of pigeons.

She dug her fingers into the palms of her hands to calm her nerves. She hesitated at the foot of a set of dilapidated stairs. Paint had peeled off the walls and something smelt rotten. This didn’t feel right at all.

“Up here!” a voice boomed.

She grabbed the rusty iron stair rail and looked up. It rattled precariously beneath her fingers, making her nerves even more ragged. The one thing she hated more than snakes was heights. This building looked high. Her acrophobia had never been an issue in modelling until now. Her heart beat louder and louder as she climbed higher and higher and there was a ringing noise in her ears. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the step in front of her as she picked her way over a desiccated rat, lying outstretched on its back. The whole building had a smell of death about it. Within a few minutes she’d reached the top. A gust of wind brushed her face. She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked down at her hands. They were dyed red from the rails. It looked like they were covered in blood.

“Welcome, Jessica!”

A thin, pale-faced man wearing a plain white shirt and chinos lunged forward and shook her hand vigorously. She recognized him instantly and almost flung herself into his arms. She wasn’t there to be murdered. It was Ferdinand Lathos. He’d shot covers for every glossy in the world, including American, French, British and Italian Vogue, and had done advertising campaigns for the likes of Burberry and Louis Vuitton.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights because this shoot is my most adventurous yet.” He smiled encouragingly at her.

She gulped and shook her head. How could she admit her stomach lurched dangerously at the thought of standing sixty feet up on the sixth floor of the building? She closed her eyes as her stomach did another somersault. She felt Ferdinand link his arm in hers, pulling her forward.

“Today, I’m going to suspend you from a crane and you’ll fly for me,” he said.

She looked down at her feet. Now she stood on the edge of a large hole. She could see right down to the concrete at the bottom. The ground surged up to meet her, throwing her off balance. She couldn’t focus on anything. It was all blurred. Her throat tightened.

“No flying yet.” He laughed, mistaking her near fainting for unbridled enthusiasm. “You have to be fitted with a safety harness and wires first before you fly like a bird for me.”

The only thing she could feel soar was breakfast, threatening to propel itself out of her stomach. She couldn’t do this, she really couldn’t. Before she could protest, she was steered away to a large group of make-up artists and stylists. Ferdinand jabbered on about how the shoot would be the epitome of “urban chic”. He wanted strong make-up and smoky eyes to contrast with her floaty silver chiffon Marc Jacobs evening gown.

“I’m looking for an urban warrior, strong yet graceful,” he said before darting away to set up his cameras and lights.

Her hands were sweaty and she wanted to throw up. Repeatedly. There wouldn’t be anything graceful about heaving her guts up in front of everyone. She closed her eyes as her hair was lacquered and put into large rollers. Her nails were painted black while her face was made up. A man attached long silver false eyelashes and sprayed her cheeks with silver paint. A stylist helped her into a specially adapted harness, followed by a long silver dress with a sprinkling of sequins at the hem. He explained it had been altered to allow safety wires to poke through. After a make-up artist performed the finishing touches, she was finally ready.

“What about her bangle?” a stylist asked, pointing to the silver bracelet clamped on her wrist.

“I like it. It’s modern. It’s very much the look I’m after. Strong, and solid,” Ferdinand said. “But let’s lose the necklace. It’s so yesteryear.”

She wanted to tell him her mum’s pendant was the most precious thing she owned, but she knew he wouldn’t care. She removed the necklace and handed it to an assistant for safekeeping. Had Becky checked her emails yet and rung MI6? She might not have to go through with this if AKSC had been raided already.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she said, turning to a stylist. “Mine’s not working.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s a mobile-free shoot. Nobody’s allowed to bring them. Apparently Ferdinand finds mobiles too distracting when he’s working. He goes mad if he even hears a text message beep.”

Jessica bit her lip as two stylists steered her towards the hole. So this was what it felt like to be marched to your death. Luc, a stunt coordinator, explained how the harness would work. The factory was already fitted with a lifting beam and winch on each floor, which had moved process tanks and pumps when the building was full of chemical equipment instead of make-up artists and stylists. He’d managed to rig a winch to raise her off the ground, using safety wires attached to the lifting beam. The wires were clipped into her harness through the dress. Two wires were positioned at her side and the third from her back.

“There’s no possibility of falling,” he said.

“Then why is an ambulance here?”

“That’s for insurance reasons. It’s a legal requirement in the event of the impossible.”

She shivered as he fastened the wires into place. The impossible scared her the most. Ferdinand bounded over. He was so excited by the shoot she didn’t dare tell him she couldn’t go through with it. He explained he’d be shooting from the floor below, so she would appear to be diving down towards him. His assistant was taking photographs from this floor. She nodded, unable to speak. Her mouth was horribly dry.

Before she could ask for water, she was winched off the ground and steered towards the edge, almost in a horizontal position. She closed her eyes as a blast of wind rustled her dress. She had to stay calm. She wasn’t in any danger. She could do this if she didn’t look down.

“Fantastic. Now begin!” Ferdinand bellowed instructions from the floor below. “I need strong, forceful looks. A girl who uses Teenosity can soar to greatness.”

She willed her eyes to open and immediately swung into “work mode”, striking her first pose. The movement was too sudden and it threw her off balance, sending her twirling like a puppet on a string.

Help, help, help, the voice inside her head screamed.

“Balance yourself,” Ferdinand shouted. “You need to get used to the sensation. Try again.”

She obeyed. This time it was easier. She managed to move her body slowly and strongly so as not to unbalance the wires.

“Fabulous, Jessica! I love your determined look. Now give me vulnerable.”

That wouldn’t be hard. How vulnerable would he feel if all that stopped him from plunging sixty feet to his death were a couple of wires? The thought actually brought a smile to her face.

“Excellent!” Ferdinand cried. “I love it. Give me more!”

 

The shoot was exhausting, as Ferdinand insisted on working through while he still had good light. Finally, he agreed to stop for a short break at three p.m., and Jessica wolfed down a brie and tomato baguette. She was ravenous with nerves. After she ate, the make-up artists patiently reapplied her “face” and the stylists rearranged her hair and dress. It was time to be strapped into place again. She felt less nervous, as she’d already done it once. How much worse could it be? Maybe she was finally beginning to conquer her fears. As she approached the hole, she noticed a tall, stocky assistant, clad in jeans and a black bomber jacket, lingering next to the winch system. His back was turned.

“Get away from there,” Luc said indignantly. “I’m the only one who’s authorized to operate the crane.”

The man moved away, stumbling over a cable. She watched him retreat, pulling his blue baseball cap down low. She couldn’t see his face properly but she was sure he hadn’t been on set earlier.

As the crane winched her over the hole, she lifted her arms to give the impression she was flying. Suddenly, a loud grinding noise above her head sent a chilling ripple through her body. Luc let out a loud shout and she heard a deathly crack. The harness jolted, sending the wires spinning. She plunged through the hole head first.

“No!” she screamed.

She caught a flash of Ferdinand’s horrified face as she fell through his floor to the next, the wire unwinding like a ball of string. Shouts rang out above her head. The force of the wind kept her eyes firmly pinned open and she could see the ground hurtling towards her. She was going to die. The thought was like a shot of adrenaline. She had to stop herself.

How?

Think, think, think. She was almost at the bottom.

The Spider-Woman bracelet! She clawed at it desperately. She found the tiny clasp, pulled the knob and aimed at a steel girder. She could hear whirring before being violently yanked upwards. The impact was brutal. There was a loud crack and a burning pain shot up her arm as her shoulder was wrenched out of joint. The safety equipment fell around her, leaving her dangling helplessly by the wrist. She looked down. The ground was a metre away. With a racking sob, she released the bracelet catch and crashed on to concrete. As she looked up, the man in the baseball cap ran out of the warehouse.

Blackness enveloped her like a warm, suffocating blanket.

 

It took her a while to realize where she was. She definitely wasn’t lying in a hospital bed. She touched the white quilt. It was expensive – made from the finest silk. Her white bathrobe was luxuriously soft and smelt of roses. She looked at the photos on the walls and a small white sofa with scatter cushions. White again. She groaned. She was back in Allegra’s guest suite. She looked across and saw her mum’s necklace on the bedside table. Next to it was a clock. It was eight p.m. She’d been unconscious for hours.

She eased herself up slowly, wincing at the dull, throbbing pain in her shoulder. She tugged her sweater and jeans off a chair and gingerly pulled them on. She’d dislocated her shoulder in the fall but someone had put it back into place. They must have given her some drugs to take the edge off the pain. She felt woozy but she could still remember what had happened. The winch system had failed. It was unlikely to have been an accident. The man with the baseball cap must have tampered with it. He’d tried to kill her. If it hadn’t been for the Spider-Woman bracelet, he’d have succeeded. Nathan would kick himself for giving it to her. He probably hadn’t thought that would work either.

She dangled a foot out of bed and pulled her bag towards her. Someone had brought it back. She checked her phones. They were still dead. She pulled out the eyeshadow palette from her make-up bag and was about to flick it open and send another email when the door opened. Allegra appeared, sporting enormous dark sunglasses and a cream trouser suit. A Burberry scarf was knotted tightly around her neck.

“Going somewhere?” She glided towards her.

“I’m leaving.” Jessica stood up. “I’m hardly going to stay when someone’s tried to kill me on your shoot.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Allegra stood in front of her, hands clamped firmly on her slender hips.

“You can’t stop me.” Jessica grabbed her bag and pushed past her to the door. Allegra was a size zero and looked as fragile as one of Sam’s paper swans. Jessica could easily kick-box her way out of the room if she needed to.

Allegra caught her hand, a smile hovering on her frozen lips.

Jessica felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her arm and her legs collapsed beneath her. She slumped on to the carpet and looked down at her arm. A syringe stuck out of it.

Allegra bent down. “It’s fast-acting poison,” she whispered in Jessica’s ear. “You’ll be paralysed for hours – enough time for us to launch Teenosity.”

Jessica tried to speak but her lips were numb. She couldn’t move her legs either. They were too heavy. She couldn’t get up. She stared helplessly at the ceiling. The lights were sharp diamonds, piercing her eyeballs.

“There’s no point fighting it.” Allegra laughed as the door opened.

Jessica couldn’t turn her head. Her eyes swivelled to the left, her heart beating furiously. It was the man in the blue baseball cap again. He’d returned to finish her off.

“Is she out yet?” Lyndon removed the cap.

“Almost. Just a few seconds longer.”

“We don’t have time to waste, darling.” He picked Jessica up and threw her down on the bed like a rag doll.

“If you’d done your job properly with the wire today or even with poisoning that blasted dress yesterday, I wouldn’t have to tie up loose endings now, darling,” Allegra answered sweetly. “Starfish must think you’re terribly incompetent when you can’t follow his simple instructions.”

“Touché,” Lyndon said, “but I wasn’t to know that daddy’s little helper would come equipped with some kind of safety rope, was I? Starfish forgot to tell us that bit of useful info when he suggested cutting the wire. And it’s hardly my fault that Jessica changed dresses at the last minute. Forging a backstage pass is one thing, but clairvoyance is another. Even Starfish doesn’t have that talent.”

“Of course, dear. Whatever you say.” She snatched the eyeshadow palette out of Jessica’s frozen hand. “I don’t need to guess whose handiwork this is.” Allegra scooped up her mum’s necklace from the bedside table and dropped it into her jacket pocket.

“You should double-check with Starfish what other gadgets she’s got,” Lyndon murmured. “They could be useful to us.” He rummaged in her make-up bag, examining lipsticks and an eyeshadow applicator.

Allegra stared down at Jessica. “You don’t mind, do you, Jessica? You won’t need MI6 goodies ever again. I’ve already left word with Camille that you’ve decided to return to London. No one can help you.”

She leant down until her lips were almost touching Jessica’s ear. Her perfume was sickly and suffocating.

“Especially not your father,” she added. “Jack’s not feeling well today. I’m worried about him. Who knows how long a man in his condition will last without his medication? I’m guessing not long, given what he’s been through.”

Jessica tried to open her mouth but her whole body was frozen. A veil of blackness slowly fell behind her eyes, shutting everything else out. She couldn’t fight it. The drugs were too strong. She watched Allegra leave the room. Lyndon followed, clutching her make-up bag. As she slipped away, one word remained imprinted in her mind like blood in fresh snow.

Dad.