She’d been known as Brigitte Attali for years, but the name still didn’t fit. Perhaps it was permeated with the hatred and anger of the groups she’d infiltrated as an agent of the DGSE; first the Crois-de-Feux, then Progress Britain. She was all too familiar with the snarling lips, fiery eyes and red faces of hate. As someone with albinism, she’d drawn animosity and derision for being different throughout her life, but the far-right extremists had welcomed her and embraced her condition as a visible sign of her racial purity. Perhaps it was their idiotic view of her genetics that had tainted the name; it would forever be associated with her acceptance by the peddlers of hate.
‘So what do you want to discuss, Chloe?’
She hadn’t used her real name, Chloe Duval, for so long, and was surprised when Echo said it. They’d known each other in Paris, long before Brigitte Attali had been born.
They were in a busy restaurant fifteen minutes’ walk from the bugged apartment. It was a place that took health seriously and Brigitte had been subjected to a rapid virus and temperature check before she’d been allowed inside. She was the only foreigner in the place, which was alive with the buzz of conversation, the clatter of dishes and shouts from the kitchen and waiting staff. It was wild and chaotic, but the food smelled delicious. All around them people dunked meats into their hotpots, cooking at their tables and filling the busy room with rich aromas.
‘Who are you working for?’ Brigitte asked, leaning across the empty table.
‘I told you,’ Echo replied. ‘We manufacture—’
Brigitte cut her off. ‘My friend and I took a walk today. We went to explore the industrial district.’ She and Wollerton had decided the only way to conceal their intentions while they were under surveillance was to visit a number of factories, so that Qingdao Consumer Products would simply be one of many places they were interested in. They’d started the day by attempting to lose the two men who followed them from their apartment, but it became apparent they were the subjects of a much more comprehensive operation. They lost the first two tails, but became aware of a third, and when they’d shaken her, a fourth, fifth and sixth. Brigitte suspected aerial support, possibly satellite, or a tracker hidden in their clothing. She’d lost count of the number of people who’d brushed past her as they walked the busy streets of Qingdao. She and Wollerton had agreed they couldn’t proceed any further under the circumstances. Attempting to infiltrate the factory or question its employees would reveal their true intentions and put their mission at risk, so Brigitte had persuaded Wollerton to let her invite Echo out to dinner alone.
‘We were followed,’ Brigitte continued, ‘and we found some artefacts in the apartment.’
Echo smiled wryly, and the mask of innocence fell away.
‘So I want to know who you’re working for.’
‘Why?’ Echo asked.
‘You want the truth? Or do you want to keep playing this bullshit game?’
‘As you prefer,’ Echo replied.
‘I’m tired,’ Brigitte said. ‘I’ve spent too long in the shadows, trying to outsmart people like you, pretending to be friends with scum . . .’
Echo scoffed.
‘Other scum, not you,’ Brigitte remarked.
‘Thank you,’ Echo said sarcastically.
‘During my last operation,’ Brigitte hesitated, ‘I . . . I was going to murder an innocent man to get closer to my objective. This job . . . you know what it does to us.’
Echo nodded sombrely.
‘And for all my service and sacrifice, what did I get? Ejected from Mortier for one perceived failing,’ Brigitte said, recalling her dismissal from the service’s HQ. ‘I want out. I’m finished with this life. I’ve had enough of powerful men sending me to face death. So if you’re working for your old employer, we don’t have a lot to talk about. But if you’re in the private sector and can access funds, we can continue.’
Brigitte leaned back as a waiter deposited their order on the table; a medley of roasted meats, rice and vegetables. It smelled delicious, but Brigitte had lost her appetite. Of all the questionable things she’d done in her life, this was one of the most difficult. She wasn’t just gambling her own life; she was risking someone else’s.
‘Continue,’ Echo said, once the waiter withdrew.
‘OK,’ Brigitte replied. ‘We’re here to investigate a factory.’
‘Which one?’
‘Qingdao Consumer Products.’
Echo’s eyes lit up with unmistakeable recognition. ‘Why?’
‘We found a chip in a device used in a prison escape. It was made there,’ Brigitte replied.
‘Who’s we?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just a drone, hired for a fee,’ Brigitte said. ‘The factory is yours?’
‘It belongs to people I know,’ Echo responded.
‘Who are?’
‘Do you really want this?’
‘I want out,’ Brigitte reiterated. There was truth in her words. Her life was wearing thin, and ever since she’d started working for Blaine Carter, she’d questioned where she was going. She’d joined the DGSE out of a sense of patriotism, but the light of honour had been extinguished by the dark things she’d seen and done, and now she didn’t have the memory of her intentions to cling to. She was a mercenary.
‘Are you sure?’ Echo asked. ‘These people . . .’ She tailed off.
‘What?’ Brigitte asked.
‘I have a husband and two children,’ Echo said hesitantly. Was she crying? ‘Certain decisions aren’t ours to make.’ Had she just admitted she was being blackmailed by her new employers? Were they using the lives of her family as leverage? Such things were commonplace in their world, which was why Brigitte had chosen to travel through life without any baggage.
‘I want money,’ Brigitte said. ‘Enough to retire on.’
‘And in return?’
‘I’ll give you the people I’m working for, starting with the man I’m with.’ Brigitte thought of Wollerton pacing the apartment, trusting her to do the right thing. She hadn’t told him what she had planned, because there was no way he would have sanctioned it.
‘How much?’ Echo asked.
‘Four million euros.’
Echo glanced away, and Brigitte followed her eye line to see two men who looked like street thugs, seated at a table across the room. One of the men nodded.
‘We will pay that on the condition your companion is able to identify your ultimate employer,’ Echo said.
Four million for Blaine Carter’s name? Brigitte wondered exactly what the Silicon Valley billionaire had drawn them into.
‘No,’ Brigitte said. ‘Half up front, sent to a Cayman bank.’
Echo checked with the men, who were obviously her superiors. ‘OK.’
Two million just for the prospect of learning Blaine Carter’s name. He can’t have been honest about who he really was and what he’d hired them to do. There had to be more to it. Was Blaine Carter working for someone else? Brigitte was glad she’d presented herself as an ignorant foot soldier. Ignorance was probably the only thing that stopped the two men trying to drag her off to be tortured in some dark place. That and her reputation. She had no doubt Echo would have fully briefed them on who they were up against.
‘When I’ve received confirmation the money has been transferred, I’ll drug him,’ Brigitte said, and her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of dosing Wollerton. ‘Come at night. I’ll help you take him.’