“No thanks, Franco, I just want a drink and maybe a bowl of pasta,” Geordie replied as he removed his leather jacket.
“Ah, it is a pity; I made more money on the stake out than I took in the cafe that entire two weeks,” Franco lamented as he departed to the kitchen.
Dee arrived exactly on time and sat with her colleague. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. She hadn’t seen him since he had been back to Newcastle after the shooting.
“Are you OK, Pete?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“No, Dee, I’m not. Not really. It’ll take a while yet. But I want to keep busy.” Dee nodded in understanding. She had been obliged to rest up for almost two months after being shot twice in quick succession last year, and it nearly drove her insane. She rubbed both of her old bullet wounds unconsciously as they always ached more in cold, damp weather.
“It is the beautiful Miss Conrad!” Franco enthused as he lifted her right hand to kiss it. “I live in the hope that someday you will return my affection and return to Sicily with me as my wife.”
Dee smiled as she replied.
“Firstly, it’s Mrs Hammond now.” Dee displayed her ring finger, and Franco looked crestfallen. “Second, Mrs Bagio might have something to say about that, and, thirdly, you don’t come from Sicily, Frankie, you were born in Chislehurst.” Her suitor replied in a whisper, dropping all pretence of an Italian accent.
“Congratulations, Mrs Hammond, but please keep your voice down. The tourists lap this stuff up.”
***
In the hour that they spent together, Pete explained all that he had been able find out about Gillian Davis’ childhood. He produced an article from the Financial Times that explained the generous nature of Ms Davis’ sell off of Celebrato, and handed the press cutting and the file to Dee.
“Simon has done a lot of the work, and I’ve added the insights I gained in Hampshire. If you turn to the back page you’ll see something interesting.” Pete waited for Dee to turn the pages.
There, in the back of the manila folder, was a Google map showing the exact location of Denton Miles III’s estate near Lynchburg, Virginia. It was accompanied by a satellite version of the same plan, and a photograph of the plantation house which occupied the site.
“Sooner or later she’ll end up there, you know, Pete.”
“Maybe sooner than you think.” Pete pulled a post-it note from his wallet. “As of yesterday Gillian Davis has a search and arrest warrant out on her, issued under orders from MI5. According to your friend in MI5, they believe that she has fled the country. Oddly enough, they believe she flew out of Newcastle.” Pete’s Geordie accent suddenly seemed more pronounced.
“I’m flying to the US with Katie tomorrow. If Ms Davis shows up in Virginia, I’ll make sure I’m there. I’ll have to clear it with Tom Vastrick, but I don’t foresee any problem with me spending a few days tracking down an assassin with a price on her head.” Dee’s focus altered and she stared into the distance, way beyond the dark wet pavements of Piccadilly. Geordie tried to regain her attention and succeeded in a dramatic fashion.
“Before you think about bringing her in, you might want to look at page eleven.”
Dee turned to page eleven, where she saw a full colour headshot of a handsome American man with salt and pepper hair and George Clooney style weathered face. She looked down at the notation that identified him as Denton Miles III and gasped when she read the short bio Simon had prepared.
“I don’t believe it!” she blurted, finishing the sentence with a string of unladylike expletives.
Chapter 4 6
Director of Operations Office, MI5, London, Thursday 7pm.
Maureen Lassiter wanted to go home. She was tired and emotionally drained and she was needy. She knew that Barry would be at her apartment and she needed some desperate, physical activity to take her mind off things. Barry wasn’t the best lover in the world but she didn’t have to encourage him to handle her roughly. As she got older her passions grew stronger and all embracing lovemaking made the years slip away. In the midst of her passion she felt like a girl again.
Her mobile phone rang with a tone that sounded like an old fashioned bell telephone ringing in the distance.
The news wasn’t good. The two clowns in Cuba had managed to lose Gillian Davis and now they were relying on their back up plan; wait for her to return to the hotel and snatch her. They actually seemed confident that this was still overwhelmingly likely, and had gone as far as hiring an outside team for the snatch. Maureen wasn’t so confident. Thom Passarel and Jared Stevens had been the victims of cutbacks. They were now only part time and they received little or no training. They were well out of touch.
Maureen listened to their timetable for the plane taking off from Cuba with Davis on board and the estimated landing time at Brize Norton Airfield, then she said her goodbyes and hung up.
Before placing her mobile in her bag she dialled her own phone. It was an odd feeling. She hadn’t rung that number in the ten years she had been living there. What would be the point? Normally there would be no-one there. Maybe in the future when she and Barry were together...
“Maureen?” Barry sounded impatient and tetchy. Her message was not going to improve his temperament.
“Barry, I think she’s gone. The part timers are convinced she has no idea they are watching her, but my guess is that she spotted them a mile off and they won’t be seeing her again.”
Barry swore loudly, frustration and anger getting the better of him.
“OK. She’s travelling on her own passport so put her name on the Terror Watch List at every airport which takes direct flights from Cuba, and there aren’t that many. Concentrate on the short haul flights, like Panama. She will arouse suspicion if she travels long haul without her luggage.” He paused. “With any luck we’ll get her overnight. Anyway, you may as well come home, I need you here.”
Maureen Lassiter closed down her work station and set off for home. She decided that she would allow Barry to work out his frustrations on her if he wanted, as long as his pent up aggression had a carnal outlet.
Chapter 4 7
Green Earth Fashions, Church Place, London, Thursday 9pm
It was dark and cold outside by the time Dee and Katie exited Green Earth by the side door. The alleyway into which they alighted was narrow and poorly lit, but a warm and comfortable car was waiting for them just a few yards away.
Dee stepped out first and kept Katie behind her whilst she scanned the alleyway. There were no hysterical fans around. It was too wet and too cold. No-one was visible in the line of sight that Dee had established between the exit and the car.
She was just about to usher Katie into the alley when she noticed the barest wisp of water vapour dissipating into the darkness. She breathed out herself and noticed that her warm expelled breath formed a noticeable cloud. Someone was hiding and trying to conceal their exhalations. Dee turned and whispered to Katie, asking her to go back inside until Dee came back to collect her. Katie looked down the alley but saw nothing amiss, and a puzzled frown formed on her face. Nonetheless, she trusted Dee’s instincts and did as she was asked.
***
Dee had wrapped up tight and warm. She was wearing a heavy coat and scarf over her jeans and polo neck sweater. She unbuttoned the coat and removed the scarf from her neck, keeping her leather gloves on. If there was an attacker in the alley she needed the freedom to move easily and use her martial art skills. Additionally she had no intention of giving any assailant the chance to throttle her with her own scarf.