“Why do people never learn?” he muttered under his breath.
On the sheet were passwords and pin numbers galore. He found the Britannic Investments password and pass-code, but his heart missed a beat when he saw the next line. It contained access details and passwords for Mitchinson’s workstation at Thames House. This was the Holy Grail for hackers; an introduction to MI5’s servers. Doc would be shaking hands, figuratively, with the MI5 server within the hour. He was going to be famous among his peers.
The download was complete and the hard drive clean as he heard Eloise ascending the stairs. He wanted a quick look at his USB drive data to ensure all the data had transferred correctly, and so he opened the picture file empics/ling/lounge.
***
When Eloise entered the room she saw Doc staring at the screen, his mouth gaping open. On the 21 inch screen was a picture of Eloise Ter Haar reclining on the sofa in a black basque and fishnet stockings.
Doc tried to speak, to apologise, but only a squeak emanated from his lips. Eloise smiled, put a perfectly manicured finger under his chin and closed his mouth.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to hear about any of this. You know, I am an innocent victim in all of this.” Doc nodded weakly. He was scared and excited at the same time, and his excitement was showing through his thin, cheap suit trousers. Eloise noticed.
“Obviously I can make it worth your while for you to keep me out of your enquiry.”
***
Two hours later a sweaty and tired Doc sat on the tube train wearing a stupid grin on his face. He had come to a realisation. He had been wasting a lot of valuable time with drunken nightclub girls.
Despite the fact that he had the passwords to an account worth hundreds of thousands of pounds on the USB drive in his pocket, he was most looking forward to opening the other ‘empics’ jpegs. Eloise Mitchinson was all woman.
***
Once Doc had cloned Barry’s hard drive and sent the account details to Gil, he had offered to drain the account and share the spoils with her. Gil had refused, reminding him he was being paid well enough already.
No, Gillian Davis wanted her erstwhile boss to suffer, knowing that his ill gotten gains had been taken by the same employers who were about to terminate him.
Terminate him with extreme prejudice, she hoped.
Chapter 6 4
Miles Estate, Lynchburg, Virginia, Friday 7pm.
Dee had said her goodbyes to Pete and the two detectives, who were now all flying back to the UK in time for the weekend, although how relaxing a weekend it would be for them was open to question. All three had been angry and frustrated when they left the hotel.
Steve Post had told them that he would make it his life’s work to ensure that if Gillian Miles strayed off the straight and narrow he would be there to catch her, but the promise seemed more rhetorical that practical. Steve was determined and well intentioned, but Gillian Miles had made a life out of evading responsibility for her actions and now in one rolled up, global confession she had swept all former criminality under the carpet. What was even more galling for all concerned was the fact that she had done it with the cooperation of the authorities.
Now, against every piece of advice she had been offered – mostly unrequested - Dee stood leaning against a tree on the Miles Estate waiting for the Chameleon to make an appearance.
The main house and grounds were deserted, although a black and white cruiser patrolled every hour or so. The Senator, his wife and his staff were at a political rally in Washington DC, to be followed by a sumptuous state dinner in honour of a visiting head of state, according to the Washington Post’s internet site.
Steve Post had been Dee’s most fervent opponent in this regard. He had been forceful in his language when he told her that, whilst no good could come from a meeting with Gillian Miles, something bad could certainly come from it, something very bad. He had even offered to go ‘off duty’ and offer her some back up, but she refused. His career would be in tatters if the Senator ever found out the FBI agent was harassing his daughter.
The weather was cold, but Dee could bear it. She thought about Josh and home and West Ham fighting for their Premiership survival tomorrow, but she knew that she could not leave without confronting Gillian Miles. So she waited.
***
An old Chevy Tahoe belonging to the estate pulled up in front of the lodge concealed behind the main house, and a woman stepped out. In the half light it was difficult to say whether it was Gillian Miles or not. The woman came around to the tailgate, opened it and picked up two bags of shopping. Dee stepped forward out of the shadows and walked towards the woman, standing in the glow of the courtesy light.
“Gillian Davis, or Gillian Miles?” she enquired. The woman turned to face her.
“Yes, can I help you?” she offered, smiling all the while.
“I’d like to talk to you.” Dee was now close to her nemesis.
“Of course,” Gillian replied amiably. “Always nice to speak to a fellow Brit. While you’re here you might as well help me with the shopping.” She extended both arms, each holding a bag of shopping. Dee took one in each hand.
The blow came from nowhere, and if Dee had not been so well trained she would have been badly injured or killed. Gil’s straight fingers punched towards the soft part of Dee’s throat. Dee dropped the shopping and pulled back but the fingers still connected with her windpipe. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her throat muscles went into spasm and she could feel panic rising. Dee fell to the floor and rolled into a protective ball whilst trying to talk herself down from a full blown panic attack, but the adrenaline was pumping and her heart was racing. Dee knew from her training that a blow to the throat like this is only debilitating if you panic. Most people would instinctively throw both hands to their thorax, leaving their unprotected body open to a follow up attack. She tried to ignore her throat and tense her body for action.
She acted just in time because a heavy kick from winter work boots was aimed at her midsection. She twisted as the boot landed and it rode up her side, expending most of its force under her arm. Normally it wouldn’t do much damage there, but just a few months earlier Dee had been shot in the very same place. She shrieked with pain but still pulled her arm in, trapping the foot. Rolling onto her back, she took the foot with her, and Gil uttered a blasphemy as she lost her footing.
Realising that she was going down anyway, Gillian bent her knees and intended to land on her counterpart’s ribcage, causing some real damage, but by the time she went down Dee had rolled back under her and had grabbed her left foot, twisting it painfully. They were both on the ground now, rolling on the wet grass under a large maple tree. Dee was still spluttering and trying to catch her breath, but seemed oblivious to the discomfort as she fought for her life. Gil was amazed. She had never seen any opponent withstand her favourite blow and keep on fighting. Gil could feel Dee behind her and so she swung her elbow around blindly, hoping to hit a vital organ. She found bone and both girls groaned as Gil’s elbow connected with Dee’s forearm. Dee’s rash move had left Gil with only one arm to lift her back into a fighting position.
Dee was hurting and her breath was still ragged. She needed a quick end to this fight. She twisted Gil’s left arm, the one with the numb forearm, and pushed it up her back. The assassin shrieked as Dee used the hold to lift her to her feet. Realising that at best she would suffer major tendon damage, and at worst have serious fractures, Gil rose under her own steam until she was standing facing the trunk of the maple tree, with Dee behind her.