“What happened?” Lucia said, her head spinning.
“Stay where you are!” Señor Suarez said tersely. “I’m calling the police!”
Lucia Serrano’s past meant she knew the police would never give her a fair chance. It also meant she had more than enough experience of the fight or flight response when it came to dangerous situations, and while everything told her to wait for the police and tell them all she knew, something in her heart told her to run.
And so she ran.
THREE
Outside the Casino de Salamanca, the Madrid night was unusually cold for December but typically relaxed. Cars drove by, young couples in scarves and peacoats laughed hand in hand along the pavement. A soprano sax sung out a gentle jazz melody played subtly beneath the murmur and hum of the happy crowd.
Burned-out soldier and former MI6 agent Harry Bane looked at the empty whisky glass for a long time before deciding to order just one more for the road. The road, in his case, was nothing more than the short walk to the elevators and then pushing the button for the seventh floor. The drink arrived and Harry took a sip — a single malt was a single malt wherever you went in the world. That was its great charm.
In a city like this, his hometown of Oxford seemed a million miles away, but at least tonight they had the weather in common. According to the app on his phone, it was barely nudging five degrees at home and sleet was predicted. He imagined the icy rain pouring over his home in Jericho but shook the thought from his mind with the last of the spirit, knocked back in one.
He liked Madrid, especially the casinos, but this time he wasn’t in the city to play the tables. He was here to meet with an old friend. In fact, Lucia Serrano had been more than an old friend, but their relationship was too many trips around the sun to remember now, back when they were at college together. He hadn’t seen her for so long he doubted if he could even recognize her.
Lucia and her boyfriend were late, and nowhere in sight, so he turned and moved back into the lobby. The casino was always busy and tonight was no exception. He surveyed the main gaming room from the top of the red carpeted steps. It all looked very familiar to him. These places always had the same vibe, whether you were in Vegas, Monte Carlo or Sun City, and he should know. These were the places where he threw his life down with the dice, where his existence turned on the flip of a card.
He returned to the bar and took up the barman’s kind offer of a Laphroaig on the house. It was never a good sign when spirits arrived on the house. It was in his hands in seconds — thick crystal tumbler, no ice, just a splash of mineral water. A sip brought the familiar warm peaty spice to his lips, and then it burned its way down before hitting the bloodstream seconds later.
He couldn’t help but shoot a quick glance at his reflection in the glass door. Not bad for thirty-nine, he said to himself, and adjusted his tie and pocket square. It was a smart white polka dot affair on steel blue silk that he kept casually in the breast pocket of his Italian suit.
His hair was dark brown, and combed back neatly, a hangover from his military days, and his eyes a pale grey-blue inherited from the Russian mother he never knew. He pulled himself up to his full six-feet two-inches and returned a smile from a tall, blonde woman who was walking toward him.
She sat beside him and ordered a gin and tonic with a wedge of lime. She wore a sparkling wristwatch on a slim, tanned wrist and moved with the elegance of a supermodel.
“My name’s Harry,” he said. “Harry Bane.”
They shook hands. “I’m Anaïs.”
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve this year?” he asked. It was only a couple of days until the celebration and an easy way to start some small talk.
“I’m seeing friends in Switzerland.”
They spoke for a few moments and Harry was delighted to learn that Anaïs was indeed a supermodel from Luxembourg in town for a few nights on a photoshoot for Armani. On the one hand he was upset Lucia hadn’t shown, but on the other, an evening with a swimwear model would fill the void.
As Anaïs sipped her drink, Harry noticed in the mirror behind the bar as a woman in a red dress entered the room. She started arguing with the casino’s floor manager. He gave a double-take and realized there was something familiar about her, but she was too far away to see properly. For a crazy moment he thought it could be Lucia, but dismissed the thought from his mind. Lucia had short hair and a pierced nose… but then it had been a few years.
He set his whisky glass down on the counter of the bar and watched the young woman with interest. She was now at the entrance to the bar and on closer examination she looked like she had blood on her hands and was demanding to see him as she argued with the floor manager again. His mind raced to identify her and he considered leaving by a fire exit — he’d escaped a lot of angry women that way.
He looked around the large room and saw most of the other punters had also now started to take note of what was unfolding at the entrance. He was sure the casino had never witnessed anything like this before, and trust him to be in the middle of it. He watched as the floor manager padded over to him and wrung his hands apologetically.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Allow me to apologize sincerely, Mr Bane, but the young lady is demanding to speak to you. You can see she is clearly deranged and we will call the police and have her removed. Please don’t allow this to spoil your evening.” The floor manager’s eyes flicked from him to the blonde woman sitting beside him, and then back up to the Englishman.
Harry looked up at the young woman at the door and then at the Cartier Baignoire on the wrist of the woman sitting next to him at the bar. He wondered what kind of woman would be wandering around Madrid alone and with blood on her hands, and then he wandered why such a person would want to speak to him. He just knew this was not going to end well, and resigned himself to the fact his perfect evening was about to come crashing down round his head yet again.
“What does she want?” he asked.
“It’s impossible to tell. She is hysterical as you can see and demanding to talk with you in person. She says you will want to hear what she has to say. She says it is a matter of life and death. Her name is Lucia Serrano.” As he said these last words, the floor manager snorted with contempt and dismissed his own words with a flick of his wrist.
“Oh my God…” Harry turned on his chair and took a closer look at the woman. “It is Lucia.”
Standing up now, Harry was now sympathising with the floor manager who seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He turned to Anaïs, and smiled. “Do you mind?”
Now it was the model’s turn to sigh, which she did with undisguised disappointment as she got up from her chair. “I see you have other business to attend to.”
Harry turned to the floor manager. “It’s okay, Felipe,” he said as he watched Anaïs leave the bar. “I know this lady and I’ll deal with it.”
He walked over to the woman and realized that it really was Lucia from all those years ago — but she was barely recognizable. The punkish dyed hair was gone and replaced by glossy brown hair which bounced on her shoulders, and there was no sign of a single piercing. He guessed she made her statements some other way these days, but his mind was quickly diverted to the blood smeared on her hands.
The other guests were horrified. He walked to over to her and looked in her eyes. They were pale brown, bright but clouded with fear. “Harry… thank God.”