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Prologue
Head low Keel
slowly walked along the small path that crossed the graveyard.
He knew he shouldn't have come here again. But somehow he
had to; something deep inside him forced him to return.
Knowing all this he had made up his mind. He wanted to draw
a final line under the 'Exodus affair; draw a final line
and get over Cat. It had taken him almost three weeks to
come to terms with her death and with the constant lies
he was telling his Curtis, whenever his partner asked him
how they had found him and what had happened to Sarah Keating.
Catherine was
buried only a few feet away from Shaugnessy. As he reached
Shaugnessy's grave he was surprised to find a huge bunch
of white roses and lilies on it. Just like the bunch Catherine
had thrown into the open grave at Carl Rosen's funeral in
Berlin. He stopped and looked around. There was no one in
sight, so he walked on. Hoping that returning to her grave
and saying all the things out aloud that had been cruising
his mind would help him to forget, he stopped a decent distance
from her grave. A bunch of red roses was lying on it. Irritated
he once more looked around. In the far distance he saw an
elderly woman, hovering over a grave but apart from her
he was alone. He pulled himself together and swallowing
the knot in his throat he left the path and approached Cat's
grave, stopping at its top.
Turning and checking
to see if there really was nobody within ears reach, he
said, "Hello Cat ...God I feel ridiculous," he sighed. "Cat,
I'm not sure if this makes any sense or not." Kneeling down
next to the tombstone, he went on: " I came to say thank
you. Thank you for everything; thank you for helping Sam
... and in a way helping me to come to terms with many things.
Yeah, once again you saved Sam's life, Cat. I felt you ought
to know that, know that he is alive and fine. Okay, I'll
be honest. I know I can't fool you. He's still weak but
the doctors say he's over the hill and everything will be
okay. He's coming home tomorrow." Keel felt his throat tighten,
getting up and sighing again, he continued, "Catherine,
I haven't told him yet. He started to ask a lot of questions
when he woke up; you know what Sam's like. However, I haven't
told him - yet."
Suddenly a shy
smile lit his face, as he tried to imagine her reaction,
" I hope you agree; yeah you would. Wouldn't want to hurt
him. " The smile vanished and after taking a deep breath,
he continued, "I apologise for everything I said that night
at the B&B... frankly, I wish we could have had more
time. There's so much I ..."
"Mr Keel." A
voice coming from behind shocked him and he broke off. Spinning
round and with his eyes wide open he stared at Malone.
"Sir," Keel stuttered
embarrassed, "What...how long...?"
Without a word,
Malone put an arm around the young American's shoulder.
A knowing and understanding smile on his face, batting his
eyes, he said, "Time to move on."
"There is just
so much I want to know about her," Keel murmured, suddenly
feeling as uncertain as a little boy on his first day at
school. The fact that Malone seemed to have heard everything
he'd said, not to mention his boss' empathetic embrace,
embarrassed and confused him. Wondering why Malone had come
to her grave and whether he'd brought the bunch of roses,
Keel followed him silently as he turned and walked out of
the graveyard.
Ten minutes later
they reached the car park. Malone stopped and turned to
Keel.
"Mr Keel, I know
it's not easy for you to lie to Mr Curtis, but I want you
to go on with it. Don't tell him that Ms Robinson was Sarah
Keating, until I order you to." Malone searched the American's
face for a reaction, "You think you can do that?"
"If I have to,"
answered Chris in thin voice.
Malone cleared
his throat and taking his glasses off, rubbed the bridge
of his nose with his forefinger. "Think of it this way,
Mr Keel," he mumbled, fiddling with his glasses. "You would
respect her last will by doing as I ask. Before she died,
she begged me not to tell Mr Curtis anything till the right
time came."
Irritated Keel
stared at Malone. The Tin Man really did have a heart, Chris
thought. This was the second time in only three weeks that
Malone had shown a glimpse of the caring man behind the
poker face he usually wore. But what did Malone mean about
the right time? How was he supposed to know when that was?
When Curtis had completely recovered and was mentally firm
enough to take the news, Chris decided, that would be the
right time.
Malone's voice
cut through his thoughts. "I assume you'll take Mr Curtis
home from the hospital tomorrow?"
"Yes, I told
him I'd pick him up," admitted Keel.
"Fine. Take the
rest of the week off, Mr Keel," Malone continued in his
usual calm businesslike tone. "I don't want to see you at
the office before Monday morning."
Malone opened
the door of the Land Rover, got in and started the engine,
leaving a totally perplexed Keel behind.
Six months later
After delivering
his report to Malone, Chris slowly walked along the hallway
towards the locker rooms. He felt tired, physically and
mentally. Replaying the incidents of the last couple of
days in his mind, he immediately started thinking about
his partner, as he had so often before. Yes, he thought,
they'd both survived another year, a bit bruised and battered,
a bit more mature in some aspects of life and a bit more
disillusioned. Working with Curtis had become a nightmare
though, since he had got back to work. At first, Keel had
thought, it was just because his partner was still fretting
over what had happened; that he was behaving uncharacteristically
because he couldn't forget. But as the months went by, he
noticed Curtis chancing his luck more and more for the worse.
They were barely
talking to each other. Their usual cheerful and cheeky banter
was down to a minimum. Curtis was cold and Keel felt uncomfortable
with the situation. To him it seemed as if he had been transferred
through space and time back to the beginning of their partnership.
Curtis, who had mutated to a team player during their time
together before the 'Exodus' affair, was flying solo again,
leaving his friend and partner languishing behind, leaving
him feeling frustrated or stupid and useless.
However hard
he had tried to break through to the Sam Curtis he had known,
he hadn't been successful. Even when the Ops pool had started
spreading rumours about the Englishman within his ear's
reach, saying that the Englishman had been broken, some
of them even calling him a heartless bastard, he had always
defended his partner. He knew a different side to Sam; he
simply knew Curtis better than all the rest of them - despite
maybe Backup.
Sure, he hadn't
been honest either. He had lied to him about Sarah Keating,
lied to his face, when Sam in one of his better moments,
had told him that he was sure that he had heard Catherine
talking to him, that he could have sworn he felt her kissing
him. Keel wished he could have told Sam the truth then,
but he couldn't. He had given his word to Malone. Although
his heart was nearly breaking as he watched his partner
pacing the lounge of his flat, his pale face clear evidence
of sleepless nights and confusion, Keel wasn't going to
break his promise.
Today they only
survived on sheer luck. Absolutely everything had gone wrong,
including only being missed by a bullet from his partner's
gun by inches. Chris wasn't really looking forward to seeing
Sam ever but for the sake of their friendship, he knew they
had to sort the problem out.
Opening the door
to the men's locker room, he found Curtis sitting on the
bench in the middle between the closets. His head low and
his hands hanging loose between his knees, Curtis looked
miserable. Chris looked at him, noticing right away that
he was breathing hard and short. Remembering the fight they'd
had with their assailants and the vicious blows Sam had
taken to the ribs before he'd nearly shot him, Chris pondered
whether he should ask if he was okay. Or should he just
head for the main topic - Sam had risking their lives for
nothing and nearly killing them both?
Passing Curtis
by and opening his locker, he kept his voice as neutral
as possible as he finally asked, "What kind of stunt was
that supposed to be today, Sam?"
"What's your
problem?" Curtis snapped back without looking up.
"My problem?"
Keel retorted angrily. "My problem? You could have killed
us both out there today and you ask me if I have a problem?"
"I didn't kill
us."
"God, Sam," Keel
slammed the door of the locker shut, "you only missed me
by inches."
"You're alive,
aren't you? We were successful - that's all that counts,"
Curtis replied icily, looking up at Chris.
Trying to control
his temper, Chris clenched his fists, as he held Sam's daring
gaze. "That's all you have to say? Success justifies everything,
right? All that counts is your job." Taking a deep breath
he tried to reign in his temper and failed. "I have been
such a fucking idiot to believe that we were friends and
that you - like I wouldn't - wouldn't do anything that risks
me," he burst out.
"Friends? Us?"
Curtis got up, crossed his arms in front of his chest and
focused his eyes at his partner's. Curtis eyes were as expressionless
as the rest of his face. "I have never asked for your friendship
-never asked for a partner."
"Fine", Keel
shot back. "Carry on like today and you'll soon get rid
of me. But it's much easier if you just go and ask Malone
to split us."
"Good idea..."
answered Sam dangerously calm. "I can't go on like this."
"Great. State
the bleedin' obvious," Keel burst out. "Know what, Curtis?
I'm sick of you. So why don't you just fuck off!"
Shock and pain
flickering in his eyes, Curtis turned on his heels without
a further word and left, slamming the door shut behind him.
Keel watched
his partner leave. As the door clicked shut, he kicked against
the closed door of his locker and cursed himself.
"You screwed
up, Keel, you fucking idiot."
******
Harry Malone
sat behind his desk reading the reports Keel and Curtis
had produced for their last mission. Two identical reports,
nothing unusual for his best team, but nevertheless something
was wrong this time. He had watched them both carefully
during the last months and it was more than obvious that
there had been underlying difficulties, which were on the
edge of becoming serious problems.
Malone had noticed
all the efforts Mr. Keel had made to find a way to get access
to his partner. Mr. Curtis' reaction to them had at first
stunned him, but now they frightened him. He was getting
more and more concerned and he knew he had to do something
before it was too late.
A flickering
note on his desktop telling him that he had received a new
mail attracted his attention. Closing the file in front
of him, he opened his outlook mailbox. He had to read the
message twice, before it sunk in. Frowning, he picked up
the receiver and dialled a number.
"Good afternoon,"
he said politely. "I need you to confirm a reservation for
the Air France flight leaving Heathrow at 17.30 for Paris
Charles de Gaulle." Taking off his glasses he added, "Yes
- the name is Malone, Harry Malone."
*****
This definitely
wasn't one of her lucky days, Backup decided. Grabbing a
file and getting up, she glanced at her watch. Walking past
Spencer's desk, she took his report from it, mumbling something
over to him about hoping it didn't contain mistakes. Leaving
the operations room in a hurry, her nose buried in Spencer's
report, Backup bumped into Sam Curtis who was approaching
the operations room from the other end.
"Oops, sorry,"
she said, a bright smile of embarrassment flashing over
her lips.
But her smile
died, as she saw the deep wrinkle on Sam's forehead and
the ice in his eyes. She knew the look all too well. She
had seen it on his face after Catherine's death - the one
Sam knew about, she added silently. More than two years
ago, she had been at his side at Catherine's first funeral,
the one that hadn't actually been real as everyone but him
now knew. That day she had seen her colleague as she hadn't
seen him before; almost unable to stand upright, fighting
back his tears. Back than she had taken his hand at the
grave and later on in his apartment, she had taken him in
her arms to comfort him. She hadn't known the woman whose
death had caused so much grief.
Back than she
remembered being helplessly in love with the gorgeous Sam
Curtis, the somehow mysterious man with the sparkling green
eyes. Sure, she'd had access to his personal files, but
Sam still hadn't been an open book, which was probably why
he had attracted her so much. After all these years of unrequited
love and the endless list of meaningless, unintelligent
blondes he taken out, her desire had faded into nothing
more than liking; much more similar to the kind of love
a sister feels for her big brother.
As they stood
facing each other in the doorway, she locked her brown eyes
firmly with Sam's. To her it seemed as if something deep
inside him had broken into millions of pieces. Backup just
couldn't understand why something he didn't know about could
have had such an effect on him. Or was it all because the
strong bond of friendship between Curtis and Keel was breaking
down for some reason? Even she had noticed that they weren't
getting along anymore.
"Never mind,"
Sam suddenly said, cutting through her thoughts. A smile
flashed over his face, as he added, "It's always a pleasure
to bump into you."
Batting her eyes
and grimacing, she asked, "You're okay?"
"Sure," he answered,
blowing a kiss to her cheek, turning on his heels and rushing
away in the same direction he had come from. Confused Backup
followed him with her eyes. She saw him walking fast down
the hallway, entering the staircase and disappearing.
******
Half an hour
later, Backup was back at her desk, writing her daily summary
of events, when Malone addressed her, making her jump. Turning
around to face him she wiped the surprise from her face.
"Sir?"
Malone was standing
behind her, his coat already on, a briefcase in his left
hand. Laying the briefcase down on her desk to put on his
leather gloves. "Tell Mr Keel and Curtis to take the rest
of the weekend off and order them to be at my office Monday
morning at eight," he said, factual as always.
"Is there anything
that I should know?" she dared to ask.
"No, everything
is in hand," Malone stated. "I will be away and unavailable
for the rest of today and probably also the next two days."
As she stared at him, eyes wide open he smiled mildly and
retrieved his briefcase. "You have my mobile number in any
case of emergency." Turning to leave, he added, "I trust
you to do an excellent job as always, Ms Backus."
*****
After Sam had
left the CI5 building in a hurry, he spent hours walking
aimlessly through the streets of London. Here you are, he
thought, standing in the remains of your glorious life.
Sam Curtis, the working class kid, who had made his way
to university at Edinburgh against all odds. The one who
finished his studies with excellent diplomas, the one who
survived everything - bullet wounds, drugs, getting beaten
up and endless hours of sadistic interrogations. He had
been willing to sacrifice his life for his country and he
had never questioned his decisions; at least not before
the Winfield case. Even now, six months later, he couldn't
stand dark rooms, couldn't sleep without a light on and
he shuddered at the thought of loud music or noise. Although
he was pretending to be calm and controlled like always,
he was feeling insecure like he'd never felt before in his
life. Sometimes it had been hard to swallow the nagging
panic. In those moments he played it cool, like he had done
all the years he had worked solo for the MI6. He knew that
meant he was ruthless and icy, taking every risk without
wasting a thought on possible consequences. He knew his
insecurity and the resulting ruthlessness endangered his
colleagues and most of all, Chris. Brushing away the memory
of the conversation he'd had with his partner in the locker
room he told himself that he had to destroy their friendship.
It was the only thing he could do for Chris, he reminded
himself as he finally caught a taxi and asked the driver
to take him home.
Opening the door
to his flat twenty minutes later, he heard his answering
machine clicking and then his own voice telling the one
on the other end of the line that he was away. Ignoring
it, he went to his kitchen, took a tumbler out of a kitchen
cupboard and returned to his lounge. Putting the glass down
on the coffee table and walking across the room to the small
antique cupboard, he took off his coat and threw it to the
ground. Backup's voice echoed through the room, as he opened
the cupboard and took a bottle of whisky out. He didn't
pay much attention to it at first, but then her voice sunk
in.
"Malone wants
you and Chris at his office Monday morning at eight. Sam?
I know you're there - talk to me. Okay, if you don't want
to talk to me, then at least listen to me. Chris has told
me that he's planning to leave. What the hell's going on?"
Chris resigning?
Reaching the sofa, he sat down and retrieving the tumbler
he poured himself a glass of whisky, which he emptied in
one swig. A second, a third and a fourth glass quickly followed
the first one. Dismissing the plan of getting completely
drunk, at least for a while, he put the tumbler down. Getting
up and crossing the room, he stopped at the answering machine
and pressed the replay button. Tina's voice followed him
to his bedroom, repeating her message: "Chris is planning
to leave."
Chris leaving
CI5? When and if someone should resign, he thought, it should
be him, not Chris. All of a sudden he knew what he had to
do. Rushing back to his lounge and sitting down at his desk
in the corner near the window, he opened his laptop and
booted it. While waiting for the system to get through the
inevitable checks, he got up again and fetched the bottle
from the coffee table. Taking in some more of the golden
brown single malt, he logged in to his email account. Adding
Malone's address from his address book was one thing; writing
down his decision another. It was harder than he had thought
it would be to spell it:.
Resignation.
Another two glasses
of whisky later, he had finished and he was satisfied with
his mail. Swallowing, he pressed the 'send' button and seconds
later he saw the words 'transmission successful' flicker
on the screen. It's over, he thought bitterly. Shutting
down the PC, Sam took the bottle of whisky with him and
went to his bedroom. It's all over, the voice in his head
repeated. His long suppressed fears and demons of the past
had finally defeated him. The Sam Curtis everyone knew was
officially dead.
*****
Evening darkness
had settled as Malone left one of the arrival gates at Paris
Charles de Gaulle airport. Glancing at his watch he impatiently
walked through the waiting crowd. He was fifteen minutes
too late for his announced and prearranged pick up. Hoping
that his contact had waited for him, he rushed to the exit
and left the airport building. Looking around, he found
what he was searching for; a deep blue Peugeot 607. He approached
the limousine and opening one of the doors at the back,
he got in. The driver was clad in black, wearing a barrette
and with their back turned towards him, Malone couldn't
make out whether it was a man or a woman.
Clearing his
throat, he calmly commanded: "Go."
Mutely the driver
obeyed his order and turned the ignition on. The car joined
the traffic.
One and a half
hours later, the Peugeot 607 turned into a drive and came
to a halt in front of a manor house in the outskirts of
Paris.
Malone got out
of the car. Going round he stopped in front of the driver's
door. The door opened and a small seemingly androgyny figure
swung itself out and straightened in front of Malone. He
or she was smaller that he had thought. Slowly one of the
figures hands reached out for the barrette and in one energetic
yet elegant move it was removed, freeing long hair. His
driver was a woman. Malone stared at her, trying hard to
keep control and not to let the shock take over as he made
out parts of her face in the darkness.
"Don't stare
at me like that, Harry," a female voice said with a strong
Northern French accent.
"You?" he voiced
not able to hide his surprise and suspicion.
"Naturellement
- moi." Laughing bitterly she walked past him, turning around
after a couple of paces and adding in English, "Thank you
for accepting my invitation."
"What's so important
that you faked a priority A anti-terrorism conference?"
Malone queried, following her to the door.
Unlocking the
door and opening it, she ignored his question and instead
said, "Follow me."
*******
The operations
room was as quiet as Malone had expected it to be when he
entered it late on Sunday evening. He had spent the previous
forty-eight hours discussing what they could do to stop
the terrorist organisation that was, according to his well-informed
contact, planning another dreadful attack.
Going straight
into his office he lowered his briefcase to the ground next
to his desk, and took a seat. He couldn't get her out of
his thoughts. She had asked for his help, but at the same
time, she had rejected his offer to send out an undercover
team. He didn't doubt her theories though. She knew a lot
of people and more important, those people knew her and
trusted her enough to 'accidentally' spill out secrets.
On his way back to London, he'd had plenty of time to think
her plan over.
She had told
him that he should wait for her signal before he sent out
the cavalry to help her. Her plan was simple but hazardous.
Malone knew that it was an enormous risk that she was willing
to take without hesitation and with the recklessness, iciness
and thoughtfulness he once had admired. This time however,
he wasn't sure if her decision was based on an evaluation
of the facts or on sheer tiredness of life. Malone would
never have suggested such an assignment to any of his agents,
even though each of them might think him willing and able
to do so. He knew what they were saying about him. Malone:
the heart-and emotionless old goat. The Tin Man. He'd heard
them murmur behind his back too often.
In fact he was
anything but heartless. Each time one of his agents was
hurt or went missing, a part of him wanted to show his true
feelings. He always had and probably always would have to
struggle for calmness and control in those moments. He couldn't
afford to let them see his concerns and his own nervousness.
He was the head of CI5; calmness under pressure was one
of the things his position required. Rubbing his slightly
stiff neck, his gaze fell on the reports of Curtis and Keel.
Curtis and Keel: they once had been his best team. A team,
which was now slowly breaking apart. Tossing away the reports
in frustration, he booted his PC. He had promised her that
he would delete her mail as soon as he got back. No one
should know about their arrangement.
As he went to
delete her mail, he was stunned to find an email from Curtis.
Exhaling deeply, feeling that he knew what was written in
it and didn't want to know, he opened the mail.
"Damn," Malone
whispered and switched the PC off again. Getting up, leaving
his office, he flipped his mobile open and dialled Keel's
number. It didn't take too long before the young American
sleepily answered his call.
*******
The ringing
of his mobile woke Chris up. Opening his eyes he realised
that he had fallen asleep in front of his television. The
mobile rang again. Yawning Keel rose from the sofa. Where
was the mobile he wondered, as he crossed the room straining
for another ring to locate the source of it. Another ring;
the kitchen. The mobile had to be in his kitchen. "Yeah,"
he grumbled, walking past the TV and switching it off. "Yeah.
On the way."
Entering the
kitchen, he saw his Motorola lying on the table between
a box of Oreo cookies and the remains from Saturday's pizza.
Muttering he
flipped it open and he mumbled, "Keel."
"Malone," he
heard his boss' voice coming from the other end. "Meet me
at Mr Curtis' as soon as possible."
"Has something
hap ... Sir?" Irritated and suddenly completely awake, Chris
stared at his mobile. The line was dead. What was that supposed
to be about, he wondered. Malone had sounded confusingly
angry. Why should he meet him at Sam's? A multitude of questions
of swirling in his mind he crossed the lounge and headed
for his bedroom. Five Minutes later he left his apartment.
******
Walking up the
stairs to Curtis' apartment, Malone thought about what he
would say to the young Englishman. He had never thought
about Curtis handing in his resignation. Keel he could imagine,
but Curtis, no. To him it had always seemed as if Curtis
was only living for, and because of, his job. He had never
heard him talk about a private life. Somehow, Malone thought,
Curtis was like he himself had been when he was younger
and he was sure the young Englishman had a great future
within CI5 - if he survived. Keel on the other hand was
emotional and needed the close contact with others. He needed
his social life to keep him balanced. Malone knew sooner
or later he would loose the American to a wife and family,
but with Curtis it was different. At least he had believed
that, before he had seen him change after Exodus. Malone
knew he had to convince Curtis to stay with the organisation
and Keel had to give him help him do that, whether he wanted
to or not. Reaching the door, he pressed the bell. There
was no reaction from within the flat. Knocking at the door,
he said: "Mr. Curtis, open the door."
******
Curled up in
a corner of his kitchen, Sam heard someone outside shouting
his name.. He opened his eyes; darkness had settled around
him. Black, he thought, how he hated this time of day. Pulling
his knees up a little tighter to his chest, embracing them,
he swallowed the knot in his throat. Again someone shouted
his name, a second voice. Memories truck him like lightning;
being huddled in the corner of a dark room, someone calling
out for him. Than the incidents he had struggled so hard
to forget - and couldn't - were replayed before his minds
eye. Hands grabbing him fiercely, hitting him, the taste
of blood, and the sound of cracking bones; pain, endless
and unbearable.
His silent screams
drowned the sound of the door being opened. Shock written
over his face, eyes wide and unfocused he noticed the lights
being turned on in the adjacent lounge. His stomach twisting,
he silently pleaded, go away, go and leave me alone.
As Malone entered
the flat, the young American following in his tracks, the
heavy smell of alcohol hit him in the face. Turning the
lights on, he looked around. Empty wine and whisky bottles
were laying all over the place, clothes scattered over the
sofa and floor. Next to the coffee table was a pile of photos.
He stepped closer and bending down, he picked some up.
Turning round
to Keel, he saw the American standing in the doorframe,
eyes wide open, apparently unable to believe what he was
seeing. Glancing at the pictures in his hands, Malone said
calmly: "Open a window Mr. Keel."
Keel mutely obeyed
and crossed the room.
Lowering the
photos to the coffee table, Malone turned round again, asking,
"Mr. Curtis?"
******
Malone, Sam
realised as his boss' words registered vaguely in his mind.
He didn't know if he should feel relieved or embarrassed.
Maybe, he decided, if he didn't move and didn't answer,
Malone would think he wasn't there and leave. Holding his
breath and pressing his back closer to the wall as he heard
footsteps coming closer, Sam closed his eyes. Please no,
he couldn't on top of everything else handle the humiliation
of Malone seeing him like this. The footsteps were light,
almost bouncy. That wasn't Malone, Sam realised, swallowing.
It was Chris. Not knowing what was the worst; why had they
come here? Why couldn't they just leave him the hell alone?
******
"He's in here,
sir." Chris said. Having a closer look at the miserable
figure in the corner, he shuddered unwillingly. Back pressed
to the wall, curled up to an infantile ball, dressed in
nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, unshaved, his skin pale
and eyes surrounded by dark shadows; Keel had never seen
his partner like that before. Suddenly all his anger faded
and concern took over.
"Sam?" Kneeling
down in front of Sam and touching his partner's hand hesitantly,
he repeated; "Sam ..."
Sam's eyes flew
open and the look in them scared Chris. Although they were
focused on his eyes to Chris it seemed as if he was staring
right through him, as if Curtis hadn't realised that he
was there. It was the same blank stare his partner had worn
at the TGT warehouse before he'd finally passed out. The
warehouse, Sam covered in his own blood and Cat, her kiss
and than the image of her dead body on the floor; blinking,
Keel fought the memories he had suppressed for the last
half a year.
"Sam, look at
me," Chris commanded gently. "We're gonna get through this
together," he promised as Malone appeared behind his back.
"Mr. Keel, leave
us alone for a moment," the older man asked, putting a hand
on his shoulder.
Looking up at
Malone, Chris stuttered, "But he ... he ..."
"I know Mr Keel,
but not now," Malone replied almost softly. "Please wait
in the lounge."
Reluctantly Chris
rose to his feet and left the kitchen. Turning in the doorway
he saw Malone kneeling down next to Sam and putting a hand
on his shoulder, the touch making his partner shift slightly"It's
okay, Mr Curtis," Malone said quietly.
Sam stirred and
looked up at Malone. Blinking he tried to focus, before
he angrily demanding, "What do you want?"
Malone smiled
before he answered, amused. "You smell like a distillery."
Laughing, Malone patted his shoulder, before he clamed down
and quietly continued, "Life hasn't been kind to you lately,
Mr Curtis. I know you are still looking for answers to some
of your questions and I think perhaps it is time to give
you some of them." Malone searched Sam for a reaction. As
he saw the irritation in the younger man's eyes, he knew
he was getting somewhere. (Query - are you writing this
scene from Sam's point of view or Malone's?)
"Answers?" Sam
said curiously, before he added frustratedly, "Did I have
to resign before you'd tell me the truth?"
"Resignation?"
Malone laughed again. "I've read your mail, yes. But I wouldn't
be here, if I had taken you seriously. Let us be honest,
Mr. Curtis. I considered your mail more a cry for help than
for what it really was."
Suddenly feeling
trapped, Curtis swallowed. Malone stretched his hand out,
offering Curtis help to get up, saying parentally: "Come
on young man, time for a shower."
"You said you'd
answer my questions," Sam protested taking Malone's hand
and rising unsteadily from the floor.
"Right," Malone
replied, "Go ahead."
Curtis didn't
hesitate. "The blonde woman, Sarah Keating... who was she?
What happened to her?"
"She was Theresa
Harding's and Carl Rosen's daughter," Malone answered calmly.
"Patricia Rosen also known as Catherine Robinson."
It took a while
before Malone's words sunk in. Catherine had been alive?
She had been standing in front of him and he hadn't recognised
her? He had attempted to kill her at Shaugnessy's. She had
been at the warehouse, had really touched him, and kissed
him. He hadn't dreamt it.
"Where is she?"
he finally asked, his voice nearly breaking.
"She's dead,
Mr Curtis," Malone answered. "She helped us to find you
and Mr. Keel but unfortunately she died in the line of duty."
"No!" Sam cried
out, swaying, Malone catching him in the moment he faltered.
*****
Keel was pacing
the lounge impatiently, stopping every now and then, picking
an empty bottle up and putting it on the coffee table. What
was this all about? It was obvious that Sam had tried to
drown himself in alcohol. Alcohol wasn't a remedy, Keel
knew. He had tried drinking in the first few weeks after
his wedding day, but every time the effect of the alcohol
got less and life got worse. He hadn't thought of Sam as
being the kind of person who started drinking to forget.
But he'd learnt a lot of things about his partner since
he'd met Cat and he was sure Curtis was like the proverbial
calm sea - deep and mysterious. Cursing himself for having
thrown away their friendship, for having lost his patience
with his partner, he sat down on the sofa. Suddenly he heard
Malone laugh cheerfully. Wondering what they were doing
in the kitchen, he got up again and approached the door
hoping perhaps he would be able to hear what they were saying.
Suddenly he heard Sam shouting and rushing through the door,
he saw Malone catching the seemingly lifeless body of his
partner.
"What happened?"
"I told him the
truth," Malone said quietly, his expression guarded. "Give
me a hand, Mr Keel. We'll put him to bed."
Malone had told
Sam the truth about Cat and her death, Keel concluded. On
the one hand he felt relieved that the lies were finished
with; on the other hand he feared Sam's reaction, if he
found out that he had known the truth and hadn't told him.
"Keel?" Malone
repeated crisply.
"Sorry," Keel
stuttered and took Sam's legs.
******
A petite woman,
wearing a nothing but a snowy white suit with a black lacy
bra, entered the restaurant of the luxurious Montreux Palace
hotel on the shore of Lake Geneva. Passing through the door
she felt the scrutiny of the male guests and the jealous
looks of the females in the restaurant. She scanned the
room. At the far end she saw three Arabs sitting at a round
table. They stopped their vivid conversation, as one of
them spotted her. 'Her man' had seen her. Smiling to herself,
she approached a table at next to the front window and sat
down, turning her back to the three Arabs. Rummaging through
her pockets she took out a silver box of cigarillos and
some matches and laid them on the table. Shaking her head
and demonstratively brushing away her sandy brown hair,
she threw a sideways glance at the Arabs. The waiter appeared
and after ordering a glass of Canard Duchêne, she
opened the cigarillo box and took one out.
As she lit the
match a tall but slightly overweight man took a seat opposite
her. His skin was sun-tanned, his hair dark black and his
deep brown eyes pierced through her. Flipping his Zippo
open, he lit her cigarillo and introduced himself. "My name
is Muhamed El Kadir."
Her expression
guarded, she sucked at the cigarillo, not saying a word
in reply until the waiter served the champagne.
"Merci," she
said and half-smiled. Taking the glass of champagne, sipping
at it and lowering it to the table again, she held the man's
gaze. Exhaling blue smoke with a heavy sweet aroma, she
finally addressed the man. " The Muhamed El Kadir?"
"You know me?"
The man leant back in his seat, his voice betraying his
intention not to look surprised.
"I've heard about
you," she replied with an indulgent smile. She knew about
the effect her smile normally had. She had used it too many
times as a magical key to men's hearts. She had learned
through time and experience, that most men thought with
their crotches and Muhamed El Kadir was no exception to
the rule. She knew he liked his women glamorous and mysterious.
Over the years
she had learned to be everything a man wanted her to be,
using her charms to her advantage. No matter how she hated
it, how much she felt like a whore, using her looks and
even sex to achieve her aims or simply lull her opponents
into a sense of false security was part of her profession.
A profession she had chosen out of free will and which had
showed her places and things she sometimes desperately wanted
to forget.
"Hope you only
heard good things," the man stated, smiling brightly.
"Oh most certainly,
" she replied, snipping the ash from the cigarillo and lowering
it to the ashtray.
Suddenly she
felt a hand on her knee. "Who are you and more importantly
why is such a lovely lady all on her own?"
Got you, she
thought. Her smile brightening, a brief glimpse of desire
and lust flickering in her eyes, she took another swig of
the champagne, before one of her hands ghosted along the
inside of the man's tigh under the table.
"I came to play,"
she sighed theatrically, "and I knew I'd meet someone fascinating
like you tonight."
Stroking the
man's crotch lightly, leaning in, her pretty face suddenly
froze, tightening her grip around his penis. She laughed
ironically. "Don't touch what you can't afford." The man
bit his lower lip as her fingernails pierced through the
fabric of his trousers into his crotch. Shifting unpleasantly,
he tried to free himself, but she tightened her grip. Crisply
she added, "Take this as a warning from Cameron Mackenzie,
Mr. El Kadir."
"You are Cameron
Mackenzie?" The man's voice cracked as she finally let go
off him and got up.
"In person,"
she stated tonelessly. "And I guess my price has just gone
up." Bending over the table she whispered into his ear.
"One million US Dollars per shot. If you're still interested,
call this number."
She tucked a
business card in the chest pocket of his jacket and left
the restaurant, laughing. Leaving the hotel she glanced
at her watch. She'd taken the first step, established contact
and and all of this achieved less than six hours after she
had met Harry Malone in Paris.
Somehow she felt
the desperate need for fresh air. She knew she was playing
a dangerous game, maybe the most dangerous she ever had
played, but there was nothing left to loose. Her life had
been senseless and boring till the day one of her old contacts
had sung her the little tune of El Kadir and his private
army: El Kadir, one of the wealthiest men and most vicious
man in the middle East. She had tried several times to bring
him down, but every time she had failed. The organisation
had failed. This time, she would get him and bring him down.
He was the last thing she had been working on for MI6 -
nearly 5 years before. So much had happened since then,
so much had changed, she thought. She had changed. She was
more mature, much more determined and most of all she was
independent and her life had become meaningless. She needed
this mission; needed her own crusade against terrorism more
than she wanted to admit.
*****
After they had
put Sam to bed, Malone had ordered Keel to stay with his
partner and as soon as Curtis woke up to give him her letters.
Than Malone had left him alone. At first Chris stood at
the window, willing the time to tick by and fretting over
what would happen when Sam woke up. Then he had started
tidying Sam's flat up, throwing the bottles away, washing
the dishes and folding the scattered clothes up.
As he finished,
his gaze fell on the spilled photo box next to the coffee
table. Kneeling down on the floor, he started to pick the
photos up: photos of Sam as young man, people he assumed
to be mates or friends, a woman in her forties, with the
same intense green eyes Sam had, framed by a teenaged girl
and a boy. That must be his mother, Keel thought, putting
the picture in the box with the others.Taking the last two
pictures, the ones Malone had picked up he suddenly he felt
guilty for for nosing around in Sam's things. But he couldn't
help but look at those as well. They were pictures of Sam
and Cat together.
Immediately he
remembered how he had tried to imagine what they had looked
like together, now he knew. In the photo he was holding
they looked exactly like Teresa and he had on their wedding
photo: a perfect couple. Feeling sad and somehow guilty,
he closed the box. Getting up from the floor, he walked
over to the bedroom door. Carefully and quietly, he opened
it a little bit and peered round the corner. Sam was lying
still on his back. Almost inaudibly sighing, he turned round
again, not wanting to disturb his partner's sleep.
"I'm awake,"
he heard Sam say hesitantly, as he turned round to the door
again. Chris saw that Sam had switched the bedside lamps
on and was sitting on his bed.
"Did I wake you?"
Chris asked.
"No, been awake
for a while, thinking. Chris, you knew the truth, right?"
Sam's voice sounded
calm and emotionless. Taking a step closer, Chris hoped
to be able to see his face to find some reaction there.
Sam had his guard up he quickly realised. He had learnt
to read most of Curtis' expressions for what they really
were; masks to hide behind. Sam's eyes were sad, tired and
moist; the rest of his face was expressionless.
Not knowing
how to reply, Chris simply nodded.
"Why ..." Sam
cleared his throat and obviously changed his mind, asking,
"What was she like? Have you met her? Did you talk to her?"
Chris swallowed.
He was prepared for the 'why haven't you told me' but not
for Sam asking him things about her. He knew he had to give
him answers.
"Chris, please."
Going to the
bedroom, sitting down on the bottom of the bed, Keel cleared
his throat and began answering each and every of Sam's questions.
It was going to be a long night. Hopefully it signalled
the start of a happier day.
******
With the blinds
of the window facing the operations room closed, Malone
sat behind his desk, staring at the door. His expression
unreadable, he waited to see what would happen as soon as
it was eight o'clock. Would Curtis and Keel check in as
ordered? And if they did - when they did he corrected out
of nothing more than instinct - would they be a team or
would there be two individuals facing him? Glancing at his
watch he registered that it was nearly eight. Where were
they?
Annoyed at his
own impatience, he tried not to look at his watch again.
Since the Exodus affair, he had partly lost his coolness.
Curtis wasn't the only one suffering and somehow that hurt.
If he was honest, he, Malone, the almighty head of CI5,
had gone through his own private hell afterwards. He had
been forced to face his past. Realising that he had given
a code blue to someone, who could be his daughter had been
hard. He had tried to find physical similarities; any sign
to confirm if they were related but she looked like her
mother. Theresa's letters had no evidence in them but Cat
had unreservedly trusted him at the warehouse as none of
his operatives ever had. Last but not least, the fact that
his best team had split and Curtis being once more a step
ahead of Keel and resigning first had left him doubting
himself as he hadn't done for a long for a long time.
He'd experienced
severe difficulties suppressing his thoughts and feelings
during his time as the Head of CI5, had struggled not to
show what he really was like inside: concerned and caring.
Every day he had reminded himself that he was not expected
to be the concerned or caring type. He was the head of CI5:
the living embodiment of his precious first rule. Exodus
had made it even harder. Then as he'd finally started to
believe in his own words again, she had contacted him bringing
it all back. Lost in his thoughts, the ringing of his phone
nearly gave him a heart attack. Frowning, he pressed the
loudspeaker button and a female voice with a strong French
accent filled the room.
"Bonjour Harry,
comment allez-vous?"
"Fine, thank
you," he replied shortly.
The woman on
the other end of the line laughed light-heartedly then inquired,
"Safe line?"
"Of course."
"I haven't got
much time. We'll have to do this quickly. Contact has been
established." Once again the woman laughed. "Current salary
1 million Dollars per shot. Seems ruining the world is much
more profitable than rescuing it! Maybe I should change
sides!"
"Don't be cheeky,"
he automatically snapped. Sometimes she seemed to be a mixture
of Keel and Curtis. Shaking his head at himself, he listened
to her answer.
"'Kay, 'kay -
got you. I'll meet the mission objective tomorrow and I
have a gut feeling that I'll get the job." Laughing, she
continued soothingly, "Don't worry, everything's under control."
"Details?" he
demanded at the same time as there was a knock on his door.
"Nothing spec..."
the woman started, but Malone's harsh 'come in' cut her
off.
Malone saw Keel
and Curtis stepping into his office in union, greeting him
almost simultaneously: "Good morning, sir."
"Just a moment,
gentleman," Malone excused himself, picking the receiver
up and thereby silencing the loudspeaker system. "You were
about to tell me...hm...hm...right. I agree. Goodbye."
Curtis and Keel
exchanged fleeting looks, while they listened to their boss.
Keel flashed a smile at Curtis, shrugging his shoulders.
Malone put the
receiver down and leaning back in his chair, surveyed the
two young men standing opposite him one by one. They both
looked a bit tired but - and this was unmistakable and made
him feel relieved - relaxed in each other's company.
"Well gentlemen,
it has been an eventful weekend for all of us and I assume
you used last night to redefine your partnership."
"Definitely,
sir," Keel impulsively agreed.
"May I add something,
sir?" Curtis hesitantly asked staring embarrassed at his
feet.
"Yes Mr. Curtis?"
"Does this mean
you won't accept my letter of resignation?"
His expression
unreadable, Malone countered, "Which letter, Mr. Curtis?"
Curtis looked
up, facing Malone, and then quietly stuttered, "Thank you.
I don't know what made me."
"As for me, Mr.
Curtis, this matter was never an issue. I expect you to
view it in the same way." Getting up, walking around his
desk, he added, "Now gentlemen, no matter how glad I am
that you have found a way to communicate, I need you to
demonstrate that my best team is back for good."
"What do you
mean?" asked Keel, curiously.
"There is a CI5
induction course going on in Bournemouth and I want you
two to attend it," Malone explained calmly, watching them
both carefully, his expression guarded but curious to see
their reactions.
"Induction? Damn
Curtis, this is all you're fault!" retorted Keel dryly.
"Seems a fairly
good idea to me, Curtis shot back, his green eyes sparkling
cheekily. "Maybe someone will teach you to write a report
on your own."
"Ha ha," murmured
Keel and turning around to face Curtis next to him, he suddenly
burst out into laughter.
Curtis smiled
mildly, but to Malone it seemed as if the Englishman was
struggling hard not to explode as well. This was exactly
how he liked to see them work, how he wished to see him
again.
Clearing his
throat, Malone said, "Fine. Now gentlemen, pack your bags
for a week at Bournemouth. But I want you to know that they
are not expecting two hotshots down there. So your mission
will be to go through the course, without letting anyone
know who you are. Mr. Keel, Ms Backus will provide you with
a train ticket. Mr Curtis, Mr. Spencer will drive you down."
Glancing at one
another, both young men started to smile. Apparently, decided
Malone, they thought he was joking or maybe they thought
it was a game: nothing more than a week off playing Bond.
But he himself would arrange for it to be hell. He needed
to know if they functioned under extreme pressure and after
his call with her, he knew he might not have all the time
in the world to find out. Things were developing fast and
they were beyond his control. He didn't like the thought,
but he knew he had to trust her and had to trust in the
bond between those two young men, his private 7th cavalry.
*********
Standing at
the shore of Lake Geneva, Muhamed El Kadir waited for the
woman he had met in the restaurant of his hotel the evening
before. Although she had made a complete fool out of him,
he was impressed and he couldn't forget her eyes. He didn't
consider himself a fundamentalist, and he all but respected
the Koran, despite the fact that he had found himself his
own religion called power and money. But in his culture
women were still considered inferior to men and he had never
doubted this unwritten rule of patriarchy. However, he loved
challenges. An emancipated, independent and strong woman
always was a challenge. Cameron Mackenzie was very attractive
and she had all the qualities needed to inspire him. He
was determined to break her, to show her that she was weak
and made for nothing else than ecstatic lust. Women, he
thought, we are made for men to play with.
A female voice
shook him from his thoughts. "Mr El Kadir."
El Kadir turned
round. There she was, standing behind him. She was dressed
in a pair of loose black trousers, a black cashmere roll-neck
and a long black leather coat. Her sandy brown hair was
tied back with precise neatness and it shimmered in the
golden autumn sun. A pair of dark Chanel sunglasses hid
her eyes. Thinking that she really was beautiful, he replied,
"Ms Mackenzie."
Glancing at her
watch, she stated, "Sorry to have kept you waiting."
"Don't worry.
I'm pleased you came."
Taking off her
sun glasses, she plastered a smile on her face and locked
her eyes with his, "I take it you are still interested in
my services?"
"Definitely,
Ms Mackenzie," he replied neutrally. "Shall we go for a
walk?"
Shrugging her
shoulders, she agreed. Walking next to him, she started
negotiations. "Let's get to business then. As I said previously,
I charge a million per shot, not including meetings ahead
of the job, travelling, adequate accommodation and possible
extras."
Roughly calculating
the expenses, he decided that she was worth the money, not
only because of her qualities as an assassin, which his
contacts had told him about, but also judging from her qualities
as a woman.
"Sounds fair:"
"Fifty percent
of the money is to be paid as a deposit, before we discuss
details. The next twenty five percent when the project starts
and the rest after I've done my job," she continued calmly.
El Kadir stopped
and looked at her, "You expect me to pay you before I know
if you will be able to fulfil your duty?"
Stopping as well,
turning around, her face lacking any expression, she retorted
crisply, "I'm no fool, Mr. El Kadir and I'm no play thing
to be toyed with. Accept my rules of payment or let someone
else do the dirty work for you."
The ice in her
eyes showed him that she wasn't joking and parts of his
body still bore painful reminders from the evening before.
Frowning El Kadir nodded.
"Congratulations
Mr El Kadir," she said quietly, handing him an envelope.
"This envelope contains the numbers of three Swiss bank
accounts. Please advise for 500,000 Dollars, divided in
three parts, to be paid into these accounts."
El Kadir took
the envelope. "And?"
"I'll find you
as soon as I've received the money." Smiling brightly, putting
her sunglasses back on, she bid him goodbye.
**********
One of the Land
Rovers from the CI5 car pool stopped in front of the gate
of a manor house in Bournemouth.
"Here we are,"
announced Spencer, waking Curtis, who had fallen asleep
in the passenger seat half way to Bournemouth.
Batting his eyes,
Curtis yawned and stretched his muscles. "We're where?"
"The CI5 manor,
Milord," Spencer smiled at Curtis. "This is as far as I'm
allowed to take you."
"Great," replied
Curtis, already opening the door to get out. "That's what
I call door to door service."
"Hey Sam, do
you know why Malone's sending you and Chris here?"
"No idea. Maybe
some sort of a test." Laughing and shrugging his shoulders,
Sam took his bag out of the back seat and slamming the door
shut, he added, "Whatever - Spence, you got any idea when
Chris' train arrives?"
Grimacing Spencer
answered, "Sorry but that's confidential."
Shaking his head
theatrically, Curtis shouldered his bag and passed through
the gate, leaving Spencer behind in the car. It didn't take
long before he heard the typical sound of the CI5 pool's
car engine pulling away.
Walking up the
drive to the huge Victorian manor house that officially
was known as the CI5 recruitment and induction centre -
and unofficially was called the CI5 kindergarten - memories
of the first time he had come here came back. Then he'd
been straight out off MI6, or to be more precise, straight
out of a rehabilitation centre. If he was honest, he hadn't
had any other choice than to accept the challenge Malone
had offered him back then.
He could still
remember quite clearly the incidents which had ended with
his arrival in Bournemouth five years ago. It had all begun
as he and his colleague Richard returned to London from
the Kosovo.
Richard had been
the contact for a lot people, a charismatic person with
plenty of experience and a good source of information. Unfortunately
even Richard hadn't foreseen that during their mission in
Kosovo they both would end up in severe trouble. Sighing,
Curtis recalled the mission: the bruises, the scars and
the bitter aftertaste it had left behind. When he'd been
allowed to leave the hospital and return to MI6's headquarters,
Richard's desk had been cleared.
They had banned
Richard for something he hadn't done. To add to his feeling
of bitterness, they'd made his life hell on earth just because
he had spent time with the banned agent. He'd never heard
of Richard again. At first he'd wondered what had happened
to him, but then, for his own survival, he'd tried to forget
him. One near suicidal mission for MI6 later followed by
a long hospital stay and he had accepted Malone's offer
to work in CI5 hesitantly but with more than a little relief.
Richard, Curtis
remembered and shuddered inwardly. Last summer he suddenly
had received a parcel. Opening it, he had found a copy of
a book called The Big Breach and a note written by Richard.
After he had read it, curiously, Curtis was more convinced
then ever before that he'd made the right decision by joining
Harry's army as he sometimes mockingly called CI5. More
than once he had taken part in missions he had briefly regretted
afterwards. Nevertheless, as long as Harry Malone ruled
CI5, there was three things he was convinced would exist
within the organisation: justice, loyalty and fairness.
To him these were essential qualities; they were qualities
that were not on MI6's daily agenda. Trickiness and betrayal
were MI6's motto.
Now he was back
in Bournemouth where his CI5 career had started, but he
wasn't the same man anymore. Lost in his thoughts, he had
almost reached the main door, when he heard someone humming
the Yankee Doodle. Turning around he saw Keel was walking
towards him, wearing his favourite black jeans and a short
black coat. His sunglasses rested on his head and a bright
smile with full dimples lit up his face. Curtis was more
than tempted to comment, but he bit his tongue and simply
smiled back. But his smile faded as the door in front of
him suddenly opened and a man left the building. Remembering
their orders, Curtis guarded his expression and greeted
the man with a friendly smile, pushing past him with a polite,
"Excuse me." Although he didn't turn round, he felt Keel's
presence behind him and for the first time in a long time
it felt good and right.
*******
Four hours and
numerous signatures later, Keel walked along a corridor,
searching for his room. He had lost Curtis during their
odyssey through the paperwork and initial interrogations.
Scarily, he thought, he couldn't remember the first orientating
interrogations being that fierce when he had been here the
first time. All those private questions, all these shrinks,
he reflected, they were nerve-racking. He hoped Curtis had
taken them in his usual calm way, which considering his
partner's emotional ups and downs lately seemed unlikely.
Although they had spent the whole night talking over the
Exodus mission and Cat, he wasn't completely persuaded that
his Sam Curtis, the man who had been his partner for more
than two years, was back.
"Fourteen, fifteen...
"Keel read the door numbers out loud.
"Congratulations
on your mathematical skills," a female voice ironically
stated.
Keel's head span
round to see, who was talking and whether that someone was
talking to him or someone else. His eyes settled on a tall
woman standing in the doorway to one of the rooms. She was
dressed in worn out jeans and a pinstriped blouse. Her shoulder
long hair was copper-red and curly giving her a wild look.
Pointing at his
chest, he queried, "You mean me?"
"See someone
else round here?" she asked with a mock grin and a flicker
in her emerald green eyes.
"Nope, not really."
He approached her. "Hi, I'm Chris."
"Hi," she said.
"But you're on the wrong floor. This is ladies only up here."
Her smile brightened.
"Hm, sorry but
this is floor 3b, isn't it?" Chris took a piece of paper
out, looking at her, his dimples flashing.
"Right," she
said and took the paper from him. Reading it, a wrinkle
appeared on her forehead. Handing the paper back to Chris
she murmured something he couldn't understand.
"There's some
sort of problem?" he asked her politely.
Once again she
murmured something that to him sounded suspiciously like,
'stupid bastards'. Keel was still standing in front of her,
waiting for her reply as from the corner of his eye, he
saw Curtis coming down the corridor.
Curtis stopped
at the door next to the one she was standing in. Unlocking
and opening it, he said, "Hi."
"Hi," replied
Keel good-humouredly, turning to him to catch sight of his
partner. "I'm Chris."
Lowering his
bag to the ground, Curtis crossed the distance between them.
His expression unreadable, he said coolly, "Sam."
If he hadn't
known better, Chris would have thought he was back in Malone's
office on his first day at Ops. Heartless but polite, Curtis
the robot was back. Smiling because he knew it was nothing
more than a disguise, Keel asked, "You've also been given
a room on this floor?"
"Seems like it,"
Curtis answered, adding a partly curious, "Why?"
"Looks like this
is the ladies wing."
Suddenly the
redhead said angrily, "Forget it. There's no problem, okay?
See you later." With that she turned and slammed the door
shut behind her.
"What the hell
was that?" whispered Sam, raising his eyebrows and gesturing
at the closed door.
"Better ask who
the hell was that," Chris replied quietly. "I'm in seventeen,
in case you miss me, buddy," he added with a grin..
"You really have
a thing for red heads lately," Sam shot back with a shy
grin. "Remember, we're not supposed to hang around together.
You know the orders."
"Sod orders,"
Keel snapped. Flashing his dimples, he asked, "You coming
over to my room? Talk about how we're going to take this?"
"I'd like to
have a shower first - and maybe 10 minutes catching up on
my sleep," Sam said, disappearing into his room.
"'Kay," Keel
agreed and entered his room, thinking that a shower and
a catnap would be a brilliant idea. Glancing at his watch
he quickly calculated how long he'd been awake and how long
the interrogation and admin had taken; it was nearly five
in the afternoon and they had arrived at noon. Locking the
door behind him, he threw himself on the bed. It didn't
take long before he dozed off.
The ringing of
his mobile startled him. Sitting up, sighing, he flipped
it open; "Keel...oh Sam... yes sweet and interesting for
a change." Keel smiled, "What's up?" Glancing at his watch,
he said, "Oh ... shit! Yeah, nearly -," he chuckled. "As
per usual, Keel's always late. See you downstairs in ten
minutes... oh and Sam, thanks for the wake up call."
*********
It was ten past
seven as Sam left his room; they had to be downstairs in
the conference room by a quarter past. He had tried to sleep
but his mind had been too busy thinking. He knew why Malone
had sent them here, why they were forced to play along.
Chris had been right, when he'd stated that it was entirely
his fault. He had to demonstrate to Malone that Cat was
no longer an issue, that his time as a hostage during Exodus
no longer affected him.
He was determined
to do it. He had spent the previous two hours banning the
memories and anxiety, which he still felt deep inside, to
the furthest corner of his mind; the corner reserved for
all the things he wanted desperately to forget and couldn't.
He knew if one of the shrinks ever found out about it, they
would advise Malone to sack him. He was determined not to
let them find out, determined to reconstruct his mental
walls.
He was already
halfway towards the stairs, when he heard a door being shut
behind him. Turning round he saw Chris. He shot him a smile
and a warning look, before he turned round again and walked
on. Chris caught up with him and silently they walked down
the stairs next to each other. A few minutes later they
stopped in front of the door of the conference room.
"After you,"
Chris said quietly, grinning at Sam. "Don't want to ruin
my reputation by being in before you."
"Who am I to
destroy your big entry?" Shaking his head, Curtis opened
the door and walked in, his expression calm, his head held
high. He closed the door behind him.
The room in front
of him was packed with men and women. Most of them twenty-something's,
he guessed, suddenly feeling old at thirty-two years of
age. Silently, ignoring the curious looks of the others,
he was crossing the room, heading for a chair at the far
end, when a female voice shouted, "Hey, come over here."
Turning around,
he saw the red-haired woman gesturing at an empty chair
next to her. She was smiling brightly. Smiling back shyly
Sam walked in her direction and took the seat next to her.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure.
You're Sam, right?" she replied, smiling. "Have you seen
number 17?" she added, scanning the room.
"Who?" Sam raised
his eyebrows, irritably.
"Think his name
was Chris ... "
"Oh, nope, "
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "By the way, I don't think we've
been introduced."
Laughing she
replied, "I'm Robin."
"Nice to mee
..." The sound of a door being opened stopped Sam.
He turned round,
as did Robin and some of the others in the room. He didn't
know what they were expecting but he was sure that it would
be Chris. And he was right. Chris appeared wearing his innocence
personified role expression, the one he always plastered
on his face when he turned up at Ops late.
As Chris spotted
Sam sitting next to the woman with the red hair he flashed
his dimples in her direction. She was interesting and in
a peculiar way he found her attractive. Her ruffled looking
hair, the intense emerald eyes and her cute smile, somehow
they'd caught him. He would try a move at her, he decided
as she gestured at him to join her and Sam.
Sitting down,
he asked lightly, "Your mood improved or are you still upset
about me being your neighbour?"
"Improve..."
she started to say until a man's voice, from the back of
the room, cut her reply off.
"Ladies and Gentlemen.
Welcome to the CI5 induction course."
Chris and Sam
threw irritated glances at each other, as they turned their
attention to the speaker. They recognised the voice immediately:
Malone.
Chris was surprised
to see Malone at the podium. He couldn't remember their
boss being at his induction, at least not on the first evening.
Again he looked at Sam, behind the red head's back. Sam
seemed totally relaxed, but somehow he must have felt Chris
watching him, because he looked back. Chris saw Sam's eyebrows
raise almost imperceptibly, knowing that the Englishman
was trying to indicate to him that he too didn't have a
clue why Harry Malone was making the opening speech. Shrugging
his shoulders lightly and grinning, Keel faced Malone again
and listened to him.
"My name is Malone,
Harry Malone..." Chris had to bite back laughter. Malone
sounded exactly like Sean Connery saying the popular line
from his Bond movies. "... and I'm the commander in chief
of CI5. You all are here because CI5 approached you to offer
you the chance for an outstanding career. We know you are
among the best, outstanding talents brought together from
varied organisations and special branches. CI5 appreciates
your experience but only the best will be honoured with
a position in our organisation. The next weeks, ladies and
gentleman, will show us who really is good enough to work
with the best."
"Hear, hear,"
mumbled Keel smirking, as Malone shot him one of his stern
looks in reply.
Looking in the
direction of Curtis and Keel, observing them carefully,
Malone continued, "I wish you luck, ladies and gentlemen,
and I hope to see many of you again at the end of the first
phase."
Ten minutes later
the large group of aspirants were spilt into teams of four.
Leaving the conference room, Sam silently thanked God that
he and Chris were in the same team. After Malone's sudden
appearance and his speech he was certain that the week wouldn't
be the piece of cake he and Chris had thought it to be.
Malone hadn't said those exact words but Sam knew his boss
and he had learnt to interpret his words. His sixth sense
told him that Malone was planning something wicked and he
was sure it had been created exclusively to test him. Somehow
this thought scared him and almost instantly he felt his
shoulders stiffen. Knowing that he had to tell Chris about
his theories, he stopped in the doorway and waited for his
partner and Robin to catch up with him.
"Hey, as we're
in one team, I think I should know your name," he heard
Chris flirting with Robin as they came closer, walking next
to each other.
"My name is Robin,
most people call me Robbie," she replied, with a threat
in her eyes. Chris stared at her for a second before he
burst out in laughter. His laughter didn't go down well
and frowning, she increased her speed.
As she finally
reached Curtis, she said, "Sam would you mind accompanying
me to my room?"
"Me?" Sam smiled
shyly, playing the confused innocent.
"Yes you. Unlike
Chris here, you seem to be a gentleman." She locked her
emerald green eyes with Sam's and smiling indulgently, she
added, "You're English, aren't you?"
Before Sam could
answer, Chris broke in. "Hey come on, be fair Robbie. I
apologize, 'kay?"
Sighing theatrically,
she agreed and offered him her free arm, saying, "Are you
as curious as I am to meet the fourth member of our team?"
"If it's a she,
yep", retorted Chris.
"May I ask you
something, Robin?" asked Sam neutrally, for no other reason
than changing the topic.
"Fire away."
"Where did he
approach you? Malone I mean." Curtis asked.
Suddenly Robin
pulled herself together in front of them and straightening,
she replied monotonously: "Lt. Commander Robin Williams,
US Navy Intelligence."
Out of the blue
a smirking Chris started humming, "Let me entertain you..."
Instead of giving
in to the urge to add his share to their conversation, Curtis
buried his hands in the pockets of his dark grey Boss jacket,
seeing Robin ramming her elbow in Chris ribs.
"Ouch!" Chris
coughed, playfully.
The woman laughed.
It didn't take Sam and Chris long to join her. She was energetic
and obviously had a good sense of humour. Sam started to
like her and the light-hearted chit-chat they were having
made him feel much better. Eyeing her closely as they walked
up the stairs, he noticed the tiny, pale brown freckles
on the bridge of her nose. Freckles, he thought, she had
freckles like Cat had had. All of a sudden his previously
good mood was gone. Would he ever be able to forget her,
to forget that he had missed their second chance? Would
he ever stop feeling guilty? She had saved his life twice;
that was much more than he had ever been able to do for
her.
*******
It was late
as Malone drove back to London. He had seen Curtis and Keel
sitting in the audience and he knew what at least one of
his operatives had started thinking; he had seen it in Curtis'
eyes. The young Englishman had become suspicious. And if
he was honest, he had expected Curtis reaction. It showed
him that the young Englishmen hadn't lost his efficiency
and he was willing to take it as a good sign.
The ringing of
his mobile startled him. Frowning Malone accepted the call.
"Hello Harry."
A female voice echoed over the loudspeaker through the interior
of his car. "You're on the road, eh?"
"Yes. Why are
you calling? Where are you? Have you got any news?"
"Ho ho ho - lentement,"
the woman answered sarcastically. "Your famous rule no.
5!" she laughed. "Keep information flowing in at appropriate
intervals. I'm currently at the airport waiting for my flight
to Egypt. Still don't know in-depth details, but El Kadir
apparently has the hots for me."
"Be careful,
you hear me?" Malone said warningly.
"Of course. You
know me." Once again her laughter filled the car. "I'm going
to meet him in Taba. I might be unable to contact you for
some time and I wanted you to know." Suddenly she fell silent.
Malone was tempted
to ask her what was wrong, but as he made up his mind, she
continued. "Is your cavalry ready to jump in if necessary?"
Knowing what
she was really trying to express with her question, and
at the same time wondering why she hadn't asked him before,
he lied. "Ready as always."
There was a slight
pause before she answered again. "Fine. 'Kay, I've got to
go. Contact you again as soon as I know more."
*******
The roaring sound
of a helicopter broke the heavenly silence of the early
morning in the Sinai desert near Taba. David, an unshaved,
lean man in his earlier thirties, opened his tent and went
out. Swirled up sand was thrown at his face as he watched
the helicopter land near to their camp. Covering his mouth
with a piece of cloth and narrowing his eyes he approached
the helicopter, he was curious to see who the last member
of his team, whom his boss had announced two days earlier,
was. All he knew was that he was waiting for a hit man called
Mackenzie.
As the door of
the helicopter was opened a small figure, wearing full combat
gear and a base cap hopped out, leaning back in to retrieve
a black nylon rucksack. The figure turned round to the pilot
gesturing him to leave, before walking in his direction.
David watched the figure coming closer, thinking that this
could only be one of El Kadir's perverted jokes, as he realised
that the figure was a woman. Stopping in from of him, throwing
her rucksack to the ground, the woman straightened. A pair
of stylish dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but to David it
seemed as if she was judging him, eyeing him from head to
toe.
"Are you David
Farraq?" she asked icily after a while.
"Yes and you
are?"
"The one you're
waiting for," she answered, taking off her glasses and offering
him an indulgent smile. "Just call me Mac."
Immediately David
was caught by her sensational eyes, which were neither completely
blue nor grey. He had never seen eyes like hers before in
his life.
"Mac?" he queried.
"Cameron Mackenzie
- don't dare to comment," she added, her smile fading and
her eyes narrowing as she shot him an icy look. Picking
up, her rucksack, she said in a more factual tone, "Show
me my tent."
"First you show
me that you are who you say," David ordered.
"A demonstration?"
She raised her eyebrows, adding ironically, "Brilliant.
What do you want me to do? Shoot a bug from the tail of
a camel at 200 yards?"
"Follow me,"
David commanded, ignoring her ironical tone.
Shrugging her
shoulders, she followed listlessly in his trail. After a
while David turned round.
"See the top
of the fence over there? There's a piece of wire hanging
loose on it. Shoot it."
Narrowing her
eyes, she saw the tiny wire against the rising sun. The
sunlight blinded her; blinking, she put her sunglasses back
on. A rotten piece of wire, she thought, judging the distance.
Deciding that it wasn't an easy shot and holding her breath,
she took her steel plated Walther out. Raise, aim, shoot,
don't think, a tiny little voice in her brain started to
whistle. Praying mutely she raised the gun, aimed and fired;
one precise shot that cut the wire and sent it flying. Inaudibly
exhaling, she secured the gun and shoved it to her holster.
Turning to David,
she said; "Satisfied now?"
"Not satisfied,
but mildly impressed," he frowned. "Follow me."
"Where's El Kadir?"
the woman queried in a bored voice, following the young
man in front of her to the tents.
"He's not here.
But he'll be here tomorrow to discuss the details."
"Hmmm," she grumbled.
"Is this a problem
for you?" Farraq asked, opening a tent in front of her.
Entering the
tent, throwing her rucksack onto the camp bed, she retorted,
"Oh not at all... I love heat and sand and getting bitten
by insects at night. I wouldn't even think about spending
the night at my cosy, air conditioned hotel room at Taba."
"Make yourself
at home and when you're ready, come to the third tent to
the left and I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."
"Team?" she inquired,
raising her eyebrows. Then her eyes narrowed and with an
expression made of granite she stated frostily, "I don't
work in teams."
"This time you
will," answered David Farraq angrily. He was getting extremely
frustrated. What did El Kadir plan to do with her? Was she
just another trophy or was she really here with them to
do a job like he and his men were? He wasn't sure whether
he liked her or not. She was beautiful, her eyes were a
fascinating colour and her body was slim and well toned.
He could understand if El Kadir had a crush on her. But
she was a woman and killing was a man's job. He would teach
her to work in a team, he thought, as he left her and entered
the tent where two other men were sitting around a table.
An hour later
he heard the typical sound of a chopper near by. Getting
up and walking over to the entrance of the tent, where he
and two of the other men were waiting for Cameron Mackenzie
to show up, he was stopped as she appeared, blocking his
exit from the tent. She was holding her rucksack in one
of her hands. Head held high, she stopped in front of him
and faced him.
"Tell El Kadir,
that these are not the kind of games I play and tell him
that if he has details to discuss, he can find me at the
Taba Resort Hotel, room 234." Turning on her heels, she
nodded to the other two men at the table. "Gentlemen." Than
she walked off, leaving Farraq behind, open -mouthed and
perplexed.
She had spend
the last hour going through her options and the only possible
way to ensure that El Kadir wouldn't lose interest in her
was if she played it cool. Moreover she hated the thought
of letting too many people recognise her face. The more
she proved that she was independent, dominant and icy, the
less he would try to control her. Most certainly, she assumed,
El Kadir would want her - as a woman. But she wasn't willing
to be seduced in front of his goons. Especially not in front
of David Farraq. She didn't like him; she didn't trust him
or El Kadir.
*********
Lying by the
pool, flipping through a high gloss fashion magazine, Cameron
Mackenzie lost herself in her thoughts. Two days, she had
wasted two days waiting for El Kadir to show up at the luxurious
resort hotel in Taba which she had chosen as her residence.
Two days with nothing more to do than swimming, extended
work outs in the hotel's gym, massages and cleaning her
gun or having a couple of drinks and a flirt at the bar
at night. As the days passed she was gradually getting more
impatient and extremely tired of playing the snobbish European
tourist.
She wondered
whether she had ruined it. No, she decided, El Kadir would
come. He had paid the deposit; had paid for her - at least
she assumed that was how he saw it. Maybe, she thought,
she'd call Malone. No, it was too risky to contact him now.
She had the distinct feeling that her room was bugged and
she had noticed that some of the waiters were observing
her. She had to be careful and patient.
When she had
nothing else to do, nothing to concentrate on, her mind
wandered back to her last call with Harry Malone and the
question she had asked him. Although she had sworn herself
not to ask him, not even to toy with the idea of asking
him, the question had been voiced before she realised it.
She needed to know if they were fine and prepared, prepared
for whatever would happen if they met again. She was willing
to do everything to avoid a meeting, even if that meant
that she had to risk her life. Absent-mindedly the fingertips
of her right hand brushed over the pale rosé scar
on her left upper arm as her mind wandered back six months.
While she was
still thinking about the never-ending misery that she called
her life, a bellboy approached her. Stopping by her chair,
he said, "Miss Mackenzie, I've got a message for you."
Taking the envelope
from the silver plateau, she thanked him. Sitting up, she
opened the envelope and read the message. Her heart felt
like screaming out in joy and victory, but she kept her
expression guarded. She got up and wrapping her pareo around
her hips shoved the message into her magazine and left the
poolside. She had three hours to prepare for the meeting
with El Kadir and she knew she had to look the best she
possibly could.
*****
Lying on his
back, Curtis stared sightlessly at the wooden ceiling, his
mind on remote control as he recalled the last days. He
was exhausted. Physical exhaustion was something he could
handle, but what really terrified him was that he had been
on the verge of a nervous breakdown two hours ago. Now back
in his room, the door locked firmly, he tried to ignore
his aching body and the confusion that was overwhelming
his mind. Each muscle hurt and his ribs were bruised from
blows he had taken during the last training fight with Robin
Williams. Robin Williams, he sighed, was amazing, almost
as amazing as Cat had been. Standing in front of her in
the gym, her freckles had once more reminded him of Cat.
He had been so distracted that he hadn't foreseen her next
move. She had landed a hit on his already bruised ribs,
knocking all the wind out of him and knocking him to the
floor.
Until then, the
first two days of the course hadn't been too bad. The first
thing they had tried on him was the nice cop, bad cop game.
Then they had tried to loosen his tongue with Natriumpenthatol
but they weren't successful. He had learned his lessons
during all the years in the field. Life itself had taught
him how he could avoid spilling out secrets.
Today had been
different however. After another restless night, they had
brought him to a windowless room, handcuffed him to a chair
and left him alone. After some minutes the light was turned
off, leaving him in complete darkness. It had taken all
his strength to cope with the darkness and all his acting
skills to make sure they didn't notice his shakiness. As
soon as he was free to leave the room, he had rushed out
of the building. He needed fresh air, needed some time to
calm down and reconstruct his barriers. Pretending to be
calm and untouchable, he had gone to his last interrogation.
Once again they left him handcuffed in a darkened room.
He'd closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the image
of a beautiful and peaceful summer day somewhere in the
countryside, but it didn't help. The emotional pressure
was rising exponentially deep inside him. In the end he
had found himself pleading silently for Chris to be by his
side, as his tormentors played out their last card: loudspeakers.
Dragging himself
back to the present he rolled on his side. Taking a deep
breath and pulling his knees up, he closed his eyes. He
knew he had to pass Malone's test. He simply had too. If
not for him, he thought, he had to pass it for Chris. He
owed the American.
******
Chris stood
in front of Sam's door; scanning the corridor before he
finally knocked on it. It took a while before he heard someone
moving behind the door and footsteps coming closer. Come
on Sam, he thought nervously, open the door. As the door
was opened reluctantly, he pushed his partner aside and
entered the room, closing the door behind his back.
"Hey!" said Sam
eyes wide open. "What's wrong?"
Chris watched
Sam closely noticing right away that his partner looked
tired. He had to admit that he felt tired as well. They'd
both had a hard and extremely long day, which had started
at five thirty in the morning with a fifteen mile run. After
the run, they'd had forty-five minutes for a shower and
breakfast, then there had followed endless hours of the
so called 'interrogation techniques and practise' - a nail-biting
game of cat and mouse, with the best interrogators he had
ever experienced. Before and after the ten minutes they
laughingly called lunch break, their timetable dictated
physical workouts, followed by intense sessions with the
CI5 psychologists and then more interrogations. If someone
used the words interrogation or psychologist again near
him within the next days or weeks, he swore he would kill
them in cold blood.
Sometime after
lunch he had lost sight of Sam. He had talked to Robin after
his appointment with the psychologist and she had told him
that she had seen the Englishman leaving the building hurriedly.
Chris had wanted to go searching for him right after she
had told him, but as he had tried to sneak out, he had ran
into one of the interrogation officers. How he'd survived
the interrogation session that had followed with a stony
and icy attitude, which Sam would have been proud of he
had no idea. Now he was standing in front of his partner
and he didn't know what to say.
"Chris? Are you
okay, mate?" Sam asked sounding a little concerned.
"Me? Eh, yeah.
Tired but okay," Chris sighed and slumped down on his partner's
bed. "What about you?"
Walking over
to the window, staring outside, Sam replied ironically,
"Brilliant. Never felt any better."
"Uh uh," grumbled
Chris. "Wanna talk?"
"No." Although
Sam was still pointing his back at him, to Chris it was
more than obvious that Sam had his guard up again. His instinct
was telling him that his partner desperately needed a change
of location to be able to stand the mental pressure they
were going through and suddenly inspired he said, "How about
a trip to the local pub?"
Sam turned round,
a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth, but
exhaustion was clearly written in his eyes. "You want me
to climb over the walls and walk two miles for a lager?"
Curtis sneaked
a sideways glance at the young American. He knew that Chris
was concerned and that he was suggesting their 'little escape'
because he cared for him. Suddenly realising that Chris
would always be there when he felt down - just like he would
always be there for Chris - he felt a little relieved. Even
if he didn't trust himself, Chris obviously trusted him.
Jumping up from
the bed Chris grinned, starting to sing, "I'm walking, yes
indeed I'm walking ..."
Opening the door,
Sam grimaced "Do me a favour, mate, stop singing. You're
hurting my ears."
******
Checking her
appearance in the wardrobe mirror one last time Cameron
Mackenzie shook her head. "Dressed to kill, Mac?"
Correcting the
position of her breasts in her burgundy coloured corsage
until she was satisfied with her décolleté,
she slung an organza scarf around her shoulders and grimaced
at her picture in the mirror. Laughing bitterly, she added
an afterthought. "Some day you will wake up and no longer
know who the woman in the mirror is."
Taking a deep
breath, she opened the door and left her room. Five minutes
later she stepped out of the lift. Crossing the lobby towards
the reception, she scanned the place for El Kadir or one
of his goons. As she reached the reception desk and handed
her key to the clerk, she suddenly saw him. El Kadir was
approaching her from the opposite end of the lobby, a bright
smile on his face. Two men were following a short distance
behind him. Bodyguards, she thought, too much muscle and
presumably no brains - always the same. Lolling against
the reception desk she waited, her face expressionless,
her body relaxed.
"Miss Mackenzie,
you look wonderful as always," El Kadir greeted her with
a smug grin on his face.
She knew El Kadir
would start the evening with a compliment, so she smiled
gratefully. "Thank you very much Mr. El Kadir. You're too
kind."
"I'm just saying
aloud what every man in this room is thinking," he replied
still grinning, as he offered her his arm.
Batting her eyes
and wetting her lips casually before she granted him her
most indulgent smile, she accepted his offer and took his
arm.
"I've reserved
us a table for a private dinner," he said as they crossed
the lobby.
"Private?" she
inquired still smiling. "You mean intimate," she corrected,
her voice suddenly becoming a purr.
"You and me..."
El Kadir said, obviously not affected.
"You and me and
your bodyguards." The purr turned into frustration.
El Kadir's head
span round and he peered at her. She locked her blue-grey
eyes firmly with his. She read high expectations in his
eyes and as he answered her, she knew she had read him right.
"You don't want them to accompany us?"
"It's not exactly
what I call intimate, when we've got two pairs of eyes watching
us," she purred again. "And don't you think I can protect
us sufficiently?"
"Oh, I'm very
certain you can," he answered, his voice clear evidence
to his rising testosterone level.
She knew she
had to slow down. Don't push too hard, she warned herself.
You only want to lull him into a sense of false security,
want him to believe that he'll get what he wants.
As she smiled
brightly, her eyes sparkling, El Kadir gestured at his bodyguards
to wait outside, before they entered the empty restaurant.
The lights were dimmed and only one of the tables was set.
Silver plates, candles, crystal, he really wanted to seduce
her, she realised. She had known he would try, but apparently
he was much more organised than she had thought.
"I noticed you're
an aficionado of the finer things. I hope my choice of food
and wine will satisfy you," El Kadir stated as he offered
her a seat. "A glass of Pol Roger to start with?"
"Why not," she
answered and accepted the glass he was offering, "It seems
you went to much trouble organising this special evening."
She waited until he had sat down opposite her before she
lifted her glass to her lips, whispering, "A votre santé."
El Kadir smiled.
"Tell me Miss Mackenzie - Mac - what was it that made such
a lovely woman chose such a dreadful profession."
"To cut a long
story short: life." She laughed. "You don't chose a profession
like mine. It's something that chooses you. It's completely
out of your control, at least if you grow up how and where
I did."
"Really?"
She had the distinct
impression that El Kadir was testing her. She assumed he
would have gathered information about her and she was sure
she had left an incontrovertible trail of rumours and information
with the right people. Her curriculum vitae had no weak
links and she was sure no one would find out that it was
faked. She had taken care of it personally. It was one of
the many things that the two most important men in her life
had taught her. All she had to do now was let him believe
that his information was true.
"I wasn't born
with a silver spoon in my mouth, Mr El Kadir, if this is
what you want to know and life on the streets is tough."
El Kadir bent
forward and resting his elbows on the tabletop, he listened
to her as she, apparently oblivious to his curiosity, trailed
off. "There have been times in my life, when my body was
my only asset. Men paid me and I was theirs. Then one day
- guess I was sixteen or seventeen - I stabbed one of them,
because I couldn't stand it anymore." Taking another sip
at her champagne she suddenly started laughing. "You really
believed my words, right?"
"You're not telling
me the truth?" El Kadir's face was one of bewilderment.
He really had believed in her tale. Her trick had worked;
her whole expression and the sadness in her eyes had seemed
so genuine to him.
"All you get
for your money is a perfect hit," she answered factually,
her tone almost businesslike. "I have never sold and I will
never sell my body and soul. I only donate it."
"But you stabbed
the man?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Him and many
after him." Her expression froze for a second, as she again
locked her eyes with El Kadir's.
The Arab held
her gaze, even though he felt a shiver running through him,
which lured him to look away. The woman's eyes were fascinating,
but also somehow frightening. He couldn't put his finger
on why, but something about Cameron Mackenzie scared him.
When he first saw her at the restaurant in Montreux, before
he knew who she was, he had found her breathtaking. Her
looks, the way she walked, head held high and proud but
at the same time her hips swinging softly as if on a catwalk;
she had been eye-catching and gracious like a panther. Later
on at her table, she had been gentle at first only to demonstrate
to him her unpredictability some minutes later. Now she
was doing exactly the same again, telling him a sad story
of a miserable life only to foul him again seconds later.
"Let's talk business,
Mr. El Kadir. I never mix business and pleasure - so the
sooner we are through with the business the more we can
enjoy the night." Smiling promisingly, she leant forward,
the thought that she had just offered her body to him, making
her shudder inwardly. Expressing it even more clearly she
added, "I might be in the right mood for a donation tonight."
Cameron Mackenzie
felt her stomach heaving by the thought of what she was
intending to do; El Kadir was an appalling weasel. Telling
herself that she had done it many times before in her career
and sometimes for a less relevant reason, she persuaded
herself to stay calm and endure it, albeit she still hoped
there would be a way to avoid it.
"Fine," he agreed,
taking an envelope out of his chest pocket.
Taking she envelope,
opening it and pulling out some photos, she raised her eyebrows
slightly. She recognised the man in the photos right away.
Struggling for outer calmness, she buried her shock in the
furthest corner of her soul. Without a word, she stashed
the photos back into the envelope, feeling El Kadir giving
her the once over.
"Where and when?"
she queried neutrally, laying the envelope down on the tabletop
next to her plate.
"Your choice,"
he answered still glaring at her.
"My choice?"
she frowned. "What about your team?"
Smirking, El
Kadir countered her question. "David has told me you don't
want to work in a team and I'm convinced you are right.
I have gathered information about you, as you might have
guessed, and your records say you are best on your own."
El Kadir's words
didn't convince her. Her six sense telling her that he was
lying, she played along. Suddenly realising that there was
just one chance for her to make sure that he, whatever might
happen later, would at least for now trust her - as long
as he got what he wanted in bed - plastered a self-satisfied
smile on her face.
El Kadir watched
the woman opposite him closely. She was damn irritating,
he thought. One moment, she told him that she never mixed
business and pleasure and in the next moment she was dipping
her finger into the champagne and licking it before trailing
her finger from her lips via her neck to her breasts. Her
eyes were burning, her whole posture an invitation to him.
As she watched her hands ghosted over her décolleté,
circulating over her breast. She had breasts like he had
seldom seen on a woman of her age before, he thought admiringly.
Her lips were full and soft, seemingly made for caressing.
Her grey-blue eyes pierced through him, their colour intermingled
to an oceanic colour and sparkling with lust and need. The
longer he watched her the more he felt his body responding,
his own desire rising. He wanted to claim this remarkable
woman, this elegant, slim body opposite him his own and
he knew it was make or break time. Before he could phrase
his desire, ha saw her getting up and walking around the
table.
An indulgent
smile on her lips, her hand brushing along his cheekbone
she purred, "You're ready for a donation, Muhamed?"
********
Four days had
passed without a note and then she had called, telling Malone
that they had to meet. She wanted him to come to the Tower
at three o'clock. Now he was impatiently pacing around the
inner yard. Every now and than he checked his watch. It
was five past three and still there was no sign of her.
A group of tourists crossed the yard and suddenly he was
caught in between them.
"Harry. Don't
turn round," a female voice addressed him from behind as
he made to get out of the way. "Walk with the group. I've
got a shadow."
Feeling the physical
presence of the woman behind him, Malone mutely he mixed
with the tourists and followed them.
"Who's following
you?" he quietly asked.
"A man, about
5'7'', black hair, oriental, in his thirties, black jeans
and leather jacket," the woman explained. "I know the name
of the target and I know when and where."
The head of CI5
stopped abruptly. Had she really just said that she already
had the information she was after? As he stood there, Malone
felt someone accidentally bumping into him, just a minute
before he heard a woman saying in a plain Parisian accent,
"Excusez moi, je suis desolée."
Turning round
he discovered there was nobody behind him. Leaving the group
he went back to his car, got in and left London, heading
towards Bournemouth, thinking that it was time to bring
his team back to the real world. Halfway there it had started
raining. As the rain became heavier, Malone slowed down.
He was still wondering why she had wanted to meet him at
the Tower. All she had told him was that someone was apparently
observing her moves. He had thought she would give him a
name, provide him with a bit more than the obligatory "I
know whom they want me to kill". The sudden ringing of his
mobile shook him from his thoughts. Tipping on his earpiece,
he said, "Malone."
"It's me. Sorry
for the trouble I caused you at the Tower. Where are you
going?" he heard the woman's familiar voice saying. Stunningly,
she didn't use her French accent to start she conversation.
His sixth sense telling him that something was wrong, he
answered her truthfully. "On the way to Bournemouth. Where
are you?"
"Also heading
south. About two or three cars behind you." He heard the
woman laughing, "Have a look in your rear view mirror. The
silver BMW, see me? You really should be more cautious,
Harry. This is the second time within six months that I've
followed you, without you noticing."
"What about your
shadow?" he asked to keep the conversation flowing.
"Took good care
of him." Her formerly light-hearted laughter turned bitter.
"I need to talk to you - face to face."
"Hmm," he answered
doubtfully, frowning.
Her laughter
and bitterness disappeared as she curiously inquired, "You
said you're going to Bournemouth? Why?"
"Recruiting and
induction," he replied, "and I need to pick up the cavalry."
The line went
silent for a couple of minutes. Malone wished he could see
her face, see how she had taken his last words. He was about
to ask her if she was still with him, when she beat him
to it. "Are they down there? Both of them?"
"Yes." He heard
her mumbling something he couldn't understand in reply.
"Meet me at the
yachting harbour tonight," she commanded crisply.
As he glanced
in the rear view mirror to see if there really was a silver
BMW following him, he heard her adding, "Go there before
you alarm the cavalry. I need to talk to you first." Then
the line went dead.
Malone felt a
wrinkle appear between his eyebrows. He didn't like not
knowing what was going on, not being in charge of things
and most of all, receiving orders from civilians. She wasn't
a civilian, he corrected, she was more or less a freelancer.
He knew she was good at her job and if she dared to give
him orders, she sure as hell had good reasons. Thinking
about the woman he felt the frown deepening. In moments
like this he wished there was a way to get her back into
his organisation, but it was impossible at least as long
as Curtis and Keel were still working for him. Sneaking
a look out of the window, he saw a silver BMW changing lanes
in breakneck manoeuvres, attempting to overtake him.
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