Code Red Lipstick (12 page)

She stared at him. It was a plausible enough explanation, but she didn't believe a word he said. Not now she'd seen his secret stash of photos and knew how little her family meant to him.

“What about Dad? Where does he fit into all this?” Her fingers made tight fists. She felt like screaming or hitting him. Or both.

“Apparently that's where you come in. We've tried to get an undercover MI6 agent embedded inside AKSC but the mission's failed and we don't have time to build up new contacts again.”

He cracked his knuckles one after another, setting her teeth on edge. Couldn't he give his medieval torture methods a rest?

“This goes against all my better judgements, but Mrs T has been persuaded that you're our best shot at getting into AKSC. She thinks there's a good chance you could be invited back by Allegra after tomorrow's shoot.”

“So now you
do
want me to investigate?” She crossed her arms. “After everything you've said; your threats to send me home?”

Nathan instantly jumped down her throat. “Mrs T wants you to do this. Margaret too. I'd send you back home right now if it were left to me. Unfortunately, it's not my call.”

Was that what he meant when he said he wanted to get rid of her right now? Or was he referring to something more sinister?

“What does Mrs T want me to do?”

“Just what your father's taught you – be alert and notice your surroundings. Don't do anything that puts you at risk but report back anything that looks out of the ordinary. How does that sound?”

He looked even more annoyed when she didn't reply. “I thought you'd be pleased. What is it with you teenagers? You said you wanted to help, or have you changed your mind? Do you have something better to do?”

“Not at all,” she said hastily.

Nathan's eyes burned into her face. “Nerves are good,” he said finally, misinterpreting her hesitation. “They mean you're not going to do something rash. This should help too.” He handed her a large silver make-up bag. “I can't let you go in there unequipped. This was prepared in advance for our undercover agent. Mrs T agreed you should have it now.”

“What's inside? Do I get a gun?”

“Of course not.” He looked horrified as she emptied the bag on to the table. Lipsticks and powders spilled out.

“Oh great. More make-up. Like I don't have enough of this stuff already,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“This is make-up with a difference. It comes from MI6's gadget department.”

Her eyes lit up. This was more like it. Now she could protect herself. Possibly even from him.

“I thought this would get your attention for once,” he said drily.

“What does this do?” She picked up a silver powder compact. It had a large blue stone set in the middle. He whipped it off her.

“Watch and learn. I don't have time to run through it all twice.”

He pressed the stone and lifted the lid, aiming it at the wall.

“Wow!” Jessica squinted over his shoulder. She could see straight into the room next door through the compact lid. A man lay on the bed, watching TV and holding a glass. He got up and walked into the bathroom.

“Awesome!”

“The lid has X-ray vision,” Nathan explained. “Play around with it, but don't mess with the powder unless you really need it. If you blow it into someone's eyes they'll be temporarily blinded.”

He placed it back in the bag before she had chance to try that function out. Maybe he sensed she was sorely tempted to use it on him.

“The blue stone is also removable and contains a mini electromagnetic pulse which disables any electrical device within two metres,” Nathan continued. “Make sure you keep it away from your mobile and laptop.”

“And this?” She picked up a can of hairspray.

“Careful!” He snatched it off her. “It's a flame-thrower and has a range of three metres.”

If only he'd hand it over. He stood right in front of her. She couldn't possibly miss.

“Try this on.” He clamped a chunky silver bracelet around her wrist.

Wow. She might actually get to use something.

“Does it detonate in twenty seconds?” She was only half-joking. He could actually be trying to kill her.

“This turns you into Spider-Woman,” Nathan said coldly. “You pull the catch here and take aim. It shoots out a tensile wire which attaches to any surface and acts as a safety harness. The compound of carbon nanotubes makes it ten times stronger than steel even though it has the thickness of a piece of thread. It'll carry the weight of at least ten men.”

He swiftly undid the bracelet and then ran through the rest of the gadgets. It was mind-blowing stuff. The eyeshadow palette was also a mini computer, which he'd programmed to send emails to a protected MI6 account. A huge emerald ring hid a laser, a lipstick doubled as a torch and a tracking device and a bottle of perfume sprayed a foam solution that expanded and solidified within sixty seconds. It made it useful for copying keys in locks or taking out CCTV cameras. The best part was that after an hour or two the foam melted, leaving no trace that it had ever been there.

She secretly liked the diamond stud the best. She'd got her belly button pierced one Saturday afternoon with Becky but hadn't dared tell her dad or Mattie yet. She knew they'd hit the roof. She turned around and put the stud in straight away before Nathan could take that off her too.

“Hold the stem and turn the stud clockwise until it clicks,” Nathan said. “Rubbing the diamond on any surface releases particles which can cut through glass and even steel. We use similar devices in hostage situations.”

She pulled her top down and faced him, hands on hips. “I thought you said you didn't want me to do anything risky? It seems like you're equipping me for a mini-war with this arsenal. What's inside AKSC? Is there something you're not telling me?”

His face reddened. “As I said, these gadgets were put together for one of our agents, just to be on the safe side.”

“Well, I don't feel particularly safe when you haven't let me try a single one out,” Jessica said. “What if I can't remember how they work once I'm inside AKSC?”

“You will. You're bright. But don't worry. You'll probably never need any of these gadgets. I'd just prefer you to have them for my own peace of mind.”

She rammed the emerald ring on to her index finger. He sounded like he was genuinely concerned for her safety, but who was he kidding? As if he cared about her. She was expendable, just like Mum and Dad.

“Thanks,” she said stiffly, “but I need to shoot off. I've got to get ready for the shows.”

“OK, but let's speak again tomorrow after the shoot. Good luck, Jessica, and be careful.”

Yeah, right. Like he meant it. What a hypocrite.

“Why does Nathan have a photo of my family in his wallet?”

She'd rung Margaret as soon as she'd left The Ritz and this time she'd picked up after a couple of rings. Jessica stared out of the taxi window, en route to the Musée Rodin for the Alexander McQueen show, waiting for her to reply. She'd been pretty upfront at dinner and she needed someone to be straight with her now.

“Margaret?”

“You're certain?” Margaret was playing for time. She could hear it in her voice.

“I was snooping in his room and found it. I heard him talking on the phone too. He said Mum and Dad were expendable. Me too. Why was he talking about Mum? What does she have to do with this?”

The phone remained silent.

“Are you still there, Margaret?”

“This is difficult.”

“Tell me. I'm not a kid any more.” It was seriously annoying the way people treated her like a grown-up one minute and a little girl the next. “I can deal with things, you know, like going into AKSC undercover.”

“I realize that, Jessica. How much do you know about your mum?”

Good question. Truthfully, hardly anything. Shutters always came down whenever she asked Mattie or Dad about her.

“Just that she used to be a model. Quite a successful one. She died in a helicopter crash on the way to a shoot in Naples.”

Margaret hesitated. “This really shouldn't be coming from me. There must be someone else you can talk to about this. Someone you're close to.”

“There isn't.” She couldn't possibly ring Mattie without giving the game away about Dad. She'd never get a straight answer out of her anyway. She never did. “Please, Margaret.”

Margaret exhaled heavily. “This is going to come as a shock to you, Jessica.” She paused. “Your mum was an MI6 agent too.”

Jessica leant forward, gripping her phone tightly. “That's not possible. Dad would have told me. She was a model. I've seen the pictures.”

“She was a model and a spy. A very good one too.”

“If that's true, why didn't Dad tell me? Or Mattie?”

“They were probably trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what, exactly?” Jessica lowered her voice but the driver's music was so loud he couldn't hear anything anyway. None of this made any sense.

“The helicopter crash happened while she was working for MI6. She was on assignment with Nathan.”

“What?” Jessica slumped back in her seat. “She worked with
him
?”

“Sometimes. We all worked together back then – your dad, Nathan and me. Your mum was in a different division but we collaborated on certain projects. We were a tight team.”

Jessica was speechless. Why had Dad and Mattie kept this from her? What was the big deal? She knew about her dad's espionage past. Didn't they trust her with Mum's secret?

“So I guess that's when Dad made Nathan his Code Red contact, right?” Jessica said.

“He was a natural choice. They were partners and friends. They always had each other's backs.” Margaret stopped herself.

“Go on.”

She sighed. “Your father and Nathan had a big falling out after your mother's death. Shortly afterwards, your father became ill and went off on extended sick leave. He never returned to MI6.”

“What did they fall out about?” Jessica demanded.

“The crash. Nathan was supposed to be on the flight with your mother but he was running late that day and missed it.”

“And Dad blamed him? Was it his fault?”

“That's all I'm allowed to say, Jessica. The rest is above my clearance level. All I know is that when Nathan recently warned your father against coming to Paris, he admitted it was the first time they'd spoken in years.”

Jessica took a sharp intake of breath. Code Red must have been a terrible, terrible mistake. Her dad hadn't changed his contact point from back then. He probably never thought he'd need it once he left the service. He couldn't have wanted her to turn to someone he'd fallen out with. Nathan had no loyalty to him either. He believed he was expendable, that her mum was expendable. Her too. She couldn't get the photo in his wallet out of her head.

“You said at dinner that the person who set up my dad could have been someone he's crossed in the past,” Jessica said quietly.

Margaret paused. “Yes, I still believe that. This seems very personal.”

That's because it was personal. Nathan had conveniently accepted all the fake evidence that had been planted on Dad. He'd tried to keep her out of AKSC until he was overruled. Why? Because her dad was there and he didn't want her to find him. It would ruin his deal with Vectra.

“Could Nathan be Starfish?” she blurted out. “He could have planted all the evidence against Dad and attacked me that day. I know he was following me. He's got photos of me taken with a long-lens camera in his briefcase.”

Margaret fell silent again.

“All I can say is this,” she said finally. “You need to be extra vigilant. Starfish has killed once already. He could strike again if he thinks you're about to blow his cover.”

 

Camille's mouth was moving rapidly and her arms were waving about but Jessica had no idea what she was saying. She felt totally numb as an assistant laced her into an emerald lace gown an hour later. Her mum was a former MI6 agent who'd lost her life while on the job – a fact both her dad and Mattie had tried to cover up. Her dad held Nathan responsible in some way. Now it was highly likely that his former friend and colleague had turned double agent and set him up.

“I said I'm sorry about November,” Camille repeated.

“What?”

Her chaperone was still jabbering away. She nodded at an Amazonian redhead who was being helped into the Alexander McQueen gothic princess gown Jessica had been fitted for that morning. A stylist laced up the boned corset as November held her breath.

“McQueen's team decided at the last minute to go with November because she's got more experience of opening shows,” Camille said. “It's outrageous. I've been arguing with them for the last half hour but I can't get them to change their minds. I'm going to have another go at them right now.”

“Don't bother,” Jessica said. “I don't care.”

“Sure you don't,” Sara said, as a make-up artist touched up her crimson lips nearby. “Remember, what goes around comes around.”

“Oh do shut up!” Jessica snapped.

“Now girls, play nice,” Camille said. “I have to stop this before it's too late and—”

“AAAARGGGH!”

A scream rang out. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” November shrieked. She tore frantically at the dress, ripping the blue silk.

“Stop it!” a seamstress ordered. “You're ruining it!”

“Help me! Someone help!”

November let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed. Her body jolted and twitched on the floor as frothy saliva bubbled out of her scarlet lips. Seamstresses and stylists stood by helplessly, watching her fit.

Jessica lunged forward and grabbed a pair of scissors from a table. She hacked into the corset, cutting it open.

“Ohmigod.”

November's torso was covered in large purplish welts. She looked like she'd fallen victim to the bubonic plague. Jessica ripped the corset off her body and felt her wrist for a pulse. There wasn't one.

“Someone call for an ambulance!” She pumped November's chest with the palms of her hands. She paused for a few seconds and blew into her mouth, watching her chest rise up and down. Then she used her palms again. It felt like an age before she was pushed aside by paramedics. They hooked her up to a monitor and used paddles to shock her heart back to life.

“What's happened to her?” Jessica asked in French. “What's caused these swellings?”

“It looks like she's had a severe allergic reaction to something that stopped her heart,” one of the paramedics replied. “Has she drunk anything in the last few minutes? It's possible she's ingested a poison of some kind.”

“I've no idea, sorry.”

Jessica sat back on her heels and stared at the dress she'd hacked to pieces. Using a pair of scissors, she carefully pulled back the corset. A fine white powder clung to the seams. November hadn't drunk something toxic. The dress had been poisoned.

It wasn't meant for November. Someone was trying to kill Jessica.

She glanced up and noticed Sara staring at her. She'd wanted to exact revenge on her for landing the AKSC job, but this was way beyond her. This was the work of a professional. Margaret had warned her Starfish could come after her. He knew she was getting close. Nathan had to be working with someone who had access to all areas and could get to the dresses without alerting suspicion. She looked about the room. Camille was slumped on the floor in floods of tears. A paramedic placed a blanket around her shoulders.

He didn't realize they were just crocodile tears.

 

Backstage was sombre as the models got changed back into their “civvie” gear. The show had been cancelled and gendarmes were taking down details of all the models booked to appear. They hadn't figured out yet that the dress was meant for Jessica. She wasn't going to draw attention to herself by telling them.

“I need some powder,” a brunette model said. “You don't mind if I borrow yours, do you? I can't find mine.” She delved into Jessica's silver make-up bag on the counter without waiting for a reply.

“No! Don't do that.” Jessica snatched the compact back. A gendarme looked at her curiously and turned away.

“Sorry! It's only powder, you know!” She rolled her eyes at the other models and stormed off in a huff.

They glared at Jessica and obviously thought she was a complete cow. How could she tell them the truth? The powder wasn't something they'd want anywhere near their faces.

“Oh chill out,” Sara said, sipping from a silver hip flask. She lurched towards her and gripped the table. “Everyone's upset about Autumn but she's going to live, so it's OK.”

“November,” Jessica said. “She's called November.”

“Autumn, November, December, whatever,” Sara slurred. “Seems a pretty stupid name to me.”

Jessica rolled her eyes as she slurped from her flask. She was drunk and would probably only get more offensive as the evening wore on. Sara was about to take another swig when someone ripped it out of her hand.

“No drinking alcohol backstage,” Aurelie Leseuer, one of the show's directors, hissed. “Police are crawling all over the place. This doesn't look good for us on top of everything else that's happened.”

“Whoops!” Sara giggled as she crashed into a table and almost fell over.

“Where's your chaperone?” Madame Leseuer asked.

“She's gone to hospital for a check-up,” Sara said in a sing-song voice. “Hip hip hooray! We're free!”

She punched the air and took a gulp from the flask.

“Perhaps you could take her home,” Madame Leseuer said, turning to Jessica, “before she causes any more embarrassment.”

Great. She'd learnt bombshell news about her mum, survived an assassination attempt courtesy of Nathan and Camille, and now she was babysitting a drunk. Her day couldn't get any worse.

“OK.” She sighed as she scooped up her goodie bag, which was packed with freebies, including make-up and a cream Chanel clutch bag and matching pumps.

“
Bonne
. There's a taxi rank just outside.” Madame Leseuer nodded to the door.

Jessica helped Sara through the backstage area, tripping over discarded rose-coloured stilettos. As soon as she was outside, Sara took a few more swigs from her flask.

“Sssorry about that,” she slurred, swinging her bag wildly. “And I'm sorry about November. That dress was meant for you, you know. You must be, like, freaked out.”

“Yes, I am,” Jessica admitted.

“Why do you think someone wants to kill you? Is it because you're, like, really annoying?”

Jessica glared at her. “Yet your dress wasn't poisoned. That's a shocker!”

“Touché!” Sara said, giggling. She froze as she clocked a black stretch limo parked nearby.

“What's the matter now?”

The limo door opened and Lyndon Rawling climbed out. He walked towards them, with a lop-sided grin.

“Jessica, apologies for the last-minute surprise but Miss Knight wants you to be her guest tonight. The shoot's been shifted and she needs you to be available to work from six thirty a.m.”

“But I don't have my bags with me,” she protested.

“Don't worry. Miss Knight apologizes once more for the inconvenience but she's already arranged for your bags to be transferred from the hotel to her suite. They're there now. It'll save time in the morning if the car can take you straight from AKSC instead of picking you up from your hotel.”

Jessica bit her lip. Was this a trap?