Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (9 page)

He began to sweat, ‘But I don’t understand. Defective goods?’

‘That’s what I said. It’s obvious that Lewis’ psychological profile is either incomplete or totally incorrect, so I would suggest, whoever compiled this bloody report has now got some serious explaining to do.’

Tonabie sagged, ‘Well that could be difficult, ma’am. You see, it was the counsellor who compiled the report.’

‘Oh, now did she really. Well I suggest you interrogate the bitch. Today. Right now.’

‘But ma’am, that’s the problem. I can’t …’

Angela gripped the phone, ‘And why the frigging hell not?’

‘Because she’s dead. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. She’s the Code 1.’

Angela stood in a void as everything seemed to be sliding out of control.

‘Mr Tonabie, are you saying Lewis slept with her, and then killed her?’

‘No ma’am, we have the assailant, he’s dead as well, by way of site security.’

‘So what the hell are you saying? You’re beginning to drive me crazy.’

‘Sorry ma’am, but things are rather confused at the moment.’

‘And so am I, you cretin. Now for god’s sake, give me some facts.’

‘Yes ma’am. Well after Lewis left her this morning, the counsellor was visited by two unauthorised men. We don’t know the reason for them being there, but the second man attacked her so severely she died of a brain haemorrhage. So Lewis’ involvement may just be a coincidence, but I thought you’d like to know.’

Angela sighed.

These two deaths came right on Lewis’ heels, and as he’d only been back in the country for a day, it begged the question.
‘Was his cover blown already?’

‘Alright Tonabie, calm down and give me the facts.’

‘Well the preliminary autopsy shows the counsellor had recently had multiple sex, and almost certainly with Lewis, and quite possibly with the other, unknown older man, but it was the second of the unofficial visitors who killed her.’

‘I see. So what are your first impressions? Was it a premeditated homicide?’

‘No ma’am, we don’t think so, it was far too messy for that.’

‘So not a professional contract then?’

‘No ma’am, that would seem unlikely.’

‘A crime of passion?’

‘Again, we don’t think so. The security guard hadn’t seen the man before.’

‘Burglary then? An opportunist?’

‘No ma’am, the assailant was ID clean, and in every possible way, a professional.’

Angela stared hard out of the window as she drummed her fingertips on the desk.

‘Mr Tonabie. First you say it was far too messy to be a professional contract, and now you tell me the murderer was most likely to be a professional.’

‘Yes ma’am, it is confusing, but the response unit did come up with a possible answer to the puzzle.’

‘Oh really. Well go on then, so what is it?’

‘They said it reminded them of a punishment beating.’

Angela cursed. If it was a punishment beating, there had to be a reason, but with both participants dead it could take forever to untangle, and there wasn’t time.

‘Mr Tonabie. Now listen very carefully … I have enough on my plate without this, so what I need now is information, not speculation, so when can I have some facts?’

‘Well ma’am, the scene of crime people are already at the flat, and the security guard might be able to help when she comes out of sedation, so shall I keep you informed?’

‘Well of course. When Charon arrived in the UK, he went straight to the woman who falsified his psychological profile, then two men called to see her, and for some reason, the second man killed her. So fax me as soon as you have anything. I’ll be here at the Bunker till eight, but then I have to leave for my office in Oxford.’

‘Very good, ma’am. I’ll be in contact as soon as possible.’

‘And Tonabie, one more thing. What was the classification of your counsellor?’

‘Her classification? Oh ... she was our Ideology Agent, ma’am.’

‘Was she really, and now she’s been murdered, which is not exactly, ideal, now is it?’

‘No ma’am. But actually, there’s just one more, minor detail.’

‘Oh my god. Well go on then, what is it?’

‘We seem to have mislaid one of our pool cars, and the driver.’

8

The conversation with Tonabie had left Angela with more questions than answers, but given the involvement of Lewis, she felt certain that the counsellor’s death must be linked to the investigation, it couldn’t be anything else, and that brought a new worry.

Someone obviously had access to high level information, which reintroduced Carole Sanderson as a player, and her accidental death, to murder.

It began to look as if someone had been ahead of the game ever since the decision had been taken to recall Lewis from Afghanistan, so not only had her adversary the ability to enter Leonardo da Vinci and violate the file, but he or she could access high command decisions and keep one step ahead of her.

It was now a race against time as there were five involved deaths already.

Sheverill, Bromsgrove, Sanderson, the counsellor and her assailant, which was quite a long list considering the investigation hadn’t even started, and she couldn’t help wondering how high up the social ladder this messy can of worms might wriggle.

Walking through to the kitchen she poured a glass of sherry, and looking through the window saw Lewis wandering down by the stream, and it suddenly occurred to her, she didn’t really know what the relationship had been between him and the counsellor.

Had she just been an available woman, or could it be far more complicated than that.

After all, the counsellor had not only been a professional whore, a controller of men, but was also a trained psychologist, a potent combination indeed.

So why had this woman left his psychological profile incomplete, it didn’t make sense, and was it really believable he had ignored orders and jeopardised his career just for the sake of having her?

Well whatever the reason, it might be wise to keep her death a secret, and if he really did need a whore tonight, she would give him one of her own, a true Cardinal professional from her Diplomatic team.

But as she walked back to the study, an idea occurred to her.

If she did bring a professional whore to the bunker, she needn’t be just for Lewis’ amusement, and if handled correctly, could be turned round to suit her own advantage.

And if on grounds of security, the woman became her personal assistant, the Matrix Forty wouldn’t even question it, and her chosen PA might provide her with yet another service, and that Austrian bitch might finally be harvested.

But which of her ladies to choose?

Well obviously from her diplomatic team, and someone with a proven success record, but not someone who would only be desirable to Lewis, but who would also be enticing to the bitch herself.

Her selection finally came down to a choice between four luscious women.

Catrina, Imogen, Anna-Marie or Samantha, as each of them were of equal excellence.

Picking up the phone she called her office, and in a moment, Louise answered, just as bright, efficient and irreverent as usual.

‘War Office. Wanna fight? Oops ... Bursary records, how can I help?’

‘Louise, for god’s sake. This is supposed to be a professional organisation, not a fucking circus.’

‘Sorry ma’am.’

‘I should bloody well think so. Now listen, I need someone for diplomatic work tonight, and I know it’s short notice, but I must have either Catty, Imogen, Annie or Sam.’

‘Diplomatic, for tonight? Good grief. Well, okay. So is the target local?’

‘There is no target, but I must have one of them here at the bunker tonight.’

‘Oh, right. Well let me check the operations roster.’

There was a moments silence while Louise put the duty roster up on the screen.

‘Oh dear, it’s not looking too good, we’ve had a bit of a rush this week.’

‘Louise, I don’t give a damn what it takes, but I must have one of them here tonight, and if you can’t organise it, you’ll have to bloody well do it yourself. Understood?’

‘Yes ma’am. Now let’s see. Catty is on her way to Washington, Annie was due back tomorrow but we’ve had to reroute her to Hong Kong and Imogen hasn’t quite finished in Berlin, but I think Sam might be back in the country. Let me check.’

Louise clicked on Sam's codename, Chameleon, and checked her operational status.

‘Oh shit - now isn’t that always the way.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Well she’s back alright, but she’s off today, it’s her wedding anniversary.’

‘Damn.’

As Angela stood quietly recalculating, an idea came to her.

‘Louise, send a bouquet of flowers with my very best wishes, and later, call her privately and say it’s a shame about her anniversary because I wanted her to entertain someone special at the cottage, and if it all went well, it could lead to quite substantial promotion.’

Angela smiled. She had now flung the door to Samantha’s cage wide open.

So what would the pretty bird do now?

She looked at her watch
. Oh well, she would know soon enough.

The fax machine burst into life, and going through, her eyes grew bright as she read.

Re Counsellor: Assailant: Male, blond, late twenties, tall, slim, muscular, well groomed, no distinguishing marks, no ID. Fingerprint check running. Tonabie.

Angela ripped the page off, ‘I knew it, and I bet he’s Carole Sanderson’s blond.’

Walking quickly through to the lounge, she snatched up Frank’s cigarettes and lighter.

If the blond’s prints were on file he could be named and she could start searching for his controller. So the game might just be levelling up.

The phone rang in the study, and with her pulse racing, hurried back through, ‘Hello.’

‘Angela? Louise. Well you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve just spoken with Sam, and guess what, she’s offered to come over, and she can be ready to leave in an hour.’

Angela smiled, ‘Excellent.’

So the pretty bird did fly after all.

But Tonabie’s fax had suddenly changed her plans, and it might not be wise to try and run this game from the office, because although Oxford wasn’t far away, if the ceilings and walls fell in, it might just as well be in China.

‘Louise, I’ve changed my mind. No... don’t ask. But I need to stay here at the bunker for a while, so tell Sam she isn’t required for tonight, but I will need her in a day or so.’

‘Okay, will do. Anything else?’

‘Yes, you’d better clear my diary, at least for tomorrow.’

‘Right. Is that it then?’

‘I think so. No ... there is something else.’

She looked down to the Zippo laying face up in the palm of her hand.

‘Put Lewis’s file on the screen and see if there’s any mention of the name, Moira.’

Louise ran the file, but there was no listing of that name, then something caught her eye.

‘No ma’am, sorry. But this is the NSA, Internal Security Clearance file, and, oh …, that’s odd, it only goes back to when he joined the Parachute Regiment, aged seventeen, and there’s nothing before that, except, Orphanage, cleared positive.’

‘Orphanage? Louise, run a search and get everything you can before he joined the army, now you might have some digging to do, but find Moira, and if you meet any problems, use my name.’

Walking out into her tangled garden, his words came back to ring in her memory.

‘Someone I never knew.’

She cursed. This should have been simple enough, but it was turning into a nightmare.

Montague’s condition was even worse than she realised, Lewis seemed to have more secrets than a government spin doctor, and her clever adversary was not only ahead of the game but obviously intended to stay there.

If she wasn’t careful, this little time bomb could easily blow up in her face, and she had no choice but to use these two men.

Walking down the garden path, she glared at him as he sat by the stream, and when he swung round, she could only stare before walking angrily back to the cottage, and stepping inside, slammed the door till it rattled.

Frank stared, puzzled.

He hadn’t spoken to her since they’d arrived, so what could have happened to put her in this ugly mood.

Wandering up to the cottage, he knew that right now, his worst enemies were Angela and the secrets of the game, and if he didn’t make some headway, he could soon be in trouble.

Stepping into the kitchen, he heard taps running and a swishing of water from above, so maybe Angela was settling for a hot bath, and as the cottage fell into a brooding silence, he knew what Monty would have thought of this secret bunker.

Angela lived in a world of secrets and would be forced to keep them safely locked away at all times. Looking around, he realised where else would it be safer to hide them than right here in this cottage, and now might be a good time to look for them.

There were five doors leading from the hallway, three he already knew, the front door, the door to the kitchen and the door into the lounge. He tried the fourth and found it securely locked, but as he gently turned the handle of the last door, it swung open easily and realised he was standing in Angela’s study.

The room was of a comfortable size and the warm air was held deathly still by a thick, heavily piled carpet of rich colours, and over by the window sat a large mahogany desk with a notepad and three phones, black, grey and red. The swivel chair was old and crafted from red grained wood while the seat cushion was finished in cream leather, and to the left of an open fireplace stood an ancient leather armchair, and to the right was a large television with DVD player, but strangely, not even one DVD.

Sliding out the drawers of the desk he found nothing out of the ordinary, and was about to turn away when he noticed a slim drawer, carefully crafted between the others.

It was tiny but held secure, and taking the chance to pick the miniature lock, he padded along the hallway, unzipped an inner compartment of the Bergen and took out a slim locksmith’s wallet. Walking back, he knelt down at the desk.

The lock was old but of excellent quality and it took him a while to turn the final lever. Inside the drawer he found a slim silver box, and gently releasing the clasp, found a key that might fit the high security lock on the fourth door.

The cottage was held in a brooding hush as he padded back to the locked door, and double turning the key, pushed the door open and thought it felt quite heavy, and he didn’t notice the knot of dark wood now protruding out, high on the door frame.

The two duty gamekeepers had just sat down for coffee in the gatehouse lodge when they heard the sound of the alarm, and looking over to the control board, saw a red warning light flashing brightly in the cottage cluster.

Russell Todd waited, but the light didn’t cancel and he looked across to Jack Berry.

‘That’s odd, it’s not like Mrs A to forget, and if she doesn’t cancel pretty quick, I’d better go and check it out.’

‘Yeah, and don’t forget that guy’s still with her.’

Russell nodded, and slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, made for the door.

‘That’s long enough, I’m off, and you’d better put out a general alert till I radio in.’

Frank stepped into the room and heard the gentle hum of an electric motor while cool moving air brushed against his skin, and pushing the door almost closed, searched in the half-light until he found the light switch, and flicking it on, almost laughed when he saw hundreds of DVDs all racked like wine, and each of them numbered in a code.

Russell cut the engine as the track to the cottage came into view, and coasting the Land Rover down the avenue, brought it to a skewing halt across the track, and slipping the keys into his pocket, stepped out to listen, but there was not a sound or any sign of movement. Making a check of the shotgun, he saw the magazine was full, a cartridge in the chamber and the safety catch on, and pushing through the bushes, he stepped out onto a woodland path that meandered all the way to the cottage.

Frank lifted a few of the DVDs but there were no names or any reference notes, only a form of code that made no sense.

He looked around but there was nothing else, not that he expected to find a list, because that, almost certainly, would be held safely in another place.

Checking the room for the last time, he flicked off the light and pulled the door open, but as he stepped out, it was straight into the icy glare of liquid brown eyes.

He froze.

Angela stood as if she were a statue made of marble, the snub nose of the .22 automatic pointing directly at his heart, and in her eyes he recognised someone who could kill without a second thought.

‘You bastard. How dare you go snooping into my private affairs? How dare you?’

He looked her in the eye, ‘They’re only DVDs; they don’t mean anything to me.’

‘No, I don’t suppose they do, but for others, they hold their past, present and future, which is why they obey without question, and it’s also the reason why no-one is allowed to know of their existence, so by finding them, you’ve signed your own death warrant.’

Russell Todd broke out in a prickly sweat.