The Invisible Assassin (23 page)

‘Pierce Randall?’ asked Jake.

Gareth smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘This was far too crude for a firm like Pierce Randall. They are much more dangerous than that.’

‘More dangerous than nearly being shot dead?’ demanded Jake.

‘There are far worse things than being shot dead,’ said Gareth. ‘I hope you never have to experience them.’ For the first time, Gareth’s smile wavered.

He’s suffered those worse things, Jake realised with a start. Gareth was a spy of sorts. A very senior spy, but still a spy. And at some time, in his past, Gareth had been there, suffering those terrors that were worse than a quick death by shooting.

‘What about the others?’ Jake persisted. ‘The dead man in my flat.’

‘His name was Terry Gibbons,’ said Gareth. ‘Former SAS. A mercenary. A hit man for hire.’

‘Who killed him?’

Gareth smiled. ‘Who knows?’ he said, his tone enquiringly bland.

You did, thought Jake. You or one of your crowd. ‘You did, and then you framed me for it,’ he said accusingly.

Gareth looked hurt. ‘Jake, how could you accuse me of such a thing?’

‘You framed me because you thought it might bring Pierce Randall in.’

‘Who is this Pierce Randall?’ asked Lauren, puzzled.

It was then that Jake realised he hadn’t had the chance to tell her anything about what had happened to him: about the dead man in his flat, or Sue Clark coming to his rescue.

‘They’re a firm of lawyers,’ he replied.

‘Oh, they’re so much more than that,’ said Gareth. ‘As I’m sure you must have found out. They have some
very
powerful friends and acquaintances.’

‘And you used me as bait to get them in,’ challenged Jake.

‘They were already in,’ replied Gareth smoothly. ‘Pierce Randall are a major player in the Malichea business. Possibly
the
major player.’

‘I thought the title of the Major Player was held by you,’ said Jake. ‘The government.’

Gareth shook his head. ‘We are just one government,’ he said. ‘Pierce Randall represents many governments.’ Then he added, the tone of his voice changing to a warning, ‘And many other organisations as well.’

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘I’ve seen the website.’

‘The Watchers showed you, no doubt,’ said Gareth.

‘The Watchers?’ echoed Lauren, even more non-plussed.

‘I’ll explain them later,’ said Jake.

‘There’s not much to explain,’ said Gareth. ‘They are basically harmless. Well-meaning, but we do share the same aims.’

‘To keep the Malichea books hidden,’ said Jake.

‘Until the world is ready for them.’ Gareth nodded.

‘And when will that be?’ asked Jake.

Gareth sighed. ‘When human nature changes and stops wanting to use new discoveries for the purposes of war and domination, power and greed.’

‘In other words, never.’

‘That depends whether you are an optimist or a pessimist about humankind,’ said Gareth. ‘But I think that’s enough abstract philosophy. The real question is: what is to be done with you?’

‘Why do anything with us?’ asked Jake. ‘You’ve got the book. It’s over.’

‘We both know that isn’t the case,’ said Gareth. ‘Ms Graham has already said she doesn’t intend to let this stay hidden. She wants to carry on, searching for the books. And, sooner or later, she may find another one. And the next time we may not be able to do anything about it.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Which does present us with a dilemma. Do we let her remain free to do that, or do we have her locked up for the murder of Carl Parsons?’

‘That was self-defence!’ burst out Jake hotly.

Lauren looked sadly at Jake. ‘I was about to say I didn’t do it,’ she said in a tired voice.

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Jake apologetically.

‘We listened to your phone conversation,’ Gareth reminded them. ‘Regardless of what you were about to say, Ms Graham, I’m afraid there is enough evidence pointing to your guilt. Now, it may be true that you could plead self-defence, but really we’d prefer it if you weren’t charged at all. If you were charged, there are many things that could come out in court that we’d prefer not to have aired.’

‘Like the existence of the books of the Order of Malichea,’ said Lauren.

‘Exactly.’ Gareth nodded. ‘At the moment we prefer them to remain as some fantasy. A mythical library believed in by a few harmless crackpots and conspiracy theorists. So, I’m afraid, Ms Graham, you are going to have to die.’

‘You can’t kill her!’ cried Jake, shocked.

Gareth looked at Jake, equally shocked.

‘I never suggested killing her,’ he said, a pained expression on his face. ‘I’m saying that Lauren Graham has to die.’ Turning to Lauren he added, ‘We will give you a new identity, a background of such perfect creation that no one will ever discover it is false.’ He gave a slightly smug smile. ‘We are very good at this. We’ve had to do it on many occasions. However, it will mean you moving to a different country for a while.’

‘How long is a while?’ asked Lauren, tight-lipped.

‘A year or two,’ said Gareth. ‘Maybe five or ten. It would not be wise for you to return until we tell you that you can.’

‘Ten years!’ echoed Jake, horrified. He turned to Lauren. He could see the tears in her eyes that she was fighting to hold back.

‘You have no family alive except your cousin Robert,’ continued Gareth. ‘Your parents are dead. There’s no one really to ask questions if you disappear.’

‘I have friends,’ said Lauren defiantly.

Gareth shrugged. ‘Friends move on,’ he said. ‘As for Robert, we’ll explain the necessity to him.’

Lauren sat silent, and Jake could sense the turmoil that was going on inside her.

Finally, she asked, ‘Where are you thinking of sending me?’

‘We thought New Zealand,’ said Gareth. ‘It’s a wonderful country.’

‘And a long way from England,’ said Lauren.

‘Yes.’ Gareth nodded. ‘There is that point as well.’

‘And what about me?’ asked Jake. ‘Do I have to die too?’

‘You haven’t killed anyone,’ said Gareth. ‘You can stay here.’

‘And if I choose not to?’ demanded Jake. ‘If I want to go to New Zealand?’

Gareth gave a sad smile.

‘I think you might find the authorities in New Zealand may not let you in,’ he said. ‘They might find your name on a list of terrorist suspects who shouldn’t be allowed to enter their country.’ He sighed. ‘In fact, Jake, I think you might find your name on a list that will make it difficult to leave the country at all.’ He turned his attention back to Lauren, then to Jake, and finally addressed them both. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What’s it to be?’

Chapter 29

Heathrow Airport. The world’s busiest international airport. Hundreds of thousands of passengers flying in and out every day, millions of people seeing them off, saying goodbye to loved ones, or waiting to welcome them as they come through the gates. Arrivals and departures. And right now the international departures area for flights to New Zealand was packed.

They hadn’t trusted Lauren not to run. She’d been kept under close guard the whole time since that interview in the basement of the MI6 building, a prisoner. Today was the first time that Jake and Lauren had been able to meet, to talk, without one of MI6’s spooks hovering close by. They were still there, but at a discreet distance, watching. Not that Lauren could do much in the way of absconding. The people keeping watch on her had hold of her passport. Or, at least, a passport with her photo inside it and in the name of Samantha Adams. Her luggage had already gone through and was being loaded on to the Air New Zealand aeroplane.

Jake held Lauren in his arms and hugged her close to him. They stood there, wrapped painfully in one another, like so many hundreds of other couples saying difficult goodbyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t brought you into this, none of it would have happened.’

‘I phoned you, remember,’ said Jake. He sighed. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t why I was saying sorry. I was saying sorry for being so stupid at that wedding. With . . . whatshername.’

‘Alice,’ said Lauren.

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘With Alice.’

‘Not half as stupid as I got with Carl,’ said Lauren. She sighed. ‘And he only wanted me because he thought he could use me to get to the Malichea books.’

‘That’s all behind us now,’ said Jake. He hugged her close again, and whispered, ‘I’m not letting go, you know.’

‘You have to,’ she said. ‘They won’t let you on the plane.’

‘I mean, searching for the books,’ said Jake. ‘I’m going to carry on. And, when I find one, I’ll let you know.’

‘They’ll be watching you,’ she warned him. ‘Your boss. That law firm. That other organisation, the Watchers. The people who kidnapped me. They’ll all be watching you.’

‘Not all the time,’ said Jake confidently.

‘Yes, they will,’ said Lauren, worried. ‘And next time you may not be so lucky. Next time, you could get killed.’

‘No.’ Jake shook his head. ‘I know what to do now. How to go about it.’

There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see an unsmiling woman in a dark suit standing there. Lauren’s watcher, her MI6 guardian.

‘Time to go,’ said the woman to Lauren. ‘We’re going to get you on board before the rush.’

‘One minute,’ begged Lauren.

The woman hesitated, then nodded. ‘One minute,’ she agreed.

Lauren turned back to Jake.

‘They haven’t said we can’t be in touch. We can phone one another. Skype,’ she said.

‘They’ll try,’ said Jake. ‘But whatever they try, we’ll get round it. They won’t keep us apart.’

Lauren looked up into his face.

‘I love you, Jake,’ she said softly, and suddenly she began to cry silently, tears rolling down her face. ‘I never stopped. That’s why what you did that day hurt me so much. When I saw you again outside the British Library, I realised my feelings were still as strong as ever.’

‘Why didn’t you say something?’ he begged. ‘I haven’t ever stopped thinking about you and loving you. And these last few days, since I saw you again . . .’

‘I know,’ said Lauren. ‘But . . . I didn’t know if I could trust you again. And, I suppose, part of me wanted you to be jealous about Carl, to feel hurt like I’d been hurt.’

‘I did feel jealous,’ admitted Jake. ‘I hated him because he had you.’

‘He didn’t have me,’ said Lauren. ‘Not really. I was always yours.’

‘And I’ll always be yours,’ said Jake.

‘You have to go,’ interrupted the woman, her voice harder now. ‘Otherwise I’ll be forced to call security.’

‘No,’ said Lauren. She released her arms from around Jake and stepped back. ‘I love you, Jake,’ she said. ‘I always will.’

‘I love you, Lauren,’ said Jake. And now he could feel his own tears running unashamedly down his face. He stepped forward and grabbed her in his arms for one last kiss.

Then she had broken away from him and was heading towards the gate, the MI6 woman walking close beside her. At the gate Lauren turned, and waved, and blew him a kiss, and then went through and was lost in the crowds.

Jake stood, watching the gate, hoping against hope that things would change, that she’d return, that Gareth would change his mind, that she’d walk back through to him and fling her arms around him and they’d run off into the sunset to spend their lives together. But she never came.

After an hour, when the flight had been called, and the board announced that it had departed, only then did Jake turn and head for the exit.

Yes, she’d gone. But the planet was small. He’d see her again. And next time, he’d have something special for her. A book. One of the Malichea books.

‘Next time,’ thought Jake determinedly. ‘Next time . . .’

Want to know what happens next?

Read on for a gripping taster of

THE DEADLY GAME . . .

Prologue

The screams came from the man tied to the chair in the middle of the room. He’d been screaming for hours, in between sobbing and pleading for the torture to stop. There were two other men in the room. One was tall and muscular, with the broken nose of a boxer. The other, small and wiry, was holding something metal in his hand that glistened with blood. Both men looked on impassively, although the shorter man’s face seemed to show a hint of a smile. The man in the chair suddenly slumped forward, his blood-soaked body straining against the ropes that held him. Boxer frowned and ran his fingers down the side of the tortured man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Then he switched to the wrist, the tips of his fingers searching for a sign of life beneath the flayed skin of the man’s arm.

He looked up and shook his head. ‘He’s dead,’ he said.

The short man scowled. Just then his mobile phone rang. He pressed the phone to his ear, and then said abruptly: ‘No, he ain’t talked.’ He cast a look of annoyance at the body strapped in the chair and added: ‘And he ain’t likely to any more.’