Betrayal's End, C18 - "Playing the Bad Game", FRT
Chapter summary: Goren and Sienna must contend with betrayal of all kinds, and Eames’ life hangs in the balance.
Chapter no: 18
Story: Betrayal’s End.
Warnings: Some language.
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of “Law and Order: Criminal Intent” and acknowledge the rights of those who do. I will make no profit from this story.
Oh shit. The crowd of assorted police officers and security services agents behind him was babbling frantically at this revelation, but Bobby Goren tuned them out almost automatically. His mind suddenly went crystal clear, as it sometimes did at moments when he knew the next few minutes in a case would be crucial.
“How?”
The police officer looked slightly unnerved by Langford’s short question, but answered promptly enough. “We’re still waiting for the-” Her glare cut his words short. “Unofficially, ma’am, it looks like suicide.”
“Looks like?”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but his skin went paler. “It looks like he cut his wrists, ma’am.”
Langford’s expression set into a mask. “I see. Thank you, officer.” She turned to face the assembled crowd. “Back to work, now. This is a matter for the police to investigate, and we have work to do.” The crowd dispersed under her steely glare.
Except for Goren, who positioned himself in front of her. He did not break eye contact with her, but was aware via his peripheral vision of Sienna standing beside him, also of the young blonde woman who had spoken earlier lurking in the background.
“This includes the two of you,” Langford said, very calmly. “We have less than a day…”
“Neither of us is going anywhere until I personally hear from my partner that she’s okay,” Goren said, with equal calmness. Langford’s gaze flicked from him to Sienna. Seeing a united front, she raised her eyebrows, nodded to the woman behind them, and indicated that they should follow her.
They ended up back in Langford’s own office. She motioned for Goren to use the phone to make the call again. He willed his hand not to shake as he punched in the digits, fearing even as he did so that he already knew the likely outcome.
“The number you have dialled is not available. Please try later. The number you have dialled…”
“No answer.” He looked across at Langford, well aware that she was officially due far more respect than he was about to give her, and that tomorrow his and Sienna’s lives would be in the hands of MI5 …but Eames’ life could be in danger right now. “You said you had someone watching her. Either get in contact with that person now, or get hold of someone who can track Eames’ cellphone to its last known location.” He cut across Langford’s comment with his most forceful tone: “My partner is missing somewhere in London, and the person who sent her out there is now dead. You need to find her. ”
Langford’s eyes went icy cold. “Very well.” She pressed the intercom button on her phone. “What’s the last known location of Watchman?”
Beside him, Goren felt Sienna start slightly; glancing sideways, he saw her eyes go very wide.
She listened. “I see. How soon can you have backup on the scene? They’re on their way? Good.” She put the phone down and turned to face them, but it was Sienna who spoke first.
“That’s Dr- Davenport, isn’t it? You have him watching Eames?”
Langford raised an eyebrow. “He told you his codename?”
“No, I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”
Langford was unfazed. “As I said, I have one of my best agents looking out for her-”
“Who needs backup? Davenport needs backup? Maldon is dead and Eames is missing - what the hell is going on?” Sienna sounded as angry as Goren felt, but he did not look at her, focussing instead on Langford. He had a truly horrible suspicion…
“When we lost contact with Watchman and his subject, naturally we dispatched backup - the situation is under control.”
“No.” Goren’s voice cut across her almost before he was aware he was speaking, a lifetime of policing instincts taking over. He stepped closer to her, cocked his head on one side and peered at her. “You’re saying that, but your voice has lost its lower vibrations… your vocal chords have tensed up now. But you weren’t tense before, even though a police officer committed suicide in this building…”
The truth hit him. “You… you didn’t so much as blink when you were told about Maldon. It wasn’t a surprise to you, was it? Did you have him under surveillance?”
Langford regarded him as though he were an interesting species of insect, and she was trying to decide whether to observe him through a magnifying glass, or crush him under her boot.
“Very well.” She smiled thinly. “Yes, we had Maldon under surveillance. He’s been acting erratically of late.”
“You suspected that he was - what? Being blackmailed? Corrupt? And you let him send Eames out there without warning her?” Goren felt his heart rate rise, and he had to force himself not to clench his fists. The blonde woman from earlier was standing at the back of the room, and he had no doubt that even the slightest hint of physical threat to Langford could result in his being physically removed from the room, or worse. He felt Sienna lean forward beside him.
“How… how dare you risk her life without warning her!” Sienna’s very quietness emphasised her anger more than any amount of shouting, and her face was almost frightening in its intensity.
“Very, very easily.” Langford replied as calmly and peacefully as if she were discussing the weather. As Sienna opened her mouth again, she leaned forward with an expression of such frightening disdain that even Goren was temporarily struck silent.
“Do not presume to say anything, Ms Tovitz. Do not presume to judge my actions, do not presume to judge me, and do not presume to judge how I choose to keep my country safe. If DI Maldon has been got to by the people he’s supposed to be investigating, that jeopardises our entire investigation, and I need proof as soon as possible. This is the fastest way. Davenport will keep her safe.”
“You can’t possibly know that! He’s not a one-man army!” Goren felt fear clenching at his stomach at the thought of Andrew Davenport being all that Alex Eames had standing between her and, from the sounds of it, a bunch of ruthless terrorists.
“Perhaps you and Ms Tovitz should show a little more faith in Davenport’s ability to get himself and others out of trouble. He has always been one of my best agents.” There was not a trace of concern in Langford’s voice.
Sienna snorted. “Now it’s you engaging in wishful thinking, Ms Langford. Does it make you feel better, to think that the people whose lives you risk had a chance of survival? Help you sleep at night?”
“I sleep well at night knowing that I serve my country, Ms Tovitz, and if you think that the people who protect your country and provide your organisation with information operate any differently to us, you are very, very sadly mistaken.”
An even more horrible thought occurred to Goren. “Does he even know why you sent him to watch Eames, or did you just tell him to keep a general eye out for her?”
Langford’s expression was all the answer either of them needed.
“You have sent our friends and colleagues out to be used as bait.” He had a sudden alarming fear that Sienna would faint, her face was so pale, but she braced herself and stayed on her feet.
“Yes. Why so surprised?” Langford fixed the younger woman with a truly frightening glower. “That was what you wanted to do yourself!”
Her voice was cut off by the sudden arrival into the room of a young, anxious-looking man with an earpiece. He took in the situation, then looked at Langford for orders, who impatiently snapped: “Is this to do with Watchman?”
“Yes. We need you in the situation room now.”
“Very well.” Langford moved with surprising speed. “Goren, Tovitz… wait here.” As they showed signs of ignoring her, she fixed them with a gimlet expression. “Do not even think of leaving this office, or I’ll have you both arrested. Do not for one moment think I will hesitate to do that, nor that either of your respective organisations will be able to bail you out. Stay. Here.” She turned and left, nodding to the blonde woman at the back, who sidled across to the door and stood in front of it.
He was mentally weighing up their options, when Sienna spoke first. “Amelia.”
The blonde woman made eye contact with her. Her expression was thoughtful.
Sienna tried again. “Amelia, you owe Drew a lot. Thanks to him, I hear you made Senior Case Officer last year, it’s pretty rare for them to have two in one team, isn’t it? You owe him, and you’re in a position to help us help him now.”
The woman screwed up her face thoughtfully. “That’s one way of looking at it. The other way being that my boss gave me a direct order not to let you out of the room.”
Sienna’s voice was soft, pleading. “Please… I’m not asking you to do anything other than tell me what’s going on.” She eyed the woman’s earpiece meaningfully.
“That’s not transmitting anything at the moment.” As Sienna’s face fell, the corners of the other woman’s mouth quirked slightly. “But as for this one…” She touched the side of her neck, then touched the back of her earpiece. Her face fell into an expression of concentration, then concern.
“Watch- Davenport’s last report said that he had tailed the subject and her companion-” His surprise was mirrored on Sienna’s face “- to an abandoned warehouse, I’ve got the location. No further reports.”
“Davenport isn’t sending in regular reports?” Goren interjected.
She frowned and shook her head. “There’s something blocking radio and cellphone transmissions in the area. Wait…” She listened for a short while, then frowned, and Goren felt his stomach turn to ice.
Her expression was grave. “There was an explosion-”
He felt fear grip his heart…
“- on the road leading to the warehouse.”
“Is there any report of any other explosions?” Goren asked frantically.
“No. Nothing…” She concentrated. “Infrared scans of the area indicate that there are at least nine people in the warehouse.”
“They could still be alive.” Sienna’s voice was tight, relief and anxiety mixed together.
Amelia frowned. “They could, but they can’t easily get backup there - the road is completely destroyed.” She shook her face, and her expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”
“No. No, no, no!” Sienna yelled, then cut herself off as he frantically shook his head at her. “There has to be another way!”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“Just like you did when you sent them out there to die?”
The MI5 officer glared at Sienna. “I didn’t make that decision, Ms Tovitz. I’m sorry about this, but I’ve done what I can.”
“No, you haven’t.” Sienna’s voice was suddenly urgent. “Give me the location.”
“I can’t do that.” Her expression softened. “I really am sorry.”
“Senior Case Officer Jenkins.” Sienna’s tone shifted to one of polite command. “I understand that four weeks ago, a lorryload of asylum seekers from Iraq were found suffocated in a port outside Dover. Amongst them was one of your agents, a man named… well,” she nodded at Goren, “You and I both know who he was.” She leaned in and went for the kill. “How would you like to be known as the woman who apprehended his killer? It would look remarkably good in the papers, wouldn’t it? “Thanks to the diligence of the security services, the men responsible for the deaths of twenty people, including three children, were captured in southern France today…” Not to mention the fact that you’ll have your hands on the man who killed your agent.”
Jenkins’ expression went predatory. “You can get me that information? Why haven’t we heard this before?”
“Because it’s not an official source- it’s one I’ve cultivated. You’ll need to think of an excuse to go and look there… but I’m sure Sir Harry’s team will be able to help if you mention that they have links to several known major terrorist organisations.”
“How do I know you can do this?”
“Your agent’s codename was Abyss. His real name was…” Sienna leaned forward and whispered several words into Jenkins’ ear.
She pursued her lips and considered for a while. “Very well.” She quickly wrote an address on a piece of paper, shoved it into Sienna’s hand, then touched her earpiece. “I need backup in room 516, immediately!”
Barely half a minute later, two uniformed and armed police officers appeared through the door.
“Escort these two from the building, and watch them until they are safely back into their hotel. I don’t wish them to be on the premises for more than a minute longer than necessary.” Jenkins’ voice was clipped. The officers nodded, and stepped forward. Goren and Sienna found themselves being marshalled out of the building, and into a waiting car. Barely a few minutes later, they found themselves back in their hotel room. Barely half a minute later, he’d kicked the door shut, put the television on, then swept Sienna straight into his arms, murmuring as he did so: “Pretend to cry… bury your head in my shoulder…”
She did so, turning her head so that her mouth was near his ear, but blocked from any cameras by his arm, wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sienna…” He murmured carefully, trying to make it look as though he was consoling her for the shock of finding out that their friends were likely to die. “If we so much as try to get near them, MI5 will find out.”
“Bobby… I know someone who can help us.”
He took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We can’t possibly leave…”
“I didn’t mean we, I meant you. If you want… I’ll do this. Give me the name of your contact, and I’ll… make the arrangements.” Her felt her start to argue with him, and talked over the top of her voice, “I’ll do this for Eames. I can’t stand by and let her die, and I don’t want you to lose your job and go to prison. Better only one of us suffers…”
“No. No, Bobby, I would never ask you to do that, and I can’t, anyway. This has to be done in person, and it has to be done by me. So, I have to ask you…”
“No. I’m not abandoning you, or Eames. The hell with our jobs.”
She mimed wiping her face and clasped his hand hard. “Together, then. Let’s go.”
***
Interlude: What Happened at Glastonbury, Part 7: Sort Of Like Heaven
Note: Yes, you do get saunas at Glastonbury. I’d be lying if I said this isn’t based on a real one, but any resemblance of made-up people to real people is entirely unintended. Also, I’m taking a little dramatic license here and there.
“Okay, the shift is over. I am waiting on the warmth,” I grinned tiredly at Drew, who was munching on something called a Heidi Pie. The name was a little worrying, but it turned out to be a pie with goat’s cheese in. I wished I’d had one myself: one thing I could get into about the festival was that everyone ate whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like eating it.
Then again, I wasn’t Drew, whose metabolism only had to look at a calorie to burn it. Lucky bastard.
“Then walk this way.” Drew gestured theatrically towards a metal pathway through the mud, wiping crumbs off his mouth with the back of his other hand. Amazingly, it had stopped raining, so now we only had a cold, muddy night to survive. I thought about the long journey back to our tents and sleeping bags, and put it out of my mind. Maybe we could find an all-night café or something and crash there, sleep with our heads on the table or something.
I read the sign as we hurried past it. It read, Green Fields. The “healing area” of the festival, I vaguely remembered. Probably filled with aging hippies and dope-smoking teenagers, but the alternative to trusting Drew was a long walk back through the mud to our campsite, so what the hell.
We set off, but I soon fell behind. My legs were shorter than his, and the mud made it impossible to hurry. Drew eventually realised I wasn’t walking beside him, and doubled back before I vanished completely in the crowd.
“Okay, this isn’t going to work. Here,” Drew muttered, and threw an arm around my waist, effectively clamping me onto his side. We wandered along like participants in a bizarre three-legged race; we must have looked like boyfriend and girlfriend, but at least we wouldn’t lose each other. I looked up at Drew, who seemed, unusually, lost in silent thought.
“Что Вы думаете?” I asked, switching to Russian. Both Drew and I spoke it fluently, me more so than him, since I had spoken it since I was a baby, but Drew could pass for a native speaker if he had to.
He smiled briefly, then repeated in Russian, “What am I thinking?” He chuckled softly. “I was thinking, believe it or not, that heaven must look a bit like this.” As we passed a block of latrines, he hastily added “With better toilets, obviously…”
“Heaven? You’re sure you’re not thinking of the other place?”
“Well, maybe not right now. But you’re not seeing it at its best. When the mud dries out, you’ll see it.”
“What will I see?”
“Happiness. People come together here. They talk to each other, they argue, they make music and art and have sex and look after each other. Everyone has something to eat and drink, and somewhere to sleep. No-one’s here to fight. People want to be here to create things. I think that’s about as good as it can get for human beings.”
“Is that why you come here?”
He smiled wryly. “What, to remind myself what we fight for? Yes. It’s no bad thing to remind yourself that most people aren’t complete bastards, particularly in our line of work. If you haven’t got something to fight for, you can lose it and burn out completely.”
“I hear you.” And I did. A similar impulse had propelled me out of London to join Drew, Tanya and Jack at the festival despite my misgivings. I wanted to believe that there were still places in the world when people lived normal lives and did fun things, where I didn’t have to contend with people for whom the notion of selling other people’s bodies for profit was an acceptable way of doing business. More than once this year I’d come close to quitting my job, but I’d resisted in the end.
Partly it was pride, not wanting to admit I couldn’t hack it. But mostly it was the knowledge that I couldn’t walk away from the fight, not once I’d see what the organised crime rings my organisation devoted so much time and money to fighting did to the women and children who fell into their clutches.
I glanced up at Drew. His face was grave, and for once it had lost that oddly boyish look. I was reminded that he was older than me, in his early thirties. He was, I knew, one of the only agents of all those he had trained with when he first joined MI5 still active in the field. The others had moved upwards into management, burned out, quit, or been killed.
I wondered, not for the first time, what sort of person Drew might have been, had he not worked for MI5 for so long. He had been recruited by them when he was barely twenty-one years old. MI5 had enabled him to leave his job as a police officer and go to university, and he had served them ever since he had graduated. Over ten years of his life had been spent as an undercover agent. Perhaps more: I didn’t find it hard to believe that MI5 wouldn’t have made use of him during the year he’d spent studying Russia in Moscow. It was difficult to say, mainly because it was so difficult to imagine him in any other line of work.
I firmly pushed away all thoughts of work, and smiled quickly at Drew. “I thought you didn’t believe in heaven?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, if heaven existed, it would look like this, then.”
“A bit commercial for heaven, isn’t it?”
He grinned a little wistfully. “It used to be less commercial… when Jack and I first came here, we jumped the fence, back in the old days. Even so… There’s about nine different festivals happening right here, SiSi, and one of them is very commercial. This is the one that isn’t,” he concluded, gesturing towards a large sign overhead that read “Healing Fields” in looping script.
“You’re planning to heal me?”
He smiled. “You wanted to be warm, and this has the warmest place in the entire festival.”
“I look forward to that.” And as I accompanied Drew towards wherever it was, I resisted the urge to raise at least one of my own eyebrows.
Drew was a very good liar, but I’d known him a while, and I’d have sworn he’d just lied to me. What had he been thinking?
***
“Well, this is it.”
I stared at it. “It’s a sauna? In a truck?”
“Yup.”
I stared some more at a large patchwork tent, with what looked like a converted grocery truck parked beside it. A sign outside proclaimed it was a sauna and invited us inside.
“It’s a sauna in a truck.”
“SiSi. You wanted to be warm. This is the warmest, cleanest place in the entire festival right now.”
“I don’t have… anything with me.”
“They have towels.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet they don’t have bathing suits.”
“Oh come off it. You’re half-Russian. I’ve been to Russia. Sitting naked in a hot sauna is part of everyday life over there, like drinking vodka and dying young.”
“Yes, but… that’s Russia. It’s not here.”
Drew laughed. “What, you think every British person is reserved? That anyone in there is going to give a shit that you’re naked?” He looked at me. “Sometimes I can’t figure you out at all.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Sometimes you’re American SiSi, sometimes you’re Russian SiSi, sometimes you’re neither.”
“You can talk! Half the time you carry on like the gay James Bond, the rest of the time you piss people off for the hell of it, and… when you’re not doing that, you make stupid innunendoes like part of you is permanently seventeen!”
“Which part?”
I stared at him, then suddenly burst out laughing, and he joined in.
“Is it me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Is it because of me? Because I’ll be there?”
“No, it’s not that…” Actually, it was partly because of that. Partly that, partly the fact that I still wasn’t used to the fact that my body was permanently altered, that anyone who looked closely would see that I’d been shot, that the outside of me, like the inside, now carried a permanent mark.
There was no way I could say any of that to Drew, who had a scar over his left shoulder where someone had thrown a knife at his throat and missed. He wore that scar proudly, and loved making up stories about how he’d got it.
What was I supposed to say about mine if anyone asked? “Yeah, I got that when I got shot, because I tried to play undercover agent to nail my corrupt lying bastard ex-cop boyfriend, only it all went to shit.” Oh yeah, that was going to go down well with any potential new partners.
Then again, I was fucked if I was going to let John Durham screw up the rest of my life, as well as the last year. I looked at Drew, then at the sign in front of the door. It informed us that quietly entertaining people were welcome, and that naked people had the right to refuse entry to clothed ones. Fuck it, it wasn’t like Drew hadn’t seen me naked before anyway and I had to get used to this.
“I’m in. Turnaround is fair play.”
“Mmm?”
I did my very best impression of Drew. “Hey, you’ve seen it all before… time I saw you.”
“Shall we, then?” He made a theatrical bow. We wandered on in, to be met by a cheerful man holding a cup of tea and some towels. “Have you been here before?”
“I have, she hasn’t, but it’s a sauna, right?”
“No health conditions either of you has?”
“Nope, we’re good. Just cold and muddy.”
“Do you need towels?”
“Please.” Drew took some towels, then threw some money in a large hat in the centre of the tent. I looked around. People in various stages of undress were sprawling around within the tent, which had a tiny fireplace, complete with tin-can chimney, in the centre. It was amazingly well-behaved for a Friday night at a festival; the strongest thing I could see anyone drinking was herbal tea.
Mostly, people seemed content just to loll around, chat and play cards, although the deck looked more like a Tarot deck than an ordinary one. The inevitable guitar had been brought out and was being gently strummed by a young man wearing a large woollen hat and little else.
I realised that Drew had been right about there being several festivals going on. These people couldn’t have been further removed from the wild, drunk, partying crowd in front of the Pyramid Stage. I also realised that I was expected to throw some money in the hat, so I did so, and followed Drew into the back. He shed his clothes swiftly and disappeared into the back of the truck. I paused, looked around. I could scent incense burning in the distance. From beside me came a couple of shrieks, as people jumped into the “cold pool”. From what I could see, it was basically an old cold-water cistern with the top cut off and a milky mixture of disinfectant and water slopping around inside it.
I shrugged, then skinned out of my clothes, taking off the fanny pack I’d been wearing around my waist for the past day. It felt weird not to be wearing it, so I fastened the buckle and looped it over my shoulder like a purse. Part of me knew why I was doing that. These days, I was used to carrying a gun, but there was no way at all that any of us could have gone armed to the festival. Not that Jack ever would carry a weapon, and Tanya didn’t often feel the need. Drew would understand though, I thought. I felt naked, and not in a good way.
Rationally, I knew I had nothing to fear. If anything, I was safer here than I had been in the past year. How on earth could anyone find me, amid the 180,000 people on site? Irrationally, though... I could never shake the fear that an attack could come at any time, and I had to be ready.
Not here, though. Not here. This is a safe place.
I took a deep breath, and followed Drew into the sauna. The heat hit me like a wall. I coughed a little, and paused in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the near-darkness. A low bulb on the wall illuminated the inside, like firelight.
Drew was sprawled on his back, buck naked, on the top bunk of the sauna. His eyes were closed, one hand across his stomach, one by his side. His ankles were modestly together, knees bent slightly to fit his lanky six-foot frame onto the short bench bolted onto the side of the truck.
Becoming more accustomed to the heat, I settled myself on the lower bunk, then covertly watched to see if Drew really was as relaxed as he seemed. Normally, he resembled nothing so much as a coiled spring, and I felt the familiar sharp pang as I remembered Bobby, my lost love who had been so like Drew in that respect, the same mix of nervous energy and fierce intelligence.
Unlike Bobby, though, Drew was lightly built, lithe rather than powerful. He was so lean, I thought, my eyes tracing the length of his side. There wasn’t much fat on Drew anywhere that I could see, although, Jack’s frequent gibes to the contrary, he actually wasn’t scrawny either. His pale skin fit him neatly, showing the musculature beneath, but not so tightly you could see his bones.
He would almost have looked boyish, with his height and that smooth pale skin and blond hair, except for the fact that his muscles were a little too defined. Not bulky, but the outlines were clear beneath his skin. I had once heard Tanya say that, as a person got older, their body would show the way in which they lived. Drew had inhabited his body for over thirty years, and quite a lot of those years had been taken up with running, or fighting, or training at Tanya’s dojo. I knew from personal experience sparring with him - though I was nowhere near his or Tanya’s level, and never would be - that that slender body was remarkably strong and quick, because its owner needed it to be.
Where was that tattoo he’d mentioned, I wondered? It had to be on the other side of his body, or on his back, because I was damned if I could see it. He didn’t have much body hair, I noticed. Some, just enough not to be creepy - I was never one for the plucked-chicken look on a man - but he was so pale it didn’t show much, just a light dusting over his forearms and chest, the usual line of hair most men have, leading all the way down to…
One of Drew’s eyes opened, and lazily slid down to me. His mouth quirked into a smile, then he closed his eye again and seemed to relax even further, still smiling faintly.
I would have blushed hotly, if I wasn’t already roastingly hot from the sauna. Dammit!
Chapter no: 18
Story: Betrayal’s End.
Warnings: Some language.
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of “Law and Order: Criminal Intent” and acknowledge the rights of those who do. I will make no profit from this story.
Oh shit. The crowd of assorted police officers and security services agents behind him was babbling frantically at this revelation, but Bobby Goren tuned them out almost automatically. His mind suddenly went crystal clear, as it sometimes did at moments when he knew the next few minutes in a case would be crucial.
“How?”
The police officer looked slightly unnerved by Langford’s short question, but answered promptly enough. “We’re still waiting for the-” Her glare cut his words short. “Unofficially, ma’am, it looks like suicide.”
“Looks like?”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but his skin went paler. “It looks like he cut his wrists, ma’am.”
Langford’s expression set into a mask. “I see. Thank you, officer.” She turned to face the assembled crowd. “Back to work, now. This is a matter for the police to investigate, and we have work to do.” The crowd dispersed under her steely glare.
Except for Goren, who positioned himself in front of her. He did not break eye contact with her, but was aware via his peripheral vision of Sienna standing beside him, also of the young blonde woman who had spoken earlier lurking in the background.
“This includes the two of you,” Langford said, very calmly. “We have less than a day…”
“Neither of us is going anywhere until I personally hear from my partner that she’s okay,” Goren said, with equal calmness. Langford’s gaze flicked from him to Sienna. Seeing a united front, she raised her eyebrows, nodded to the woman behind them, and indicated that they should follow her.
They ended up back in Langford’s own office. She motioned for Goren to use the phone to make the call again. He willed his hand not to shake as he punched in the digits, fearing even as he did so that he already knew the likely outcome.
“The number you have dialled is not available. Please try later. The number you have dialled…”
“No answer.” He looked across at Langford, well aware that she was officially due far more respect than he was about to give her, and that tomorrow his and Sienna’s lives would be in the hands of MI5 …but Eames’ life could be in danger right now. “You said you had someone watching her. Either get in contact with that person now, or get hold of someone who can track Eames’ cellphone to its last known location.” He cut across Langford’s comment with his most forceful tone: “My partner is missing somewhere in London, and the person who sent her out there is now dead. You need to find her. ”
Langford’s eyes went icy cold. “Very well.” She pressed the intercom button on her phone. “What’s the last known location of Watchman?”
Beside him, Goren felt Sienna start slightly; glancing sideways, he saw her eyes go very wide.
She listened. “I see. How soon can you have backup on the scene? They’re on their way? Good.” She put the phone down and turned to face them, but it was Sienna who spoke first.
“That’s Dr- Davenport, isn’t it? You have him watching Eames?”
Langford raised an eyebrow. “He told you his codename?”
“No, I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”
Langford was unfazed. “As I said, I have one of my best agents looking out for her-”
“Who needs backup? Davenport needs backup? Maldon is dead and Eames is missing - what the hell is going on?” Sienna sounded as angry as Goren felt, but he did not look at her, focussing instead on Langford. He had a truly horrible suspicion…
“When we lost contact with Watchman and his subject, naturally we dispatched backup - the situation is under control.”
“No.” Goren’s voice cut across her almost before he was aware he was speaking, a lifetime of policing instincts taking over. He stepped closer to her, cocked his head on one side and peered at her. “You’re saying that, but your voice has lost its lower vibrations… your vocal chords have tensed up now. But you weren’t tense before, even though a police officer committed suicide in this building…”
The truth hit him. “You… you didn’t so much as blink when you were told about Maldon. It wasn’t a surprise to you, was it? Did you have him under surveillance?”
Langford regarded him as though he were an interesting species of insect, and she was trying to decide whether to observe him through a magnifying glass, or crush him under her boot.
“Very well.” She smiled thinly. “Yes, we had Maldon under surveillance. He’s been acting erratically of late.”
“You suspected that he was - what? Being blackmailed? Corrupt? And you let him send Eames out there without warning her?” Goren felt his heart rate rise, and he had to force himself not to clench his fists. The blonde woman from earlier was standing at the back of the room, and he had no doubt that even the slightest hint of physical threat to Langford could result in his being physically removed from the room, or worse. He felt Sienna lean forward beside him.
“How… how dare you risk her life without warning her!” Sienna’s very quietness emphasised her anger more than any amount of shouting, and her face was almost frightening in its intensity.
“Very, very easily.” Langford replied as calmly and peacefully as if she were discussing the weather. As Sienna opened her mouth again, she leaned forward with an expression of such frightening disdain that even Goren was temporarily struck silent.
“Do not presume to say anything, Ms Tovitz. Do not presume to judge my actions, do not presume to judge me, and do not presume to judge how I choose to keep my country safe. If DI Maldon has been got to by the people he’s supposed to be investigating, that jeopardises our entire investigation, and I need proof as soon as possible. This is the fastest way. Davenport will keep her safe.”
“You can’t possibly know that! He’s not a one-man army!” Goren felt fear clenching at his stomach at the thought of Andrew Davenport being all that Alex Eames had standing between her and, from the sounds of it, a bunch of ruthless terrorists.
“Perhaps you and Ms Tovitz should show a little more faith in Davenport’s ability to get himself and others out of trouble. He has always been one of my best agents.” There was not a trace of concern in Langford’s voice.
Sienna snorted. “Now it’s you engaging in wishful thinking, Ms Langford. Does it make you feel better, to think that the people whose lives you risk had a chance of survival? Help you sleep at night?”
“I sleep well at night knowing that I serve my country, Ms Tovitz, and if you think that the people who protect your country and provide your organisation with information operate any differently to us, you are very, very sadly mistaken.”
An even more horrible thought occurred to Goren. “Does he even know why you sent him to watch Eames, or did you just tell him to keep a general eye out for her?”
Langford’s expression was all the answer either of them needed.
“You have sent our friends and colleagues out to be used as bait.” He had a sudden alarming fear that Sienna would faint, her face was so pale, but she braced herself and stayed on her feet.
“Yes. Why so surprised?” Langford fixed the younger woman with a truly frightening glower. “That was what you wanted to do yourself!”
Her voice was cut off by the sudden arrival into the room of a young, anxious-looking man with an earpiece. He took in the situation, then looked at Langford for orders, who impatiently snapped: “Is this to do with Watchman?”
“Yes. We need you in the situation room now.”
“Very well.” Langford moved with surprising speed. “Goren, Tovitz… wait here.” As they showed signs of ignoring her, she fixed them with a gimlet expression. “Do not even think of leaving this office, or I’ll have you both arrested. Do not for one moment think I will hesitate to do that, nor that either of your respective organisations will be able to bail you out. Stay. Here.” She turned and left, nodding to the blonde woman at the back, who sidled across to the door and stood in front of it.
He was mentally weighing up their options, when Sienna spoke first. “Amelia.”
The blonde woman made eye contact with her. Her expression was thoughtful.
Sienna tried again. “Amelia, you owe Drew a lot. Thanks to him, I hear you made Senior Case Officer last year, it’s pretty rare for them to have two in one team, isn’t it? You owe him, and you’re in a position to help us help him now.”
The woman screwed up her face thoughtfully. “That’s one way of looking at it. The other way being that my boss gave me a direct order not to let you out of the room.”
Sienna’s voice was soft, pleading. “Please… I’m not asking you to do anything other than tell me what’s going on.” She eyed the woman’s earpiece meaningfully.
“That’s not transmitting anything at the moment.” As Sienna’s face fell, the corners of the other woman’s mouth quirked slightly. “But as for this one…” She touched the side of her neck, then touched the back of her earpiece. Her face fell into an expression of concentration, then concern.
“Watch- Davenport’s last report said that he had tailed the subject and her companion-” His surprise was mirrored on Sienna’s face “- to an abandoned warehouse, I’ve got the location. No further reports.”
“Davenport isn’t sending in regular reports?” Goren interjected.
She frowned and shook her head. “There’s something blocking radio and cellphone transmissions in the area. Wait…” She listened for a short while, then frowned, and Goren felt his stomach turn to ice.
Her expression was grave. “There was an explosion-”
He felt fear grip his heart…
“- on the road leading to the warehouse.”
“Is there any report of any other explosions?” Goren asked frantically.
“No. Nothing…” She concentrated. “Infrared scans of the area indicate that there are at least nine people in the warehouse.”
“They could still be alive.” Sienna’s voice was tight, relief and anxiety mixed together.
Amelia frowned. “They could, but they can’t easily get backup there - the road is completely destroyed.” She shook her face, and her expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”
“No. No, no, no!” Sienna yelled, then cut herself off as he frantically shook his head at her. “There has to be another way!”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“Just like you did when you sent them out there to die?”
The MI5 officer glared at Sienna. “I didn’t make that decision, Ms Tovitz. I’m sorry about this, but I’ve done what I can.”
“No, you haven’t.” Sienna’s voice was suddenly urgent. “Give me the location.”
“I can’t do that.” Her expression softened. “I really am sorry.”
“Senior Case Officer Jenkins.” Sienna’s tone shifted to one of polite command. “I understand that four weeks ago, a lorryload of asylum seekers from Iraq were found suffocated in a port outside Dover. Amongst them was one of your agents, a man named… well,” she nodded at Goren, “You and I both know who he was.” She leaned in and went for the kill. “How would you like to be known as the woman who apprehended his killer? It would look remarkably good in the papers, wouldn’t it? “Thanks to the diligence of the security services, the men responsible for the deaths of twenty people, including three children, were captured in southern France today…” Not to mention the fact that you’ll have your hands on the man who killed your agent.”
Jenkins’ expression went predatory. “You can get me that information? Why haven’t we heard this before?”
“Because it’s not an official source- it’s one I’ve cultivated. You’ll need to think of an excuse to go and look there… but I’m sure Sir Harry’s team will be able to help if you mention that they have links to several known major terrorist organisations.”
“How do I know you can do this?”
“Your agent’s codename was Abyss. His real name was…” Sienna leaned forward and whispered several words into Jenkins’ ear.
She pursued her lips and considered for a while. “Very well.” She quickly wrote an address on a piece of paper, shoved it into Sienna’s hand, then touched her earpiece. “I need backup in room 516, immediately!”
Barely half a minute later, two uniformed and armed police officers appeared through the door.
“Escort these two from the building, and watch them until they are safely back into their hotel. I don’t wish them to be on the premises for more than a minute longer than necessary.” Jenkins’ voice was clipped. The officers nodded, and stepped forward. Goren and Sienna found themselves being marshalled out of the building, and into a waiting car. Barely a few minutes later, they found themselves back in their hotel room. Barely half a minute later, he’d kicked the door shut, put the television on, then swept Sienna straight into his arms, murmuring as he did so: “Pretend to cry… bury your head in my shoulder…”
She did so, turning her head so that her mouth was near his ear, but blocked from any cameras by his arm, wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sienna…” He murmured carefully, trying to make it look as though he was consoling her for the shock of finding out that their friends were likely to die. “If we so much as try to get near them, MI5 will find out.”
“Bobby… I know someone who can help us.”
He took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We can’t possibly leave…”
“I didn’t mean we, I meant you. If you want… I’ll do this. Give me the name of your contact, and I’ll… make the arrangements.” Her felt her start to argue with him, and talked over the top of her voice, “I’ll do this for Eames. I can’t stand by and let her die, and I don’t want you to lose your job and go to prison. Better only one of us suffers…”
“No. No, Bobby, I would never ask you to do that, and I can’t, anyway. This has to be done in person, and it has to be done by me. So, I have to ask you…”
“No. I’m not abandoning you, or Eames. The hell with our jobs.”
She mimed wiping her face and clasped his hand hard. “Together, then. Let’s go.”
***
Interlude: What Happened at Glastonbury, Part 7: Sort Of Like Heaven
Note: Yes, you do get saunas at Glastonbury. I’d be lying if I said this isn’t based on a real one, but any resemblance of made-up people to real people is entirely unintended. Also, I’m taking a little dramatic license here and there.
“Okay, the shift is over. I am waiting on the warmth,” I grinned tiredly at Drew, who was munching on something called a Heidi Pie. The name was a little worrying, but it turned out to be a pie with goat’s cheese in. I wished I’d had one myself: one thing I could get into about the festival was that everyone ate whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like eating it.
Then again, I wasn’t Drew, whose metabolism only had to look at a calorie to burn it. Lucky bastard.
“Then walk this way.” Drew gestured theatrically towards a metal pathway through the mud, wiping crumbs off his mouth with the back of his other hand. Amazingly, it had stopped raining, so now we only had a cold, muddy night to survive. I thought about the long journey back to our tents and sleeping bags, and put it out of my mind. Maybe we could find an all-night café or something and crash there, sleep with our heads on the table or something.
I read the sign as we hurried past it. It read, Green Fields. The “healing area” of the festival, I vaguely remembered. Probably filled with aging hippies and dope-smoking teenagers, but the alternative to trusting Drew was a long walk back through the mud to our campsite, so what the hell.
We set off, but I soon fell behind. My legs were shorter than his, and the mud made it impossible to hurry. Drew eventually realised I wasn’t walking beside him, and doubled back before I vanished completely in the crowd.
“Okay, this isn’t going to work. Here,” Drew muttered, and threw an arm around my waist, effectively clamping me onto his side. We wandered along like participants in a bizarre three-legged race; we must have looked like boyfriend and girlfriend, but at least we wouldn’t lose each other. I looked up at Drew, who seemed, unusually, lost in silent thought.
“Что Вы думаете?” I asked, switching to Russian. Both Drew and I spoke it fluently, me more so than him, since I had spoken it since I was a baby, but Drew could pass for a native speaker if he had to.
He smiled briefly, then repeated in Russian, “What am I thinking?” He chuckled softly. “I was thinking, believe it or not, that heaven must look a bit like this.” As we passed a block of latrines, he hastily added “With better toilets, obviously…”
“Heaven? You’re sure you’re not thinking of the other place?”
“Well, maybe not right now. But you’re not seeing it at its best. When the mud dries out, you’ll see it.”
“What will I see?”
“Happiness. People come together here. They talk to each other, they argue, they make music and art and have sex and look after each other. Everyone has something to eat and drink, and somewhere to sleep. No-one’s here to fight. People want to be here to create things. I think that’s about as good as it can get for human beings.”
“Is that why you come here?”
He smiled wryly. “What, to remind myself what we fight for? Yes. It’s no bad thing to remind yourself that most people aren’t complete bastards, particularly in our line of work. If you haven’t got something to fight for, you can lose it and burn out completely.”
“I hear you.” And I did. A similar impulse had propelled me out of London to join Drew, Tanya and Jack at the festival despite my misgivings. I wanted to believe that there were still places in the world when people lived normal lives and did fun things, where I didn’t have to contend with people for whom the notion of selling other people’s bodies for profit was an acceptable way of doing business. More than once this year I’d come close to quitting my job, but I’d resisted in the end.
Partly it was pride, not wanting to admit I couldn’t hack it. But mostly it was the knowledge that I couldn’t walk away from the fight, not once I’d see what the organised crime rings my organisation devoted so much time and money to fighting did to the women and children who fell into their clutches.
I glanced up at Drew. His face was grave, and for once it had lost that oddly boyish look. I was reminded that he was older than me, in his early thirties. He was, I knew, one of the only agents of all those he had trained with when he first joined MI5 still active in the field. The others had moved upwards into management, burned out, quit, or been killed.
I wondered, not for the first time, what sort of person Drew might have been, had he not worked for MI5 for so long. He had been recruited by them when he was barely twenty-one years old. MI5 had enabled him to leave his job as a police officer and go to university, and he had served them ever since he had graduated. Over ten years of his life had been spent as an undercover agent. Perhaps more: I didn’t find it hard to believe that MI5 wouldn’t have made use of him during the year he’d spent studying Russia in Moscow. It was difficult to say, mainly because it was so difficult to imagine him in any other line of work.
I firmly pushed away all thoughts of work, and smiled quickly at Drew. “I thought you didn’t believe in heaven?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, if heaven existed, it would look like this, then.”
“A bit commercial for heaven, isn’t it?”
He grinned a little wistfully. “It used to be less commercial… when Jack and I first came here, we jumped the fence, back in the old days. Even so… There’s about nine different festivals happening right here, SiSi, and one of them is very commercial. This is the one that isn’t,” he concluded, gesturing towards a large sign overhead that read “Healing Fields” in looping script.
“You’re planning to heal me?”
He smiled. “You wanted to be warm, and this has the warmest place in the entire festival.”
“I look forward to that.” And as I accompanied Drew towards wherever it was, I resisted the urge to raise at least one of my own eyebrows.
Drew was a very good liar, but I’d known him a while, and I’d have sworn he’d just lied to me. What had he been thinking?
***
“Well, this is it.”
I stared at it. “It’s a sauna? In a truck?”
“Yup.”
I stared some more at a large patchwork tent, with what looked like a converted grocery truck parked beside it. A sign outside proclaimed it was a sauna and invited us inside.
“It’s a sauna in a truck.”
“SiSi. You wanted to be warm. This is the warmest, cleanest place in the entire festival right now.”
“I don’t have… anything with me.”
“They have towels.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet they don’t have bathing suits.”
“Oh come off it. You’re half-Russian. I’ve been to Russia. Sitting naked in a hot sauna is part of everyday life over there, like drinking vodka and dying young.”
“Yes, but… that’s Russia. It’s not here.”
Drew laughed. “What, you think every British person is reserved? That anyone in there is going to give a shit that you’re naked?” He looked at me. “Sometimes I can’t figure you out at all.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Sometimes you’re American SiSi, sometimes you’re Russian SiSi, sometimes you’re neither.”
“You can talk! Half the time you carry on like the gay James Bond, the rest of the time you piss people off for the hell of it, and… when you’re not doing that, you make stupid innunendoes like part of you is permanently seventeen!”
“Which part?”
I stared at him, then suddenly burst out laughing, and he joined in.
“Is it me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Is it because of me? Because I’ll be there?”
“No, it’s not that…” Actually, it was partly because of that. Partly that, partly the fact that I still wasn’t used to the fact that my body was permanently altered, that anyone who looked closely would see that I’d been shot, that the outside of me, like the inside, now carried a permanent mark.
There was no way I could say any of that to Drew, who had a scar over his left shoulder where someone had thrown a knife at his throat and missed. He wore that scar proudly, and loved making up stories about how he’d got it.
What was I supposed to say about mine if anyone asked? “Yeah, I got that when I got shot, because I tried to play undercover agent to nail my corrupt lying bastard ex-cop boyfriend, only it all went to shit.” Oh yeah, that was going to go down well with any potential new partners.
Then again, I was fucked if I was going to let John Durham screw up the rest of my life, as well as the last year. I looked at Drew, then at the sign in front of the door. It informed us that quietly entertaining people were welcome, and that naked people had the right to refuse entry to clothed ones. Fuck it, it wasn’t like Drew hadn’t seen me naked before anyway and I had to get used to this.
“I’m in. Turnaround is fair play.”
“Mmm?”
I did my very best impression of Drew. “Hey, you’ve seen it all before… time I saw you.”
“Shall we, then?” He made a theatrical bow. We wandered on in, to be met by a cheerful man holding a cup of tea and some towels. “Have you been here before?”
“I have, she hasn’t, but it’s a sauna, right?”
“No health conditions either of you has?”
“Nope, we’re good. Just cold and muddy.”
“Do you need towels?”
“Please.” Drew took some towels, then threw some money in a large hat in the centre of the tent. I looked around. People in various stages of undress were sprawling around within the tent, which had a tiny fireplace, complete with tin-can chimney, in the centre. It was amazingly well-behaved for a Friday night at a festival; the strongest thing I could see anyone drinking was herbal tea.
Mostly, people seemed content just to loll around, chat and play cards, although the deck looked more like a Tarot deck than an ordinary one. The inevitable guitar had been brought out and was being gently strummed by a young man wearing a large woollen hat and little else.
I realised that Drew had been right about there being several festivals going on. These people couldn’t have been further removed from the wild, drunk, partying crowd in front of the Pyramid Stage. I also realised that I was expected to throw some money in the hat, so I did so, and followed Drew into the back. He shed his clothes swiftly and disappeared into the back of the truck. I paused, looked around. I could scent incense burning in the distance. From beside me came a couple of shrieks, as people jumped into the “cold pool”. From what I could see, it was basically an old cold-water cistern with the top cut off and a milky mixture of disinfectant and water slopping around inside it.
I shrugged, then skinned out of my clothes, taking off the fanny pack I’d been wearing around my waist for the past day. It felt weird not to be wearing it, so I fastened the buckle and looped it over my shoulder like a purse. Part of me knew why I was doing that. These days, I was used to carrying a gun, but there was no way at all that any of us could have gone armed to the festival. Not that Jack ever would carry a weapon, and Tanya didn’t often feel the need. Drew would understand though, I thought. I felt naked, and not in a good way.
Rationally, I knew I had nothing to fear. If anything, I was safer here than I had been in the past year. How on earth could anyone find me, amid the 180,000 people on site? Irrationally, though... I could never shake the fear that an attack could come at any time, and I had to be ready.
Not here, though. Not here. This is a safe place.
I took a deep breath, and followed Drew into the sauna. The heat hit me like a wall. I coughed a little, and paused in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the near-darkness. A low bulb on the wall illuminated the inside, like firelight.
Drew was sprawled on his back, buck naked, on the top bunk of the sauna. His eyes were closed, one hand across his stomach, one by his side. His ankles were modestly together, knees bent slightly to fit his lanky six-foot frame onto the short bench bolted onto the side of the truck.
Becoming more accustomed to the heat, I settled myself on the lower bunk, then covertly watched to see if Drew really was as relaxed as he seemed. Normally, he resembled nothing so much as a coiled spring, and I felt the familiar sharp pang as I remembered Bobby, my lost love who had been so like Drew in that respect, the same mix of nervous energy and fierce intelligence.
Unlike Bobby, though, Drew was lightly built, lithe rather than powerful. He was so lean, I thought, my eyes tracing the length of his side. There wasn’t much fat on Drew anywhere that I could see, although, Jack’s frequent gibes to the contrary, he actually wasn’t scrawny either. His pale skin fit him neatly, showing the musculature beneath, but not so tightly you could see his bones.
He would almost have looked boyish, with his height and that smooth pale skin and blond hair, except for the fact that his muscles were a little too defined. Not bulky, but the outlines were clear beneath his skin. I had once heard Tanya say that, as a person got older, their body would show the way in which they lived. Drew had inhabited his body for over thirty years, and quite a lot of those years had been taken up with running, or fighting, or training at Tanya’s dojo. I knew from personal experience sparring with him - though I was nowhere near his or Tanya’s level, and never would be - that that slender body was remarkably strong and quick, because its owner needed it to be.
Where was that tattoo he’d mentioned, I wondered? It had to be on the other side of his body, or on his back, because I was damned if I could see it. He didn’t have much body hair, I noticed. Some, just enough not to be creepy - I was never one for the plucked-chicken look on a man - but he was so pale it didn’t show much, just a light dusting over his forearms and chest, the usual line of hair most men have, leading all the way down to…
One of Drew’s eyes opened, and lazily slid down to me. His mouth quirked into a smile, then he closed his eye again and seemed to relax even further, still smiling faintly.
I would have blushed hotly, if I wasn’t already roastingly hot from the sauna. Dammit!