Killing Eva (13 page)

‘When will I be required to begin using the mapping?'

He found himself speaking in his best English, as if he had just stepped from the screen of a colonial era film, as if he were a slave trained to ape his masters' speech. Although he knew that would not be enough to gain even the smallest grain of respect. Perhaps just the opposite. He would never be their equal. He gazed at their ageing faces on the screen. The atrocities they had committed numbered far more than his. But all was so cleverly disguised behind a perfectly cut bespoke suit and a ski tan.

‘You will be told when this is required.'

‘I don't understand how it works.'

‘It requires drug doses over a specific period of time and then possibly a drug bath and cranial implants.'

‘How long does it take?'

‘You don't need to know.'

‘And am I just a performing monkey, apparently not intelligent enough to use my brain?' It was what he wanted to say but, of course, he did not. He just nodded at the screen as if subservience came naturally to him. As those three men probably assumed it did to everyone of his skin colour.

‘You have the key?'

Joseph Smith remembered the tiny key he had taken – as instructed – from the lab technician. Stefano… Stefano something. He could not remember now. It had been the first time he had been able to use his tiger claw, the most awesome of weapons.

He was distracted, remembering the gore of it. He realised he was being questioned again.

‘The key?'

‘I have it.' He hesitated, then asked, ‘What is it for?' He had no idea.

His question was ignored.

‘Where is the girl?'

‘No longer at her hotel.'

‘But where is she?'

‘I am not sure. She has been flesh-tagged but, for some reason, there is currently no signal.'

Silence.

‘This is not good enough.'

‘It is most likely she has been taken somewhere isolated to prevent any tracking. As soon as she steps outside, we will know exactly where she is.'

‘What if that does not happen?'

‘It will. From my study of her, she is a creature of habit when it comes to exercise. I do not believe, other than in extreme circumstances, anything would prevent her from her nightly run.'

‘I hope you are sure.'

‘I am.' And then, because Joseph Smith felt he had won a point, he took a virtual step towards them. ‘Is the grid complete?'

Instantly. ‘That is not your concern.'

‘But she is required for that, too?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then, it is my concern.' He was getting angry now, despite himself. He could see the ground he had won had been instantly lost.

‘It is not your concern.'

The screen went blank.

NINETEEN

After her conversation
with Irene, Eva was shown to a bedroom in the house. It was another slickly decorated space and Eva wondered who owned this property and where the resources were coming from to fund such ostentatious accommodation. Was Irene still working for the government? Eva realised she hadn't thought to ask. Anya had described her employer as an international network of insiders, ‘the back-up plan, when official channels can't necessarily achieve what needs to be done to meet an objective.' Obviously, Irene and Anya worked for the same organisation. Which may or may not be government funded and driven – ‘insiders' was an incredibly broad term.

Eva was troubled by the acorn she had seen on the back of the slip of paper in Berlin. Did it mean anything? She checked her pockets to see if she still had it but there was nothing there. After recent events she had no idea where that piece of paper was. It appeared to link Anya to the Association for the Control of Regenerative Networking – and by association, Irene too.

Or did it.

Eva realised that she couldn't even remember what the acorn had looked like. In fact she was beginning to doubt whether it had been an acorn at all. She had not asked Anya about it at the time – and now she would not be able to. She was 99.9 per cent sure that Irene would provide nothing to fill in knowledge gaps. For some reason her, usually sharp, memory felt very confused. She tried to visualise that piece of paper with the words on the front and the symbol on the back. But she could not.

And then there were the two words she was sure she had seen on Sam's phone ‘Jackson calling'. Or had it been just ‘…ckson calling' and she had assumed the rest? Or had it said something entirely different. She realised she could not remember. Eva normally recalled memories as pictures. For that moment earlier in the day, just as for events two nights ago, she had none.

That was odd.

Eva considered her options. A mad dash to the airport, a white knuckle flight home and then sweaty night terrors alone in her flat.

Or she could rely on the small amount of trust she had once placed in Irene to try and piece together what was happening. What did she really have to lose?

Perhaps she really was reckless just as Irene had described her.

Her case sat next to her on the floor. Should she unpack? This wasn't exactly a holiday.

She stared at her case for several seconds and decided not to go through the motions of settling into the room. What was the point? Clearly she had little, or no, free will in this situation. She was effectively a prisoner, compelled into incarceration by fear of something apparently more dangerous. It was a protective incarceration – for her own good. Perhaps the worst kind.

She sat on the edge of the broad metal bed and stared at her hands for several seconds. There was a split in the skin on her right palm, where the knife Sam had held to her throat had lightly grazed the skin. Her hand automatically moved to the point on her throat where the blade had been, marked by a now slightly raised line, but the flesh had not been broken. She shut her eyes as she felt the room rushing up to meet her.

Sam.

She thought of him, presumably now lying lifeless on the pavement outside the hotel. Or in a body bag somewhere. She had no idea where to start in terms of trying to figure out why he had done what he had done. She felt a confusing mix of sadness and shock. Why attack Anya? And what had he been intending to do with Eva – was she the target or just the escape bargaining chip?

If only she'd had time to question him or could remember what she had really seen on his phone.

Had their relationship even been real?

Pointless thoughts, Eva scolded herself. Why waste your brain power on querying what you cannot know?

Opening her eyes, Eva steadied herself back on the bed with her hands. She had been in situations like this before – situations where she had no control over what was happening to her, and where people apparently behaved entirely out of character. When she had experienced this before she had wasted time trying to figure out why. Actually the more important decision was really what to do next.

So, what to do next?

She unzipped her suitcase, removed her phone charger, plugged it in to the wall and pulled her phone from her handbag. Then she dialled the hotel's number as she connected the phone to the charger. A rather harassed woman answered.

‘Hallo?'

She didn't even say the name of the hotel.

‘Hi,' said Eva. ‘I left your hotel several hours ago and I forgot to check out of room 311. I just wanted to say I left the room key on the desk in the room and my room service bill was settled by a colleague.'

Eva stopped speaking.

Why was she making this call? It was as if, in this ridiculous situation, she was attempting to preserve a semblance of normality.

There was a short silence on the other end of the phone and then… ‘you are Miss Scott?'

‘Yes, that's me.'

‘I think the police want to speak with you…'

‘Are they still there?'

‘No, but they left information for you to contact them.'

‘Ok, I will, of course,' she said, not asking for the information.

‘Could you possibly tell me what happened to the young man who was injured?'

There was a hesitation on the other end of the phone, as if the woman was consulting someone else. Eva realised she would have to hang up soon.

‘The British man?'

‘Yes, I believe he was shot outside your hotel.'

‘He is dead.'

‘I see. And do you, by any chance, know who came for his body?'

‘I don't think I understand the question.'

‘Was he taken away in an ambulance?'

‘A private ambulance I believe. But why are you asking this? I really think you must speak to the police.'

‘Thanks for your help.'

Eva hung up.

She had done nothing particularly incriminating by calling from her mobile as they already had her number on their records and would no doubt give it to the police. She seriously doubted there was any trace on the call, presumably everyone at the hotel was still so shocked by what had happened no one had yet started connecting it all together for the police. Well, she was relying on that anyway.

Reckless…

There was a soft knock at the door and the man who had shot Sam walked in with a tray bearing a sandwich, a bottle of water and a mug filled with what looked like tea. She had the distinct impression he had been listening at the door.

He put the tray on a side table but didn't smile at her. Eva made a mental note to lock the bedroom door when he had gone and then, glancing over at it, realised there didn't seem to be a lock. Just a small, round handle.

She moved her gaze back to the man and watched as he tested the balance of the table on which he was placing the tray.

‘How's Anya?' she asked.

He finally made eye contact. His face looked grim. ‘She will live. But your friend did her some serious damage.'

‘He's not my friend.'

‘Anya said you told her he was your boyfriend.'

‘He was. He's certainly not anymore.'

‘He's not anything anymore.'

Eva started at the bluntness. Grey eyes stared back at her unflinchingly. He
had
been eavesdropping at the door.

‘No,' she said finally. ‘I guess not.'

The man turned to go.

‘Look, can you tell me anything more? Irene didn't seem to have much information but I always have the feeling with her that she's holding most of it back.' She laughed as she spoke but could see there would not be a jovial response.

‘Honestly? I wouldn't tell you, even if I knew.'

Eva was surprised at the hostility but she didn't respond. Obviously, there was much about her role in this situation she didn't understand.

Or perhaps this man – what had Irene called him? Sassan, that was it – perhaps Sassan and Anya were… if that were true, he might blame Eva for what had happened to the other woman.

Which would be illogical. But emotions cloud logic.

Sassan stopped by the door and seemed to relent. ‘All we know is that, whatever we are looking at, involves cartels – at the moment, there is very little else to go on.'

‘Drugs?'

‘No. Finance.'

Eva remembered she had been thinking about the issue only that morning. Which was an odd coincidence. Wasn't it?

‘Is it connected to the Association for the Control of Regenerative Networking?' She was fishing.

‘I'm sorry, I don't know what that is.'

She gazed at him and wondered whether he was telling the truth. Probably not; although his inability to disguise the emotional reaction to Anya suggested he was not as much of a robot as Irene. Not yet, anyway.

If he was telling the truth then this new team – whoever they may be and whatever their purpose – knew nothing of what had happened before. Perhaps that was because it wasn't relevant to what was happening now.

But then why the acorn…?

After the man had gone, Eva sat down on the bed again and drank the tea. It was very sweet and, whoever had made it, was obviously assuming she was still in shock. In fact, she felt quite the opposite, her body was alive with adrenaline, her thoughts were starting to rush, and she desperately wanted to go for a run. She glanced out of the window – it was getting dark outside. Was it madness to set off around streets she didn't know after what had happened today? Or, would she simply blend in unnoticed. Mentally, she knew the physical exercise was exactly what she needed. But, obviously, no one in this house was going to let her go. Whether she was a threat or useful, they would want her to remain firmly within their control.

However, it might be a good opportunity to test out just how much autonomy she really had here. And to make sure that she hadn't become so accustomed to crashing from one out-of-control situation to the next that she would allow someone else to steer the course of her life without question.

She would go. It was crazy, maybe even stupid, but she was going to do it.

Reckless…
the word played around the edges of her brain again.

She put down the tea mug forcefully, walked over to her case, pulled out her running clothes and set them on the bed. She moved over to the window, closed the blind over the dark sky outside and began to change.

Somewhere at the back of her mind was a voice screaming ‘after everything that has happened recently, what are you doing, this is madness!' but Eva was on autopilot. She needed to feel better. Running would make her feel better. It was the only way she knew to process everything. She was blinkered.

When she was ready to go, Eva flicked on a lamp sitting on the broad top of a sturdy moulded plastic desk. She found a pen and notepad and wrote a simple ‘gone for a run, back soon' and left it where someone could see it. She was going to go around the block a few times – within shouting distance of the house – so was sure there wouldn't be any trouble. Of course, those were famous last words.

With a shiver of excitement, she slipped out of the bedroom door and made her way down the stairs, trying to avoid the creakier steps, until she was standing in front of the door to the street. There was a key on a hook that looked as if it would fit the locking mechanism and she took it and zipped it into the pocket of her running pants. Now, she really was beginning to feel reckless. But she knew this would make her feel better and it was something she could do for herself in a situation where she had no other semblance of control. I have to do this, she repeated obsessively. She stood still for several seconds and listened – the house seemed completely still, silent and empty. Then, from somewhere deep in its recesses, she heard a groan which developed into a scream. Eva froze. It was a chilling sound. She glanced at the front door again. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Then, she wrenched open the front door and stepped outside.

No one had stopped Eva as she made her way down the front steps from the house and on to a dark street lined with towering houses and blocks of flats. She had expected to hear her name called, or to feel herself being bodily dragged back inside, but, apparently, everyone was caught up in something else. Presumably related to the scream…

Outside, it was a half light between day and evening. It was cold but, to Eva, it felt refreshing. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs, before setting off along the pavement at a gentle jog. She hadn't brought her phone with her so she would have to remember the route she took and find her way back without it – that, in itself, was slightly unnerving as she had become reliant on Maps apps to move around.

The road in front of her was straight and long and she thought she could probably run for fifteen minutes, circle back and then do another lap, repeat, and that should be enough – if it wasn't, she could just keep repeating until it was. There were a few people around walking home from work, one woman with a pushchair, but few lights were on in the windows lining the road. The area had a feeling of being recently gentrified but it was shadowed by something else.

As Eva ran, she felt her heartbeat start to fall in line with her regular breathing. Warmth spread throughout her body and she began to sweat. She felt her mind relax as the physical motion took over.

When, fifteen minutes later, she reached the end of the huge street she turned and began to run back the other way. She was a little unnerved by the darkness, so she had decided that, when she reached the house again, she would do one more lap and finish, run back inside and shower in the ensuite, eat the sandwich and no one would be any the wiser.

As she ran, she tried to be as observant as possible of the people around her. Most were walking with their heads down as the darkness became more complete and the cold really set in. On the other side of the road, she could see a couple walking slowly, holding hands, their breath making frosty shapes in the night air.