Hey girls, it’s me again, happily at my computer typing away, LOL. Here is my response to making Donnie a 007 spy, hope you likes. My favorite bond movie was Goldeneye, so this is kind of a continuation of that story.
PROLOGUE PART I
Ten Years Previously:
The game was over. Blake – the other agent assigned to this mission – was dead, a bullet taken high in the chest, another in the throat. He was finished. They had found the small handgun on his ankle, removed it as they had his other weapons, he was unarmed and unable to do anything. Strong hands gripped him under the arms and hauled him through the complex, blood trailing after him, flowing from his leg – the bullet had shattered the bone, every movement was agony. He gritted his teeth and struggled, and the butt of an automatic was hit into the back of his neck. Stars exploded in front of his eyes – brilliant flashes of pain – and he swayed in and out of consciousness.
Voices were shouting in Russian over his head, but in his pain he couldn’t focus on them. He was taken into a courtyard, the snow flitting around him, the wind biting into his broken body. He was flung onto the icy flagstones, stifling the scream that rose from his stomach, struggling to get up, to at least try to get onto his feet. The same strong hands held his shoulders, and another hand grabbed his thick dark hair and pulled his head back, dragging him to his knees. He looked up at the man that stood over him, expensive wool coat flapping in the wind, staring impassively down at the agent, and then pulled out a gun, and walked around him.
The cold metal barrel was pressed into the back of his head, it was an unmistakable feeling. He didn’t think it would end like this. He knew it would have to end one day, but had tried never to imagine it – there were too many risks to face each day. He thought of his wife – dead for five years, and of his daughter, who would be an orphan. He looked up to the sky, watching the flakes of snow drift down, settling in his hair, on his face, and wondered. Was this emptiness what his friend and colleague had felt six months earlier?
A single shot was fired and 009 slumped forward, dead.
*********************
A Year Ago:
The tavern was set well back from the main streets, the door to it gave no indication what lay beyond it. He pushed it open, and stepped into the dim light. A bored looking barman, a glass in one hand, a cloth in the other looked over at him and nodded. The barmen motioned for him to forward. He led the man up the back flight of stairs and onto a terrace that over looked the city. The air was hot and cloying, but the woman that sat at the single table was as cold as ice.
She watched him with those cold blue eyes as he made his way across the terrace, he was slightly stiff, and walked with a limp, but he disguised it well she noted.
He sat down opposite her, and silence reigned for a while.
“So it is you.” She finally broke the silence that threatened to choke them. “I had rather hoped that you were a bad dream.”
He remained stubbornly silent.
“Once, once I can almost understand. But my god – twice?”
Still he remained silent, jaw set, staring levelly at her.
M poured him a drink. “So what are we going to do now?”
********************
Present Day:
Gregory Fraser raised his glass to the attractive blonde that sat opposite him. The restaurant was quiet, the food sublime, and the company…stunning.
Pauli Eliot raised her glass in return to Fraser. A large diamond sparkled on the middle finger of her right hand, the smile confident; a woman who knew she looked good. Her suit jacket was buttoned, to show her figure to its full advantage.
"Your own company?" he raised an eyebrow at her in a way he thought endearing.
"A chain actually," her fingers stroked the stem of her wine glass in the most suggestive manner.
Fraser loosened his tie with a finger, he was rather warm. "Shall we, I mean, would you like to...”
She saved him the bother. Lifting her glass of wine she threw back the final mouthful. "Follow me, Mr. Fraser?"
She was like a lioness, Fraser had never thought that beneath the cool exterior lay a passionate soul, but she was almost devouring him with her kisses. Her hands were frantically tearing his clothes off. He made mumbling noises of joy, and she made little moans of feigned pleasure, but her gaze was fixed firmly in the man who walked quietly into the room. He nodded, her cue, and she gave a scream. Fraser didn’t pay any attention, just carried on mumbling so she pulled his head away.
Full Version: OT- Donnie Wahlberg 007
He protested and buried his face again into her neck. She held him more firmly this time and he turned and saw the man, the man who raised the small automatic weapon he held, silencer screwed firmly on. Pauli gave a harsh laugh and gave him a firm push. Gregory fell to the floor, his shirt undone, lipstick smeared on his face. With a little shudder of distaste Pauli realized he had tiny piggy eyes. The bullet hit him smack between them with a dull fleshy thud.
"You took your time," Pauli pouted at the man with the gun, throwing her mane of blonde hair back.
"Didn’t want it all to be over too soon," He walked over to kiss her harshly.
"Oh it won’t be." Her eyes were dark with desire, her skin hot.
Gregory Fraser’s body cooled as the couple writhed on the bed, eyes staring vacantly into space, a thin trickle of blood tracing its path along the bridge of his nose.
Prologue Part II:
Present Day.
Agent Helen Kain sprinted through the woods, feeling the earth fly underneath her feet, pushing branches out of her way, heading in a north-westerly direction. A light flickered up ahead, shining in a sweeping arch, and she fell to the floor, crouching as low as she could get. She reached down and scooped up some dirt, smearing it onto her face, silently watching. She could hear voices up ahead, and she listened closely – she was on target.
Her mission was clear and simple – and deceptively uncomplicated. A meeting was taking place in a bunker hidden deep in these woods, involving high ranking officials – just how high ranking she hadn’t been told – and a foreign dignitary. An assassination attempt was planned on this man’s life, an attempt that if realized would have staggering consequences on foreign politics. Kain was there to prevent it. She knew she wasn’t the only agent in these woods.
She reached her assigned area, blending quietly into the night, and almost relaxed for a moment. She snapped back into action – there wasn’t time to be complacent. Swinging her rucksack off her back, she pulled out a case and began to piece together a small automatic rifle with a viewing agent. She waited, ready.
The door to the bunker – a seemingly disused World War II arms unit – opened and a group of well protected people exited, heading for the reinforced car that waited for them. Kain focused on the area that she had been assigned to, ten degrees to the east and above the bunker. She expected nothing, and therefore was surprised when she picked out a shadowy figure – and knew immediately that this was the assassin. It was time to do her job; she raised her rifle, and carefully aimed it. They were lined up in her sights, and with her thumb she gently eased off the safety. Her index finger teased the trigger, waiting for the clear shot to present itself… and there it was.
She fell backwards, throwing her hands over her head protectively as the shot hit the tree that sheltered her. She lay there stunned briefly, until her startled mind realized that she was being shot at. It had almost been a hit; she was showered with the tiny pieces of bark that had splintered away from the force of the bullet. She pressed into the ground, her heart thudding, Damn… it was going wrong!
There was a terrifying moment as shots rang out all over the place. Kain did her best, providing covering fire for the agents protecting the officials, but then she saw the foreign minister being hustled into the car.
An owl hooted.
It was the signal.
The mission was over.
Kain blended back into the shadows. Perhaps the mission hadn’t been a complete failure after all.
Seven hours later, Kain paused and pulled her map and GPS unit from the rucksack. She was seemingly alone on the anchor; a few sheep dotted the knoll opposite, but nothing other signs of life. She quickly checked her bearing, and then broke once more into a light jog. She wore black leggings and fleece, molded to her body, and carried a black teardrop shaped rucksack. It was still too early for the ramblers to be out, and no one would notice her as she made her way to the knoll.
She checked her watch, almost on time, but slightly early. Quickly she climbed the craggy outcrop, and pulled out her water bottle, drinking deeply. She saw the figure approach from the west, and ignored him until he was standing next to her. She glanced briefly at him, and waited. He murmured the correct statement and she replied with her prepared answer.
“Agent Kain.” He had a deep, melodic, husky voice, and it sent a tingle down her spine as he said her name.
“Agent Brent.” She turned and smiled at the agent she had been assigned to meet. Her smile got wider as she looked him up and down. He stood about 6”2, with close cropped light brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a nose that had been broken more than once in the past. He was exceptionally well built.
Richard Brent found himself smiling down at small, blond haired young woman, about 5”5. Her hair was tied back. She had a lovely smile – open and relaxed.
They hiked in companionable silence for about five miles, until they reached the car that was waiting for them. Kain produced the keys. “You drive?”
"You took your time," Pauli pouted at the man with the gun, throwing her mane of blonde hair back.
"Didn’t want it all to be over too soon," He walked over to kiss her harshly.
"Oh it won’t be." Her eyes were dark with desire, her skin hot.
Gregory Fraser’s body cooled as the couple writhed on the bed, eyes staring vacantly into space, a thin trickle of blood tracing its path along the bridge of his nose.
Prologue Part II:
Present Day.
Agent Helen Kain sprinted through the woods, feeling the earth fly underneath her feet, pushing branches out of her way, heading in a north-westerly direction. A light flickered up ahead, shining in a sweeping arch, and she fell to the floor, crouching as low as she could get. She reached down and scooped up some dirt, smearing it onto her face, silently watching. She could hear voices up ahead, and she listened closely – she was on target.
Her mission was clear and simple – and deceptively uncomplicated. A meeting was taking place in a bunker hidden deep in these woods, involving high ranking officials – just how high ranking she hadn’t been told – and a foreign dignitary. An assassination attempt was planned on this man’s life, an attempt that if realized would have staggering consequences on foreign politics. Kain was there to prevent it. She knew she wasn’t the only agent in these woods.
She reached her assigned area, blending quietly into the night, and almost relaxed for a moment. She snapped back into action – there wasn’t time to be complacent. Swinging her rucksack off her back, she pulled out a case and began to piece together a small automatic rifle with a viewing agent. She waited, ready.
The door to the bunker – a seemingly disused World War II arms unit – opened and a group of well protected people exited, heading for the reinforced car that waited for them. Kain focused on the area that she had been assigned to, ten degrees to the east and above the bunker. She expected nothing, and therefore was surprised when she picked out a shadowy figure – and knew immediately that this was the assassin. It was time to do her job; she raised her rifle, and carefully aimed it. They were lined up in her sights, and with her thumb she gently eased off the safety. Her index finger teased the trigger, waiting for the clear shot to present itself… and there it was.
She fell backwards, throwing her hands over her head protectively as the shot hit the tree that sheltered her. She lay there stunned briefly, until her startled mind realized that she was being shot at. It had almost been a hit; she was showered with the tiny pieces of bark that had splintered away from the force of the bullet. She pressed into the ground, her heart thudding, Damn… it was going wrong!
There was a terrifying moment as shots rang out all over the place. Kain did her best, providing covering fire for the agents protecting the officials, but then she saw the foreign minister being hustled into the car.
An owl hooted.
It was the signal.
The mission was over.
Kain blended back into the shadows. Perhaps the mission hadn’t been a complete failure after all.
Seven hours later, Kain paused and pulled her map and GPS unit from the rucksack. She was seemingly alone on the anchor; a few sheep dotted the knoll opposite, but nothing other signs of life. She quickly checked her bearing, and then broke once more into a light jog. She wore black leggings and fleece, molded to her body, and carried a black teardrop shaped rucksack. It was still too early for the ramblers to be out, and no one would notice her as she made her way to the knoll.
She checked her watch, almost on time, but slightly early. Quickly she climbed the craggy outcrop, and pulled out her water bottle, drinking deeply. She saw the figure approach from the west, and ignored him until he was standing next to her. She glanced briefly at him, and waited. He murmured the correct statement and she replied with her prepared answer.
“Agent Kain.” He had a deep, melodic, husky voice, and it sent a tingle down her spine as he said her name.
“Agent Brent.” She turned and smiled at the agent she had been assigned to meet. Her smile got wider as she looked him up and down. He stood about 6”2, with close cropped light brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a nose that had been broken more than once in the past. He was exceptionally well built.
Richard Brent found himself smiling down at small, blond haired young woman, about 5”5. Her hair was tied back. She had a lovely smile – open and relaxed.
They hiked in companionable silence for about five miles, until they reached the car that was waiting for them. Kain produced the keys. “You drive?”
Brent held his hands up to catch the keys. “Sure.” He caught them neatly and unlocked the car.
The radio played quietly in the background as they drove up country towards London. Kain stretched out in the passenger seat, leaning her head against the side bar. She unzipped her fleece a little and tucked her hands inside.
“Are you cold?” Brent asked.
“A little,” she yawned.
He reached over and turned the heat up a bit. “Better?”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and then got as comfortable as she could and closed her eyes. Her breathing deepened and she slept.
Brent checked on his passenger and then drove off the motorway onto a minor road. He glanced at Kain again, and thought how peaceful she looked, the nights assignment must have worn her out. Her cheeks were still flushed from the biting wind on the moor; her lips were parted slightly as she slept.
“Kain?”
No response.
He pulled over. She was a nice enough girl, attractive he had decided, but far too inexperienced to be trusted with a case like this. It was a shame, if it was another time he'd met her, he might have asked her out, a drink one evening, but no, he had a job to do.
He took out the fine piece of cord, and looped it round his hands. She was turned slightly away from him, the perfect angle for what he had to do. He brought the cord over her head, ready to jerk it up into the soft flesh of her throat.
Kain’s eyes were open in a second, bringing her hand up sharply, placing her watch between the cord and her throat. Her elbow slammed into Brent’s stomach. In her right hand she held her weapon, concealed within her fleece all this time. A vicious struggle ensued, Brent was the heavier, and much stronger of the two, and Kain knew that she just had to hold him long enough… just long enough…
He gave her a crushing blow to her head, and stars swam in front of her eyes. It was enough for him to gain the advantage. She struggled once more, but he rammed a knee into the small of her back, and it gave him more control. Kain had time for a huge mouthful of air before the cord bit into the flesh of her throat.
It was more painful than she had been informed, biting and burning her flesh, her lungs felt as if they would burst. She felt faint, unable to breathe, where the hell where they?
She was fading first, her struggles grew weaker, and with a horrible dizzy feeling she began to pass out…
Hands were grabbing her, loosening the cord from around her throat, pulling her from the car, shaking her back to consciousness.
Brent was lying on the floor, two agents pinning him down, and Kain saw those pale blue eyes piercing her. She shrugged and looked away, he was nothing now. She”d known as soon as she”d asked him to drive that he was the double agent, all others had been informed to refuse her offer.
Bill Kitchener was crouching by her.
“Kain?” he asked, shining a slim torch into her eyes, watching her pupils dilate and follow the light. “Are you okay?”
“You took your time,” she grumbled.
“Well, we had to make sure.” He handed her a handkerchief. “You’re bleeding.”
She touched her fingers to her throat as Kitchener walked away, and felt the angry raised cut, and sighed. She wondered why the hell she had volunteered for this assignment. She had laid her life on the line to catch Brent – knew how dangerous he was, and put her trust into the fact that the other agents would show – even if it had been a little late. Almost too late? She really didn’t know, how long would she have had before she had passed out completely, and died? What if things had gone wrong? She had been warned that there would be violence, that the rogue agent wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, yet she had still volunteered for it, to prove that she could cope with it, that she could handle the more dangerous tasks, desperate to prove that she should be allowed to try for 00 status. She sighed again. It didn’t matter now, the mission was over.
The radio played quietly in the background as they drove up country towards London. Kain stretched out in the passenger seat, leaning her head against the side bar. She unzipped her fleece a little and tucked her hands inside.
“Are you cold?” Brent asked.
“A little,” she yawned.
He reached over and turned the heat up a bit. “Better?”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and then got as comfortable as she could and closed her eyes. Her breathing deepened and she slept.
Brent checked on his passenger and then drove off the motorway onto a minor road. He glanced at Kain again, and thought how peaceful she looked, the nights assignment must have worn her out. Her cheeks were still flushed from the biting wind on the moor; her lips were parted slightly as she slept.
“Kain?”
No response.
He pulled over. She was a nice enough girl, attractive he had decided, but far too inexperienced to be trusted with a case like this. It was a shame, if it was another time he'd met her, he might have asked her out, a drink one evening, but no, he had a job to do.
He took out the fine piece of cord, and looped it round his hands. She was turned slightly away from him, the perfect angle for what he had to do. He brought the cord over her head, ready to jerk it up into the soft flesh of her throat.
Kain’s eyes were open in a second, bringing her hand up sharply, placing her watch between the cord and her throat. Her elbow slammed into Brent’s stomach. In her right hand she held her weapon, concealed within her fleece all this time. A vicious struggle ensued, Brent was the heavier, and much stronger of the two, and Kain knew that she just had to hold him long enough… just long enough…
He gave her a crushing blow to her head, and stars swam in front of her eyes. It was enough for him to gain the advantage. She struggled once more, but he rammed a knee into the small of her back, and it gave him more control. Kain had time for a huge mouthful of air before the cord bit into the flesh of her throat.
It was more painful than she had been informed, biting and burning her flesh, her lungs felt as if they would burst. She felt faint, unable to breathe, where the hell where they?
She was fading first, her struggles grew weaker, and with a horrible dizzy feeling she began to pass out…
Hands were grabbing her, loosening the cord from around her throat, pulling her from the car, shaking her back to consciousness.
Brent was lying on the floor, two agents pinning him down, and Kain saw those pale blue eyes piercing her. She shrugged and looked away, he was nothing now. She”d known as soon as she”d asked him to drive that he was the double agent, all others had been informed to refuse her offer.
Bill Kitchener was crouching by her.
“Kain?” he asked, shining a slim torch into her eyes, watching her pupils dilate and follow the light. “Are you okay?”
“You took your time,” she grumbled.
“Well, we had to make sure.” He handed her a handkerchief. “You’re bleeding.”
She touched her fingers to her throat as Kitchener walked away, and felt the angry raised cut, and sighed. She wondered why the hell she had volunteered for this assignment. She had laid her life on the line to catch Brent – knew how dangerous he was, and put her trust into the fact that the other agents would show – even if it had been a little late. Almost too late? She really didn’t know, how long would she have had before she had passed out completely, and died? What if things had gone wrong? She had been warned that there would be violence, that the rogue agent wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, yet she had still volunteered for it, to prove that she could cope with it, that she could handle the more dangerous tasks, desperate to prove that she should be allowed to try for 00 status. She sighed again. It didn’t matter now, the mission was over.
Prologue Part II:
ST PETERSBURG.
Wahlberg and Kain flew into the Pulkovo II International Airport the next day; the city plunged into near darkness despite the early hour. They had arrived in St. Petersburg, the “Venice of the North”, built by Peter the Great on the northern delta as a defense against Sweden. As the plane swooped down towards the airport Helen watched the land below her, the hundreds of islands forming the city, pounded by the cold northern sea.
Helen felt nothing but anticipation at the sight of the land below her; she had visited Russia several times, but always Moscow, never the city that had withstood the two and a half year siege during World War II through pure pride.
Donnie noticed her eagerness, and her excitement at their journey’s conclusion. It was the first time that her professionalism had slipped since they had met at the airport.
“Just remember we’re here for a reason, so the sightseeing will have to wait,” he murmured to her.
She spun to face him, annoyance clear on her face until she realized he was teasing her. “As long as you remember that as well,” she smirked at him, knowing full well his reputation for admiring the opposite sex. Already she had caught a few women glancing interestedly in his direction.
He smiled wryly, and shook out a newspaper, burying his head in the news of the day.
Caleb Deronda was a tall man, over six feet, with olive skin, and brown hair that wanted to curl. He had been educated in America, excelling in microbiology and later business studies. Usually calm and composed, his face was now flushed an angry red, and he paced through his office, glaring at the man that stood silently watching him.
He growled. “I don’t like bad news.”
The other man remained silent. It was easier to sit the anger out rather than to argue.
Deronda peered out of the small window, rubbing the stubble that lined his strong jaw. “So he refused our generous offer?”
The other man nodded.
“You made sure that it cannot be traced back here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” That was something at least. “You have new orders.”
The man waited patiently to hear them.
“Vaskov will be removed.”
That was to be expected. The second order would be more awkward.
“Are you a discreet man?” Deronda asked.
Borushka sweated. “Of course…” he mumbled.
“I no longer want your discretion.” Borushka frowned, puzzled, and more than a little afraid.
He was even more disturbed when Deronda began to smile.
“I want you to be indiscreet. Mouth off. Go out, get drunk, and speak to anyone who might be interested.”
“You want me to talk about you and the…”
Deronda spun round, anger once more on his face. “No. Not me. I want you to link our little project with another man. You know who. The British Intelligence are already aware of Hermes. They would be most interested to discover who is supposedly behind it all.”
The anger faded once more. It would give Deronda great pleasure to see this rival destroyed. His order to Borushka was the final nail in the coffin.
Despite Wahlberg’s assurance that they would not have anytime for sightseeing, Helen was still seeing more of the city than she had ever dared to hope. However, with the cold wind blasting in from the sea, and the snow flurrying around her face, she would have rather been indoors. Her black wool coat, seemed too thin, her hands were numb despite the gloves she wore, and the wind still stung her face, no matter how deep she buried it into the scarf she wore.
They walked through the Palace Square towards the Alexander Column. To the north, an extravagant style Winter Palace stood, facing to the south the former headquarters of the Imperial Army, with its Triumphal Arch. Helen gave nothing more than the briefest glance in their direction, instead keeping her head down, and her eyes half closed against the snow and the wind.
The local residents hurried about their business, shaking their heads, and muttering about the madness of foreign tourists. Apart from Kain and Wahlberg, there were a few, eagerly discussing the architecture and the legends behind the buildings. Therefore it was easy to spot the man they were assigned to meet.
He stood at the base of the column, collar turned up against the wind, trying to light a cigarette, but the wind kept snatching the flame away, no matter what angle he stood at. With a muttered curse, he stuffed the lighter back into a pocket, and looked up as Wahlberg approached, with Kain a few steps behind.
“You’re late,” he said in accented English.
“The trains.” Wahlberg apologized smoothly.
The man smiled. “Isn’t it odd how the trains effect the taxis?” He held his hand out to Wahlberg. “Vasili Dmitrov.”
Wahlberg smiled and shook the proffered hand; he had no time for the formalities of espionage. “Wahlberg, Donnie Wahlberg. And this is Helen Kain, also with MI6.”
Dmitrov nodded at Kain. He was tall, and thin, with Slavic cheekbones, eyes as dark as night, with matching smudges beneath, and a thin mouth. His black curls fell over his pale forehead, and he moved with the grace of a dancer. “You are cold?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ll go somewhere out of the wind.”
In a small dark bar, they exchanged knowledge of the assignment. Dmitrov talked rapidly and quietly, Kain had to lean forward to catch his words.
“Hermes was offered to a member of the Russian government, Roman Vaskov. He at once understood what was being offered, but decided that it would be better to decline the generous offer. Understandably, he is now convinced that his life in danger.” Dmitrov shrugged. “Which of course, it is, our duty is to preserve it.”
“Why?” Wahlberg asked.
Dmitrov ran a hand through his curls. “He may not be a strong man, but he is a powerful man. The weak ones usually are. It would be most displeasing if anything happened to him, and to his bank account.”
Wahlberg nodded, understanding perfectly. So be it, Vaskov was to be protected. “What else?”
“There is to be a shipment tonight. Weapons, cash, or Hermes itself, we don’t know, but we do know where. And whoever is running the scheme will be there.”
“Do we know his identity?”
Dmitrov frowned. “No. Whoever it is works underground, rarely surfaces long enough for our intelligence to discover anything about him. And it Isn’t through a lack of trying. We”ve been waiting for a year or so now to find out exactly who this person is and what he is dealing with. This is the clearest opportunity we have had so far. Are you willing to assist?”
Wahlberg glanced at Kain. “Of course.”
ST PETERSBURG.
Wahlberg and Kain flew into the Pulkovo II International Airport the next day; the city plunged into near darkness despite the early hour. They had arrived in St. Petersburg, the “Venice of the North”, built by Peter the Great on the northern delta as a defense against Sweden. As the plane swooped down towards the airport Helen watched the land below her, the hundreds of islands forming the city, pounded by the cold northern sea.
Helen felt nothing but anticipation at the sight of the land below her; she had visited Russia several times, but always Moscow, never the city that had withstood the two and a half year siege during World War II through pure pride.
Donnie noticed her eagerness, and her excitement at their journey’s conclusion. It was the first time that her professionalism had slipped since they had met at the airport.
“Just remember we’re here for a reason, so the sightseeing will have to wait,” he murmured to her.
She spun to face him, annoyance clear on her face until she realized he was teasing her. “As long as you remember that as well,” she smirked at him, knowing full well his reputation for admiring the opposite sex. Already she had caught a few women glancing interestedly in his direction.
He smiled wryly, and shook out a newspaper, burying his head in the news of the day.
Caleb Deronda was a tall man, over six feet, with olive skin, and brown hair that wanted to curl. He had been educated in America, excelling in microbiology and later business studies. Usually calm and composed, his face was now flushed an angry red, and he paced through his office, glaring at the man that stood silently watching him.
He growled. “I don’t like bad news.”
The other man remained silent. It was easier to sit the anger out rather than to argue.
Deronda peered out of the small window, rubbing the stubble that lined his strong jaw. “So he refused our generous offer?”
The other man nodded.
“You made sure that it cannot be traced back here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” That was something at least. “You have new orders.”
The man waited patiently to hear them.
“Vaskov will be removed.”
That was to be expected. The second order would be more awkward.
“Are you a discreet man?” Deronda asked.
Borushka sweated. “Of course…” he mumbled.
“I no longer want your discretion.” Borushka frowned, puzzled, and more than a little afraid.
He was even more disturbed when Deronda began to smile.
“I want you to be indiscreet. Mouth off. Go out, get drunk, and speak to anyone who might be interested.”
“You want me to talk about you and the…”
Deronda spun round, anger once more on his face. “No. Not me. I want you to link our little project with another man. You know who. The British Intelligence are already aware of Hermes. They would be most interested to discover who is supposedly behind it all.”
The anger faded once more. It would give Deronda great pleasure to see this rival destroyed. His order to Borushka was the final nail in the coffin.
Despite Wahlberg’s assurance that they would not have anytime for sightseeing, Helen was still seeing more of the city than she had ever dared to hope. However, with the cold wind blasting in from the sea, and the snow flurrying around her face, she would have rather been indoors. Her black wool coat, seemed too thin, her hands were numb despite the gloves she wore, and the wind still stung her face, no matter how deep she buried it into the scarf she wore.
They walked through the Palace Square towards the Alexander Column. To the north, an extravagant style Winter Palace stood, facing to the south the former headquarters of the Imperial Army, with its Triumphal Arch. Helen gave nothing more than the briefest glance in their direction, instead keeping her head down, and her eyes half closed against the snow and the wind.
The local residents hurried about their business, shaking their heads, and muttering about the madness of foreign tourists. Apart from Kain and Wahlberg, there were a few, eagerly discussing the architecture and the legends behind the buildings. Therefore it was easy to spot the man they were assigned to meet.
He stood at the base of the column, collar turned up against the wind, trying to light a cigarette, but the wind kept snatching the flame away, no matter what angle he stood at. With a muttered curse, he stuffed the lighter back into a pocket, and looked up as Wahlberg approached, with Kain a few steps behind.
“You’re late,” he said in accented English.
“The trains.” Wahlberg apologized smoothly.
The man smiled. “Isn’t it odd how the trains effect the taxis?” He held his hand out to Wahlberg. “Vasili Dmitrov.”
Wahlberg smiled and shook the proffered hand; he had no time for the formalities of espionage. “Wahlberg, Donnie Wahlberg. And this is Helen Kain, also with MI6.”
Dmitrov nodded at Kain. He was tall, and thin, with Slavic cheekbones, eyes as dark as night, with matching smudges beneath, and a thin mouth. His black curls fell over his pale forehead, and he moved with the grace of a dancer. “You are cold?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ll go somewhere out of the wind.”
In a small dark bar, they exchanged knowledge of the assignment. Dmitrov talked rapidly and quietly, Kain had to lean forward to catch his words.
“Hermes was offered to a member of the Russian government, Roman Vaskov. He at once understood what was being offered, but decided that it would be better to decline the generous offer. Understandably, he is now convinced that his life in danger.” Dmitrov shrugged. “Which of course, it is, our duty is to preserve it.”
“Why?” Wahlberg asked.
Dmitrov ran a hand through his curls. “He may not be a strong man, but he is a powerful man. The weak ones usually are. It would be most displeasing if anything happened to him, and to his bank account.”
Wahlberg nodded, understanding perfectly. So be it, Vaskov was to be protected. “What else?”
“There is to be a shipment tonight. Weapons, cash, or Hermes itself, we don’t know, but we do know where. And whoever is running the scheme will be there.”
“Do we know his identity?”
Dmitrov frowned. “No. Whoever it is works underground, rarely surfaces long enough for our intelligence to discover anything about him. And it Isn’t through a lack of trying. We”ve been waiting for a year or so now to find out exactly who this person is and what he is dealing with. This is the clearest opportunity we have had so far. Are you willing to assist?”
Wahlberg glanced at Kain. “Of course.”
This wasn’t going to plan. The thought repeated itself in Helen’s head, this wasn’t going to plan. She was pressed up against a wall, her heart pounding, surely loud enough to give away her position. Moving slowly, she reached under her jacket for her holster, and slid her weapon from it. Every movement conspired against her, sounding painfully loud in the quiet underground garage.
They had arrived twenty minutes earlier, and watched the men arrive. Dmitrov and Donnie had slipped into the garage, concealed in the shadows, expecting Helen to drive away a few minutes later, and wait for them at the hotel. It would be easier to conceal two people rather than three, and Helen had agreed, they would keep in contact with a small radio device. It wasn’t as if there would be any trouble, Dmitrov had insisted that this was simply an observation. That had been the plan. Of course, the plan hadn’t included the second car turning up just as Helen had been preparing to leave.
She had been sitting in the dark saloon, the engine running, headlights switched off, slowly counting to fifty in case there was a problem, and the two agents were to return. Just as she slid the car into gear, a second car had arrived, and two men had clambered out, heading into the building as Donnie and Dmitrov had minutes earlier. She had a nasty feeling that this car and its occupants were here solely to cause trouble.
So she had slipped silently from the car and into the first level of the garage. The meeting would take place on the third floor, down, Dmitrov and Donnie were somewhere on that level. Unable to use the radio for fear of alerting whoever to their presence, it appeared that this was one message that she would have to deliver in person.
Keeping pressed up against the walls, shrouding herself in shadows, she edged towards the stair case that would lead her to the lower levels. She ached to run, but knew she would draw far too much attention to herself, her boots clicked on the concrete floor, she held her breath each time she took another step. Her gun was a comforting weight in her hand, the reassurance that she needed. She reached the door, and painstakingly drew it open, inch by inch, until she could slip through.
On the concrete stairs she had a brief respite, clattering down the steps as quickly as she dared. She peered through the grimy tiny pane of glass, all clear, she crept through. It took a little time for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, a single strip of weak bulbs running along the walls, barely illuminating the empty parking spaces. She trailed the length of the level, her eyes darting into the corners, praying that Donnie and Dmitrov might be here, and not already further down. It appeared to be empty.
“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” she muttered.
A noise from the other end of the level caused her to flit into the nearest dark corner. It was time to make a move, she waited, listening, and decided that it had been her imagination; she crept back to the stairwell. On the second level, she had learnt her lesson, she simply peered around the door, realized that it was deserted, and turning, began to descend to the third level.
It was unclear who was the more surprised, Helen or the two well built men that were climbing the stairs towards her. They stared at each other for a small eternity, and then the taller man, with the cold blue eyes saw her weapon. His eyes narrowed, Helen followed his gaze. Both men reached into their jackets and Helen had more than a good idea about what they would be reaching for.
It was time for a snap decision, and she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. She span on her heel, and sprinted back up the stairs.
She had a good head start, taking the stairs two at a time, using the grubby feeling banister to drag herself up, listening to the pounding steps of the two men following her. She nearly tripped as she reached the top of the stairs, grabbing at the handle of the door, the rusted spring mechanism protesting at its harsh treatment as she pulled it open. The garage suddenly seemed impossibly long before her; surely it hadn’t stretched to this length when she had crept along its dark walls earlier. She had to get to the end, then up the exit slope and she would be out in the open, and more difficult to target.
Helen ran. Her high heeled boots resounded with an echo through the empty garage, she wondered if she could be heard on the levels below. She sprinted as if her life depended on it, in fact, it probably did. Her weapon felt heavy in her hand, her breath was catching painfully in her lungs, slowing her down. A shot was fired at her, the bullet ricocheting off the nearest pillar, frighteningly close; her hands flew instinctively to her ears, her body already crouching, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that the way behind her was still clear, but it wouldn’t last for long, the bullet must have been a lucky shot taken from the hallway.
If she could just get to the car. It was so close, just up the slope, and outside, already she was fumbling for the keys, urging her body on, to move faster.
A second bullet and loud footsteps told her that the men were close behind and gaining, she abandoned her escape and ducked behind a pillar, cursing. Breathing deeply, trying to get a rhythm to her frantically beating heart, she fought with the clip of the gun, checking it was fully loaded. With a harsh click she slid it back into place, her thumb drawing back the safety. A final breath, she stepped around the pillar, fired twice, and ducked back.
Both men were approaching rapidly, both were armed. She swore again. The footsteps were still thundering towards her. Bracing herself she threw herself once more into the sprint of her life, knowing a moving target would be harder to hit than a stationary. It was her only chance.
Helen never knew what caused her to fall, her footing slid out from beneath her, and she hit the ground with a bone jarring thump, the breath forcibly removed from her already aching lungs. Her Walter PPK clattered across the slick tarmac, tantalizingly close to her fingertips, and she scrambled for it. Strong hands gripped her back, pulling her upright. Briefly she saw the harsh blue eyes of the taller man, a fist flew through the air, a violent blow, and all went black.
They stood over her prone body, unsure what to do next. They stepped back respectively as he approached.
“Is she dead?” he asked. He only half cared.
The man that had dealt the cruel blow shook his head. “Just KOed.”
“Who is she?” when they simply shrugged, he sighed. “Find out.”
The other man reached down, pulling her onto her back, she had fallen onto her stomach. He rummaged through her jacket, and pulled out a slim black wallet. He handed it to the man who had just arrived.
They had arrived twenty minutes earlier, and watched the men arrive. Dmitrov and Donnie had slipped into the garage, concealed in the shadows, expecting Helen to drive away a few minutes later, and wait for them at the hotel. It would be easier to conceal two people rather than three, and Helen had agreed, they would keep in contact with a small radio device. It wasn’t as if there would be any trouble, Dmitrov had insisted that this was simply an observation. That had been the plan. Of course, the plan hadn’t included the second car turning up just as Helen had been preparing to leave.
She had been sitting in the dark saloon, the engine running, headlights switched off, slowly counting to fifty in case there was a problem, and the two agents were to return. Just as she slid the car into gear, a second car had arrived, and two men had clambered out, heading into the building as Donnie and Dmitrov had minutes earlier. She had a nasty feeling that this car and its occupants were here solely to cause trouble.
So she had slipped silently from the car and into the first level of the garage. The meeting would take place on the third floor, down, Dmitrov and Donnie were somewhere on that level. Unable to use the radio for fear of alerting whoever to their presence, it appeared that this was one message that she would have to deliver in person.
Keeping pressed up against the walls, shrouding herself in shadows, she edged towards the stair case that would lead her to the lower levels. She ached to run, but knew she would draw far too much attention to herself, her boots clicked on the concrete floor, she held her breath each time she took another step. Her gun was a comforting weight in her hand, the reassurance that she needed. She reached the door, and painstakingly drew it open, inch by inch, until she could slip through.
On the concrete stairs she had a brief respite, clattering down the steps as quickly as she dared. She peered through the grimy tiny pane of glass, all clear, she crept through. It took a little time for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, a single strip of weak bulbs running along the walls, barely illuminating the empty parking spaces. She trailed the length of the level, her eyes darting into the corners, praying that Donnie and Dmitrov might be here, and not already further down. It appeared to be empty.
“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” she muttered.
A noise from the other end of the level caused her to flit into the nearest dark corner. It was time to make a move, she waited, listening, and decided that it had been her imagination; she crept back to the stairwell. On the second level, she had learnt her lesson, she simply peered around the door, realized that it was deserted, and turning, began to descend to the third level.
It was unclear who was the more surprised, Helen or the two well built men that were climbing the stairs towards her. They stared at each other for a small eternity, and then the taller man, with the cold blue eyes saw her weapon. His eyes narrowed, Helen followed his gaze. Both men reached into their jackets and Helen had more than a good idea about what they would be reaching for.
It was time for a snap decision, and she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. She span on her heel, and sprinted back up the stairs.
She had a good head start, taking the stairs two at a time, using the grubby feeling banister to drag herself up, listening to the pounding steps of the two men following her. She nearly tripped as she reached the top of the stairs, grabbing at the handle of the door, the rusted spring mechanism protesting at its harsh treatment as she pulled it open. The garage suddenly seemed impossibly long before her; surely it hadn’t stretched to this length when she had crept along its dark walls earlier. She had to get to the end, then up the exit slope and she would be out in the open, and more difficult to target.
Helen ran. Her high heeled boots resounded with an echo through the empty garage, she wondered if she could be heard on the levels below. She sprinted as if her life depended on it, in fact, it probably did. Her weapon felt heavy in her hand, her breath was catching painfully in her lungs, slowing her down. A shot was fired at her, the bullet ricocheting off the nearest pillar, frighteningly close; her hands flew instinctively to her ears, her body already crouching, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that the way behind her was still clear, but it wouldn’t last for long, the bullet must have been a lucky shot taken from the hallway.
If she could just get to the car. It was so close, just up the slope, and outside, already she was fumbling for the keys, urging her body on, to move faster.
A second bullet and loud footsteps told her that the men were close behind and gaining, she abandoned her escape and ducked behind a pillar, cursing. Breathing deeply, trying to get a rhythm to her frantically beating heart, she fought with the clip of the gun, checking it was fully loaded. With a harsh click she slid it back into place, her thumb drawing back the safety. A final breath, she stepped around the pillar, fired twice, and ducked back.
Both men were approaching rapidly, both were armed. She swore again. The footsteps were still thundering towards her. Bracing herself she threw herself once more into the sprint of her life, knowing a moving target would be harder to hit than a stationary. It was her only chance.
Helen never knew what caused her to fall, her footing slid out from beneath her, and she hit the ground with a bone jarring thump, the breath forcibly removed from her already aching lungs. Her Walter PPK clattered across the slick tarmac, tantalizingly close to her fingertips, and she scrambled for it. Strong hands gripped her back, pulling her upright. Briefly she saw the harsh blue eyes of the taller man, a fist flew through the air, a violent blow, and all went black.
They stood over her prone body, unsure what to do next. They stepped back respectively as he approached.
“Is she dead?” he asked. He only half cared.
The man that had dealt the cruel blow shook his head. “Just KOed.”
“Who is she?” when they simply shrugged, he sighed. “Find out.”
The other man reached down, pulling her onto her back, she had fallen onto her stomach. He rummaged through her jacket, and pulled out a slim black wallet. He handed it to the man who had just arrived.
He took it, staring down at the unconscious woman. He noted her pale face, framed by dark brows, and thick short eyelashes pressed against her cheeks. Unusual looks, he decided, and suddenly an irrational thought flickered through his mind; he wondered what color her eyes would be if she were to open them now and look directly at him.
Pushing the thought away he opened the wallet he held, pulling out the first card he came to. He read the name upon it, feeling a flicker of recognition at the initials and surname embossed there. It wasn’t a common name he mused, but neither was it unusual. He pulled out the driver’s license, and he knew then. It didn’t matter that the picture that was printed upon it was small and blurred, staring at the name, the disturbingly familiar name he knew exactly what color her eyes would be. They would be beautiful hazel, full of laughter, always amused, eyes that would change to darker green when she smiled. Eyes that he knew, and remembered all to well.
He smiled. He also knew what a valuable hand she was. The game was on.
Her cheek was clammy against the cool leather of the couch. She swam up through a red haze, the rich scent of the fabric filling her senses. Combined with the pounding pain in her head, the smell made her feel nauseous. She felt feverish, shaky, hot and cold at the same time; she was confused, and groggy. Slowly she raised a hand and gingerly explored the lump that was forming under her light hair.
A glass of water was placed with a clink on the table in front of her. She flinched at the sound; it bit viciously into her head. But the lure of the cold water was too much; she struggled into a sitting position, her eyes focused only on the water that promised cool relief. She gulped at it.
“Slowly.” The voice was clear, precise. Helen lifted her head to focus on the owner, as she saw him the glass slipped from her suddenly numb fingertips, shattering on the hardwood floor. That laugh again. The rasping hiss building up into a rich reverberating laugh that grated against her senses. The owner of that voice was staring at Helen with an unsettling smile on his face. That face was scarred badly down the right side, scars that Helen knew would continue all the way down his lean muscled body to his slim hips.
A strong jaw. A confidence that vibrated through his entire demeanor. Grey blue eyes glittered beneath dark blond hair, now closely cropped to his head. The man oozed power. It was the scarring that gave the definite clue to his identity. But he was a man that was dead. A man killed three years previously by Donnie Wahlberg.
Her confusion shone through her façade of bravery. Her knitted brow gave away every thought to Alec Trevelyan, the traitor of the British Secret Service.
“So surprised?” A little smirk was beginning to play on the edge of his lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Her tone was flat, her wording blunt.
“I would think that all evidence points to the contrary.”
“Donnie killed you.” She was desperate to regain the upper hand, her confusion, her headache, her shock at seeing him running rings around simple coherent thought. She played her trump card, his hatred of Wahlberg.
His attitude changed from one of quiet amusement to full on aggression, he lunged across the room, his strong hands pinning her wrists to the chair.
“He failed.” Alec hissed. “And I want you to inform him of his mistake.” Like his namesake his mood suddenly switched again, he moved slowly back from her, one hand smoothing down his hair. He pushed a button on the intercom.
Pushing the thought away he opened the wallet he held, pulling out the first card he came to. He read the name upon it, feeling a flicker of recognition at the initials and surname embossed there. It wasn’t a common name he mused, but neither was it unusual. He pulled out the driver’s license, and he knew then. It didn’t matter that the picture that was printed upon it was small and blurred, staring at the name, the disturbingly familiar name he knew exactly what color her eyes would be. They would be beautiful hazel, full of laughter, always amused, eyes that would change to darker green when she smiled. Eyes that he knew, and remembered all to well.
He smiled. He also knew what a valuable hand she was. The game was on.
Her cheek was clammy against the cool leather of the couch. She swam up through a red haze, the rich scent of the fabric filling her senses. Combined with the pounding pain in her head, the smell made her feel nauseous. She felt feverish, shaky, hot and cold at the same time; she was confused, and groggy. Slowly she raised a hand and gingerly explored the lump that was forming under her light hair.
A glass of water was placed with a clink on the table in front of her. She flinched at the sound; it bit viciously into her head. But the lure of the cold water was too much; she struggled into a sitting position, her eyes focused only on the water that promised cool relief. She gulped at it.
“Slowly.” The voice was clear, precise. Helen lifted her head to focus on the owner, as she saw him the glass slipped from her suddenly numb fingertips, shattering on the hardwood floor. That laugh again. The rasping hiss building up into a rich reverberating laugh that grated against her senses. The owner of that voice was staring at Helen with an unsettling smile on his face. That face was scarred badly down the right side, scars that Helen knew would continue all the way down his lean muscled body to his slim hips.
A strong jaw. A confidence that vibrated through his entire demeanor. Grey blue eyes glittered beneath dark blond hair, now closely cropped to his head. The man oozed power. It was the scarring that gave the definite clue to his identity. But he was a man that was dead. A man killed three years previously by Donnie Wahlberg.
Her confusion shone through her façade of bravery. Her knitted brow gave away every thought to Alec Trevelyan, the traitor of the British Secret Service.
“So surprised?” A little smirk was beginning to play on the edge of his lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Her tone was flat, her wording blunt.
“I would think that all evidence points to the contrary.”
“Donnie killed you.” She was desperate to regain the upper hand, her confusion, her headache, her shock at seeing him running rings around simple coherent thought. She played her trump card, his hatred of Wahlberg.
His attitude changed from one of quiet amusement to full on aggression, he lunged across the room, his strong hands pinning her wrists to the chair.
“He failed.” Alec hissed. “And I want you to inform him of his mistake.” Like his namesake his mood suddenly switched again, he moved slowly back from her, one hand smoothing down his hair. He pushed a button on the intercom.
“Show our guest to her room please.”
To her surprise, Helen was treated with respect. Having guessed that she was in Trevelyan’s private quarters she tried to recall the passages around her, but the place was so large she soon became disorientated. She was deposited into a large tastefully furnished room, where she found her belongings, minus her phone, keys and gun. Left alone she roamed the room searching for a mode to escape, but the place was windowless, and the vents too small for her to even consider. In the bathroom she found thick towels, a large shower, even a new toothbrush. Looking for something to occupy herself she opened a bottle of shampoo and smelt its clean fruity fragrance. It was a gorgeous set of rooms to be in, but it was still her cell, and she was beginning to feel caged.
The bedroom had been done in soft muted neutrals, a huge bed in the centre of the room, with crisp sheets and soft blankets. Her head was still hurting her, it was tempting to just lie down and sleep, but she couldn’t relax yet, knowing her every move was probably being watched, two way mirrors, peepholes, cameras on every part of the room. She prowled, feeling a little stir crazy already, trying the door with little hope of success, proved right when it refused to open. Like a caged animal she paced the room, one side to the other, and then back again, all the time worrying her thumbnail, trying to concentrate. She sat on the sofa. She opened every drawer she could find, amused to find them empty. She lay on the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of anticipation. Finally she decided that a shower would help to ease the pain in her head.
Having showered she lay on the bed. She no longer felt the urge to escape. Common sense told her that it would be better to just wait the situation out. Wait for instructions rather than take action. Wrapped in the soft bathrobe, her head still throbbing she felt strangely safe on the comfortable bed. To surprise she fell asleep.
Hours had passed when she was woken by a buzzing noise. Turning her head she saw a slim handset on the chest of drawers next to the bed. Slowly she picked it up and listened. An accented voice told her to be dressed and ready within twenty minutes, she would be taken to dinner. Dinner with Janus. She murmured her assent, what else could she do?
Dressing quickly, she left off her suit jacket, the elbow scuffed through during her fall. She had a bruise in a corresponding position. Flinging the jacket over the back of the sofa, she sat and waited. Anxiously she wondered what Trevelyan’s role in all of this was. Had he been supplying or taking receipt of the virus? How dangerous was he? Her stomach turned over at the thought of having to spend time in his company, he was a man with little remorse, a known killer and her fate was in his hands. She was scared. Very scared. She jumped as there was a knock at the door, and a man entered, beckoning her to follow. It was time to dine with a ghost.
It was claustrophobic in the room, shrouded in darkness, lit only by the tall cream candles. She trembled, feeling trapped, feeling like she was bound in this room with this man. She had no idea what to expect, instead she sat and waited, waited for him to strike. She barely noticed the intimacy of the setting, the shadows cocooning them. She simply sat opposite him, sometimes catching his eye through the flickering flames. She refused wine, ignored the food in front of her, she sat with her hands in her lap, anticipating. Her attention was solely on the candle in front of her, watching the wax cascade down the column, and pool at its base. She couldn’t speak, her mouth was dry, if he asked her a question, she merely nodded or shook her head. His closeness was intimidating, she was well aware of the danger posed by the man who watched her through the flames.
Alec Trevelyan was clearly a man of taste. His suit was cut to emphasise the broadness of his shoulders, and the tapering of his lean muscled body into narrow hips. He had long legs she noted, when he had walked into the room, and a slight limp. He stood at six feet, a good half foot taller than Helen, and she knew she was no match for his strength. As if it would disguise her silence he spoke constantly, telling her simply of his fall to his so called death, the terrible pain of his shattered body, knowing his only chance to escape would be an agonized roll into the satellite’s draining system, forcing himself to move, lying on the narrow edge, feeling and hearing the roar of the flames over him, knowing he had cheated death for a second time. He had learnt to walk again, to rebuild his broken body, and was now back to full strength.
Helen sat in silence, simply listening, horrified to find herself attracted to this man. He was her enemy, he could destroy her at any moment, and yet still she wanted to reach out, and touch his face, or to feel the texture of his hair under her hands. He watched her with cold grey eyes, that focused on her with an intensity she thought would scald her, and without realizing it she found herself running her hands through her own hair, and brazenly staring at him, willing him to touch her. He never broke her gaze. She reached for her water glass, letting the cold ice bump against her burning lips.
“You should eat.”
She frowned, dragged back to the moment, finding her voice at last. “I’m not hungry.”
“How did you find your room?”
“Delightful,” she was sarcastic.
He sighed. “I’m trying to be civil.”
“Since when did being civil involve abduction?” she glared at him. “I presume that my presence here means that it was two of your hired goons that attacked me.”
He ignored her comment, focusing on his own agenda. “I’m far more interested in finding out why a member of the British Secret Service was investigating that particular garage.”
She decided to be straight with him. “There was an exchange taking place. I was warning the agents that I was working with when I was pursued.”
He frowned. “What sort of exchange?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “You were there. You would know far more than me.”
“I see.” He leaned forward. “Yesterday afternoon, a man in my employment learned of a consignment being made in my name. Understandably, since I like to keep a low profile, I was intrigued, and decided that it was worth examining in more detail. You interrupted my men, and they took what they believed to be the appropriate action.”
“So why am I here?”
“Because you were brought here by my men under my orders.”
An obtuse answer. She gritted her teeth. “Then when am I allowed to leave?”
“When I say so. Forgive me, Helen, but your presence here puts me in a strong position, until I can negotiate your release.”
She was relieved that she would at least remain alive. “So I’m a hostage here? A pawn to be negotiated.”
“To put it plainly, yes. You will remain in your rooms, anything you require will be provided.”
“How generous.” Her eyes were narrowed at him; they remained in a deadlock of a cloying silence.
To her surprise, Helen was treated with respect. Having guessed that she was in Trevelyan’s private quarters she tried to recall the passages around her, but the place was so large she soon became disorientated. She was deposited into a large tastefully furnished room, where she found her belongings, minus her phone, keys and gun. Left alone she roamed the room searching for a mode to escape, but the place was windowless, and the vents too small for her to even consider. In the bathroom she found thick towels, a large shower, even a new toothbrush. Looking for something to occupy herself she opened a bottle of shampoo and smelt its clean fruity fragrance. It was a gorgeous set of rooms to be in, but it was still her cell, and she was beginning to feel caged.
The bedroom had been done in soft muted neutrals, a huge bed in the centre of the room, with crisp sheets and soft blankets. Her head was still hurting her, it was tempting to just lie down and sleep, but she couldn’t relax yet, knowing her every move was probably being watched, two way mirrors, peepholes, cameras on every part of the room. She prowled, feeling a little stir crazy already, trying the door with little hope of success, proved right when it refused to open. Like a caged animal she paced the room, one side to the other, and then back again, all the time worrying her thumbnail, trying to concentrate. She sat on the sofa. She opened every drawer she could find, amused to find them empty. She lay on the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of anticipation. Finally she decided that a shower would help to ease the pain in her head.
Having showered she lay on the bed. She no longer felt the urge to escape. Common sense told her that it would be better to just wait the situation out. Wait for instructions rather than take action. Wrapped in the soft bathrobe, her head still throbbing she felt strangely safe on the comfortable bed. To surprise she fell asleep.
Hours had passed when she was woken by a buzzing noise. Turning her head she saw a slim handset on the chest of drawers next to the bed. Slowly she picked it up and listened. An accented voice told her to be dressed and ready within twenty minutes, she would be taken to dinner. Dinner with Janus. She murmured her assent, what else could she do?
Dressing quickly, she left off her suit jacket, the elbow scuffed through during her fall. She had a bruise in a corresponding position. Flinging the jacket over the back of the sofa, she sat and waited. Anxiously she wondered what Trevelyan’s role in all of this was. Had he been supplying or taking receipt of the virus? How dangerous was he? Her stomach turned over at the thought of having to spend time in his company, he was a man with little remorse, a known killer and her fate was in his hands. She was scared. Very scared. She jumped as there was a knock at the door, and a man entered, beckoning her to follow. It was time to dine with a ghost.
It was claustrophobic in the room, shrouded in darkness, lit only by the tall cream candles. She trembled, feeling trapped, feeling like she was bound in this room with this man. She had no idea what to expect, instead she sat and waited, waited for him to strike. She barely noticed the intimacy of the setting, the shadows cocooning them. She simply sat opposite him, sometimes catching his eye through the flickering flames. She refused wine, ignored the food in front of her, she sat with her hands in her lap, anticipating. Her attention was solely on the candle in front of her, watching the wax cascade down the column, and pool at its base. She couldn’t speak, her mouth was dry, if he asked her a question, she merely nodded or shook her head. His closeness was intimidating, she was well aware of the danger posed by the man who watched her through the flames.
Alec Trevelyan was clearly a man of taste. His suit was cut to emphasise the broadness of his shoulders, and the tapering of his lean muscled body into narrow hips. He had long legs she noted, when he had walked into the room, and a slight limp. He stood at six feet, a good half foot taller than Helen, and she knew she was no match for his strength. As if it would disguise her silence he spoke constantly, telling her simply of his fall to his so called death, the terrible pain of his shattered body, knowing his only chance to escape would be an agonized roll into the satellite’s draining system, forcing himself to move, lying on the narrow edge, feeling and hearing the roar of the flames over him, knowing he had cheated death for a second time. He had learnt to walk again, to rebuild his broken body, and was now back to full strength.
Helen sat in silence, simply listening, horrified to find herself attracted to this man. He was her enemy, he could destroy her at any moment, and yet still she wanted to reach out, and touch his face, or to feel the texture of his hair under her hands. He watched her with cold grey eyes, that focused on her with an intensity she thought would scald her, and without realizing it she found herself running her hands through her own hair, and brazenly staring at him, willing him to touch her. He never broke her gaze. She reached for her water glass, letting the cold ice bump against her burning lips.
“You should eat.”
She frowned, dragged back to the moment, finding her voice at last. “I’m not hungry.”
“How did you find your room?”
“Delightful,” she was sarcastic.
He sighed. “I’m trying to be civil.”
“Since when did being civil involve abduction?” she glared at him. “I presume that my presence here means that it was two of your hired goons that attacked me.”
He ignored her comment, focusing on his own agenda. “I’m far more interested in finding out why a member of the British Secret Service was investigating that particular garage.”
She decided to be straight with him. “There was an exchange taking place. I was warning the agents that I was working with when I was pursued.”
He frowned. “What sort of exchange?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “You were there. You would know far more than me.”
“I see.” He leaned forward. “Yesterday afternoon, a man in my employment learned of a consignment being made in my name. Understandably, since I like to keep a low profile, I was intrigued, and decided that it was worth examining in more detail. You interrupted my men, and they took what they believed to be the appropriate action.”
“So why am I here?”
“Because you were brought here by my men under my orders.”
An obtuse answer. She gritted her teeth. “Then when am I allowed to leave?”
“When I say so. Forgive me, Helen, but your presence here puts me in a strong position, until I can negotiate your release.”
She was relieved that she would at least remain alive. “So I’m a hostage here? A pawn to be negotiated.”
“To put it plainly, yes. You will remain in your rooms, anything you require will be provided.”
“How generous.” Her eyes were narrowed at him; they remained in a deadlock of a cloying silence.
Wow Girlfriend LOLOLOL This is good!!!! 
Glad you liked it, Vevie.
Now I found it odd that I rarely heard of a female agent in the whole 'James Bond' series that would sleep with a man for info. I decided to turn the tables a bit and have a female agent be the seducer too.
The door opened to the room, and one of the men that all seemed identical to Helen entered. Helen decided now was her moment. With a sudden crash her chair tipped backwards as she flung herself from it, her body already pumping with adrenaline, sprinting for the open door. The man paused, unsure what to do, and Helen took her chance, knotting her fists together into a crude cudgel, with a well time swing she aimed for his face, and was rewarded with a crack as his nose broke, splattering his face and Helen with warm blood. Helen barely noticed her attention solely on forcing her way through the door.
With sudden speed and viciousness, a hand shot out and grabbed Helen by the wrist. He snapped her back, swinging her body in a broad arch, using her momentum to hit her against the wall with some force. She slumped against the cool wall, feeling the shock in her back and neck, the pain in her head reawakened once more. Alec’s snarling face was inches from her terrified one, holding onto her wrist with a painfully strong grip, yet somehow she managed to form her features into a look of contempt.
The fallen man was being helped to his feet, clutching his nose and muttering in Russian that needed no translation.
“Leave us.” Alec growled at them, still staring at her. When they were slow to respond he turned his head in their direction. “Get out!” he roared, and Helen cringed back from the anger in his voice.
The men ran.
Alec and Helen’s faces were inches apart, their eyes boring into one another; she could feel the heat coming from him. Helen was stunned by the strength in his tense body, he was bent slightly to meet her face on, he was holding her only by her left wrist but she could barely move. She no longer felt fear, instead her entire body was screaming for him to touch her, despite the threat he posed. Pressed against the wall, she fought against the urge to lean forward and mould her body against his.
Alec examined her flushed face, the shining eyes, glittering with adrenaline. Her slim body quivered with tension, he could feel her supple strength, had seen the speed she could move at. She was a strong, albeit young intelligent woman, and he admired intelligence, as he admired the courage she had shown in her desperate escape plan. Reckless, but still courageous.
Reaching up he stroked his thumb against her cheek, rubbing away the smear of blood that lay against her creamy skin. Her lips parted and she gave a small sigh, almost against her will, at his touch.
Helen didn’t know what this man could do. He had tried to kill Donnie more than once; he was the leader of a huge crime syndicate, a known killer, and an active seeker of revenge. And to her surprise, she wanted him more than any man she had ever seen.
Alec kissed her. His stubble grated against her, his hand tightened on her wrist until she gasped, and kissed him back harder. Suddenly, breaking the kiss, still holding onto her wrist, his long fingers digging into her slim arm, he dragged her along dark corridors until they came to a large double mahogany door. A guard stood nearby, but seeing Alec’s approach he stepped discreetly away. Alec opened the door and Helen was flung into the room.
It was dark in the room, made darker by the heavy furniture and leather sofas. Helen only had time to take in the bed, lit by a sliver of light creeping in through the window, before Alec’s mouth was on hers once more and she was lost in his electrifying kiss.
Alec finally let go of her wrist, but pulled her into an incredibly tight embrace, pressing the length of his body against hers. His fingers reached up beneath the fabric of her shirt to stroke the smooth skin of her lower back, feeling her arch against his touch, pressing her body closer against his. A little gasp stole from her lips, and he crushed her against him.
She ran her hands over his hair, tugging his head down to hers, tracing the pattern of his scars, and not minding them. Her arms slid under his jacket to find the muscle of his torso, her hands skimmed over his hips, wanting to move them further down, to caress the areas of his body that she wanted most. She could feel his desire for her in every touch, desire that was echoed in her own caresses, he was shrugging off his jacket, bringing his freed hands to her shoulders. He broke the kiss, moving away from her slightly, he saw the dismay in her eyes, trailing up the hollow of her throat until he found her lips once more, laying her upon the bed.
Undressing her slowly he took in every curve, every patch of skin, she watched his eyes as they roamed over her body, darkening with every second that passed, and her response was to pull him down to her.
They made love for hours, danger and passion combined in hedonistic pleasure, truly Helen was sleeping with the enemy. Yet this enemy held her gently in his arms, one hand tracing the curve of her side until she fell asleep.
Helen was lost in a deep sleep, feeling warm, and secure within the covers that twisted around her body. She dreamt.
Now I found it odd that I rarely heard of a female agent in the whole 'James Bond' series that would sleep with a man for info. I decided to turn the tables a bit and have a female agent be the seducer too.
The door opened to the room, and one of the men that all seemed identical to Helen entered. Helen decided now was her moment. With a sudden crash her chair tipped backwards as she flung herself from it, her body already pumping with adrenaline, sprinting for the open door. The man paused, unsure what to do, and Helen took her chance, knotting her fists together into a crude cudgel, with a well time swing she aimed for his face, and was rewarded with a crack as his nose broke, splattering his face and Helen with warm blood. Helen barely noticed her attention solely on forcing her way through the door.
With sudden speed and viciousness, a hand shot out and grabbed Helen by the wrist. He snapped her back, swinging her body in a broad arch, using her momentum to hit her against the wall with some force. She slumped against the cool wall, feeling the shock in her back and neck, the pain in her head reawakened once more. Alec’s snarling face was inches from her terrified one, holding onto her wrist with a painfully strong grip, yet somehow she managed to form her features into a look of contempt.
The fallen man was being helped to his feet, clutching his nose and muttering in Russian that needed no translation.
“Leave us.” Alec growled at them, still staring at her. When they were slow to respond he turned his head in their direction. “Get out!” he roared, and Helen cringed back from the anger in his voice.
The men ran.
Alec and Helen’s faces were inches apart, their eyes boring into one another; she could feel the heat coming from him. Helen was stunned by the strength in his tense body, he was bent slightly to meet her face on, he was holding her only by her left wrist but she could barely move. She no longer felt fear, instead her entire body was screaming for him to touch her, despite the threat he posed. Pressed against the wall, she fought against the urge to lean forward and mould her body against his.
Alec examined her flushed face, the shining eyes, glittering with adrenaline. Her slim body quivered with tension, he could feel her supple strength, had seen the speed she could move at. She was a strong, albeit young intelligent woman, and he admired intelligence, as he admired the courage she had shown in her desperate escape plan. Reckless, but still courageous.
Reaching up he stroked his thumb against her cheek, rubbing away the smear of blood that lay against her creamy skin. Her lips parted and she gave a small sigh, almost against her will, at his touch.
Helen didn’t know what this man could do. He had tried to kill Donnie more than once; he was the leader of a huge crime syndicate, a known killer, and an active seeker of revenge. And to her surprise, she wanted him more than any man she had ever seen.
Alec kissed her. His stubble grated against her, his hand tightened on her wrist until she gasped, and kissed him back harder. Suddenly, breaking the kiss, still holding onto her wrist, his long fingers digging into her slim arm, he dragged her along dark corridors until they came to a large double mahogany door. A guard stood nearby, but seeing Alec’s approach he stepped discreetly away. Alec opened the door and Helen was flung into the room.
It was dark in the room, made darker by the heavy furniture and leather sofas. Helen only had time to take in the bed, lit by a sliver of light creeping in through the window, before Alec’s mouth was on hers once more and she was lost in his electrifying kiss.
Alec finally let go of her wrist, but pulled her into an incredibly tight embrace, pressing the length of his body against hers. His fingers reached up beneath the fabric of her shirt to stroke the smooth skin of her lower back, feeling her arch against his touch, pressing her body closer against his. A little gasp stole from her lips, and he crushed her against him.
She ran her hands over his hair, tugging his head down to hers, tracing the pattern of his scars, and not minding them. Her arms slid under his jacket to find the muscle of his torso, her hands skimmed over his hips, wanting to move them further down, to caress the areas of his body that she wanted most. She could feel his desire for her in every touch, desire that was echoed in her own caresses, he was shrugging off his jacket, bringing his freed hands to her shoulders. He broke the kiss, moving away from her slightly, he saw the dismay in her eyes, trailing up the hollow of her throat until he found her lips once more, laying her upon the bed.
Undressing her slowly he took in every curve, every patch of skin, she watched his eyes as they roamed over her body, darkening with every second that passed, and her response was to pull him down to her.
They made love for hours, danger and passion combined in hedonistic pleasure, truly Helen was sleeping with the enemy. Yet this enemy held her gently in his arms, one hand tracing the curve of her side until she fell asleep.
Helen was lost in a deep sleep, feeling warm, and secure within the covers that twisted around her body. She dreamt.
She stood on the top of the stairs in her childhood home, the phone was ringing. She felt a knot of terror deep in her stomach, which intensified as the phone cut off abruptly. She forced the feeling down, already worrying the thumbnail on her left hand; tasting the soap she had washed her hands with earlier, its citrus taste bitter in her mouth. She knew she should be studying, she had to return to school soon, not crouching trying to snatch broken bits of conversation from her father’s study. The terror intensified, her father, her father was dead, and this was it, the moment she was told. Slowly she began to descend down the stairs.
No. Her dreaming self tried to break through, to shake her Seventeen-year-old self by the shoulders. No. This wasn’t how it happened. She had been at school when she had received news of her father’s death, in the middle of a games lesson, playing hockey. She had remembered glancing over her shoulder, seeing her headmistress approach the pitch, the hurried whispered conversation, the girls paused where they stood. The whistle had blown, piercing in the autumn peace, and Miss Lockley, the games mistress had called Helen over. Later Helen would watch from the window of the Headmistress’s office at her class as they continued with the game. The words would glide over her as she studied a smudge of red dust from the hockey pitch on her white socks, still clutching her hockey stick furtively, vulnerable in her gym skirt and the bib denoting her position as right forward. A car crash, terribly sorry, someone was coming to pick her up, so tragic, a horribly tragic accident. And so she had become an orphan, and lost her father. She hadn’t been in the hall way listening… no she had been at school. She approached the door to her father’s office tentatively, her hand rose to knock, creeping in, seeing her father sitting in his huge leather chair, his head in his hands.
“Daddy?” she had asked, scared by his look of despair. He had reached for her, holding her in his arms, stonily silent, until she had pulled away from his uncomfortably tight embrace, and asked “what, what is it?”. A man had died, a man he knew, his friend, a car crash, and Helen had listened stunned as she had been told Alec Trevelyan was dead. Her father crushed by the loss of his friend, had withdrawn into his work, refusing to speak the name of the dead man. She had not understood his devastation then, but later she had. The betrayal, 006’s betrayal of England, and of his friends, her father. He had betrayed her father, and now she lay in his bed….
With a jolt, the sheets sticking to her sweat soaked skin she awoke, the light was just beginning to creep into the room. It took a moment to focus on the room around her, and the memories of the night before to come flooding back.
She glanced around, and discovered to her relief that she was alone, running her hands along the crumpled sheets she found they were cool to her touch; she had slept alone for some time. But the dented pillow and the cool fresh scent that filled the air confirmed that at some point during the night she had shared this bed.
Shakily she stood, wrapping the sheet around her naked body, trying not to let horror rise too far within her, she needed to stay in control. Pulling open a door she found the bathroom and turned the shower on, scalding hot, letting the water pound her as if it would remove the feel of Alec’s hands from her body. His taste was in her mouth, the smell of his cologne filled her nostrils, and her skin tingled where he had touched her. Frantically she scrubbed at her skin, until it was almost raw.
Helen had just finished dressing; avoiding looking at the bed when the door had opened and the pale eyed man had entered. She was almost relieved, grateful that it was not Janus returning. Now they eyed each other with distrust, and the hatred of enemies.
“You’re bringing me back to my own room?” she asked as civilly as she could considering the situation.
He almost seemed surprised. “I am to return you to your hotel.”
Helen ignored the mocking tone in his voice. “I thought I was to be held here as a hostage until further notice?”
“It appears that notice is up.” The man gave a sly glance in the direction of the still crumpled bed.
It would be best not to argue Helen decided; she spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“One moment,” the man held up a thick piece of dark material. “I have been ordered to blindfold you for the duration of your journey. Janus’ orders of course.”
Helen paused, her mouth dry, already feeling starkly vulnerable under his icy gaze. Reluctantly she gave a tiny nod, her permission, and was plunged into darkness as the man tied the knot around her head none too gently. She could feel his hands directing her throughout the maze of the house, stumbling uncertain where to put her feet. The cold hit her sharply as they exited the house, and then a hand was on her head pushing her down, and she was surrounding by the smell of new car.
There was nothing else she could do but merely sit there and try to ignore the horrible dizzy feeling that swirled in her mind. Disorientated, knocked off balance by every change of direction she huddled into the seat, and clenched her fists.
She had been stupid, stupid and seduced. Her hatred of Alec Trevelyan bubbled up within her, only matched by her anger at herself for falling into his bed so quickly. How could she have done it? One flash of those grey eyes and she had shucked her clothes so quickly it was a miracle she hadn’t given herself friction burns. Trevelyan and Janus were killers, who might have easily have killed her instead of kissing her, and no matter how good it had been, she had made an awful error of judgment. She was no flirty agent who batted her eyes to get information; she prided herself on her intelligence and common sense. Well, it appeared that both had abandoned her last night. She sat and fumed as the car cut through the miles, her traitorous body recalling every single electric touch, every shiver of pleasure that had coursed through her.
The car was slowing, she heard the jerk of the handbrake, and the engine cut out. She frantically tried to untie the blindfold, convinced that she was in the middle of nowhere, and about to find herself nose to barrel with a 9mm. The door next to her opened and rough hands helped to loosen the knot. She jerked away, pulling the cloth from her eyes, and then flushed red as she saw the familiar front of her hotel.
“Did you think I would disobey Janus’ orders?” Kristov smirked.
“No, I just wasn’t sure what his orders were,” she snapped as she got out of the car.
“For you,” he thrust a small box at her in an insolent manner, “He thought you might require it at some point.” He got into the car and drove away.
On shaky legs, she walked into the hotel, her finger jabbing impatiently at the button for the lift. Reaching her floor she stepped out of the lift, and paused, Dmitrov stood at the other end of the corridor, he glanced at her opened his mouth to speak, but numbly she shook her head and fumbled for her key. Once in she rested against the closed door, drawing in her breath deeply, one hand still clinging onto the box Kristov had forced upon her. Sweat had broken out on her forehead, she suddenly swayed, and threw the box on the bed, seeing the purple oval bruises on her wrist where he had held her, her stomach flipped over, and she ran for the bathroom. It was some time before she could stand again, weakly she sat on the edge of the bed, swallowing deeply, trying to get herself under control again.
Curiosity finally got the better of her, and she opened the box. She had to bite back sudden scream of hysterical laughter as she saw the small silver automatic pistol that lay there, even a loaded clip waiting just ready to be used.
“Slightly more original than flowers or chocolates, Alec,” she smiled to herself darkly, and then jumped as there was a violent knock at the door. Quickly she fumbled open a drawer and rammed the box into it.
No. Her dreaming self tried to break through, to shake her Seventeen-year-old self by the shoulders. No. This wasn’t how it happened. She had been at school when she had received news of her father’s death, in the middle of a games lesson, playing hockey. She had remembered glancing over her shoulder, seeing her headmistress approach the pitch, the hurried whispered conversation, the girls paused where they stood. The whistle had blown, piercing in the autumn peace, and Miss Lockley, the games mistress had called Helen over. Later Helen would watch from the window of the Headmistress’s office at her class as they continued with the game. The words would glide over her as she studied a smudge of red dust from the hockey pitch on her white socks, still clutching her hockey stick furtively, vulnerable in her gym skirt and the bib denoting her position as right forward. A car crash, terribly sorry, someone was coming to pick her up, so tragic, a horribly tragic accident. And so she had become an orphan, and lost her father. She hadn’t been in the hall way listening… no she had been at school. She approached the door to her father’s office tentatively, her hand rose to knock, creeping in, seeing her father sitting in his huge leather chair, his head in his hands.
“Daddy?” she had asked, scared by his look of despair. He had reached for her, holding her in his arms, stonily silent, until she had pulled away from his uncomfortably tight embrace, and asked “what, what is it?”. A man had died, a man he knew, his friend, a car crash, and Helen had listened stunned as she had been told Alec Trevelyan was dead. Her father crushed by the loss of his friend, had withdrawn into his work, refusing to speak the name of the dead man. She had not understood his devastation then, but later she had. The betrayal, 006’s betrayal of England, and of his friends, her father. He had betrayed her father, and now she lay in his bed….
With a jolt, the sheets sticking to her sweat soaked skin she awoke, the light was just beginning to creep into the room. It took a moment to focus on the room around her, and the memories of the night before to come flooding back.
She glanced around, and discovered to her relief that she was alone, running her hands along the crumpled sheets she found they were cool to her touch; she had slept alone for some time. But the dented pillow and the cool fresh scent that filled the air confirmed that at some point during the night she had shared this bed.
Shakily she stood, wrapping the sheet around her naked body, trying not to let horror rise too far within her, she needed to stay in control. Pulling open a door she found the bathroom and turned the shower on, scalding hot, letting the water pound her as if it would remove the feel of Alec’s hands from her body. His taste was in her mouth, the smell of his cologne filled her nostrils, and her skin tingled where he had touched her. Frantically she scrubbed at her skin, until it was almost raw.
Helen had just finished dressing; avoiding looking at the bed when the door had opened and the pale eyed man had entered. She was almost relieved, grateful that it was not Janus returning. Now they eyed each other with distrust, and the hatred of enemies.
“You’re bringing me back to my own room?” she asked as civilly as she could considering the situation.
He almost seemed surprised. “I am to return you to your hotel.”
Helen ignored the mocking tone in his voice. “I thought I was to be held here as a hostage until further notice?”
“It appears that notice is up.” The man gave a sly glance in the direction of the still crumpled bed.
It would be best not to argue Helen decided; she spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“One moment,” the man held up a thick piece of dark material. “I have been ordered to blindfold you for the duration of your journey. Janus’ orders of course.”
Helen paused, her mouth dry, already feeling starkly vulnerable under his icy gaze. Reluctantly she gave a tiny nod, her permission, and was plunged into darkness as the man tied the knot around her head none too gently. She could feel his hands directing her throughout the maze of the house, stumbling uncertain where to put her feet. The cold hit her sharply as they exited the house, and then a hand was on her head pushing her down, and she was surrounding by the smell of new car.
There was nothing else she could do but merely sit there and try to ignore the horrible dizzy feeling that swirled in her mind. Disorientated, knocked off balance by every change of direction she huddled into the seat, and clenched her fists.
She had been stupid, stupid and seduced. Her hatred of Alec Trevelyan bubbled up within her, only matched by her anger at herself for falling into his bed so quickly. How could she have done it? One flash of those grey eyes and she had shucked her clothes so quickly it was a miracle she hadn’t given herself friction burns. Trevelyan and Janus were killers, who might have easily have killed her instead of kissing her, and no matter how good it had been, she had made an awful error of judgment. She was no flirty agent who batted her eyes to get information; she prided herself on her intelligence and common sense. Well, it appeared that both had abandoned her last night. She sat and fumed as the car cut through the miles, her traitorous body recalling every single electric touch, every shiver of pleasure that had coursed through her.
The car was slowing, she heard the jerk of the handbrake, and the engine cut out. She frantically tried to untie the blindfold, convinced that she was in the middle of nowhere, and about to find herself nose to barrel with a 9mm. The door next to her opened and rough hands helped to loosen the knot. She jerked away, pulling the cloth from her eyes, and then flushed red as she saw the familiar front of her hotel.
“Did you think I would disobey Janus’ orders?” Kristov smirked.
“No, I just wasn’t sure what his orders were,” she snapped as she got out of the car.
“For you,” he thrust a small box at her in an insolent manner, “He thought you might require it at some point.” He got into the car and drove away.
On shaky legs, she walked into the hotel, her finger jabbing impatiently at the button for the lift. Reaching her floor she stepped out of the lift, and paused, Dmitrov stood at the other end of the corridor, he glanced at her opened his mouth to speak, but numbly she shook her head and fumbled for her key. Once in she rested against the closed door, drawing in her breath deeply, one hand still clinging onto the box Kristov had forced upon her. Sweat had broken out on her forehead, she suddenly swayed, and threw the box on the bed, seeing the purple oval bruises on her wrist where he had held her, her stomach flipped over, and she ran for the bathroom. It was some time before she could stand again, weakly she sat on the edge of the bed, swallowing deeply, trying to get herself under control again.
Curiosity finally got the better of her, and she opened the box. She had to bite back sudden scream of hysterical laughter as she saw the small silver automatic pistol that lay there, even a loaded clip waiting just ready to be used.
“Slightly more original than flowers or chocolates, Alec,” she smiled to herself darkly, and then jumped as there was a violent knock at the door. Quickly she fumbled open a drawer and rammed the box into it.
So far so good Lori!!!!! 
Darn girl i am hooked line and sinkered I look forward to more.
Very wonderful so far Lori. Love all the detail. You always write such wonderful things!! I wish I could write like that
she definately should be paid for it she is good at it.
That is nice of you to say. Unfortuately I have actually sent copy of a book that I wrote a while back, to this editor I know. He works for Random House (This is Anne Rice's Publishing copy) It got rejected. <_< Oh well.
as much as i am one of yorur biggest fans i have to be honest and haven't got into this one as much yet, maybe it's because i don't like James Bond films!
i'm sure i'll still get hooked eventually!
i'm sure i'll still get hooked eventually!
keep trying-you never know what could happen-do not give up-you can even send it to readers digest they print stories and if you give up your talent might never get recognized just think if the new kids gave up after the failure of their first album donnie might never of been asn actor and we would never have had this cool site -so i say try again some one may notice your talent like we do.Do not give up=I do believe this is your calling like mine is to be aa nurse some day.Think about it.
Sorry-do not mean to sound preachy -just trying to build your confidence-I really think you have a shot at it-I hope i did not step on your toes .
Sorry-do not mean to sound preachy -just trying to build your confidence-I really think you have a shot at it-I hope i did not step on your toes .
Lou, It's kind of hard to get into. I am the kind of girl that likes those action/adventure films (occasionally I could go for the seeping drama, too.) The 'bond' story and movies are somewhat technical so I actually had to do some research, but I also had some reference from my childhood. Being a military brat (and living in a house with 8 boys - 9 when Dad was home) I asked a lot about cars and wanted to know how they 'ticked' and I had asked questions about the carriers - 'So an anchor really weighs 30 tons. Wow!'
Pauli - I don't know. Maybe if I get a really good story (Something that I can really sink my teeth into - It has to be a idea that I can get a 600 page story) Maybe I will send it off to another publisher. Who knows? My only concern right now is to find a job to pay the bills. This stuff I write is for fun, kind of a escape.
Pauli - I don't know. Maybe if I get a really good story (Something that I can really sink my teeth into - It has to be a idea that I can get a 600 page story) Maybe I will send it off to another publisher. Who knows? My only concern right now is to find a job to pay the bills. This stuff I write is for fun, kind of a escape.
As she opened the door, an impatient Donnie burst into the room….
“Where the hell have you been? Dmitrov has just told me he’s only just seen you return, we were worried sick when we couldn’t find you last night.”
His anger was white hot, and Helen, used to seeing Donnie as the epitome of coolness, never ruffled, never raising his voice was shocked. Now he stood before her, angry and dominating.
She was still feeling weak, but she stood. “I’ve been meeting some very interesting people Donnie.”
“Oh yeah?” his tone was dangerous.
“Janus.” She paused to give her words extra effect, enjoying the startled expression that flickered across his face. “Alec Trevelyan is alive and well and in St. Petersburg.”
“I killed Alec Trevelyan.” He raised a hand. “He is dead. You’re wrong.”
“So he would like you to think. Again.”
“And you spoke with him? What information do you have to report from Janus? I’m sure you found plenty to talk about.”
“Yes, I spoke with him. He believes he is being framed for the Hermes Virus.”
“It’s a miracle he didn’t kill you. He’s killed for less before.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “I was treated with the utmost respect. I think he thought we could help each other.”
Donnie’s eyes narrowed. “Alec always treats women with ‘the utmost respect’“, he mocked her words. “Nor do I like your “method” of gathering information.”
He could see her crumpled clothes, the dark circles smudged under her eyes, could well recall the way women would fall into Alec’s arms, and had no doubt over where Kain had slept the night before.
“I learnt far more on my back last night than either you or Dmitrov,” she hissed, “as for my method, I think You’ll find it’s a tried and tested technique, surprisingly common in the world of espionage. You’re not averse to it yourself Donnie, so don’t play the innocent with me because it certainly doesn’t fit your reputation.”
“You didn’t learn anything!” Wahlberg was harsh in his words. “You have no idea what is going on with this case, you put yourself in unnecessary danger for nothing. And as for Alec, do you think he wanted you for anything other than using you to get to me.”
“Where the hell have you been? Dmitrov has just told me he’s only just seen you return, we were worried sick when we couldn’t find you last night.”
His anger was white hot, and Helen, used to seeing Donnie as the epitome of coolness, never ruffled, never raising his voice was shocked. Now he stood before her, angry and dominating.
She was still feeling weak, but she stood. “I’ve been meeting some very interesting people Donnie.”
“Oh yeah?” his tone was dangerous.
“Janus.” She paused to give her words extra effect, enjoying the startled expression that flickered across his face. “Alec Trevelyan is alive and well and in St. Petersburg.”
“I killed Alec Trevelyan.” He raised a hand. “He is dead. You’re wrong.”
“So he would like you to think. Again.”
“And you spoke with him? What information do you have to report from Janus? I’m sure you found plenty to talk about.”
“Yes, I spoke with him. He believes he is being framed for the Hermes Virus.”
“It’s a miracle he didn’t kill you. He’s killed for less before.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “I was treated with the utmost respect. I think he thought we could help each other.”
Donnie’s eyes narrowed. “Alec always treats women with ‘the utmost respect’“, he mocked her words. “Nor do I like your “method” of gathering information.”
He could see her crumpled clothes, the dark circles smudged under her eyes, could well recall the way women would fall into Alec’s arms, and had no doubt over where Kain had slept the night before.
“I learnt far more on my back last night than either you or Dmitrov,” she hissed, “as for my method, I think You’ll find it’s a tried and tested technique, surprisingly common in the world of espionage. You’re not averse to it yourself Donnie, so don’t play the innocent with me because it certainly doesn’t fit your reputation.”
“You didn’t learn anything!” Wahlberg was harsh in his words. “You have no idea what is going on with this case, you put yourself in unnecessary danger for nothing. And as for Alec, do you think he wanted you for anything other than using you to get to me.”
She frowned, and took a step closer to Wahlberg, drawing herself to her full height. “I’m well aware that you’re withholding information from me, and I’m doing my best under the circumstances to compensate for that. You’ll tell me soon enough, or I’ll find out for myself, but I believe you know the identity of the figure we’re searching for, so does Dmitrov. As for Alec, I’m quite capable of realizing his motives behind his actions, but I was enjoying myself far too much last night to worry about that.”
She spat the words out, refusing to be intimidated. For a moment they glared in deadlock at each other, until Helen could bear it no longer, and turned away.
“Caleb Deronda.” Donnie spoke the name barely above a whisper.
There was a second knock on the door, and Dmitrov peered around it. “Donnie? They have found a body in the port. We are leaving in five minutes.”
Donnie nodded, and turned to leave. “Caleb Deronda. You stay here and find out everything you can about him, and his whereabouts while Dmitrov and I go to the port.”
She was being punished, Helen knew it, but she nodded her assent, the obedient agent once more.
Helen reached for the case that contained her laptop, all the while muttering under her breath. She knew it was unprofessional, but her fury at Donnie riled her, and for the moment it didn’t matter if she reverted back to a moody teenager, there was no one to hear her as she connected all the necessary cables to the slim silver laptop.
Since her admission to MI6, and her rapid progression through the ranks, their friendship had suffered. It had been a huge shock for Helen, discovering who her father and her father friend really were, their secret lives as 007 and 009. She longed to follow in their footsteps and had seen this case as an opportunity to further her career. Now it seemed that Donnie was determined to keep her in the dark at every opportunity, she supposed she should be grateful that he had finally admitted to her who they were after. It was a pity that it was only after her defiant behavior that he had done so. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered the events of the night before. Her head began to pound once more, and she viciously plugged the adaptor into the machine, pushing the memories away. Now was not the time for a persuasive Alec to creep into her mind.
Booting up the laptop, she added the final cable, a small scrambler that would block her IP from being revealed, and secondly allow her into access into protected sites. The small device would also act like a code breaker working through thousands of passwords and encryption codes to find one that would provide Helen with access. Standard MI6 issue nowadays, she said a small thanks to Q and headed onto the secure MI6 channels.
A quick search on Caleb Deronda revealed that precious little was known about him, the Deronda syndicate was a well known underground group operating across the west of Russia, and it were thought that the headquarters was in St. Petersburg, and that he had been operating from their for some time. Sighing, she settled into the chair, and resigned herself to a long futile search.
She spat the words out, refusing to be intimidated. For a moment they glared in deadlock at each other, until Helen could bear it no longer, and turned away.
“Caleb Deronda.” Donnie spoke the name barely above a whisper.
There was a second knock on the door, and Dmitrov peered around it. “Donnie? They have found a body in the port. We are leaving in five minutes.”
Donnie nodded, and turned to leave. “Caleb Deronda. You stay here and find out everything you can about him, and his whereabouts while Dmitrov and I go to the port.”
She was being punished, Helen knew it, but she nodded her assent, the obedient agent once more.
Helen reached for the case that contained her laptop, all the while muttering under her breath. She knew it was unprofessional, but her fury at Donnie riled her, and for the moment it didn’t matter if she reverted back to a moody teenager, there was no one to hear her as she connected all the necessary cables to the slim silver laptop.
Since her admission to MI6, and her rapid progression through the ranks, their friendship had suffered. It had been a huge shock for Helen, discovering who her father and her father friend really were, their secret lives as 007 and 009. She longed to follow in their footsteps and had seen this case as an opportunity to further her career. Now it seemed that Donnie was determined to keep her in the dark at every opportunity, she supposed she should be grateful that he had finally admitted to her who they were after. It was a pity that it was only after her defiant behavior that he had done so. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered the events of the night before. Her head began to pound once more, and she viciously plugged the adaptor into the machine, pushing the memories away. Now was not the time for a persuasive Alec to creep into her mind.
Booting up the laptop, she added the final cable, a small scrambler that would block her IP from being revealed, and secondly allow her into access into protected sites. The small device would also act like a code breaker working through thousands of passwords and encryption codes to find one that would provide Helen with access. Standard MI6 issue nowadays, she said a small thanks to Q and headed onto the secure MI6 channels.
A quick search on Caleb Deronda revealed that precious little was known about him, the Deronda syndicate was a well known underground group operating across the west of Russia, and it were thought that the headquarters was in St. Petersburg, and that he had been operating from their for some time. Sighing, she settled into the chair, and resigned herself to a long futile search.
I'm with Pauli onthis one Lori you do have talent and with all the practice you are getting writing these wonderful stories for us I am sure you will find a story to write that has a real chance of going somewhere for you.
Good luck with your job search and thanks for continuing to share your stories with us!!
Good luck with your job search and thanks for continuing to share your stories with us!!
Aida thanx for backing me up- this part was great.
Dmitrov glanced sideways at the man that drove in a fury through the busy streets of St. Petersburg. As they rounded a corner in fourth gear, the Russian grabbed onto the dashboard to prevent himself from flying into the door. The man was angry, he could tell that, but he did not know why, and he wasn’t about to cross the levels of professional boundaries to ask why. However if the risk of dying in this car was increased any time soon he was going to bite the bullet and ask.
Donnie was in fact more than angry, he was furious, and it was taking all his self control not to drive into the nearest wall just to feel the vicious crunch as the bonnet would crease, to feel the satisfying thud of his head bouncing off the glass windscreen, welcoming the blessed blackness that the impact would bring. It was unlike Donnie to think this way, but he was consumed by the anger that burned white hot inside him. And all of it was directed at Alec.
Alec was alive. The thought pounded around his head. How the hell could he have survived that fall, the satellite crashing down upon him? And Helen, how could she have betrayed him in that way? Falling into bed with him at the first opportunity she had. Alec had magnetism alright, but it didn’t explain why Helen was attracted to him. Alec was alive, and Helen had slept with him, taunting him with that information. He knew it had been a mistake to allow M to pair them up, he should have recommended that he be assigned else where.
“You are angry with her?” Dmitrov finally ventured, wincing as they nearly collided head on with a taxi.
“No.” The teeth were gritted though, and Wahlberg was determined not to answer any more questions. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the case, and to never have to think of Trevelyan again.
“Who is he? Janus?”
“I would have thought that the Russian spy network would at least be able to work that one out.”
Dmitrov ignored the jibe. “To you? Who is Janus to you?”
“An old friend.”
“And you are angry at Helen?” Missing the sarcasm in the other man’s voice, Dmitrov had already decided that the British Secret Service was far too incestuous for its own good. “Because she slept with your friend?”
“Trevelyan is not my friend.” Donnie’s voice had reverted back to the icy cold tone that could rival the freezing wind that blew straight into the city from the sea. “He is a traitor, a liar, a thief, and an enemy that will stop at nothing to destroy me. And up until an hour ago, I was convinced that he was dead. I knew he was dead, because I killed him.”
There seemed to be little that Dmitrov could say to that. He decided to cling to the door instead and pray that they reached the docks safely.
The call had come through that morning to Dmitrov, what appeared to be a body floating in the docks… what warranted Dmitrov’s and Wahlberg’s investigation was that the body appeared to have been dead for some time, and also matched the description of the missing agent. As they arrived they could already see a crowd gathering around the cordoned off area.
They fought their way through the mass of people, and peered down into the slate grey water. The waves had been whipped into an icy swirl by the same wind that ruffled Wahlberg’s blond hair. Two divers were in the water, struggling to contain the body that was floating face down in the bay, buffeted by the breaking waves. Even through the masks of the divers it was clear they would rather be anywhere else than in this water. They heaved and kicked their way back to the edge, where three officers helped to drag the deceased man up over the high wall.
As they headed for where the body had been laid out, a hand reached out, and caught Donnie by the cuff of his overcoat. Turning, he found himself faced with an attractive blonde woman. Never one to turn away from a pretty woman, even when in his blackest moods, he met her startling deep into her eyes.
“Excuse me,” she spoke in English, without a trace of an accent, although her heavy coat and fur hut suggested she was up to date with the latest fashions in Russia. She smiled at him, although it didn’t reach her eyes, which were anxiously peering at him through her blonde hair. “Could you tell me what is happening please?” She shot a look to where the body had been covered by a dark grey blanket.
Donnie paused, unsure what to say, but wanting to relieve her anxiety. “A body has been found in the port, That’s all that I can tell you.”
“That’s perfectly obvious,” she glanced once more in the direction of the body then as a thought seemed to occur to her, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh god. It’s Gregory Fraser, Isn’t it?”
“Why would you say that?” Donnie narrowed his eyes and stepped in closer to her, “And how do you know Fraser?”
She glanced round as if making sure no one was listening, leaning into Donnie she whispered, “I met him some time ago, we had dinner a few times, but then he vanished, I haven’t been able to get in contact with him.”
“What else can you tell me about him?” Donnie met her equally quiet tone, hoping to get more information from her, “I’m a friend….”
“Wahlberg!” Dmitrov interrupted, “They are ready for us.” A quick flash of a badge and Dmitrov had secured access to the body, and he was impatient to get to the body.
“In a minute,” Wahlberg turned, annoyed by the interruption, a quick flick of his head towards the other man, before he faced the woman once more. But those few seconds had been all she had needed, and she had vanished into thin air, nowhere to be seen. Disturbed he peered over the heads of those gathered, hoping to see her moving through the masses, but there was no sign of her.
----------------------------------------
Helen’s search was getting nowhere. Leaning over she picked up her bottle of water and sipped, rubbing her tired eyes. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in front of the laptop, but her stomach was growling at her insisting that she got something to eat. Fifteen more minutes and she would venture outside to find a snack.
So far nothing had turned up; all she had was a selection of surveillance photos, and the briefest of files on Deronda. The man was a walking enigma. She tapped her fingers on the edge of the table as she waited for yet another file to download. It was another picture, but suddenly she sat forward, this one was different, Deronda had company this time….
Quickly she highlighted the woman’s face and began a search through the files for her identity. A detailed synopsis was soon pulled up. A successful business woman and a campaigner for “good causes”. Grabbing a pen, Helen scribbled down a few details and grabbed her coat.
Donnie was in fact more than angry, he was furious, and it was taking all his self control not to drive into the nearest wall just to feel the vicious crunch as the bonnet would crease, to feel the satisfying thud of his head bouncing off the glass windscreen, welcoming the blessed blackness that the impact would bring. It was unlike Donnie to think this way, but he was consumed by the anger that burned white hot inside him. And all of it was directed at Alec.
Alec was alive. The thought pounded around his head. How the hell could he have survived that fall, the satellite crashing down upon him? And Helen, how could she have betrayed him in that way? Falling into bed with him at the first opportunity she had. Alec had magnetism alright, but it didn’t explain why Helen was attracted to him. Alec was alive, and Helen had slept with him, taunting him with that information. He knew it had been a mistake to allow M to pair them up, he should have recommended that he be assigned else where.
“You are angry with her?” Dmitrov finally ventured, wincing as they nearly collided head on with a taxi.
“No.” The teeth were gritted though, and Wahlberg was determined not to answer any more questions. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the case, and to never have to think of Trevelyan again.
“Who is he? Janus?”
“I would have thought that the Russian spy network would at least be able to work that one out.”
Dmitrov ignored the jibe. “To you? Who is Janus to you?”
“An old friend.”
“And you are angry at Helen?” Missing the sarcasm in the other man’s voice, Dmitrov had already decided that the British Secret Service was far too incestuous for its own good. “Because she slept with your friend?”
“Trevelyan is not my friend.” Donnie’s voice had reverted back to the icy cold tone that could rival the freezing wind that blew straight into the city from the sea. “He is a traitor, a liar, a thief, and an enemy that will stop at nothing to destroy me. And up until an hour ago, I was convinced that he was dead. I knew he was dead, because I killed him.”
There seemed to be little that Dmitrov could say to that. He decided to cling to the door instead and pray that they reached the docks safely.
The call had come through that morning to Dmitrov, what appeared to be a body floating in the docks… what warranted Dmitrov’s and Wahlberg’s investigation was that the body appeared to have been dead for some time, and also matched the description of the missing agent. As they arrived they could already see a crowd gathering around the cordoned off area.
They fought their way through the mass of people, and peered down into the slate grey water. The waves had been whipped into an icy swirl by the same wind that ruffled Wahlberg’s blond hair. Two divers were in the water, struggling to contain the body that was floating face down in the bay, buffeted by the breaking waves. Even through the masks of the divers it was clear they would rather be anywhere else than in this water. They heaved and kicked their way back to the edge, where three officers helped to drag the deceased man up over the high wall.
As they headed for where the body had been laid out, a hand reached out, and caught Donnie by the cuff of his overcoat. Turning, he found himself faced with an attractive blonde woman. Never one to turn away from a pretty woman, even when in his blackest moods, he met her startling deep into her eyes.
“Excuse me,” she spoke in English, without a trace of an accent, although her heavy coat and fur hut suggested she was up to date with the latest fashions in Russia. She smiled at him, although it didn’t reach her eyes, which were anxiously peering at him through her blonde hair. “Could you tell me what is happening please?” She shot a look to where the body had been covered by a dark grey blanket.
Donnie paused, unsure what to say, but wanting to relieve her anxiety. “A body has been found in the port, That’s all that I can tell you.”
“That’s perfectly obvious,” she glanced once more in the direction of the body then as a thought seemed to occur to her, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh god. It’s Gregory Fraser, Isn’t it?”
“Why would you say that?” Donnie narrowed his eyes and stepped in closer to her, “And how do you know Fraser?”
She glanced round as if making sure no one was listening, leaning into Donnie she whispered, “I met him some time ago, we had dinner a few times, but then he vanished, I haven’t been able to get in contact with him.”
“What else can you tell me about him?” Donnie met her equally quiet tone, hoping to get more information from her, “I’m a friend….”
“Wahlberg!” Dmitrov interrupted, “They are ready for us.” A quick flash of a badge and Dmitrov had secured access to the body, and he was impatient to get to the body.
“In a minute,” Wahlberg turned, annoyed by the interruption, a quick flick of his head towards the other man, before he faced the woman once more. But those few seconds had been all she had needed, and she had vanished into thin air, nowhere to be seen. Disturbed he peered over the heads of those gathered, hoping to see her moving through the masses, but there was no sign of her.
----------------------------------------
Helen’s search was getting nowhere. Leaning over she picked up her bottle of water and sipped, rubbing her tired eyes. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in front of the laptop, but her stomach was growling at her insisting that she got something to eat. Fifteen more minutes and she would venture outside to find a snack.
So far nothing had turned up; all she had was a selection of surveillance photos, and the briefest of files on Deronda. The man was a walking enigma. She tapped her fingers on the edge of the table as she waited for yet another file to download. It was another picture, but suddenly she sat forward, this one was different, Deronda had company this time….
Quickly she highlighted the woman’s face and began a search through the files for her identity. A detailed synopsis was soon pulled up. A successful business woman and a campaigner for “good causes”. Grabbing a pen, Helen scribbled down a few details and grabbed her coat.
Wahlberg knelt next to the now covered body, pressing a cloth to his nose and mouth. The stench was awful, the body in some state of decomposition. Dmitrov gazed down impassively, waiting for Wahlberg. With a swift movement he pulled the blanket back, and the stench assaulted them with a fresh stronger attempt.
It had been clear that Fraser had been dead for some time, and his body submerged for God knows how long. What appeared to be a single and now puckered, dimpled gunshot wound to the head, and decided that that might be the clue that Fraser had been murdered. He had known the dead agent for some time, never socially, rarely seeing him within the Service, Fraser was one of the foreign boys, and had been linked with Russia only recently. An arrogant prick was how Wahlberg recalled him, with a penchant for blazers and overly large cufflinks. Thought he was rather debonair by all accounts, and had a way with the ladies. Wahlberg had seen agents like that come and go, and here was another dead one. Stupid bastard had gotten himself killed on a case, and it was up to Wahlberg to find out why. There was no denying it was him, the navy blazer, the old school tie, with the flashy tie clip, Wahlberg could have recognized him by these even if the body had decayed further. Unfortunately the swarthy fleshy face was still recognisable, even if it did have a slightly…nibbled look about it.
“It’s Fraser?” Dmitrov asked, lighting another cigarette.
“Without a doubt.” Wahlberg stood, once more glancing around at the crowd in the vain hope he might spot the mystery blonde.
“And now we find who killed him?”
“Now we find who killed him.” Wahlberg agreed grimly. “You know Vasili, if I didn’t know better; I”d say you’ve done this before.”
Dmitrov grinned and followed the broad back of the spy as he weaved his way through the crowd once more.
The weather outside had not improved, if anything it had worsened. The cab driver peered through the brief glimpses of the road provided by the sweep of the windscreen wipers and hoped for the best. The thick snow was falling heavily, and more had been forecast. It wouldn’t last long, the salt in the air would help to melt it but it was a nuisance until then.
“Is there any chance you could hurry up?” Helen leaned forward, “I must make it to the business district before it closes.”
The driver muttered something about going as quick as he could, but at least it prompted him to jerk into another faster moving lane. Helen leaned back in her seat and glanced down at herself, her dark wool coat over her shirt and trousers were definitely appropriate enough for this trip. It just needed the right attitude to work.
At Elliot Enterprises Kelly was bored. Ms. Elliot had been out of the office all day, and all Kelly had been doing was diverting her calls, and typing up letters and faxes. She glanced at the clock above the door; there was an hour before she could leave. She sighed and went back to readjusting the paperwork behind the large modern semi circular desk. Nearby the floor to ceiling oak doors of Ms. Elliot’s office remained firmly shut.
The ping of the lift therefore startled her, and as the doors slid open she grabbed a file and a pen and looked busy. She glanced up at the woman who walked from the small mirrored lift, well dressed in an expensive looking coat, and high heeled leather boots. Her dark hair was well cut, and she strode confidently towards the desk.
“I have an appointment with Ms. Elliot,” she announced in good Russian.
“Ms. Elliot does not have any appointments this afternoon.” Kelly replied sulkily, barely looking up from the file.
“Ms. Elliot contacted me personally, and arranged the meeting herself. Now if you will tell her that Elizabeth Vaughn has arrived please.”
“Ms. Elliot did not inform me of any such meeting, Miss Vaughn,” the receptionist struggled slightly over the name. “And she is not in her office to receive you.”
“There must be some mistake.” The Vaughn woman was politely insistent, but there was a steel edge to her voice.
“There is no mistake.” Kelly despised her job enough without arrogant foreign business women adding to it. She once more opened the file and studiously ignored the blond haired woman.
Helen was having fun. Leaning over the desk she tugged the file firmly from the other woman’s hands. “I’ve traveled a long way for this meeting, and I want to know why Ms. Elliot is unavailable. I’m meant to discuss a rather large account with her, and if I do not get an explanation soon, I’m going to get back into that lift and take the account to your nearest rivals. I’m sure Ms. Elliot would be upset to lose such valuable business as my company’s.”
Kelly knew she was beaten. If this woman walked away and such an important account was lost, and it was traced back to her, well, she’d lose her job, and despite hating it, that was the last thing she wanted. With a lethal glare at Miss Vaughn she got slowly to her feet. “I’ll see if one of the senior partners is available to talk to you, Miss Vaughn.”
“You do that.” Helen moved over to one of the large navy sofas that were outside the office. “I’ll wait right here for you. And I’d like some coffee while You’re at it. Black, no sugar.”
Helen gave a slow sarcastic smile, and watched with a small amount of pleasure as the sullen receptionist stepped into the lift. As the doors closed Helen counted to fifteen, and then leapt to her feet, she didn’t have much time.
Like a thief she slunk into the expensive office of Pauli Elliot, her aim entirely on the computer, impatiently she booted it up, her heart in her mouth, constantly glancing up at the door. She had a matter of minutes. It seemed to take for ever before she was
presented with a desktop, and she scanned the list of files eagerly. It was all company related, there had to be something, had to be. Frustrated she clicked on one of the files, to be presented with a request for a password. Damn it. She had expected this, and tugged the small device she had used earlier from her pocket.
The small machine clicked and whirled as it scanned through the many options… this was taking too long… far too long, and Helen began to panic. Please, oh please she begged it silently, the only sound in the room was the device and the agitated tap of the heel of her boot against the wooden floor. Her gloved fingers rested against the keyboard, eager to work. She glanced through the open door towards the lift, and saw that the lift was slowly ascending towards the top floor… this wasn’t good. In frustration she yanked the device out of the port and shut down the machine, her fingers fumbling in their anxiety, her heart pounding. There was nothing to be had here from this machine, she could feel a trickle of nervous sweat sliding down between her shoulder blades, and she bit her lip to stop herself from verbally venting her frustration – her knowledge of Russian swearwords had to be heard to be believed. She hurried through the office doors back into the reception area, and as she passed the desk, she froze.
A series of four monitors were built into the desk, and on the top right one the surly secretary could be seen heading towards this floor in the lift with two men – one suited and distinguished looking, the other most definitely a security guard. It seemed the receptionist was a suspicious type. She had to act now, and quickly.
Casting wildly round the room for something that would help her she suddenly saw her escape route and said a silent prayer to whoever it was that was the patron saint of awkward situations. A fire alarm was nearby, and on the other side of the room a fire escape door. Helen pulled the lever… and a horrible shilling sound filled the room. A quick glance at the monitors confirmed what she had hoped would happen, the lift had stopped at the next floor; Helen could see the guard glancing round in confusion as the doors opened on the wrong floor, and the woman mouthing in anger. Helen smiled; well that was a piece of luck.
Her second piece of luck came moments later; her eyes fell upon an open diary half pushed under a pile of paper work. It appeared to be full of Elliot”s engagements, and as if taunting her with its simplicity, Helen suddenly had her connection. With a small cry of triumph she reached for a pen and paper, scribbled down what she needed and headed for the fire escape.
She joined the mass exodus from the building three floors down, keeping her head down, and avoiding eye contact until she made it to the ground floor. A small smile played around her lips, even the horrendous sound of the fire alarm couldn’t deter from her pleasure.
It didn’t matter that the temperature had dropped even further outside, or that the snow was rapidly turning into churned up slush and ice beneath her boots causing her to slip and slide all over the place, Helen was buoyed up by the feeling that she had finally made a breakthrough and she wanted to bask in it for a while before she had to make the inevitable phone call. It would have to be done though and so with a martyred look on her face she took out her mobile.
It had been clear that Fraser had been dead for some time, and his body submerged for God knows how long. What appeared to be a single and now puckered, dimpled gunshot wound to the head, and decided that that might be the clue that Fraser had been murdered. He had known the dead agent for some time, never socially, rarely seeing him within the Service, Fraser was one of the foreign boys, and had been linked with Russia only recently. An arrogant prick was how Wahlberg recalled him, with a penchant for blazers and overly large cufflinks. Thought he was rather debonair by all accounts, and had a way with the ladies. Wahlberg had seen agents like that come and go, and here was another dead one. Stupid bastard had gotten himself killed on a case, and it was up to Wahlberg to find out why. There was no denying it was him, the navy blazer, the old school tie, with the flashy tie clip, Wahlberg could have recognized him by these even if the body had decayed further. Unfortunately the swarthy fleshy face was still recognisable, even if it did have a slightly…nibbled look about it.
“It’s Fraser?” Dmitrov asked, lighting another cigarette.
“Without a doubt.” Wahlberg stood, once more glancing around at the crowd in the vain hope he might spot the mystery blonde.
“And now we find who killed him?”
“Now we find who killed him.” Wahlberg agreed grimly. “You know Vasili, if I didn’t know better; I”d say you’ve done this before.”
Dmitrov grinned and followed the broad back of the spy as he weaved his way through the crowd once more.
The weather outside had not improved, if anything it had worsened. The cab driver peered through the brief glimpses of the road provided by the sweep of the windscreen wipers and hoped for the best. The thick snow was falling heavily, and more had been forecast. It wouldn’t last long, the salt in the air would help to melt it but it was a nuisance until then.
“Is there any chance you could hurry up?” Helen leaned forward, “I must make it to the business district before it closes.”
The driver muttered something about going as quick as he could, but at least it prompted him to jerk into another faster moving lane. Helen leaned back in her seat and glanced down at herself, her dark wool coat over her shirt and trousers were definitely appropriate enough for this trip. It just needed the right attitude to work.
At Elliot Enterprises Kelly was bored. Ms. Elliot had been out of the office all day, and all Kelly had been doing was diverting her calls, and typing up letters and faxes. She glanced at the clock above the door; there was an hour before she could leave. She sighed and went back to readjusting the paperwork behind the large modern semi circular desk. Nearby the floor to ceiling oak doors of Ms. Elliot’s office remained firmly shut.
The ping of the lift therefore startled her, and as the doors slid open she grabbed a file and a pen and looked busy. She glanced up at the woman who walked from the small mirrored lift, well dressed in an expensive looking coat, and high heeled leather boots. Her dark hair was well cut, and she strode confidently towards the desk.
“I have an appointment with Ms. Elliot,” she announced in good Russian.
“Ms. Elliot does not have any appointments this afternoon.” Kelly replied sulkily, barely looking up from the file.
“Ms. Elliot contacted me personally, and arranged the meeting herself. Now if you will tell her that Elizabeth Vaughn has arrived please.”
“Ms. Elliot did not inform me of any such meeting, Miss Vaughn,” the receptionist struggled slightly over the name. “And she is not in her office to receive you.”
“There must be some mistake.” The Vaughn woman was politely insistent, but there was a steel edge to her voice.
“There is no mistake.” Kelly despised her job enough without arrogant foreign business women adding to it. She once more opened the file and studiously ignored the blond haired woman.
Helen was having fun. Leaning over the desk she tugged the file firmly from the other woman’s hands. “I’ve traveled a long way for this meeting, and I want to know why Ms. Elliot is unavailable. I’m meant to discuss a rather large account with her, and if I do not get an explanation soon, I’m going to get back into that lift and take the account to your nearest rivals. I’m sure Ms. Elliot would be upset to lose such valuable business as my company’s.”
Kelly knew she was beaten. If this woman walked away and such an important account was lost, and it was traced back to her, well, she’d lose her job, and despite hating it, that was the last thing she wanted. With a lethal glare at Miss Vaughn she got slowly to her feet. “I’ll see if one of the senior partners is available to talk to you, Miss Vaughn.”
“You do that.” Helen moved over to one of the large navy sofas that were outside the office. “I’ll wait right here for you. And I’d like some coffee while You’re at it. Black, no sugar.”
Helen gave a slow sarcastic smile, and watched with a small amount of pleasure as the sullen receptionist stepped into the lift. As the doors closed Helen counted to fifteen, and then leapt to her feet, she didn’t have much time.
Like a thief she slunk into the expensive office of Pauli Elliot, her aim entirely on the computer, impatiently she booted it up, her heart in her mouth, constantly glancing up at the door. She had a matter of minutes. It seemed to take for ever before she was
presented with a desktop, and she scanned the list of files eagerly. It was all company related, there had to be something, had to be. Frustrated she clicked on one of the files, to be presented with a request for a password. Damn it. She had expected this, and tugged the small device she had used earlier from her pocket.
The small machine clicked and whirled as it scanned through the many options… this was taking too long… far too long, and Helen began to panic. Please, oh please she begged it silently, the only sound in the room was the device and the agitated tap of the heel of her boot against the wooden floor. Her gloved fingers rested against the keyboard, eager to work. She glanced through the open door towards the lift, and saw that the lift was slowly ascending towards the top floor… this wasn’t good. In frustration she yanked the device out of the port and shut down the machine, her fingers fumbling in their anxiety, her heart pounding. There was nothing to be had here from this machine, she could feel a trickle of nervous sweat sliding down between her shoulder blades, and she bit her lip to stop herself from verbally venting her frustration – her knowledge of Russian swearwords had to be heard to be believed. She hurried through the office doors back into the reception area, and as she passed the desk, she froze.
A series of four monitors were built into the desk, and on the top right one the surly secretary could be seen heading towards this floor in the lift with two men – one suited and distinguished looking, the other most definitely a security guard. It seemed the receptionist was a suspicious type. She had to act now, and quickly.
Casting wildly round the room for something that would help her she suddenly saw her escape route and said a silent prayer to whoever it was that was the patron saint of awkward situations. A fire alarm was nearby, and on the other side of the room a fire escape door. Helen pulled the lever… and a horrible shilling sound filled the room. A quick glance at the monitors confirmed what she had hoped would happen, the lift had stopped at the next floor; Helen could see the guard glancing round in confusion as the doors opened on the wrong floor, and the woman mouthing in anger. Helen smiled; well that was a piece of luck.
Her second piece of luck came moments later; her eyes fell upon an open diary half pushed under a pile of paper work. It appeared to be full of Elliot”s engagements, and as if taunting her with its simplicity, Helen suddenly had her connection. With a small cry of triumph she reached for a pen and paper, scribbled down what she needed and headed for the fire escape.
She joined the mass exodus from the building three floors down, keeping her head down, and avoiding eye contact until she made it to the ground floor. A small smile played around her lips, even the horrendous sound of the fire alarm couldn’t deter from her pleasure.
It didn’t matter that the temperature had dropped even further outside, or that the snow was rapidly turning into churned up slush and ice beneath her boots causing her to slip and slide all over the place, Helen was buoyed up by the feeling that she had finally made a breakthrough and she wanted to bask in it for a while before she had to make the inevitable phone call. It would have to be done though and so with a martyred look on her face she took out her mobile.
It seemed to ring forever, so much so that Helen began to believe that Donnie wasn’t actually going to pick up. With an impatient little sigh she rolled her eyes to heaven and began to mentally curse the stubborn man.
Finally there was a click of connection, and a frosty “Yes?”
She had been expecting coldness, but this was ridiculous. “I have something. Is the line secure?”
“Of course it is.”
“Is Dmitrov with you?” She politely ignored the scorn in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Ask if there is anything special happening at Mariinsky Theatre tomorrow night.”
Wahlberg knew better than to ask why, there was always method in an agent’s madness. He turned to the Russian in the passenger seat. “What’s happening at the Mariinsky tomorrow night?”
“It is one of the biggest events in the year, a charity event, a highly exclusive ballet
performance.”
Wahlberg nodded. “Did you hear that?”
Helen once more felt the satisfaction of everything falling into place. She quietly spoke a single word in Russian.
Donnie’s Russian was good, but the term was unfamiliar to him.
“It’s the name of the charity that Pauli Elliot patronesses, it’s her event at the Mariinsky tomorrow, and I think that Deronda will be there.”
“That’s a wild leap Helen. Why?”
“You’re known for some pretty wild leaps yourself. But this one is grounded in literature. The name of Elliot”s charity roughly translates as “Middlemarch”.
Helen could almost hear Donnie making the same connection as she had, as she knew
he would. “And the author of “Middlemarch” was George Eliot. Who also wrote “Daniel Deronda”. It’s almost too obvious.” She could hear him getting reading to dismiss it.
“Do you have anything else to work on?” Helen asked softly.
“No,” Donnie admitted, feeling the frustration rise once more at the lack of intelligence they had about the case. “What does the charity do?”
“I’ve no idea,” Helen had to confess.
Wahlberg turned once more to Dmitrov who had been quietly listening to the direction that the conversation was taking. Dmitrov nodded, “I believe its something to do with developing cures for childhood diseases. But there are few links between Deronda and Elliot.”
“But a perfect cover up for creating a biological virus would indeed be a research centre for curing children’s diseases.” Donnie felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the thrill of the chase was realized. “We’re going to the ballet tomorrow night.”
And on the other end of the phone Helen smiled.
Finally there was a click of connection, and a frosty “Yes?”
She had been expecting coldness, but this was ridiculous. “I have something. Is the line secure?”
“Of course it is.”
“Is Dmitrov with you?” She politely ignored the scorn in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Ask if there is anything special happening at Mariinsky Theatre tomorrow night.”
Wahlberg knew better than to ask why, there was always method in an agent’s madness. He turned to the Russian in the passenger seat. “What’s happening at the Mariinsky tomorrow night?”
“It is one of the biggest events in the year, a charity event, a highly exclusive ballet
performance.”
Wahlberg nodded. “Did you hear that?”
Helen once more felt the satisfaction of everything falling into place. She quietly spoke a single word in Russian.
Donnie’s Russian was good, but the term was unfamiliar to him.
“It’s the name of the charity that Pauli Elliot patronesses, it’s her event at the Mariinsky tomorrow, and I think that Deronda will be there.”
“That’s a wild leap Helen. Why?”
“You’re known for some pretty wild leaps yourself. But this one is grounded in literature. The name of Elliot”s charity roughly translates as “Middlemarch”.
Helen could almost hear Donnie making the same connection as she had, as she knew
he would. “And the author of “Middlemarch” was George Eliot. Who also wrote “Daniel Deronda”. It’s almost too obvious.” She could hear him getting reading to dismiss it.
“Do you have anything else to work on?” Helen asked softly.
“No,” Donnie admitted, feeling the frustration rise once more at the lack of intelligence they had about the case. “What does the charity do?”
“I’ve no idea,” Helen had to confess.
Wahlberg turned once more to Dmitrov who had been quietly listening to the direction that the conversation was taking. Dmitrov nodded, “I believe its something to do with developing cures for childhood diseases. But there are few links between Deronda and Elliot.”
“But a perfect cover up for creating a biological virus would indeed be a research centre for curing children’s diseases.” Donnie felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the thrill of the chase was realized. “We’re going to the ballet tomorrow night.”
And on the other end of the phone Helen smiled.
way cool-girl
yep way coold
Vaskov was an intelligent man according to all reports. However pride and intelligence do not always go hand in hand at times, and that day he was showing little of his intelligent side. He fingered the thick cream envelope - he had always attended this event, and a few threats on his life and concern for his safety did not warrant staying away from such a public event. In fact it had been a miracle he had agreed to any security measures at all. He was an important man, at least he liked to think he was, and it would do his reputation no harm if he had to be seen with a few bodyguards. After all, most of the high ranking politicians had them.
He mused this thought and others involving his plans for government for a few moments. It was a matter of principle, he decided, to go to this event. He would not let it be said in the media that Vaskov was a coward. Of course, they wouldn’t, he amended, there was no knowledge within the press of the increased security around the Russian Minister. They were not aware of biological weapons, and other such threats, it was mere speculation to them. He puffed his chest out at the thought in his involvement in such a sensitive situation, they would know that Vaskov was no mere junior minister to be trifled with and threatened. He would not play such silly games.
Of course, it would be better if he could be seen with a few of those large oafs that paraded around in sunglasses, muttering into radios and denying people access to their precious ward. However low key was the idea according to his security advisor, who had nearly had heart attack when informed that Vaskov still intended to attend the ballet that evening. A sneer came onto the Minister’s rather weak upper lip. British Secret Service. Ha. What did the British know about security, they were as bad as Americans, with their involvement in the Cold War and silly passwords and secret agents. No, he thought, the KGB had been a far more organized operation. He sighed, damn political diplomacy. Damn the British, damn their secret agents, he would not be ordered around by some silly stiff upper lipped, tea drinking, ex public school boy Englishman. Even if he was accompanied by Vasili Dmitrov. This was at least agreeable to the Minister, Dmitrov was a well known and hard working agent, he could be trusted to keep the English in line and in deference to Vaskov and his power.
Vaskov leaned back in his expensive leather chair and cracked his knuckles. He was rather looking forward to tonight. He had always fancied his chances with Pauli Elliot as well, perhaps tonight his luck would be in.
The Cold War might have finished a decade earlier, but it still waged between Donnie and Helen. Suspending hostilities for the evening at least, Wahlberg, suave and dark in a beautifully cut dinner jacket, took her arm as she stepped from the car and onto the steps below the Mariinsky. Looking up at the pretty pastel building, and feeling the night air surround her, Helen gave a small shiver of anticipation. Donnie felt it, and glanced down at her, seeing her burn with an inner glow he had never seen before. Pale coffee colored satin slid from one shoulder to fall to the ground, skimming over her curves, her other shoulder, left bare was suddenly dotted with goose bumps that were not down to the cold. She pulled her sheer gold wrap tighter around her, not noticing the admiring glances from the men nearby. Breathing in Donnie could smell a rich warm scent unlike the cool perfume she usually wore, and the heat of her skin intensified it until it surrounded him, her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes glittered. Quickly, making sure she was safely footed on the slippery steps, Donnie dropped her arm as if it would burn him, he had never seen Helen like this before, languorous and intoxicating, her sensuality on display for every man to see. He stepped back away from her, letting Dmitrov and Helen enter the building first.
The plan was to separate. Dmitrov and Wahlberg would sit in a private box, observing everything and watching for Deronda. Helen, posing as the Russian Minister’s escort, would sit with him in the Grand Circle where they could be seen, but would be safer than the exposed boxes or stalls.
The lights dimmed and as the music soared Helen’s heart gave a sudden leap. Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet”, the opening movement soothing her with its familiarity, the dancers suddenly pouring onto stage graceful and bewitching. She loved the ballet as it was but tonight the music entered her heart and pumped through her veins.
She tried to ignore Vaskov sitting closely beside her. He was a particularly nervous and highly strung man, but with an arrogance that grated upon Helen’s nerves. Tall and thin with a straggly black mustache and black hair that threatened to turn greasy at any moment he made up for his lack of bulk with his inflated sense of self importance. Viewing Helen as nothing more than one of his minor employees, and a female one at that, he had been making derogatory marks, and several sexist ones since she had introduced herself to him earlier. In a surprisingly loud voice he continued an anti British rant in the car, and had continued as they had round their seats. Sorely tempted to deck him and prove what a “small little thing” like her could do, Helen gritted her teeth as his hand stole onto her thigh once more. Firmly she removed it, shot him a look filled with daggers and once more lost herself in the music.
He mused this thought and others involving his plans for government for a few moments. It was a matter of principle, he decided, to go to this event. He would not let it be said in the media that Vaskov was a coward. Of course, they wouldn’t, he amended, there was no knowledge within the press of the increased security around the Russian Minister. They were not aware of biological weapons, and other such threats, it was mere speculation to them. He puffed his chest out at the thought in his involvement in such a sensitive situation, they would know that Vaskov was no mere junior minister to be trifled with and threatened. He would not play such silly games.
Of course, it would be better if he could be seen with a few of those large oafs that paraded around in sunglasses, muttering into radios and denying people access to their precious ward. However low key was the idea according to his security advisor, who had nearly had heart attack when informed that Vaskov still intended to attend the ballet that evening. A sneer came onto the Minister’s rather weak upper lip. British Secret Service. Ha. What did the British know about security, they were as bad as Americans, with their involvement in the Cold War and silly passwords and secret agents. No, he thought, the KGB had been a far more organized operation. He sighed, damn political diplomacy. Damn the British, damn their secret agents, he would not be ordered around by some silly stiff upper lipped, tea drinking, ex public school boy Englishman. Even if he was accompanied by Vasili Dmitrov. This was at least agreeable to the Minister, Dmitrov was a well known and hard working agent, he could be trusted to keep the English in line and in deference to Vaskov and his power.
Vaskov leaned back in his expensive leather chair and cracked his knuckles. He was rather looking forward to tonight. He had always fancied his chances with Pauli Elliot as well, perhaps tonight his luck would be in.
The Cold War might have finished a decade earlier, but it still waged between Donnie and Helen. Suspending hostilities for the evening at least, Wahlberg, suave and dark in a beautifully cut dinner jacket, took her arm as she stepped from the car and onto the steps below the Mariinsky. Looking up at the pretty pastel building, and feeling the night air surround her, Helen gave a small shiver of anticipation. Donnie felt it, and glanced down at her, seeing her burn with an inner glow he had never seen before. Pale coffee colored satin slid from one shoulder to fall to the ground, skimming over her curves, her other shoulder, left bare was suddenly dotted with goose bumps that were not down to the cold. She pulled her sheer gold wrap tighter around her, not noticing the admiring glances from the men nearby. Breathing in Donnie could smell a rich warm scent unlike the cool perfume she usually wore, and the heat of her skin intensified it until it surrounded him, her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes glittered. Quickly, making sure she was safely footed on the slippery steps, Donnie dropped her arm as if it would burn him, he had never seen Helen like this before, languorous and intoxicating, her sensuality on display for every man to see. He stepped back away from her, letting Dmitrov and Helen enter the building first.
The plan was to separate. Dmitrov and Wahlberg would sit in a private box, observing everything and watching for Deronda. Helen, posing as the Russian Minister’s escort, would sit with him in the Grand Circle where they could be seen, but would be safer than the exposed boxes or stalls.
The lights dimmed and as the music soared Helen’s heart gave a sudden leap. Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet”, the opening movement soothing her with its familiarity, the dancers suddenly pouring onto stage graceful and bewitching. She loved the ballet as it was but tonight the music entered her heart and pumped through her veins.
She tried to ignore Vaskov sitting closely beside her. He was a particularly nervous and highly strung man, but with an arrogance that grated upon Helen’s nerves. Tall and thin with a straggly black mustache and black hair that threatened to turn greasy at any moment he made up for his lack of bulk with his inflated sense of self importance. Viewing Helen as nothing more than one of his minor employees, and a female one at that, he had been making derogatory marks, and several sexist ones since she had introduced herself to him earlier. In a surprisingly loud voice he continued an anti British rant in the car, and had continued as they had round their seats. Sorely tempted to deck him and prove what a “small little thing” like her could do, Helen gritted her teeth as his hand stole onto her thigh once more. Firmly she removed it, shot him a look filled with daggers and once more lost herself in the music.
Her favorite movement was starting, the theme of the Montagues and Capulets with its heavy evocative strings and the heavy bass of the oboes, and Helen, moving her legs deftly away from the minister sat back and let the music surround her. But for some reason she couldn’t enjoy it. She felt as if she was being watched, and it unsettled her. With a frown she tried to shake the sensation off, but it stayed, a prickling at the top of her spine.
Helen was being watched. In a secluded box a pair of eyes was trained on her, staring in grim fascination and admiration at the young woman. Surrounded by the wrinkled crones of St. Petersburg in the Grand Circle she stood out. Her eyes suddenly flickered round, and he stepped back into the shadows, until he saw her look away and toy with the edge of her wrap. It was no time to be admiring foreign females though, and he focused on the job at hand, drawing his attention back to her companion.
One of the first lessons that she had learnt at MI6 was to trust her instincts. There were many things in the world that could not be explained and an agent had to believe in their own hunches, and act upon them. Wahlberg was a good example of this, and now Helen suddenly felt extremely nervous. All the beauty of the ballet had faded away, instead the dancers seemed to parade a series of grotesque shapes and figures before her, as their bodies crumpled to the floor in the dance of death. The music screeched in her eyes, no longer beautiful but a funeral wail. Her skin continued to prickle and a light sweat broke out on her skin. Leaning towards Vaskov she murmured softly in his ear.
“We must move. We must get away from here. When I stand, follow me.”
He turned to glare at her. “Don’t be stupid girl.”
Clenching her fists in frustration Helen continued to persuade. “Something Isn’t right, we must go now.”
Vaskov looked at the young woman next to him, and composed his features into what he hoped was one of paternal knowledge. To Helen it came across as patronizing and ever so slightly leering. “No one is going to attempt to do anything here, not on such an important night. No stop being silly and enjoy the ballet.”
He gave her a small smile that was meant to reassure her. However he realized his audience was lost, she was staring at his chest in horror.
“Duck, now!” she hissed frantically, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him forward.
If he had let her pull him down he might have survived. Instead, glancing at his chest he saw a dancing red light flickering over his heart. There was a dull thud, and he slumped backwards in his chair.
Helen stared in horror at the dead man in the seat next to her. It was too dimly lit in the theatre for the blood that was spreading across his chest to be seen as nothing more than a dark slightly glistening wet patch. She threw herself forward, reaching for her small beaded bag, praying that the person in front of her and their seat would cover her from the next bullet.
Her heart was thudding so loud she was sure that it would be drowning out the music by now. Her mouth was dry as she slowly counted to twenty, praying that the moment she sat up a bullet wouldn’t tear into her. She grabbed her bag, and tentatively sat up. She leaned toward the woman next to her, and spoke quietly in Russian.
“Would you mind keeping an eye on my companion please? He does find the ballet a bore and has fallen asleep. If he wakes up would you mind telling him I’ve just gone to the bathroom?”
The rather plump middle aged woman in an expensive black dress decorated with peacock feathers smiled at the pretty young lady next to her, her accented Russian polite and charming. Glancing at her face she noticed the girl had gone deathly pale, and seemed to be trembling. The woman nodded, “Of course, my dear,” then as Helen stood and shakily made to move past the woman she placed a hand on the girl”s wrist. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked concerned.
Helen swallowed, feeling panic rise within her once more, desperate to get away from the Circle. She forced herself to be calm. “Yes, thank you, it’s just the heat...” her voice trailed off, and the woman nodded her agreement and let the girl go. She always thought these theatres got far too overheated. The woman’s mind was drawn away from the beautiful foreign woman as Tybalt swept arrogantly onto the stage below.
Panic was still threatening to swap her. She had abandoned her wrap in the Circle, and was now desperately searching for Wahlberg and Dmitrov. She couldn’t remember what number the Box was that they were in, and in her frantic state she couldn’t calm herself down enough to recall it. Hearing a noise behind her she slunk into the shadows and fumbled in her bag, drawing out the small silver pistol Alec had given her.
She let her breath out in a rush, as she saw her follower was nothing more than one of the many stewards that worked at the theatre. She tucked the gun into the fold of her skirt, and stepped out into the light.
“Mademoiselle?” the young man asked, “Can I help you?”
“Oh can you?” she said breathlessly, trying to make herself seem as helpless as possible. “I’ve managed to get myself lost trying to get back to my box. You couldn’t possibly tell me which way it is?”
He gave her a strange look, and she gritted her teeth knowing how flimsy it sounded even to her own ears, but caught on the hop it was the best she could do. She blushed as he pointed out a rather obvious sign directing her to the boxes and to the various levels of the theatre.
“If you follow those stairs, you should find yourself in the correct place. I could escort you if you wish...” The steward looked like he’d rather not.
“Oh, no, I”ll be fine from here, silly me,” she gave a weak smile and hurried off in the direction of the boxes before he could think she was even more insane than she appeared.
Helen hated the eerie sensation of the deserted corridors within the theatre. She edged along the empty passageways, gun tucked away out of sight, but ready for use at any moment. She suddenly had a horrible feeling that she had taken a wrong turning somewhere, because rather than finding herself in more populated areas it actually seemed to be getting quieter. She could hear the muffled noise of the performance below, but it seemed to be getting further away with every step she took. Maybe she had climbed too high, there were a few boxes up here, but they were few and far apart. Slowly she approached a door and clicked it open, peering into the emptiness inside.
Nothing. Peering over the edge of the box she realized she was much higher above the stage than she expected, all was quiet below her, no one appeared to have noticed the dead man sitting among them as the masses watched the show. Silently she headed back into the corridor, and for the next door.
Cautiously she reached for the handle, just before she touched it she glanced up and down the empty hallway just in case, convinced she was being watched. Letting her breath out in a rush she made to turn the handle.
Before she could the door flew open, strong hands were grabbing her and pulling her into the darkness beyond, one hand over her mouth, another arm clamping her arms to her sides, she froze, letting herself be dragged in, feigning obedience, until the arms loosened slightly. With a quick action she stamped down, feeling the stiletto heel of her shoe scrape down a shin, there was a muffled curse, and she was half released, half thrown against the far wall of the box.
Her senses were reeling, blinded by the sudden plunge into the dark she blinked, trying to focus, she breathed deeply and was surrounded by a cool familiar scent. A figure stood opposite her, and as her eyes adjusted she could see they were holding a gun. Even in this light she could tell they were far taller and stronger than her.
An all too recognizable voice spoke out into the darkness.
Helen was being watched. In a secluded box a pair of eyes was trained on her, staring in grim fascination and admiration at the young woman. Surrounded by the wrinkled crones of St. Petersburg in the Grand Circle she stood out. Her eyes suddenly flickered round, and he stepped back into the shadows, until he saw her look away and toy with the edge of her wrap. It was no time to be admiring foreign females though, and he focused on the job at hand, drawing his attention back to her companion.
One of the first lessons that she had learnt at MI6 was to trust her instincts. There were many things in the world that could not be explained and an agent had to believe in their own hunches, and act upon them. Wahlberg was a good example of this, and now Helen suddenly felt extremely nervous. All the beauty of the ballet had faded away, instead the dancers seemed to parade a series of grotesque shapes and figures before her, as their bodies crumpled to the floor in the dance of death. The music screeched in her eyes, no longer beautiful but a funeral wail. Her skin continued to prickle and a light sweat broke out on her skin. Leaning towards Vaskov she murmured softly in his ear.
“We must move. We must get away from here. When I stand, follow me.”
He turned to glare at her. “Don’t be stupid girl.”
Clenching her fists in frustration Helen continued to persuade. “Something Isn’t right, we must go now.”
Vaskov looked at the young woman next to him, and composed his features into what he hoped was one of paternal knowledge. To Helen it came across as patronizing and ever so slightly leering. “No one is going to attempt to do anything here, not on such an important night. No stop being silly and enjoy the ballet.”
He gave her a small smile that was meant to reassure her. However he realized his audience was lost, she was staring at his chest in horror.
“Duck, now!” she hissed frantically, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him forward.
If he had let her pull him down he might have survived. Instead, glancing at his chest he saw a dancing red light flickering over his heart. There was a dull thud, and he slumped backwards in his chair.
Helen stared in horror at the dead man in the seat next to her. It was too dimly lit in the theatre for the blood that was spreading across his chest to be seen as nothing more than a dark slightly glistening wet patch. She threw herself forward, reaching for her small beaded bag, praying that the person in front of her and their seat would cover her from the next bullet.
Her heart was thudding so loud she was sure that it would be drowning out the music by now. Her mouth was dry as she slowly counted to twenty, praying that the moment she sat up a bullet wouldn’t tear into her. She grabbed her bag, and tentatively sat up. She leaned toward the woman next to her, and spoke quietly in Russian.
“Would you mind keeping an eye on my companion please? He does find the ballet a bore and has fallen asleep. If he wakes up would you mind telling him I’ve just gone to the bathroom?”
The rather plump middle aged woman in an expensive black dress decorated with peacock feathers smiled at the pretty young lady next to her, her accented Russian polite and charming. Glancing at her face she noticed the girl had gone deathly pale, and seemed to be trembling. The woman nodded, “Of course, my dear,” then as Helen stood and shakily made to move past the woman she placed a hand on the girl”s wrist. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked concerned.
Helen swallowed, feeling panic rise within her once more, desperate to get away from the Circle. She forced herself to be calm. “Yes, thank you, it’s just the heat...” her voice trailed off, and the woman nodded her agreement and let the girl go. She always thought these theatres got far too overheated. The woman’s mind was drawn away from the beautiful foreign woman as Tybalt swept arrogantly onto the stage below.
Panic was still threatening to swap her. She had abandoned her wrap in the Circle, and was now desperately searching for Wahlberg and Dmitrov. She couldn’t remember what number the Box was that they were in, and in her frantic state she couldn’t calm herself down enough to recall it. Hearing a noise behind her she slunk into the shadows and fumbled in her bag, drawing out the small silver pistol Alec had given her.
She let her breath out in a rush, as she saw her follower was nothing more than one of the many stewards that worked at the theatre. She tucked the gun into the fold of her skirt, and stepped out into the light.
“Mademoiselle?” the young man asked, “Can I help you?”
“Oh can you?” she said breathlessly, trying to make herself seem as helpless as possible. “I’ve managed to get myself lost trying to get back to my box. You couldn’t possibly tell me which way it is?”
He gave her a strange look, and she gritted her teeth knowing how flimsy it sounded even to her own ears, but caught on the hop it was the best she could do. She blushed as he pointed out a rather obvious sign directing her to the boxes and to the various levels of the theatre.
“If you follow those stairs, you should find yourself in the correct place. I could escort you if you wish...” The steward looked like he’d rather not.
“Oh, no, I”ll be fine from here, silly me,” she gave a weak smile and hurried off in the direction of the boxes before he could think she was even more insane than she appeared.
Helen hated the eerie sensation of the deserted corridors within the theatre. She edged along the empty passageways, gun tucked away out of sight, but ready for use at any moment. She suddenly had a horrible feeling that she had taken a wrong turning somewhere, because rather than finding herself in more populated areas it actually seemed to be getting quieter. She could hear the muffled noise of the performance below, but it seemed to be getting further away with every step she took. Maybe she had climbed too high, there were a few boxes up here, but they were few and far apart. Slowly she approached a door and clicked it open, peering into the emptiness inside.
Nothing. Peering over the edge of the box she realized she was much higher above the stage than she expected, all was quiet below her, no one appeared to have noticed the dead man sitting among them as the masses watched the show. Silently she headed back into the corridor, and for the next door.
Cautiously she reached for the handle, just before she touched it she glanced up and down the empty hallway just in case, convinced she was being watched. Letting her breath out in a rush she made to turn the handle.
Before she could the door flew open, strong hands were grabbing her and pulling her into the darkness beyond, one hand over her mouth, another arm clamping her arms to her sides, she froze, letting herself be dragged in, feigning obedience, until the arms loosened slightly. With a quick action she stamped down, feeling the stiletto heel of her shoe scrape down a shin, there was a muffled curse, and she was half released, half thrown against the far wall of the box.
Her senses were reeling, blinded by the sudden plunge into the dark she blinked, trying to focus, she breathed deeply and was surrounded by a cool familiar scent. A figure stood opposite her, and as her eyes adjusted she could see they were holding a gun. Even in this light she could tell they were far taller and stronger than her.
An all too recognizable voice spoke out into the darkness.
“We really must stop meeting like this.”
Fighting back several urges at once, one of them being to throw herself into his arms, another being to hit him very hard indeed, Helen glared at Alec Trevelyan.
“Don’t point that thing at me,” she snarled.
He glanced down at the automatic weapon he was aiming straight at her chest. “Oh I think I will for a while,” he said with a dark smile in his voice. “Since we find ourselves in a very awkward situation.”
As if teasing her he leveled the gun and stared down the viewfinder at her, his cold grey eyes unblinking, a mocking smile on his scarred face.
Helen nervously licked her lips, feeling how dry they were. She tried to stand as still as possible, but she nervously rubbed her fingers against the palms of her hands, her eyes darting between the door and his cruel gaze.
He seemed determined to sneer at her, and lowering the gun he raised a dark blond eyebrow at her. “After everything we’ve been through...” Taking her hand he pulled her closer to him, “Walk away now. Turn and walk out the door, mention to no one that you saw me, and you’ll be safe.”
“How do I know the second I turn my back, You’re not going to put a bullet in it?”
“Because You’re not my intended target.” He had become disinterested in her, instead loading the submachine gun with a new clip.
“No, I’m not because you’ve already taken out your “intended target”. He’s sitting dead in the Grand Circle with the rest of the audience thinking he’s a philistine who sleeps through the ballet!” She spat the words, feeling her voice tinged with hysteria as she suddenly realized what a screwed up situation she was in.
Confusion flickered on his face for a moment, gone as quickly as it had been there, and it was this moment of doubt that threw her.
“What?” she asked peering at him through her fringe, “You did come here to kill Vaskov?”
“Vaskov?” he gave a hollow laugh, relief showing on his face, "You think I would waste my time on Vaskov?”
The blood ran from her face as she saw the sudden flash of fire within his eyes, “Donnie?” she said in horror, and using all her strength she tried to pull away, to get out of the small confined room and run to find Donnie, to warn him.
He held her tightly, pulling her back to him, crushing her up against him so he could whisper in her ear.
“I’m not here for Donnie, although that would give me great... pleasure,” he lingered on the word, and against her better judgment the feel of his warm breath against her ear, and the strength of his body against her back caused a tingle to spread over her body and she quelled the urge to press back against him, “I’m here for Deronda.”
She jerked away from him again. “What do you know about Deronda? Is he here?”
He steadfastly refused to answer, but the way his finger twitched towards the trigger suggested that perhaps he was. It still didn’t give Helen the concrete confirmation she needed. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“So we’re both after the same man, Caleb Deronda. Shall we say it was him who took out Vaskov?”
“I mean it Kain,” his gaze was like ice once more, and just as penetrating, “Turn around and walk away. Get out of this while you still can.”
“No.” Her temper was always quick to rise. “I’m trying to do a job here, I’ve already let Vaskov get killed....”
“As I said before - no great loss. There are people out to kill tonight, already have, and You’re small fry. If you get in the way they won’t hesitate to remove you. And if you continue to try and hinder me – I’ll be tempted....”
He never finished his threat, instead both of them jumped as there was a gunshot below them. For a second silence reigned, and the pair of them stared at each other. Then the screaming started, and Alec cursed.
“Its too late, trouble’s started, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed at her again, but she stubbornly stepped outside.
“Now it’s ‘we’.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I believe you were just threatening to kill me.”
“This is not the time for games,” his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arm, “Get out now...”
Just to emphasize the menace in his voice, he dug the barrel of the gun into her ribs. “Out, now...”
Helen found herself being guided down the back corridors of the theatre, Alec holding her firmly. She had thought that would be going to be finding an exit but for some reason they were climbing higher into the building. She suddenly had a very bad feeling, and a terrible taste formed in her mouth, Alec was going to kill her, but somewhere where nobody would find her, in the rafters of the theatre. She gave a small moan at the thought, and he turned at the sound.
“Just keep moving,” he instructed. “No arguing.” His tone was flat, dead, as she would be soon. The irrational, or was it completely irrational she didn’t know, fear began to swamp her, and she wished she could break free but the gun was painfully lodged in her side, and Alec had no intention of letting her go anywhere.
She found herself pushed into a dark corridor, at the end of it stood two men, dressed in black. She checked and pushed back against Alec, feeling the solid mass of his body, she tried to twist away hating herself for showing cowardice, but he tightened his arm around her. In a low undertone he whispered, “Its alright, they’re with me.”
She looked up at him in shock, surprised at the first piece of kindness he had shown her since they had laid eyes on each other again. She suddenly had a flashing memory of his gentle whispering in her ear in his bed, and rose in her cheeks, she had to look at the floor away from his strong jaw and stony face. Stop it, she scolded herself, this was not the time to remember things like that.
Alec nodded at the two of them, and then barked in Russian, “Make a distraction.” He continued dragging her along with him until they reached a nondescript doorway. “In there.”
“Where are we going?” she asked. He looked at her as if she was mad for expecting an answer, and opening the door, he took the lead in. She stumbled after him, once more plunged into complete and utter darkness, the low roof and uneven surface suggested to her that she was in one of the many walkways for the theatrical technicians. Wherever she was, she was cold, disorientated, frightened and tripping over everything in sight. Or not as the case might be, it couldn’t possibly get any darker. The satin of her dress brushed against the skin of her legs, she could hear it’s gentle swishing noise as she moved. Alec was nothing but a black shape ahead of her, her only contact with him was the fact that she was clinging onto his hand for dear life, he was nearly pulling her along with him. She wondered if he could see any better than she could, or whether it was just brazen confidence that made sure he found his footing safely.
More gunshots were ringing out below. “What the hell is happening down there?” She asked softly.
She could vaguely see him turning his head back towards her. “You heard about what happened at that theatre in Moscow?”
“Yes,” she remembered it well, the siege and the eventual use of chemicals to overcome the terrorists. And a large number of the audience. “You don’t think Deronda means to try out Hermes here?”
“Don’t be stupid.” It was the second time a man had said that to her that night and she stiffened. “Deronda won’t risk that yet. He knows when to use Hermes, and when he does, we can say goodbye to this world. No, he’s using this as intimidation, and to remove Vaskov from the equation. And if he knew that Vaskov was here, then he knows who was protecting....” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was about to say, he didn’t see Helen’s brow furrow, he was saying Donnie and Dmitrov was at risk, hell, she was at risk, but she was used to it. She shrugged, and Alec could just make out the up and down movement of her pale shoulders. “Careful, there’s a couple of steps here.”
Fighting back several urges at once, one of them being to throw herself into his arms, another being to hit him very hard indeed, Helen glared at Alec Trevelyan.
“Don’t point that thing at me,” she snarled.
He glanced down at the automatic weapon he was aiming straight at her chest. “Oh I think I will for a while,” he said with a dark smile in his voice. “Since we find ourselves in a very awkward situation.”
As if teasing her he leveled the gun and stared down the viewfinder at her, his cold grey eyes unblinking, a mocking smile on his scarred face.
Helen nervously licked her lips, feeling how dry they were. She tried to stand as still as possible, but she nervously rubbed her fingers against the palms of her hands, her eyes darting between the door and his cruel gaze.
He seemed determined to sneer at her, and lowering the gun he raised a dark blond eyebrow at her. “After everything we’ve been through...” Taking her hand he pulled her closer to him, “Walk away now. Turn and walk out the door, mention to no one that you saw me, and you’ll be safe.”
“How do I know the second I turn my back, You’re not going to put a bullet in it?”
“Because You’re not my intended target.” He had become disinterested in her, instead loading the submachine gun with a new clip.
“No, I’m not because you’ve already taken out your “intended target”. He’s sitting dead in the Grand Circle with the rest of the audience thinking he’s a philistine who sleeps through the ballet!” She spat the words, feeling her voice tinged with hysteria as she suddenly realized what a screwed up situation she was in.
Confusion flickered on his face for a moment, gone as quickly as it had been there, and it was this moment of doubt that threw her.
“What?” she asked peering at him through her fringe, “You did come here to kill Vaskov?”
“Vaskov?” he gave a hollow laugh, relief showing on his face, "You think I would waste my time on Vaskov?”
The blood ran from her face as she saw the sudden flash of fire within his eyes, “Donnie?” she said in horror, and using all her strength she tried to pull away, to get out of the small confined room and run to find Donnie, to warn him.
He held her tightly, pulling her back to him, crushing her up against him so he could whisper in her ear.
“I’m not here for Donnie, although that would give me great... pleasure,” he lingered on the word, and against her better judgment the feel of his warm breath against her ear, and the strength of his body against her back caused a tingle to spread over her body and she quelled the urge to press back against him, “I’m here for Deronda.”
She jerked away from him again. “What do you know about Deronda? Is he here?”
He steadfastly refused to answer, but the way his finger twitched towards the trigger suggested that perhaps he was. It still didn’t give Helen the concrete confirmation she needed. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“So we’re both after the same man, Caleb Deronda. Shall we say it was him who took out Vaskov?”
“I mean it Kain,” his gaze was like ice once more, and just as penetrating, “Turn around and walk away. Get out of this while you still can.”
“No.” Her temper was always quick to rise. “I’m trying to do a job here, I’ve already let Vaskov get killed....”
“As I said before - no great loss. There are people out to kill tonight, already have, and You’re small fry. If you get in the way they won’t hesitate to remove you. And if you continue to try and hinder me – I’ll be tempted....”
He never finished his threat, instead both of them jumped as there was a gunshot below them. For a second silence reigned, and the pair of them stared at each other. Then the screaming started, and Alec cursed.
“Its too late, trouble’s started, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed at her again, but she stubbornly stepped outside.
“Now it’s ‘we’.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I believe you were just threatening to kill me.”
“This is not the time for games,” his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arm, “Get out now...”
Just to emphasize the menace in his voice, he dug the barrel of the gun into her ribs. “Out, now...”
Helen found herself being guided down the back corridors of the theatre, Alec holding her firmly. She had thought that would be going to be finding an exit but for some reason they were climbing higher into the building. She suddenly had a very bad feeling, and a terrible taste formed in her mouth, Alec was going to kill her, but somewhere where nobody would find her, in the rafters of the theatre. She gave a small moan at the thought, and he turned at the sound.
“Just keep moving,” he instructed. “No arguing.” His tone was flat, dead, as she would be soon. The irrational, or was it completely irrational she didn’t know, fear began to swamp her, and she wished she could break free but the gun was painfully lodged in her side, and Alec had no intention of letting her go anywhere.
She found herself pushed into a dark corridor, at the end of it stood two men, dressed in black. She checked and pushed back against Alec, feeling the solid mass of his body, she tried to twist away hating herself for showing cowardice, but he tightened his arm around her. In a low undertone he whispered, “Its alright, they’re with me.”
She looked up at him in shock, surprised at the first piece of kindness he had shown her since they had laid eyes on each other again. She suddenly had a flashing memory of his gentle whispering in her ear in his bed, and rose in her cheeks, she had to look at the floor away from his strong jaw and stony face. Stop it, she scolded herself, this was not the time to remember things like that.
Alec nodded at the two of them, and then barked in Russian, “Make a distraction.” He continued dragging her along with him until they reached a nondescript doorway. “In there.”
“Where are we going?” she asked. He looked at her as if she was mad for expecting an answer, and opening the door, he took the lead in. She stumbled after him, once more plunged into complete and utter darkness, the low roof and uneven surface suggested to her that she was in one of the many walkways for the theatrical technicians. Wherever she was, she was cold, disorientated, frightened and tripping over everything in sight. Or not as the case might be, it couldn’t possibly get any darker. The satin of her dress brushed against the skin of her legs, she could hear it’s gentle swishing noise as she moved. Alec was nothing but a black shape ahead of her, her only contact with him was the fact that she was clinging onto his hand for dear life, he was nearly pulling her along with him. She wondered if he could see any better than she could, or whether it was just brazen confidence that made sure he found his footing safely.
More gunshots were ringing out below. “What the hell is happening down there?” She asked softly.
She could vaguely see him turning his head back towards her. “You heard about what happened at that theatre in Moscow?”
“Yes,” she remembered it well, the siege and the eventual use of chemicals to overcome the terrorists. And a large number of the audience. “You don’t think Deronda means to try out Hermes here?”
“Don’t be stupid.” It was the second time a man had said that to her that night and she stiffened. “Deronda won’t risk that yet. He knows when to use Hermes, and when he does, we can say goodbye to this world. No, he’s using this as intimidation, and to remove Vaskov from the equation. And if he knew that Vaskov was here, then he knows who was protecting....” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was about to say, he didn’t see Helen’s brow furrow, he was saying Donnie and Dmitrov was at risk, hell, she was at risk, but she was used to it. She shrugged, and Alec could just make out the up and down movement of her pale shoulders. “Careful, there’s a couple of steps here.”
He helped her over them. She was following him now with some trepidation, and she felt the flicker of fear in her stomach start up again, she was here with Janus, who had admitted to her that his sole purpose for being here was murder, Wahlberg had no idea where she was. “Will you please tell me where we’re going?”
“There should be a way of getting to the stage door from here.”
“And then?”
Silence. She knew he’s heard her, instead he ignored her, and stopped, seemingly searching for something. “Step back” he ordered her. She did, and he reached down and pulled open a trapdoor. “You first.”
She had no choice, carefully she skirted round it and found a thin ladder. It wasn’t recommended climbing in an evening dress and stiletto heels, but she would have to make do. It was a struggle, but she finally found herself at the top of a narrow flight of wooden stairs, Alec following soon after. Somehow they made it down those stairs, half expecting to meet a troop of armed terrorists coming in the opposite direction. At the bottom, they rounded a corner, Helen had the impression that they were near the back of the stage, but no longer were the orchestra playing, no longer would dancers be acting one of the most beautiful love stories ever written, instead the evening had descended into horror and fear.
“Have they evacuated?” There was almost an eerie silence from the theatre.
“I hope so,” Alec said grimly, “Otherwise Deronda is planning a massacre.”
And Donnie was still in there, Helen felt a stab of pain at the thought. She glanced back inside as she was thrust outside into the night air. A black Mercedes was waiting, the windows blacked out, as Alec approached a man got out from the driver’s seat and opened the door to the back. Glancing around, Alec quickly concealed the automatic weapon inside, and without looking at her, made to get in himself.
“Wait!” she cried out suddenly. He turned to her, saw her shivering in the night, her arms wrapped round herself trying to keep out the cold, she was hopelessly underdressed for the bitter night air. Alec in a dark suit and shirt could feel the cold biting into him and paused.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” she asked, temper barely controlled. “Or should I head back in just for the hell of it? I do love to be in the centre of a good terrorist attack.”
Her sarcasm washed over him. He just stared at her.
“You owe me answers.” Her voice was rising, like the frosty night breeze.
“I owe you nothing.”
“Yes you do! What the hell is going on? Why won’t anyone tell me anything? You know something about this and I want you to give me answers.”
He turned and slid into the car. He didn’t close the door. It was the closest she was going to get to an invitation. She followed, and found herself once more alone with Alec Trevelyan. He had been right. They had to stop meeting like this.
Helen sat huddled in the corner of the Mercedes, pressed up as close against the window. It was as far away as she could get from her companion. She was silent and beginning to wish she had never followed Alec into the car. The streets rushed by, the lights began to fade as they left the outskirts of the city.
The blacked out windows of the Mercedes raised no comment from those it passed, they were still a common sight after the communism of recent years. A screen divided the rear from the driver, it was as if Helen was alone, alone with Alec.
This was business. She glanced up at the piercingly bright stars, and prayed that Donnie and Dmitrov were alright.
Quickly she risked a glance in his direction. He had a strong profile, the dim light of the moon making hair as bright as silver, his expression was grim as he stared ahead, refusing to look at her or acknowledge her. The tension burned between them. His scars were not visible from here, instead she saw the grooves beginning to dent his skin at the corner of his eyes, the side of his mouth, it was as if he had been carved from stone. His hair was shorter than the pictures she had seen of him at MI6, and it helped to make him look younger. She was still attracted to him, and again the confusion swam around her, making her dizzy, desire combined with hate. Hadn’t someone once said there was a fine line between the two? She couldn’t remember whom.
The silence was suffocating her.
“I don’t know why I got in this car. I can’t trust you,” she was trying not to panic.
It was as if he had only just noticed she was there. Leaning over he fingered the heavy silver pendant around her neck. “I’m not asking you to trust me.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop me? Why did you let me come with you?” She hated herself for having to ask.
“I’m not in the habit of leaving unarmed young women to face their deaths.”
“My death?”
“Either at the hands of Deronda’s men, or from the cold. Delightful as that dress is, its not suitable for the cold of the Russian night.”
Oh he could be smooth when he wanted to be, like Donnie could, turning on the charm effortlessly, and now she felt his eyes scan over her, or at least she thought she did. Her face flaming, she pulled the small pistol from her bag. “Hardly unarmed.”
He took it from her, examining it, testing the weight in his hands, the eye line along the barrel. “Oh yes, this,” he scoffed, “You’d have died before you had even managed to get the safety off. Whoever was in there knew what they were doing.”
“You could have left me there.”
“I could have.” He seemed to be thinking her words over, “But I didn’t.”
“This Isn’t right,” she murmured.
He shrugged and resumed staring out of the window.
“Donnie wasn’t best pleased to discover that you were alive. He would far rather you were still dead. I should want you dead. Surely my first duty to MI6 should be to kill you...” she was thinking aloud, her thoughts rambling softly.
“Are those your orders?” he asked sharply, and then said when she shook her head, “Then put that thought out of your head. I’m not the important one here.”
Helen was silent, lines of worry crossing her brow. Alec was surprised to find himself concerned. “Donnie?”
“Yes”. It was barely a whisper.
“He’ll survive. He always does.” His words were harsher than he had meant. “He means much to you?”
“There should be a way of getting to the stage door from here.”
“And then?”
Silence. She knew he’s heard her, instead he ignored her, and stopped, seemingly searching for something. “Step back” he ordered her. She did, and he reached down and pulled open a trapdoor. “You first.”
She had no choice, carefully she skirted round it and found a thin ladder. It wasn’t recommended climbing in an evening dress and stiletto heels, but she would have to make do. It was a struggle, but she finally found herself at the top of a narrow flight of wooden stairs, Alec following soon after. Somehow they made it down those stairs, half expecting to meet a troop of armed terrorists coming in the opposite direction. At the bottom, they rounded a corner, Helen had the impression that they were near the back of the stage, but no longer were the orchestra playing, no longer would dancers be acting one of the most beautiful love stories ever written, instead the evening had descended into horror and fear.
“Have they evacuated?” There was almost an eerie silence from the theatre.
“I hope so,” Alec said grimly, “Otherwise Deronda is planning a massacre.”
And Donnie was still in there, Helen felt a stab of pain at the thought. She glanced back inside as she was thrust outside into the night air. A black Mercedes was waiting, the windows blacked out, as Alec approached a man got out from the driver’s seat and opened the door to the back. Glancing around, Alec quickly concealed the automatic weapon inside, and without looking at her, made to get in himself.
“Wait!” she cried out suddenly. He turned to her, saw her shivering in the night, her arms wrapped round herself trying to keep out the cold, she was hopelessly underdressed for the bitter night air. Alec in a dark suit and shirt could feel the cold biting into him and paused.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” she asked, temper barely controlled. “Or should I head back in just for the hell of it? I do love to be in the centre of a good terrorist attack.”
Her sarcasm washed over him. He just stared at her.
“You owe me answers.” Her voice was rising, like the frosty night breeze.
“I owe you nothing.”
“Yes you do! What the hell is going on? Why won’t anyone tell me anything? You know something about this and I want you to give me answers.”
He turned and slid into the car. He didn’t close the door. It was the closest she was going to get to an invitation. She followed, and found herself once more alone with Alec Trevelyan. He had been right. They had to stop meeting like this.
Helen sat huddled in the corner of the Mercedes, pressed up as close against the window. It was as far away as she could get from her companion. She was silent and beginning to wish she had never followed Alec into the car. The streets rushed by, the lights began to fade as they left the outskirts of the city.
The blacked out windows of the Mercedes raised no comment from those it passed, they were still a common sight after the communism of recent years. A screen divided the rear from the driver, it was as if Helen was alone, alone with Alec.
This was business. She glanced up at the piercingly bright stars, and prayed that Donnie and Dmitrov were alright.
Quickly she risked a glance in his direction. He had a strong profile, the dim light of the moon making hair as bright as silver, his expression was grim as he stared ahead, refusing to look at her or acknowledge her. The tension burned between them. His scars were not visible from here, instead she saw the grooves beginning to dent his skin at the corner of his eyes, the side of his mouth, it was as if he had been carved from stone. His hair was shorter than the pictures she had seen of him at MI6, and it helped to make him look younger. She was still attracted to him, and again the confusion swam around her, making her dizzy, desire combined with hate. Hadn’t someone once said there was a fine line between the two? She couldn’t remember whom.
The silence was suffocating her.
“I don’t know why I got in this car. I can’t trust you,” she was trying not to panic.
It was as if he had only just noticed she was there. Leaning over he fingered the heavy silver pendant around her neck. “I’m not asking you to trust me.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop me? Why did you let me come with you?” She hated herself for having to ask.
“I’m not in the habit of leaving unarmed young women to face their deaths.”
“My death?”
“Either at the hands of Deronda’s men, or from the cold. Delightful as that dress is, its not suitable for the cold of the Russian night.”
Oh he could be smooth when he wanted to be, like Donnie could, turning on the charm effortlessly, and now she felt his eyes scan over her, or at least she thought she did. Her face flaming, she pulled the small pistol from her bag. “Hardly unarmed.”
He took it from her, examining it, testing the weight in his hands, the eye line along the barrel. “Oh yes, this,” he scoffed, “You’d have died before you had even managed to get the safety off. Whoever was in there knew what they were doing.”
“You could have left me there.”
“I could have.” He seemed to be thinking her words over, “But I didn’t.”
“This Isn’t right,” she murmured.
He shrugged and resumed staring out of the window.
“Donnie wasn’t best pleased to discover that you were alive. He would far rather you were still dead. I should want you dead. Surely my first duty to MI6 should be to kill you...” she was thinking aloud, her thoughts rambling softly.
“Are those your orders?” he asked sharply, and then said when she shook her head, “Then put that thought out of your head. I’m not the important one here.”
Helen was silent, lines of worry crossing her brow. Alec was surprised to find himself concerned. “Donnie?”
“Yes”. It was barely a whisper.
“He’ll survive. He always does.” His words were harsher than he had meant. “He means much to you?”
“He’s my friend, the only true one I have. And by getting into this car I’m betraying him. By being with you I’m betraying him, when I think of you, when we...” she paused, the words hanging unspoken but understood in the air. She shook her head imperceptibly. “Every time.”
The bitterness that welled within him threatened to overflow. “Donnie is no stranger to betrayal.”
He saw the anger flare, she knew what he was referring to.
“Donnie thought you were dead! He saw you shot at point blank range. Executed! He didn’t know it was all an elaborate plot, that you were alive and tucked up with your new best friends. He returned to MI6 a haunted man, spoke at your memorial of how he failed you. He was devastated.”
“He did fail me.”
“Not how you think!” When he found you were alive three years ago the hardest thing he ever had to do was to kill you. Because when he did, he killed a part of himself.” Her hands were clenched so tightly he could see her nails cutting into her soft palms.
“It was always duty with Donnie.”
“Why not?” she span round to face him, anger no longer disguised or held back. “What else did he have, Alec? His mission was his world, as it was yours when you weren’t plotting your revenge!”
“And what about you?” she thought she saw jealousy flicker across his granite like face. “He had you...”
Shock coursed through her, and for a moment she wondered if she had misread what he was implying... but the way he sat so still waiting for her answer made her doubt it.
“Donnie and I?” She couldn’t keep an tense laugh from creeping in. “No. Never. Unlike you.” She didn’t mean for that jibe to slip in, but it was there.
Alec changing the subject suddenly. “Your father was a brave man.”
Sadly she said, “So I’ve heard. He spoke highly of you, I remember that. He admired your determination. As I do.”
Alec was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Once more she felt a tremor of desire for him.
Silence fell in the car again.
The last time Helen had been here she had had no opportunity to see the outside. Now as they drove along a moonlit drive she could see a large dark gothic house, very Wuthering Heights she decided, set within the wilds of a forest. To the right she could see the dark outline of a lake. She shivered, it was an eerie and oppressive building.
Once more she found herself in Alec’s private chambers. With its heavily shaded lighting and dark leather sofas it suited Alec, and he seemed most comfortable here. Unnerved by the bed, wondering why Alec had brought her here, she couldn’t relax, instead she prowled around jumping at every single noise.
Alec on the other hand was calm and collected and had produced a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. She watched the condensation run down the frosted sides of the bottle, Alec obviously subscribed to the Russian philosophy that vodka should be drunk as cold as possible. He poured two glasses, handing one silently to her before sitting back on one of the sofas. One leg was idly resting on his other knee, his jacket removed, tie discarded, shirt collar loosened. One arm was thrown along the back of the sofa, his face half in shadow and he was watching her.
Nervously she leant back against the windowsill, surrounded by the darkness, and sipped her drink, letting the fire of the vodka burn her throat and turn her stomach to ice. With a sharp clink she fumbled the glass as she set it down, trying to get her nerves back under control.
“I thought you wanted answers.”
“Deronda and Elliot. Am I right? Is there a connection?”
His grey eyes glittered. “Almost certainly. Pauli’s more than likely financing him. She’s a power hungry, desperate for money and sex. The two things that make the world go round”
Ignoring the little remark she asked, “Pauli is his lover?”
“Deronda is one of her many lovers,” subtly he pointed out the difference.
“What”s Deronda to you?”
The bitterness that welled within him threatened to overflow. “Donnie is no stranger to betrayal.”
He saw the anger flare, she knew what he was referring to.
“Donnie thought you were dead! He saw you shot at point blank range. Executed! He didn’t know it was all an elaborate plot, that you were alive and tucked up with your new best friends. He returned to MI6 a haunted man, spoke at your memorial of how he failed you. He was devastated.”
“He did fail me.”
“Not how you think!” When he found you were alive three years ago the hardest thing he ever had to do was to kill you. Because when he did, he killed a part of himself.” Her hands were clenched so tightly he could see her nails cutting into her soft palms.
“It was always duty with Donnie.”
“Why not?” she span round to face him, anger no longer disguised or held back. “What else did he have, Alec? His mission was his world, as it was yours when you weren’t plotting your revenge!”
“And what about you?” she thought she saw jealousy flicker across his granite like face. “He had you...”
Shock coursed through her, and for a moment she wondered if she had misread what he was implying... but the way he sat so still waiting for her answer made her doubt it.
“Donnie and I?” She couldn’t keep an tense laugh from creeping in. “No. Never. Unlike you.” She didn’t mean for that jibe to slip in, but it was there.
Alec changing the subject suddenly. “Your father was a brave man.”
Sadly she said, “So I’ve heard. He spoke highly of you, I remember that. He admired your determination. As I do.”
Alec was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Once more she felt a tremor of desire for him.
Silence fell in the car again.
The last time Helen had been here she had had no opportunity to see the outside. Now as they drove along a moonlit drive she could see a large dark gothic house, very Wuthering Heights she decided, set within the wilds of a forest. To the right she could see the dark outline of a lake. She shivered, it was an eerie and oppressive building.
Once more she found herself in Alec’s private chambers. With its heavily shaded lighting and dark leather sofas it suited Alec, and he seemed most comfortable here. Unnerved by the bed, wondering why Alec had brought her here, she couldn’t relax, instead she prowled around jumping at every single noise.
Alec on the other hand was calm and collected and had produced a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. She watched the condensation run down the frosted sides of the bottle, Alec obviously subscribed to the Russian philosophy that vodka should be drunk as cold as possible. He poured two glasses, handing one silently to her before sitting back on one of the sofas. One leg was idly resting on his other knee, his jacket removed, tie discarded, shirt collar loosened. One arm was thrown along the back of the sofa, his face half in shadow and he was watching her.
Nervously she leant back against the windowsill, surrounded by the darkness, and sipped her drink, letting the fire of the vodka burn her throat and turn her stomach to ice. With a sharp clink she fumbled the glass as she set it down, trying to get her nerves back under control.
“I thought you wanted answers.”
“Deronda and Elliot. Am I right? Is there a connection?”
His grey eyes glittered. “Almost certainly. Pauli’s more than likely financing him. She’s a power hungry, desperate for money and sex. The two things that make the world go round”
Ignoring the little remark she asked, “Pauli is his lover?”
“Deronda is one of her many lovers,” subtly he pointed out the difference.
“What”s Deronda to you?”
He was careful in his answer. “A rival. He has already tried to frame me for Hermes.”
“So you want Deronda removed? And you were going to do it yourself at the Mariinsky tonight?”
He smiled.
She stumbled over her next words trying to keep up with them as they formed in her mind.
“MI6 wants Deronda gone, and the threat of Hermes neutralized as quickly as possible. It would be easier if all parties involved considered cooperating until...”
“Whatever are you suggesting?” he interrupted, knowing full well what she meant.
She paused, her fingers gripping the edge of the sill. “I suppose what I’m offering is a truce.”
“A truce?” She felt a jab of annoyance at his deliberate repetition of her words.
“If you want Deronda removed, then work with us. We’re all ultimately seeking a common purpose, surely it would be quicker and easier if we all helped each other.”
“And,” his tone was light, but Helen noticed the undercurrent of danger, just waiting to snap at her. “What exactly will I get from this little arrangement? I’m not exactly eager to work along side MI6 and 007 again.”
“You’ll get what you want,” she retorted sharply. “Caleb Deronda six feet under.”
Alec sighed as if explaining something to a particularly stubborn child. “That is not enough. Is that all I can expect?”
Helen hesitated. She tried to read what he was saying, but it was like gazing at the blank page of a book. “What else do you want?” she asked cautiously.
In an exaggerated manner that she couldn’t fail to understand he ran his eyes over her face, and body, lingering at the curve of her hips beneath the satin dress. She blushed, and her breathing deepened. So she was to be a part of this bargain. Fine. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him, she tried to rationalize to herself, deal or no deal. And it would be no hardship to sleep with him again she grudgingly admitted to herself.
The tip of her tongue dampened her lips. “Me,” she said firmly before she could back out. “You can have me if you want...”
Alec said nothing. Again Helen felt the air in the room was choking her.
He laughed, shattering the silence. “And what if I don’t want you?”
She frowned, hiding her embarrassment, “I think you do.” She tried to sound confident, but doubt had crept in, poisoning her mind.
His voice was filled with languid cruelty. “You thought wrongly.”
Alec watched as her face flushed with abject humiliation. He was teasing her, seeing how far she would go before she snapped. When he had first seen her that evening he had been jolted by how pleasurable the sight of her again had been. He had anticipated not seeing her again, and then she had stood before him. She had been taunting him in his dreams, and quite often in his waking hours as well, the thought of her lips on his, her slim body moving with his, her face buried in his shoulder to stifle her moans. His reputation and power alone had brought some of the most beautiful women in Russia to his bed, but once there they tried to disguise their distaste to his scars, and closed their eyes against them. But not this woman, she had barely noticed them, running her fingers over their texture, or kissing them because they were a part of him. He had been shaken by her willingness, and passion for him, and now she stood before him once more, this time shaking with rage as he mocked her.
He wanted to push her further, to see how far he could, and now she was offering herself to him on a plate and he was tempted. She was torn between duty and lust, her confusion plain upon her strange features.
She was very close now, reckless, defiant of him, the satin of her dress rippling as she breathed, he could smell the warmth of her scent, perhaps he had underestimated her, she was as much as a tease as he was, a risk taker that got results.
She knelt onto his lap, a finger tracing the line of his jaw. “Tell me to go, Alec,” her lips were coming closer to his with every word, “And I will...”
She was almost touching him, waiting for his answer. When none came, she kissed him, hard, her tongue sliding into his mouth to meet his, her fingers entwined in his hair.
His hands grabbed her arms, and she thought that he was pushing her away, but instead he pulled her down onto the soft leather, and covered her body with his. His kiss was as demanding as hers, his touch even more so, and she could feel her desire rising, pressing herself firmly against the centre of him, telling him what she wanted. And he obeyed.
Helen was asleep. She had kicked the heavy covers from her body and now lay sprawled across the bed, her body wrapped in a white sheet. Lying on her front, one arm used as a pillow, her hair falling over her face, breathing steadily, she was exposed and vulnerable. Something happened deep within her dream, and she frowned, shifting position until she was comfortable once more, and fell back into a deep sleep.
“So you want Deronda removed? And you were going to do it yourself at the Mariinsky tonight?”
He smiled.
She stumbled over her next words trying to keep up with them as they formed in her mind.
“MI6 wants Deronda gone, and the threat of Hermes neutralized as quickly as possible. It would be easier if all parties involved considered cooperating until...”
“Whatever are you suggesting?” he interrupted, knowing full well what she meant.
She paused, her fingers gripping the edge of the sill. “I suppose what I’m offering is a truce.”
“A truce?” She felt a jab of annoyance at his deliberate repetition of her words.
“If you want Deronda removed, then work with us. We’re all ultimately seeking a common purpose, surely it would be quicker and easier if we all helped each other.”
“And,” his tone was light, but Helen noticed the undercurrent of danger, just waiting to snap at her. “What exactly will I get from this little arrangement? I’m not exactly eager to work along side MI6 and 007 again.”
“You’ll get what you want,” she retorted sharply. “Caleb Deronda six feet under.”
Alec sighed as if explaining something to a particularly stubborn child. “That is not enough. Is that all I can expect?”
Helen hesitated. She tried to read what he was saying, but it was like gazing at the blank page of a book. “What else do you want?” she asked cautiously.
In an exaggerated manner that she couldn’t fail to understand he ran his eyes over her face, and body, lingering at the curve of her hips beneath the satin dress. She blushed, and her breathing deepened. So she was to be a part of this bargain. Fine. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him, she tried to rationalize to herself, deal or no deal. And it would be no hardship to sleep with him again she grudgingly admitted to herself.
The tip of her tongue dampened her lips. “Me,” she said firmly before she could back out. “You can have me if you want...”
Alec said nothing. Again Helen felt the air in the room was choking her.
He laughed, shattering the silence. “And what if I don’t want you?”
She frowned, hiding her embarrassment, “I think you do.” She tried to sound confident, but doubt had crept in, poisoning her mind.
His voice was filled with languid cruelty. “You thought wrongly.”
Alec watched as her face flushed with abject humiliation. He was teasing her, seeing how far she would go before she snapped. When he had first seen her that evening he had been jolted by how pleasurable the sight of her again had been. He had anticipated not seeing her again, and then she had stood before him. She had been taunting him in his dreams, and quite often in his waking hours as well, the thought of her lips on his, her slim body moving with his, her face buried in his shoulder to stifle her moans. His reputation and power alone had brought some of the most beautiful women in Russia to his bed, but once there they tried to disguise their distaste to his scars, and closed their eyes against them. But not this woman, she had barely noticed them, running her fingers over their texture, or kissing them because they were a part of him. He had been shaken by her willingness, and passion for him, and now she stood before him once more, this time shaking with rage as he mocked her.
He wanted to push her further, to see how far he could, and now she was offering herself to him on a plate and he was tempted. She was torn between duty and lust, her confusion plain upon her strange features.
She was very close now, reckless, defiant of him, the satin of her dress rippling as she breathed, he could smell the warmth of her scent, perhaps he had underestimated her, she was as much as a tease as he was, a risk taker that got results.
She knelt onto his lap, a finger tracing the line of his jaw. “Tell me to go, Alec,” her lips were coming closer to his with every word, “And I will...”
She was almost touching him, waiting for his answer. When none came, she kissed him, hard, her tongue sliding into his mouth to meet his, her fingers entwined in his hair.
His hands grabbed her arms, and she thought that he was pushing her away, but instead he pulled her down onto the soft leather, and covered her body with his. His kiss was as demanding as hers, his touch even more so, and she could feel her desire rising, pressing herself firmly against the centre of him, telling him what she wanted. And he obeyed.
Helen was asleep. She had kicked the heavy covers from her body and now lay sprawled across the bed, her body wrapped in a white sheet. Lying on her front, one arm used as a pillow, her hair falling over her face, breathing steadily, she was exposed and vulnerable. Something happened deep within her dream, and she frowned, shifting position until she was comfortable once more, and fell back into a deep sleep.
way cool-can hardly wait.
Dressed in a dark robe, Alec sat across the room, watching his most recent lover as she slept. The vodka was beside him, and finding his glass empty he refilled it. Disturbed once more he took another mouthful of the cold liquid.
Helen Kain had preyed on his mind recently, since he had first made love to her nights previously. Like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp she had flickered in and out of his thoughts, irritating him with its frequent occurrence. He couldn’t lay his finger on why it upset him so much. He could remember her as a child, a girl with huge watchful hazel eyes and a shyness that made her hide behind her long blond hair. David, David Kain, his friend, had been so proud of his daughter, and besotted with both her and his beautiful wife Emma. So much so that Alec had secretly scorned him for being weak. Emma had died, and Alec saw David’s devastation, but had not been able to understand it. In the end David had lost everything, killed in action. And Alec had always blamed his weakness. Helen was a woman now, and already Alec could see that she had the same weaknesses inside her as her father.
It had begun as a power game. The sudden realization of who exactly had been lying at his feet in an unconscious heap, and the bargaining chip he had now possessed. He hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, but he had suddenly become obsessed with the idea of her, having what Donnie had, and then going further than Donnie had been, so he had taken her to his bed. But now... now something had changed.
Despite his reluctance to admit it, Alec was still in possession of a conscience, a deeply buried one, but it was still there. The lessons after Goldeneye had taught him humility, trapped within his helplessly shattered body. He had no regrets, well if he did, he wouldn’t confess to them, following the aftermath of the incident, but now he faced reality. He was still a powerful man and the name Janus could still strike fear into a rival’s heart but that was it. He had rivals now that were getting stronger and Alec could no longer be considered top dog. The question that haunted him constantly was “what next?”
He gazed almost enviously at the sleeping woman, jealous at the simplicity of her life, she had her career to focus on, she went to work, she went home, saw her friends, worked towards her next career stage. Simplicity itself.
He frowned. He was getting weak. He should have killed her when he had the opportunity to. Or at least kept her captive. It would have been easier, and it would have destroyed Donnie. Instead he had let emotions and the past rule him. If she hadn’t been David’s daughter, would that have made a difference? Or was it the very fact that she was a Kain the reason she kept creeping back into his thoughts?
He had a decision to make. He sat still once more, and let the darkness surround him.
Caught in the void between dreams, Helen turned over, seeking a more comfortable way to sleep, and in that brief moment of waking she opened her eyes. Seeing Alec watching her from the shadows, she started, pulling the sheet closer around her, and sitting up.
“You scared me,” she accused him. “Couldn’t you sleep?” she asked, and then cursed herself inwardly for stating the obvious.
Very slowly he began to speak. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill Vaskov, or Gregory Fraser, and I have no involvement with the Hermes project.” His eyes bored into her, trying to convince her of his innocence. He wanted her to believe him.
She bit her lip. “How can I trust you Alec?”
“I’m a dead man. I have no interest in biological warfare.”
“Yet every question I’ve asked, you can answer it. You’re very well informed for someone with no interest.”
“I like to be aware of things, to know what happening in the shady underworld.” The sarcasm in his voice was clear.
“So you have no motive, no reason to be involved at all?”
“Exactly.”
“Except revenge.”
“I wouldn’t call it revenge on Deronda.”
“And Donnie?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You deny you want Donnie dead?”
“Donnie is another matter. You’ll have to trust me on that, and on Hermes.”
He saw the scorn on her face, the derision in her voice. “I’ve already said that I can not trust you. I have no reason to do so.”
He could move so quickly, the words were barely out of her mouth before she found herself pinned to the bed.
“You have to Helen. Because you won’t live unless you do.”
Ignoring the pains in her wrist from where he held them, she studied his face, searching his eyes as if she could find the truth in them.
“I want to help you,” he whispered, so softly she could barely hear the words. Her temper flared again.
Helen Kain had preyed on his mind recently, since he had first made love to her nights previously. Like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp she had flickered in and out of his thoughts, irritating him with its frequent occurrence. He couldn’t lay his finger on why it upset him so much. He could remember her as a child, a girl with huge watchful hazel eyes and a shyness that made her hide behind her long blond hair. David, David Kain, his friend, had been so proud of his daughter, and besotted with both her and his beautiful wife Emma. So much so that Alec had secretly scorned him for being weak. Emma had died, and Alec saw David’s devastation, but had not been able to understand it. In the end David had lost everything, killed in action. And Alec had always blamed his weakness. Helen was a woman now, and already Alec could see that she had the same weaknesses inside her as her father.
It had begun as a power game. The sudden realization of who exactly had been lying at his feet in an unconscious heap, and the bargaining chip he had now possessed. He hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, but he had suddenly become obsessed with the idea of her, having what Donnie had, and then going further than Donnie had been, so he had taken her to his bed. But now... now something had changed.
Despite his reluctance to admit it, Alec was still in possession of a conscience, a deeply buried one, but it was still there. The lessons after Goldeneye had taught him humility, trapped within his helplessly shattered body. He had no regrets, well if he did, he wouldn’t confess to them, following the aftermath of the incident, but now he faced reality. He was still a powerful man and the name Janus could still strike fear into a rival’s heart but that was it. He had rivals now that were getting stronger and Alec could no longer be considered top dog. The question that haunted him constantly was “what next?”
He gazed almost enviously at the sleeping woman, jealous at the simplicity of her life, she had her career to focus on, she went to work, she went home, saw her friends, worked towards her next career stage. Simplicity itself.
He frowned. He was getting weak. He should have killed her when he had the opportunity to. Or at least kept her captive. It would have been easier, and it would have destroyed Donnie. Instead he had let emotions and the past rule him. If she hadn’t been David’s daughter, would that have made a difference? Or was it the very fact that she was a Kain the reason she kept creeping back into his thoughts?
He had a decision to make. He sat still once more, and let the darkness surround him.
Caught in the void between dreams, Helen turned over, seeking a more comfortable way to sleep, and in that brief moment of waking she opened her eyes. Seeing Alec watching her from the shadows, she started, pulling the sheet closer around her, and sitting up.
“You scared me,” she accused him. “Couldn’t you sleep?” she asked, and then cursed herself inwardly for stating the obvious.
Very slowly he began to speak. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill Vaskov, or Gregory Fraser, and I have no involvement with the Hermes project.” His eyes bored into her, trying to convince her of his innocence. He wanted her to believe him.
She bit her lip. “How can I trust you Alec?”
“I’m a dead man. I have no interest in biological warfare.”
“Yet every question I’ve asked, you can answer it. You’re very well informed for someone with no interest.”
“I like to be aware of things, to know what happening in the shady underworld.” The sarcasm in his voice was clear.
“So you have no motive, no reason to be involved at all?”
“Exactly.”
“Except revenge.”
“I wouldn’t call it revenge on Deronda.”
“And Donnie?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You deny you want Donnie dead?”
“Donnie is another matter. You’ll have to trust me on that, and on Hermes.”
He saw the scorn on her face, the derision in her voice. “I’ve already said that I can not trust you. I have no reason to do so.”
He could move so quickly, the words were barely out of her mouth before she found herself pinned to the bed.
“You have to Helen. Because you won’t live unless you do.”
Ignoring the pains in her wrist from where he held them, she studied his face, searching his eyes as if she could find the truth in them.
“I want to help you,” he whispered, so softly she could barely hear the words. Her temper flared again.
“Why would you bother to help me? Do you feel you owe me something because we slept together?” she struggled beneath him, hissing the words at him, “Because I can tell you now, you owe me nothing. This is all a damned game to you, and I’m not going to play any more. Now let me go!”
With a vicious jerk she pulled him off balance and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. He held her back.
“I’m helping you because I want to. Not because of Donnie, Donnie is nothing anymore. Not because of anything other than the fact I want to help you.” Drawing her to him once more, he murmured just before their lips met again, “I shall do everything in my power to help you. Truce?”
And so Helen’s deal with the Devil was struck.
*
Afterwards, it was Alec who fell into a deep sleep, curiously at ease, in rest his face losing all tension. Uneasy, Helen lay awake watching her lover sleep. Her body was sated, and still, but her mind worked frantically, stopping her from sleeping. It seemed wrong, almost sadistic that he could reduce her to a trembling wreck with a single touch, or that she craved it so much. It seemed so right to be with him, but the guilt almost destroyed her as she lay there, eating away at her. She thought briefly of Donnie. She wondered what made Alec so different from him, or any other man that she cared for, and why Donnie and Alec could confuse her this way.
Now she lay in cool cotton sheets, a killer beside her, and knew that if she could describe this moment in years to come, she could, down to every last detail in the room.
A memory came to her, shocking her with its clarity; her seventeen year old self at home for once at her parents. London townhouse, on a break from school. She would have to return to Westerly the next day, so she had gone to her father’s study to say goodnight for the final time. The door had opened wide as soon as she had knocked, and not only had her father been there, tall, handsome, well built with the same smiling eyes as her, but also Donnie, still as smooth and as wonderful as ever, and who had hugged her fiercely. Donnie had been new to MI6, still ‘learning the ropes’, as he as his American friends would say. But there had been a third man, waiting patiently in the background, grey eyes crinkled against the cigar smoke that had filled the room, until he had stepped forward and introduced to her. At that moment she had become instantly shy, and alarmingly tongue tied.
Her father and Donnie had always been her heroes, but now almost painfully her loyalties had switched to this new man before her. Tall with stormy grey eyes and sleek blond hair, his hand had dwarfed hers when he had offered it to her. Thrown by these unfamiliar and crazy feelings she had been paralyzed with her shyness, barely able to move or speak. Alec Trevelyan had shaken her seventeen year old self to the core, now fifteen years or so years later, she was in his bed, her twenty seven year old self as shaken as her younger self had been.
She realised it had been six months later she had heard of his death in a car crash, while abroad on business. An accident, her father had explained to her while she was on half term, a terrible tragic accident. So disturbed had David Kain been by his friend”s death, he hadn’t noticed his daughter”s own shock. Helen’s introduction to adulthood had begun when she had met Alec, she had eagerly hoped to see him again, or that he might visit the house again, even hearing his name was a thrill. It had been hard for her to imagine he was dead, to think he was no longer a part of the world had been surprisingly painful, so she had buried it away inside herself. Mere months later her father had died, and no pain in the world could compare to that agony. It had been so intense she had never once questioned the mysterious circumstances surrounding David Kain”s death, she had simply accepted it. Later, after her graduation, M had given her father’s papers, and encouraged her to apply to MI6, to follow in her father’s footsteps. It seemed the right career choice to make, as everything about her father, Donnie and Alec had fallen into place. Now, having been at MI6 for nearly four years, she found herself in the strange surreal scenario of being Alec’s lover.
With a vicious jerk she pulled him off balance and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. He held her back.
“I’m helping you because I want to. Not because of Donnie, Donnie is nothing anymore. Not because of anything other than the fact I want to help you.” Drawing her to him once more, he murmured just before their lips met again, “I shall do everything in my power to help you. Truce?”
And so Helen’s deal with the Devil was struck.
*
Afterwards, it was Alec who fell into a deep sleep, curiously at ease, in rest his face losing all tension. Uneasy, Helen lay awake watching her lover sleep. Her body was sated, and still, but her mind worked frantically, stopping her from sleeping. It seemed wrong, almost sadistic that he could reduce her to a trembling wreck with a single touch, or that she craved it so much. It seemed so right to be with him, but the guilt almost destroyed her as she lay there, eating away at her. She thought briefly of Donnie. She wondered what made Alec so different from him, or any other man that she cared for, and why Donnie and Alec could confuse her this way.
Now she lay in cool cotton sheets, a killer beside her, and knew that if she could describe this moment in years to come, she could, down to every last detail in the room.
A memory came to her, shocking her with its clarity; her seventeen year old self at home for once at her parents. London townhouse, on a break from school. She would have to return to Westerly the next day, so she had gone to her father’s study to say goodnight for the final time. The door had opened wide as soon as she had knocked, and not only had her father been there, tall, handsome, well built with the same smiling eyes as her, but also Donnie, still as smooth and as wonderful as ever, and who had hugged her fiercely. Donnie had been new to MI6, still ‘learning the ropes’, as he as his American friends would say. But there had been a third man, waiting patiently in the background, grey eyes crinkled against the cigar smoke that had filled the room, until he had stepped forward and introduced to her. At that moment she had become instantly shy, and alarmingly tongue tied.
Her father and Donnie had always been her heroes, but now almost painfully her loyalties had switched to this new man before her. Tall with stormy grey eyes and sleek blond hair, his hand had dwarfed hers when he had offered it to her. Thrown by these unfamiliar and crazy feelings she had been paralyzed with her shyness, barely able to move or speak. Alec Trevelyan had shaken her seventeen year old self to the core, now fifteen years or so years later, she was in his bed, her twenty seven year old self as shaken as her younger self had been.
She realised it had been six months later she had heard of his death in a car crash, while abroad on business. An accident, her father had explained to her while she was on half term, a terrible tragic accident. So disturbed had David Kain been by his friend”s death, he hadn’t noticed his daughter”s own shock. Helen’s introduction to adulthood had begun when she had met Alec, she had eagerly hoped to see him again, or that he might visit the house again, even hearing his name was a thrill. It had been hard for her to imagine he was dead, to think he was no longer a part of the world had been surprisingly painful, so she had buried it away inside herself. Mere months later her father had died, and no pain in the world could compare to that agony. It had been so intense she had never once questioned the mysterious circumstances surrounding David Kain”s death, she had simply accepted it. Later, after her graduation, M had given her father’s papers, and encouraged her to apply to MI6, to follow in her father’s footsteps. It seemed the right career choice to make, as everything about her father, Donnie and Alec had fallen into place. Now, having been at MI6 for nearly four years, she found herself in the strange surreal scenario of being Alec’s lover.
Idly, pushing away all thoughts of her father and her childhood, she brushed a hand over his hair and gave him the lightest of kisses on his lips. Then she tried to sleep.
Like the morning previously when she awoke, she was alone. This time she didn’t feel sick at his actions, but rather she accepted them with a grim stoicism. Showering she wondered idly at how she was supposed to return to St. Petersburg wearing only a thin satin evening dress. She didn’t relish the thought, and once she glanced outside and saw the grey sky and the tops of the evergreens shivering with the cold, the thought was even less pleasant. Watching the trees with an absent mind, she at first didn’t notice the clothes neatly folded and waiting on the bed. Black, well cut trousers, a crisp white shirt, and the softest cashmere v neck. Next to them, as neat and tidy as the rest, sat her dress. She paused for a moment, slightly stunned, even more so when she saw how accurate the sizes were. Once dressed, she heard the familiar tap at the door, and she found herself once more following a faceless man along dark corridors.
Why do I keep doing this? She thought as she hurried after the man, why do you let your hormones rather than common sense rule you? It was as if all her brain cells abandoned her when a dangerous and powerful man came into view... And speak of the Devil...
Alec stood waiting for her, his hair damp and spiky from the shower, watching as she walked up to him, approving of the clothes she wore, even if she did have to team them with the stiletto heels from the night before, her damp tousled hair soft around her fresh face, and returning the shy smile she gave him. He picked up a heavy coat and wrapped her in it, securing her against the cold morning, and tugging her forward by the lapels so he could kiss her.
“Outside.”
Blinking in the weak sunshine that had fought its way through the greyness, Helen found herself standing on a wide set of stone steps. There on the drive below her, the pale sun glinting off the gunmetal grey paint work, illuminating the harsh lines of the body, was a Mercedes CLK. Coming up behind her, Alec handed her a set of keys.
“Yours. For as long as you need it.”
She was suspicious, but took the keys all the same, walking around the car, admiring its cruel stark beauty. She loved cars, especially fast ones, with a fierce passion. Clicking the key fob, her heart leaped at the satisfying heavy clunk and flash of lights that occurred when the doors unlocked. Opening the drivers door she leaned against it.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“One more thing,” he said, walking down to her, “If you need my help, or just want to contact me, use this. Only you have a direct line.” He tossed her a small silver mobile phone, compact and fiddly. Flicking it open, she saw a single number illuminated there. She nodded and stepped forwards, seeking his mouth for a soft kiss, and with a whisper of goodbye, slid into the drivers seat. With a roar and a squeal of tires, she was gone, whipping the car around and speeding up the drive.
Alec watched her go, all gentleness gone from his eyes, the coldness had returned. Kristov stood behind him, his pale blue eyes trailing icily after the Mercedes, watching emptily as the brake lights flickered briefly and the car turned sharply out of sight.
Alec never even turned. “You know what to do.”
The simple thrill of just driving came back to Helen as she headed back to the city, the SATNAV directing her, she merely had to follow the instructions and put her foot to the floor. It seemed like forever since the last time she had driven for pleasure, instead she seemed to spend half her life in traffic jams along the banks of the Thames. When she got back, whenever she got back, she was going to take her Spider on a decent jaunt for once, head down to the West Country, let it have its head on some proper roads for once.
A passion for Italian cars had been instilled in her from an early age by her father, and she had rarely ventured away from them in her driving career. Today though, after the shock of the night before, and her lack of sleep, the cool German efficiency of the Mercedes suited her down to the ground.
Like the morning previously when she awoke, she was alone. This time she didn’t feel sick at his actions, but rather she accepted them with a grim stoicism. Showering she wondered idly at how she was supposed to return to St. Petersburg wearing only a thin satin evening dress. She didn’t relish the thought, and once she glanced outside and saw the grey sky and the tops of the evergreens shivering with the cold, the thought was even less pleasant. Watching the trees with an absent mind, she at first didn’t notice the clothes neatly folded and waiting on the bed. Black, well cut trousers, a crisp white shirt, and the softest cashmere v neck. Next to them, as neat and tidy as the rest, sat her dress. She paused for a moment, slightly stunned, even more so when she saw how accurate the sizes were. Once dressed, she heard the familiar tap at the door, and she found herself once more following a faceless man along dark corridors.
Why do I keep doing this? She thought as she hurried after the man, why do you let your hormones rather than common sense rule you? It was as if all her brain cells abandoned her when a dangerous and powerful man came into view... And speak of the Devil...
Alec stood waiting for her, his hair damp and spiky from the shower, watching as she walked up to him, approving of the clothes she wore, even if she did have to team them with the stiletto heels from the night before, her damp tousled hair soft around her fresh face, and returning the shy smile she gave him. He picked up a heavy coat and wrapped her in it, securing her against the cold morning, and tugging her forward by the lapels so he could kiss her.
“Outside.”
Blinking in the weak sunshine that had fought its way through the greyness, Helen found herself standing on a wide set of stone steps. There on the drive below her, the pale sun glinting off the gunmetal grey paint work, illuminating the harsh lines of the body, was a Mercedes CLK. Coming up behind her, Alec handed her a set of keys.
“Yours. For as long as you need it.”
She was suspicious, but took the keys all the same, walking around the car, admiring its cruel stark beauty. She loved cars, especially fast ones, with a fierce passion. Clicking the key fob, her heart leaped at the satisfying heavy clunk and flash of lights that occurred when the doors unlocked. Opening the drivers door she leaned against it.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“One more thing,” he said, walking down to her, “If you need my help, or just want to contact me, use this. Only you have a direct line.” He tossed her a small silver mobile phone, compact and fiddly. Flicking it open, she saw a single number illuminated there. She nodded and stepped forwards, seeking his mouth for a soft kiss, and with a whisper of goodbye, slid into the drivers seat. With a roar and a squeal of tires, she was gone, whipping the car around and speeding up the drive.
Alec watched her go, all gentleness gone from his eyes, the coldness had returned. Kristov stood behind him, his pale blue eyes trailing icily after the Mercedes, watching emptily as the brake lights flickered briefly and the car turned sharply out of sight.
Alec never even turned. “You know what to do.”
The simple thrill of just driving came back to Helen as she headed back to the city, the SATNAV directing her, she merely had to follow the instructions and put her foot to the floor. It seemed like forever since the last time she had driven for pleasure, instead she seemed to spend half her life in traffic jams along the banks of the Thames. When she got back, whenever she got back, she was going to take her Spider on a decent jaunt for once, head down to the West Country, let it have its head on some proper roads for once.
A passion for Italian cars had been instilled in her from an early age by her father, and she had rarely ventured away from them in her driving career. Today though, after the shock of the night before, and her lack of sleep, the cool German efficiency of the Mercedes suited her down to the ground.
The plot thickens-can hardly wait to read more.
I am loving this, can't wait for more.
Thanks for the feedback girls. It makes me write faster. LOL
I just have only a little bit so far, so bear with me. I have been working on another story (Just waiting for my job to start tommorow) ......
She wondered if she was making a mistake with Alec. Of course she was. Even in her craziest moments, trapped under the spell of her desire for Alec, she knew that, and she knew that if she kept playing with fire she was going to get burnt, and badly. Was a few nights of passion worth that risk? The stubborn, and lonely, part of her insisted that it was, it had been a while since she had had some fun, and it wasn’t as if she wasn’t working while she got her kicks.
The mission, if she was honest, was disturbing her. They had so much information, but were unable to act upon it. Alec seemed desperate to warn her of the danger she was in, and the theatre incident had frightened her more than she would like to admit. She was desperate herself, wanting to get back to the city to Donnie and Dmitrov, to find out what had happened, and to see if they were safe. Gripping the steering wheel firmly, she hoped that they were.
Her attention had wandered while she was driving, changing gear and braking on auto pilot while she thought of the night before. However the black saloon that suddenly appeared in her rear view mirror snapped her attention back to the road. Blacked out windows, and a menacing grill, it was far too close to her, and catching up with every second that passed. Warily, following the feeling in the pit of her stomach she kept glancing back at it, watching as it followed her every move, changing lanes when she did so. The feeling got worse, her mouth dried, and she felt her palms dampen on the wheel. Seeing a small minor road sign posted up ahead she made a decision, and turned quickly onto it, no braking, no indication.
“Damn,” she murmured, refusing to be distracted, she dropped down a gear and felt the compressor kick in as she pulled away, accelerating through the bends, it didn’t help, the saloon was bearing down on her again. At last the threat was realised, and with a jolt, Helen was thrown forwards, her feet slipping on the pedals as the Mercedes was rammed.
“Bastard!” she screamed, suddenly frightened again, feeling control abandoning her, venting her fury on the gear shift she cut down the gears, trying to put some more distance between her and them, but at the back of her mind she thought there was something wrong with the car, and she couldn’t work out what. The tail swung out as she rounded a bend, seeing a straight up ahead she floored it. Again she was hit, and she braked hard, jerking the wheel to the right. cutting across the road, adrenaline and panic coursing through her, the fight was getting furious. A final blow to the left bumper, and the car slid towards the edge of the road, she lost control, frantically hitting the brakes again.
The occupants of the other car watched as the car rolled once, twice, three times, before coming to rest on its roof, rear wheels spinning helplessly. Helen felt the car bump along the edge of the ditch, rise up, her temple hit the side panel, the ground came rushing towards her at a strange angle. She lost consciousness, and as the world faded away, her final thoughts were that the brakes had failed, and of Alec.
The night at the Mariinsky theatre had ended in tragedy. Half way through the second Act a hysterical screaming had begun. In the Grand Circle Vaskov”s rapidly cooling body had been discovered. There had been no sign of Helen, and Donnie had hoped that she had been sensible enough to get as far away from the dead minister as possible. It was as if the discovery of the body had been a cue. Suddenly the theatre had erupted into carnage, armed faceless men had filled the theatre, three people had been shot, and had died as a result. There had been no reason given for the attack, no explanation, and Donnie was more than suspicious. He could only think that it had been a cover up for Vaskov”s murder, and now the blame was being placed upon an separatist terror organisation. It was clever, Wahlberg could see that, and he and Dmitrov had found themselves in the thick of the action. A brief struggle to disarm one of the “terrorists” had left Wahlberg with a dark bruise on his ribs from the butt of a rifle, Dmitrov was sporting a split lip and cut under his eye.
It was frustrating. Each path Wahlberg was faced with finished in a dead end. He wanted to talk to Pauli Elliot personally, feeling as if she was the key, it was a case of manipulating a meeting with her. It was this thought that occupied Donnie as he and Dmitrov walked across the lobby of the hotel.
“Mr. Wahlberg!” The concierge spotted them, and holding one hand over the receiver called out, “I have a telephone call for you.”
Wahlberg raised an eyebrow at Dmitrov, before taking the receiver from the concierge. “Yes, this is Wahlberg,” he said in reply to the heavily accented voice on the other end.
His eyes closed as he listened to the news, and the blood ran from his face.
The phone was among Helen’s belongings. Wahlberg turned it over in his hands, this wasn’t Helen’s usual mobile. Flicking it open he saw the single number programmed in, and with a cold fury guessed where Helen had once more spent the night. Cursing her stupidity, he listened as it rang once, twice, and then the click of connection. There was silence, but Donnie could hear someone breathing quietly at the other end.
“Talk to me, Janus.”
“Donnie.”
“Last orders.”
“11pm. The Square.”
A click and the connection was over.
I just have only a little bit so far, so bear with me. I have been working on another story (Just waiting for my job to start tommorow) ......
She wondered if she was making a mistake with Alec. Of course she was. Even in her craziest moments, trapped under the spell of her desire for Alec, she knew that, and she knew that if she kept playing with fire she was going to get burnt, and badly. Was a few nights of passion worth that risk? The stubborn, and lonely, part of her insisted that it was, it had been a while since she had had some fun, and it wasn’t as if she wasn’t working while she got her kicks.
The mission, if she was honest, was disturbing her. They had so much information, but were unable to act upon it. Alec seemed desperate to warn her of the danger she was in, and the theatre incident had frightened her more than she would like to admit. She was desperate herself, wanting to get back to the city to Donnie and Dmitrov, to find out what had happened, and to see if they were safe. Gripping the steering wheel firmly, she hoped that they were.
Her attention had wandered while she was driving, changing gear and braking on auto pilot while she thought of the night before. However the black saloon that suddenly appeared in her rear view mirror snapped her attention back to the road. Blacked out windows, and a menacing grill, it was far too close to her, and catching up with every second that passed. Warily, following the feeling in the pit of her stomach she kept glancing back at it, watching as it followed her every move, changing lanes when she did so. The feeling got worse, her mouth dried, and she felt her palms dampen on the wheel. Seeing a small minor road sign posted up ahead she made a decision, and turned quickly onto it, no braking, no indication.
“Damn,” she murmured, refusing to be distracted, she dropped down a gear and felt the compressor kick in as she pulled away, accelerating through the bends, it didn’t help, the saloon was bearing down on her again. At last the threat was realised, and with a jolt, Helen was thrown forwards, her feet slipping on the pedals as the Mercedes was rammed.
“Bastard!” she screamed, suddenly frightened again, feeling control abandoning her, venting her fury on the gear shift she cut down the gears, trying to put some more distance between her and them, but at the back of her mind she thought there was something wrong with the car, and she couldn’t work out what. The tail swung out as she rounded a bend, seeing a straight up ahead she floored it. Again she was hit, and she braked hard, jerking the wheel to the right. cutting across the road, adrenaline and panic coursing through her, the fight was getting furious. A final blow to the left bumper, and the car slid towards the edge of the road, she lost control, frantically hitting the brakes again.
The occupants of the other car watched as the car rolled once, twice, three times, before coming to rest on its roof, rear wheels spinning helplessly. Helen felt the car bump along the edge of the ditch, rise up, her temple hit the side panel, the ground came rushing towards her at a strange angle. She lost consciousness, and as the world faded away, her final thoughts were that the brakes had failed, and of Alec.
The night at the Mariinsky theatre had ended in tragedy. Half way through the second Act a hysterical screaming had begun. In the Grand Circle Vaskov”s rapidly cooling body had been discovered. There had been no sign of Helen, and Donnie had hoped that she had been sensible enough to get as far away from the dead minister as possible. It was as if the discovery of the body had been a cue. Suddenly the theatre had erupted into carnage, armed faceless men had filled the theatre, three people had been shot, and had died as a result. There had been no reason given for the attack, no explanation, and Donnie was more than suspicious. He could only think that it had been a cover up for Vaskov”s murder, and now the blame was being placed upon an separatist terror organisation. It was clever, Wahlberg could see that, and he and Dmitrov had found themselves in the thick of the action. A brief struggle to disarm one of the “terrorists” had left Wahlberg with a dark bruise on his ribs from the butt of a rifle, Dmitrov was sporting a split lip and cut under his eye.
It was frustrating. Each path Wahlberg was faced with finished in a dead end. He wanted to talk to Pauli Elliot personally, feeling as if she was the key, it was a case of manipulating a meeting with her. It was this thought that occupied Donnie as he and Dmitrov walked across the lobby of the hotel.
“Mr. Wahlberg!” The concierge spotted them, and holding one hand over the receiver called out, “I have a telephone call for you.”
Wahlberg raised an eyebrow at Dmitrov, before taking the receiver from the concierge. “Yes, this is Wahlberg,” he said in reply to the heavily accented voice on the other end.
His eyes closed as he listened to the news, and the blood ran from his face.
The phone was among Helen’s belongings. Wahlberg turned it over in his hands, this wasn’t Helen’s usual mobile. Flicking it open he saw the single number programmed in, and with a cold fury guessed where Helen had once more spent the night. Cursing her stupidity, he listened as it rang once, twice, and then the click of connection. There was silence, but Donnie could hear someone breathing quietly at the other end.
“Talk to me, Janus.”
“Donnie.”
“Last orders.”
“11pm. The Square.”
A click and the connection was over.
I hope you all are having fun. 
That waqs good but the suspense is killing me!oh well i can wait!
WOW!!! Excellent lori!!! What type of job did ya get?
I got a job as a Ast. Manager of a Sonic drive-in. I think this will be good. Also when I decide to move out of state again, I could probably transfer to a Sonic there.
I also thought going back to school though, cooking school, to be a chef. This is to be termined???? For now, if anything I am just so happy to have a good job again!!!
Pauli and the rest of ya all, should have more this weekend.
I also thought going back to school though, cooking school, to be a chef. This is to be termined???? For now, if anything I am just so happy to have a good job again!!!
Pauli and the rest of ya all, should have more this weekend.
congats on the job and treat yourself to something nice and way to go!I can be patient-so is helen dead or badly injured?
sorry my curriosty has gotten the best of me.
Sorry didn't mean to leave it at such a cliff hanger.....
Three years ago Donnie had come face to face with a dead man. Now among the desecrated statues of communist leaders, Donnie was meeting again. The fog was dense, the night chill, but Donnie Wahlberg was colder.
As he waited, he could feel a rage building inside him, and hearing a footstep shouted in frustration. “I know You’re here Alec!”
Alec Trevelyan stepped from the shadows and faced his former friend.
“Evening Donnie,” Oh so casual, and infuriating as usual. Wahlberg didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring around at the remains of the statues.
“What part do you play in all of this, Alec?”
“Really, it was always all about the mission with you Donnie. That’s not why You’re here.”
“What part, Alec?” he repeated.
“Nothing. I have no interest in the Hermes Project.”
“I can”t believe that.”
With a malicious gleam in his eyes, Alec couldn’t resist taunting the other man. “Helen Kain said the same thing last night.”
Donnie ignored him. “What do you know about Hermes?”
“I know that it is of interest to every figure of power in Russia. Developed and now being marketed by Caleb Deronda. With control of it Russia could be a world power once more, one to rival both Britain and America. Beyond that, I have no interest or involvement in it.”
The tension was clear on Wahlberg’s face, he looked tired and strained. “No, no involvement in this,” he said softly. “ Helen though. Lets face it, the only reason you seduced her was revenge on me, what would David think of you using his daughter as a weapon?”
Alec at least had the grace to look away at the mention of Helen’s father. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions, Donnie. You should know that.”
“She’s twenty five, she is still so young.” Donnie paused, wanting his next words to take effect. “Did you wonder how I managed to contact you?”
A wary look flickered across Alec’s scarred features. “It had crossed my mind.”
“The phone you gave her. It was among her belongings given to me at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Even in the dim light Donnie could see Alec frown, visibly shaken. Good, he thought, it gave him more satisfaction in his next news.
“Helen was recovered from a car wreck this morning, about twenty kilometres outside of the city. Her car, a grey Mercedes coupe was on its roof when they found her, it had been run off the road. I’ve tried tracing the plates, but its been exceptionally difficult. I have my suspicions though. The brakes failed, the car flipped. The brake fluid had been emptied, and the cables been scored through, as soon as she braked heavily they snapped. Someone wanted her to have that accident. I wonder who that could be, Alec?”
Alec’s face had paled, and when he raised a hand to run it over his hair Donnie saw it was shaking. “Helen?” he asked thickly, “Is she ok? Is she alive?”
“Miraculously, yes. She has a concussion, a few cuts and bruises. She”ll survive... She’s damn lucky to!” For once Wahlberg overcame his usual detachment, letting his emotions rule him. Anger coursed through him as he remembered seeing Helen lying deathly still in the hospital bed, blood drying to a crust upon her temple. For a terrifying moment he thought she was dead, and his relief at her diagnoses had swamped him. Now staring at Alec, he thought how much pleasure it would bring him to smash his fist into that smug, arrogant, scarred face.
“I want to see her.” Alec’s jaw was set, he spoke quietly but firmly.
“No.”
“I want to see her, Donnie,” he repeated.
“Finishing the job?”
Something flickered in Alec’s clenched jaw. “I wouldn’t harm her.”
Once friends, now bitter enemies, they faced each other. And all bets were off.
Three years ago Donnie had come face to face with a dead man. Now among the desecrated statues of communist leaders, Donnie was meeting again. The fog was dense, the night chill, but Donnie Wahlberg was colder.
As he waited, he could feel a rage building inside him, and hearing a footstep shouted in frustration. “I know You’re here Alec!”
Alec Trevelyan stepped from the shadows and faced his former friend.
“Evening Donnie,” Oh so casual, and infuriating as usual. Wahlberg didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring around at the remains of the statues.
“What part do you play in all of this, Alec?”
“Really, it was always all about the mission with you Donnie. That’s not why You’re here.”
“What part, Alec?” he repeated.
“Nothing. I have no interest in the Hermes Project.”
“I can”t believe that.”
With a malicious gleam in his eyes, Alec couldn’t resist taunting the other man. “Helen Kain said the same thing last night.”
Donnie ignored him. “What do you know about Hermes?”
“I know that it is of interest to every figure of power in Russia. Developed and now being marketed by Caleb Deronda. With control of it Russia could be a world power once more, one to rival both Britain and America. Beyond that, I have no interest or involvement in it.”
The tension was clear on Wahlberg’s face, he looked tired and strained. “No, no involvement in this,” he said softly. “ Helen though. Lets face it, the only reason you seduced her was revenge on me, what would David think of you using his daughter as a weapon?”
Alec at least had the grace to look away at the mention of Helen’s father. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions, Donnie. You should know that.”
“She’s twenty five, she is still so young.” Donnie paused, wanting his next words to take effect. “Did you wonder how I managed to contact you?”
A wary look flickered across Alec’s scarred features. “It had crossed my mind.”
“The phone you gave her. It was among her belongings given to me at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Even in the dim light Donnie could see Alec frown, visibly shaken. Good, he thought, it gave him more satisfaction in his next news.
“Helen was recovered from a car wreck this morning, about twenty kilometres outside of the city. Her car, a grey Mercedes coupe was on its roof when they found her, it had been run off the road. I’ve tried tracing the plates, but its been exceptionally difficult. I have my suspicions though. The brakes failed, the car flipped. The brake fluid had been emptied, and the cables been scored through, as soon as she braked heavily they snapped. Someone wanted her to have that accident. I wonder who that could be, Alec?”
Alec’s face had paled, and when he raised a hand to run it over his hair Donnie saw it was shaking. “Helen?” he asked thickly, “Is she ok? Is she alive?”
“Miraculously, yes. She has a concussion, a few cuts and bruises. She”ll survive... She’s damn lucky to!” For once Wahlberg overcame his usual detachment, letting his emotions rule him. Anger coursed through him as he remembered seeing Helen lying deathly still in the hospital bed, blood drying to a crust upon her temple. For a terrifying moment he thought she was dead, and his relief at her diagnoses had swamped him. Now staring at Alec, he thought how much pleasure it would bring him to smash his fist into that smug, arrogant, scarred face.
“I want to see her.” Alec’s jaw was set, he spoke quietly but firmly.
“No.”
“I want to see her, Donnie,” he repeated.
“Finishing the job?”
Something flickered in Alec’s clenched jaw. “I wouldn’t harm her.”
Once friends, now bitter enemies, they faced each other. And all bets were off.
Donnie had insisted that Helen was discharged as soon as possible. He hadn’t wanted any one to come back and attempt to complete the job they had started. Now a trusted doctor was on call at the hotel, Helen was in good hands. She was still dazed from the crash, the concussion had brought on a slight fever, she had slept since they had brought her back to the hotel. Dozing in the double bed, wearing pale blue and white striped pyjamas, her pale skin flushed she looked very young and vulnerable. Around the room the clutter of her life remained, a half read novel by the bed, an assortment of makeup and brushes from the night before sprawled across the desk, a pot of hair wax by the mirror. Entering the room, Alec noticed none of these things, only seeing the young woman who had shared his bed the night before now lying pale and fragile looking before him.
Donnie shrugged off his jacket, making sure that Alec saw him take his gun. Sitting in an armchair, he trained the gun on the other man.
“You”d kill me in front of her?” Alec allowed a trace of bitterness into his voice.
“I”d kill you in a second. I’ve done it before.”
In her sleep, Helen stirred, a sudden flare of pain causing her to moan. Glancing defiantly in Donnie’sdirection, Alec sat on the edge of the bed, and reached over to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes opened, dazed and confused.
“Alec?” she whispered, confused. “What are you doing here?”
He knew this was about her, taking her hand he planted a gentle kiss on the palm. “Seeing you.”
“The brakes wouldn’t work.”
“I know?”
“Why?” she yawned, sleepy again, her head demanding rest.
“I don’t know why.”
“You?”
His grip tightened on her hand, she gasped in pain and tried to pull it away. “No. I promise you, I will never try to hurt you.”
“I hope so,” the ghost of a smiled appeared.
With narrowed eyes Donnie waved the gun in the direction of the door. “Time”s up Alec.”
“No!” Helen protested weakly.
“Soon,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I”ll see you soon,”
She smiled, soothed like a child, and slipped once more into a deep sleep.
Alec straightened, a grim look on his face. “I have nothing to do with this. With her “accident”, with anything.”
“You’re dead, Alec. I don’t have to believe a word you say.”
A final glance at the girl, and Alec turned and left. Donnie continued to sit there, watching Helen sleep, disturbed by the scene he had just witnessed.
Donnie shrugged off his jacket, making sure that Alec saw him take his gun. Sitting in an armchair, he trained the gun on the other man.
“You”d kill me in front of her?” Alec allowed a trace of bitterness into his voice.
“I”d kill you in a second. I’ve done it before.”
In her sleep, Helen stirred, a sudden flare of pain causing her to moan. Glancing defiantly in Donnie’sdirection, Alec sat on the edge of the bed, and reached over to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes opened, dazed and confused.
“Alec?” she whispered, confused. “What are you doing here?”
He knew this was about her, taking her hand he planted a gentle kiss on the palm. “Seeing you.”
“The brakes wouldn’t work.”
“I know?”
“Why?” she yawned, sleepy again, her head demanding rest.
“I don’t know why.”
“You?”
His grip tightened on her hand, she gasped in pain and tried to pull it away. “No. I promise you, I will never try to hurt you.”
“I hope so,” the ghost of a smiled appeared.
With narrowed eyes Donnie waved the gun in the direction of the door. “Time”s up Alec.”
“No!” Helen protested weakly.
“Soon,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I”ll see you soon,”
She smiled, soothed like a child, and slipped once more into a deep sleep.
Alec straightened, a grim look on his face. “I have nothing to do with this. With her “accident”, with anything.”
“You’re dead, Alec. I don’t have to believe a word you say.”
A final glance at the girl, and Alec turned and left. Donnie continued to sit there, watching Helen sleep, disturbed by the scene he had just witnessed.
Thank you for letting us know that Helen in alive.
By the way congrats on the job.
By the way congrats on the job.
it was cool you made sure we returned to read it-it is good look forward to more
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