The Amnesiac's Guide to Espionage, page 4
“Yes?”
“Something about it can’t happen without me telling them about the shipment.”
“What couldn’t happen?”
“I think the word they used was Halcyon.”
The cup in Paul’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth and stayed there for the longest time. His face was as expressionless as pure marble. He walked over to the tea set and topped up his cup, even though it didn’t need a refill. He filled it almost to the brim, then took his seat.
Calmly, he said, “I’ll need you to repeat that, and be as accurate as possible. What exactly did they say?”
“They said Halcyon couldn’t happen without me telling them where the shipment, whatever that is, was. Did any of my missions involve shipping anything?”
Paul shook his head. “No. Which makes it even more baffling.”
“So what is this Halcyon thing?” Bishop asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, nothing of importance,” Paul said, trying to appear innocent but failing miserably. That was why he was never a field agent—and a completely rubbish poker player. “Just ensure it doesn’t leave this room. No one is to mention it or investigate it in any way, is that clear?”
“Yes, boss,” chimed Eva and Bishop.
“It is vital that you keep Eva’s memory loss and especially Halcyon to yourselves.” Paul peered into his tea then pushed it away. His gaze drifted to the window and he seemed lost in thought. He glanced at the ornate clock on his desk, then at Eva. “You better get a move on, you’ve got a shift at the café.”
She shook her head, about to ask why she should look in on her business when it clicked. “So that’s still happening then?”
Paul dipped his head in confirmation.
“Bet you’re glad I kept the café, huh?”
This was an obvious attempt at baiting. Even though she knew perfectly well Paul wouldn’t bite, it was fun nonetheless. Anything for a moment of normalcy.
Eva eyed Bishop. “You coming?”
“No, just breathing heavy thinking about Jessica Rabbit.” He eyed Eva up and down, then shook his head as if to dislodge the thought. “But alas, I have an appointment.”
“Appointment?” When she saw his self-assured expression she asked, “I’m sure it’s a very important business meeting?”
Straight-faced, Bishop responded, “Absolutely.”
“Blonde or brunette?”
Opening his mouth in mock indignance, Bishop said, “I find the very thought of what you imply offensive, vulgar and a transgression on my very character.”
“So a redhead, then?”
“And apparently an ex-gymnast at that.”
“Bully for you.”
Paul sighed. “Please leave my office.” As Bishop and Eva stood, Paul added, “And Bishop, don’t you owe me an expense report?”
Eva thought Bishop appeared sheepish when he replied, “I have nothing to claim but the love of my country.”
Paul scoffed and bid them farewell. They left his office and stepped into the lift.
Bishop asked, “You sure you want to stay at Nancy’s?”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
The elevator pinged at Bishop’s floor. “Okay. Have fun. Send me nudes when you’re there so I know you’re safe.”
“You’re a bad boy, Bishop.”
“And you’re a bad girl, Ms Destruction. We make a good pair.”
“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.” Eva shoved Bishop out of the elevator. “Say goodbye, Bishop.”
“Goodbye, Bishop.”
Alone in the lift Eva rolled the meeting with Paul around in her head. There were several things that didn’t sit well with her. Despite Paul’s best efforts to pretend otherwise, Halcyon was clearly important. Something big.
The sweet smell of freshly brewed coffee invigorated her like nothing else. Her café wasn’t the busiest in London. It wasn’t the biggest, either. But it was hers, and that was the most important thing. When she’d started at MI6 Paul had wanted Eva to give up the café, but he may as well have asked her to lop off a limb. Coffee was in her blood. Probably literally.
Paul’s opinion changed when he realised Eva’s café could serve another purpose. A clandestine one. Eva’s café was close to the diplomatic quarter, and once MI6 discovered there was a large amount of traffic coming from various embassies, their attitude shifted. Kanga Brew was no longer a distraction from her duties, it was an essential part of her role. The café became an asset.
The place was busy, as usual. Behind the counter was the big lumbering hulk of a man called Anchor. He was a melange of a Goth, a laid-back skateboarder and the Swedish chef from the Muppets. Eva loved him to bits.
In recognition of her long absences and his dedication, Eva had invited him to be a partner in the café, an offer he had enthusiastically embraced. The man had always worked diligently, but now worked even harder. She had given him the opportunity, and in return he had shown a knack for business. They made a good team.
“Eva! I am very pleased to be seeing you!”
“I missed you too, you big lug.” Eva gave him a hug. It felt like she hadn’t seen him in weeks, but for all she knew it could have been more recent.
“Yes, that also too, but more important I have to take the wiz.”
“You’re sweet.”
Anchor didn’t answer but slipped out of his once-white apron and dashed towards the rear of the café so fast he could have made the Swedish Olympic team. In no time Eva was back in the swing, serving coffees and interacting with customers like she’d never left. It was exactly what she needed. For the next hour she was in her element, blissfully forgetting the events of the day.
Then Li Wei walked in.
Li Wei’s official title was Cultural Attaché Sub-Supervisor Office of Cultural Affairs for the People’s Republic of China. But that wasn’t his role. He actually worked for the Ministry of State Security, the Chinese equivalent of MI6. Eva didn’t know how he’d come to be sharing state secrets with the British government, that was well beyond her pay grade. What she did know was that if she wasn’t present when he turned up, His Majesty’s government could very well miss a vital piece of intelligence. She had never missed an intelligence drop yet. That she knew of.
Li Wei’s suit wasn’t flashy, nor was his haircut. There was nothing special about his features or his presence. He was the perfect spy. There was no show of recognition, nor any act of familiarity. He simply approached the counter and ordered his coffee, like every other customer. He handed over his reusable coffee cup, like many other customers. But unlike many other customers, there was a hidden compartment at the base of the cup. Inside the compartment was a tiny USB stick containing state secrets that would most likely result in Li Wei’s execution if his treason was discovered by the Chinese government.
In a well-practised move, she appeared to lose her grip on the cup then catch it before it hit the ground. In reality, she swapped the cup for another. Replacing a full USB with a blank one. Eva wrote his order on a piece of paper and slipped it into his cup. And then she made him a coffee, just like she did for every customer. That is, she made him a kickarse coffee. She believed it was vitally important that anyone betraying their country should at least get a great coffee for their trouble.
When Li Wei collected his coffee, there was no thank you, no tip, no fanfare. Just an ordinary man buying a coffee, rather than a spy selling out his own country and risking his life. Not for the first time, Eva wondered what made him do it. Was it greed? Was it ideological? Did he hope to save someone in his home country? The romantic in her hoped it was for love. She doubted she’d ever find out.
And then it was time to close up for the day. In a well-practised ballet, Anchor and Eva floated around the café, closing doors, stacking tables, cleaning and preparing for the next day.
Locking the front door, Eva gave Anchor a kiss goodbye and headed south towards the River Thames, just a regular café worker having a coffee as she walked home. In reality, Eva was headed for MI6 carrying a USB containing information that could change the course of history.
Or a recipe for Kung Pao Chicken.
Or seven seasons of The West Wing.
Or a sex tape of the Canadian Prime Minister and a well-endowed donkey called Sebastian.
She didn’t know. And never would. That was one thing she did remember. Field agents were rarely privy to the context of missions—they were tiny cogs in the larger machine. Only a handful of senior staff members ever comprehended the full story, or at least pretended to. Eva hoped her perseverance and brains would propel her up the ranks, but it was a hard slog, and a single slip-up would cost her the career she craved, or possibly even her life.
Before she could continue down that morose line of thinking, her phone vibrated. She read the message:
My dear Chérie, are you on your way back in? We need to talk. LD
A grin crept across her face, and lower down, other parts of her anatomy also made their presence felt. Apparently her body was far more on board with Loch than her mind was. Maybe it knew things she didn’t. Either way, one thing was certain: she was in trouble.
Chapter
Four
Nothing good ever comes of the words we need to talk.
“We need to talk” is never followed by “we should buy a dirt bike”, or “let’s turn the second bedroom into a rockin’ home theatre” or “let’s have a threesome with Juan the hot Peruvian masseuse”.
In Eva’s experience those words were usually uttered by her. Nobody had ever said them to her. Which made the situation with Loch Davenport all the more intriguing. That, and she had no idea who he really was to her.
After dropping off the USB stick on the third floor, Eva found Loch’s office and headed up. The door was open and he stood at the window with his hands behind his back, gazing at the Thames. Eva wondered if he’d been waiting there the whole time.
“Uh, hi,” Eva said in a faltering voice she didn’t recognise. Eva didn’t do weak. Eva didn’t do feeble. Why would she be like that around Loch?
He turned. “Chérie!”
Loch quickly crossed the room to embrace her. Eva held up her hand before his arms enveloped her. She was momentarily distracted by the way they bulged under his fitted shirt. Stop it, Eva chastised herself.
“Are you okay?” he asked, with such sincerity Eva felt all mooshy.
Mooshy? Who the fuck are you?
“Fine, fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “After this morning, I, uh, I’m not entirely sure who I am right now.” Never a truer statement had been made.
Loch considered her, his face remaining expressionless, for the longest time. Then he stepped forward and carefully reached behind her head. His fingers slid through her hair and he pulled her gently towards him. Then he ran his fingernail down her neck, sending shivers along her spine. God, he knows the spot. He probably knew where all her most interesting tats were, too. Be strong, Eva, be strong!
He leant in for a kiss but Eva put a finger on his lips. He reeled slightly, surprised.
“Is it my breath? I did have pasta for lunch.”
“No, it’s not that…”
“Then what is it?”
Oh boy. Eva wasn’t prepared for this. Did keeping her memory loss a secret extend to lovers? Was he even a lover? If she didn’t tell him, how could she ever find out? If they were lovers, would that mean they could do all the things lovers did?
She was screwed either way.
Literally and figuratively.
“I, uh, don’t know who you are.”
“I thought it took about ten years before we were meant to have the ‘I don’t know who you are anymore’ conversation.”
“No, I mean literally. I don’t know who you are. Well, since this morning, anyway. I’m not explaining this well. Wait.” She took a seat and motioned for Loch to do the same. “So since this morning I seem to have lost the last six months. Can’t remember a thing. So… as far as I’m concerned the first time I met you, you stuck your tongue down my throat.”
“Now that’s what I call a proper introduction.” His expression became less jovial. “You’re serious? I thought you didn’t take any blows to the head?” He felt around her skull. “Should you be in hospital?”
“Look, I’m fine, I’m… it’s fine.” She paused. “Fine.”
A smirk creased his pretty features. “Are you saying you’re fine?”
“Are you saying I’m not fine?”
“Oh, you’ve always been fine.” Damn those twinkling peepers.
Eva gave him a condensed version of her memory loss. She kept the details to a minimum, but still felt like she was divulging too much.
“So, if it’s alright with you,” she sucked in a lungful of air, “I think you and I should, you know, keep a lid on this,” she pointed between them, “for now, until I know where I’m at.”
There. Reasonable, consistent and mostly true. You couldn’t get fairer than that.
“But of course, don’t be silly. I didn’t know Eva, I’m sorry. I’ll adjust, obviously. It will take some getting used to. I’m used to grabbing you and ravishing you—”
Meep.
“— so this little reset will be a slight adjustment.”
Eva was silent, which was unusual in itself.
Loch’s gaze extended far beyond the window. “So, nothing? You don’t remember me at all?”
“Sorry.”
A wicked grin spread across his features. “Not even Brighton?”
“Nope,” Eva replied.
“Not the thing with the naked lemon meringue pie wrestling?”
“Nuh uh. Although that sounds… interesting.”
“Don't tell me you don't remember getting kicked out of The Savoy for, and I quote, ‘inappropriate behaviour and unnatural vibrations’.”
She shook her head. He was certainly charming. It was obvious he was trying to cheer her up, and those events certainly sounded appealing. There was genuine concern in his deep green, expressive eyes. With long lashes. If Eva didn’t know better she would have used the word smouldering. A word she was pretty sure she’d never used in her life. Eva had to leave before this turned into a Regency Romance.
“I should go.” The words escaped her lips before she’d even considered them.
Loch nodded. “Before you do.” He walked to his desk. “The reason I messaged you. The men, the ones from this morning?”
“I have a vague recollection.”
He held up a series of multi-coloured folders. “Here are the dossiers for the two we’ve identified.”
She considered them curiously. “MI6 will have this, there’s no need to give them to me.”
“But then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to see you so soon.” A cheeky expression spread across his face, which Eva couldn’t help returning. “Plus, this information may not have filtered down to you. At least this way you can review the complete files.”
Eva took the folders. Loch held onto them for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Thanks. Again.”
As she passed through the door Davenport called out, “Remember, Chérie, don’t trust anyone.”
“Does that include you?”
“Especially me.”
Man, he had a killer smile.
Eva didn’t knock. She hadn’t knocked on Nancy and Paul’s door in years. There was no need. When you were so close to someone, knocking actually seemed ruder. Using her key, she unlocked the front door and let herself in. The sound of a sewing machine and colourful Irish swearing could be heard coming from the spare room.
Nancy had determined she needed a creative hobby some time ago, and in a fit of madness decided that sewing was the answer. She spent a small fortune on a hideously expensive sewing machine and all the peripherals, miles of cloth and mountains of thread. Then she discovered she hated sewing. With a passion. But she stuck with it. Because that’s who she was.
Given the day she’d had, Eva really needed Nancy’s company. She didn’t need a shoulder to cry on, but craved normalcy. If that involved a night of wine and making fun of celebrity house swap shows, or whatever rubbish was passing for television these days, so be it. A night of laughs on the couch was exactly what Eva needed to feel like her life was at least slightly under control.
A smirk crossed her lips when the sewing machine was referred to as a “bog mutten gobshite”. Good to see some things hadn’t changed.
Nancy didn’t know Eva was a spy. She didn’t officially know Paul was a spook either, but Eva knew her friend well enough to suspect she’d pieced it together. The cover story of him working at Treasury was an unacknowledged lie in their relationship. Nancy and Paul were so strong that it wasn’t an issue.
Eva dropped her bag on the floor, grabbed a beer from the fridge and plonked on the couch.
“I’m borrowing a beer!” she shouted towards the spare room.
And by borrow, Eva meant drink and never replace. She put her feet up on the coffee table and opened the beer.
The sound of the sewing machine ceased, as did the creative swearing. Glancing around the lounge for the remote, Eva rummaged behind cushions until Nancy’s short figure materialised in the doorway.
“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” she asked in her Irish twang.
“Who lit the fuse on your tampon? There’s one beer left, chill your knickers. I’m going to crash for a few days, my place is being, er, remodelled. Now, I’m thinking a really offensive curry for dinner, what do you say? Sanjay’s?”
Nancy stood rigid on the spot, her fists clenched by her side.
“What the caffler balls are you doing in my house?”
The amusement washed from Eva’s demeanour. Was Nancy actually serious? Eva knew her bestie well enough to know when she was taking the piss. Right now her piss wasn’t being taken. It was staying exactly where it was.
“What do you mean? Is it the beer?” Eva asked, highly doubting it was the beer.
“It’s not the beer.”
