Code Red Lipstick, page 2
She clicked on to “start audio” and gripped the iPad tightly. Time to play. The screen showed two orange blobs walking along the perimeter of the building: patrolling form prefects.
“Enemy approaching from east in approximately thirty seconds,” the electronic voice in her headset said. “Take a sharp left. Go now. Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”
Jessica tore through the gates into the deserted courtyard. She’d almost made it to the rear door.
“Stop!”
Jessica slammed against the wall, heart pounding
“Enemy passing. Five, four, three, two, one,” the voice said.
Two prefects walked towards the bicycle sheds. As soon as their backs were turned, she flung open the door and burst into the corridor. She took a deep breath, awaiting instructions.
“Head north along corridor, two hundred metres. Stationary figures ahead. Caution advised.”
She turned the corner, pressing herself against the wall as she moved slowly up the corridor. Up ahead, two boys were arguing. She reached the row of lockers and crouched behind them. Damnit. Tommy Williams, a prefect and world-class bully, blocked her escape route. No way could she talk her way round him. He’d take great delight in giving her a late note.
The instruction came. “Take corridor to left. Clear route to destination. Five, four, three, two, one.”
Jessica stared at the screen. The monitors were retreating, probably back to their own classes. She hesitated. Tommy’s braces glinted menacingly as he pinned a much smaller boy against the locker. He was rifling through his pockets, snatching coins.
She flicked off the thermal imaging programme and clicked on to “magnetization”. She’d never tried this function before but it looked pretty cool. She scanned in Tommy’s face and highlighted his enormous metal braces. He really did resemble a henchman in a James Bond movie.
“Let’s see how you like this, Jaws.”
Click.
“What the… ?” Tommy began.
A coin flew out of his fist and stuck to his braces.
Interesting. Using the mouse, she turned up the magnetization strength. More coins shot into the air and clamped to his mouth.
“Aargh!” Tommy screamed, clutching his face. The rest of his words were incomprehensible as he picked up the smaller boy by the lapels and threw him against the locker, mumbling something threatening.
“It’s nothing to do with me,” the boy protested.
As Tommy curled his fist into a punch, Jessica increased the magnetization. It tore him away from his victim and slammed him into the metal locker, mouth first. He tried to pull himself off but his braces were firmly stuck.
“Help!” His voice was muffled.
The boy seized his opportunity to escape and pegged it down the corridor. Jessica clicked the “off” button and Tommy slumped to the floor in a shower of coins. She didn’t have time to gloat. She took off down the corridor to her left and burst through the door just as her form teacher snapped shut the red registration book.
Uh-oh.
“Late again, Miss Cole.” A smirk spread across Mr Hatcham’s face. “We’re so honoured you deigned to pay us a visit instead of gracing a catwalk.”
Now all eyes in class were on her. This was so embarrassing. Becky flashed a sympathetic smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a blond boy watching. Jamie. A hot red flush stole across her cheeks.
Mr Hatcham folded his arms over his large stomach. A couple of shirt buttons gave up the struggle to keep his belly inside and popped open. He was enjoying this. He always made digs about her modelling in the hope of making himself more popular with the other kids. As if.
“Perhaps one of these days you’ll find the time to teach me a few things,” he continued.
He jumped to his feet and attempted to strike a modelling pose, putting his hand behind his ear and pulling a silly face. A few girls tittered. Didn’t he realize they were laughing at him, not her? She really did hate him. If only she could throw him into that tank with the snake!
“I’m sorry,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can, Miss Cole,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You can explain at your leisure during detention with me tonight. We also have the pleasure of Jamie, who is equally incapable of turning up on time.”
Jessica’s heart did a somersault at the sound of Jamie’s name, the way it always did. Now it was pounding faster. Did he realize the effect he had on her? His mouth widened into a smile, revealing perfect white teeth. He scraped his chair back and stood up. He was one of the few boys in the year group who was taller than her. He also had a seriously good body from all the sport he played. His shirt stretched impressively over his biceps.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” He took a deep bow and grinned at Jessica.
She blushed deep crimson as the class clapped and wolf-whistled.
“That’s enough. Quiet, everyone!” Mr Hatcham snapped. “Sit down, Jessica. You’ve caused enough disruption for one morning. Becky, take those ridiculous earrings out or you’ll be joining Jessica and Jamie at detention. And remember, no one likes being a gooseberry.”
Jessica dived for her seat, next to her friend. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Jamie’s gaze as she sat down; she was red enough. Why was it she managed to stay calm whenever she accompanied her dad on covert assignments but when it came to Jamie she turned into a total wreck?
She looked across as her friend tucked her neat black bob behind her ears and pulled out a pair of dangly skull-and-crossbones.
“Bad journey?” Becky whispered.
Jessica sighed. “Same as ever.”
“So you’ve finally landed a date with Jamie,” Becky said through a mouthful of sandwich. “Congrats!”
She elbowed Jessica, who shuffled further along the bench. They always went to the local park for lunch, even in the winter, to escape from the claustrophobic classrooms and raucous younger pupils.
“It’s hardly a date,” Jessica said. “It’s detention.”
“But you’ll be alone with him. Anything could happen…” Resting her head on Jessica’s shoulder, she made smooching sounds.
“You’re mad!” She shoved her friend off the bench with a laugh. “It’s detention with Hatchet Hatcham, not dinner and a movie.”
“Still. He might need to leave the room for a minute and yours and Jamie’s eyes could meet across Room 4B…”
“Very funny.” She extended a hand to haul her back up again. “I mean, Jamie does have nice eyes and he’s super-smart and everything. He really makes me laugh too.”
“Don’t forget he’s got a super-hot body.”
“Has he? I hadn’t noticed.”
They both erupted into giggles.
Jessica rummaged in her rucksack and pulled out her compact and a lipgloss. She clicked open the silver case.
“Oooh, let me guess what that does,” Becky said. “The compact is really a tracking device so we can find Jamie right now and the lipgloss is a bug. We’ll be able to listen to him talking about you to his mates.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching way too many spy movies. I hate to disappoint you, but the compact is actually, er, a compact, and this is a lipgloss.” She tapped Becky on the forehead with the tube before applying a peach slick to her lips.
“Not everything in here’s a gadget,” she said. “Just the iPad.”
“If you say so!”
Jessica groped inside her rucksack and groaned. “I don’t believe it.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve forgotten Jane Eyre. I need it for English, last period.”
“You’ve got time to get it, if you go now. I can cover for you with Hatchet Hatcham if you’re a bit late for registration.”
Jessica hugged her and ran off. She really could try out for the next Olympics with all the sprint training she’d been doing today. She passed Ealing Studios. Usually she tried to spot anyone famous lurking about; she and Becky had even got Robert Pattinson’s autograph when he was shooting a period drama. But she didn’t have time to wait around for heart-throbs today. She had to get home.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the corner of Chislett Street, then half-walked, half-jogged past the tall Victorian houses. They all had large sash windows and stained glass above solid oak doors. Her house, number 67, was different in one obvious respect. Beside the front door was a small gold plaque with the words: Jack Cole Private Investigations. Visitors often missed the discreet sign. The other unique features of the house were even less conspicuous to the naked eye: the glass in all the windows was bulletproof, and above the ledges were slats which enabled steel shutters to roll down in an emergency.
Jessica let herself in with her key and paused. That was odd. The burglar alarm hadn’t activated. A yellow light flashed on the box, indicating a fault. Her dad wouldn’t like that one little bit. He was ultra security conscious after working for MI6 for twenty years. He’d retired early nine years ago after developing multiple sclerosis. That was when he’d set up his own private investigations agency, insisting he had no intention of sitting around waiting for the day when he’d end up in a wheelchair.
Jessica tapped the digits on the box to reset the alarm. A screeching noise blared out. She turned it off again. It was working now. Mattie had probably fiddled with it. Her grandma was staying over and slowly driving her nuts while Dad was away on a job all week. Mattie couldn’t get her head round the DVD player, let alone any of her dad’s high-tech security equipment. She was a total technophobe.
Jessica looked up. The CCTV camera had also malfunctioned. Maybe there’d been a power cut this afternoon. She dropped her rucksack on the floor and headed upstairs for her book; it was definitely by the side of her bed. She stopped. The study door was ajar, but it had been locked when she’d left this morning. Had Mattie broken the golden rule and gone in? Doubtful. She’d never dare. Jessica walked closer.
The first rule of surveillance her dad had ever drilled into her was to always take in her surroundings. Those were definitely scratch marks on the lock. The study door had been tampered with. Jessica glanced back at the burglar alarm. Someone had disabled the alarm and CCTV camera before picking open the door.
When she peeped inside, she saw that the room was tidy and ordered; a photo of her late mum from her modelling heyday was still in pride of place on the Thai oak desk. Dad’s computer was still there. Jessica did a quick circuit of the ground floor; nothing seemed to have been taken. The stack of notes her dad had left still sat on the kitchen table. Surely a burglar would have snatched that booty? It was close to three hundred pounds – an easy hit for an opportunistic intruder.
Back in the hallway, she stared at the study. It was the only room that had been targeted, which was really bad news. Had the intruder discovered the house’s biggest secret, the one that not even Mattie knew about? She had to check. It’s what her dad would do if he were here now.
A creak startled her as she walked into the study. Someone was behind the door. Before she had time to turn around, an arm was around her chest and a cloth smothered her nose and mouth. A sweet, sickly scent filled her nostrils. She tugged at the gloved hand but her strength was gone. She felt weak and helpless, like a floppy rag doll. Why couldn’t she move? She should try to kick or throw her head back to knock her attacker off guard, as she’d been taught in kick-boxing, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her. Her head throbbed and her knees had given way. The painting on the wall spun round and round and the floorboards leapt up towards her. Then everything went black.
A sharp pain stabbed Jessica’s forehead as she tried to open her eyes. The light seared her eyeballs and nausea gripped her. She fought the urge to throw up. She had to think. The intruder had been here the whole time and knocked her out. Probably with chloroform. Jessica opened her eyes, slowly this time. The study ceiling came into focus. She tried moving each arm and leg, one by one. Phew. She wasn’t seriously hurt. She sat up, making her head spin.
Whoa! That was too quick. Sticking her head between her knees made her feel a lot less woozy. Jessica checked her watch. It had only been a matter of minutes, but the intruder would be long gone. Whoever had got in was a pro – bypassing Dad’s high-tech burglar alarm and coming equipped with gloves and chloroform. Not your average burglar. But what were they looking for?
Jessica stared at the bookshelf, her hand hovering over the mobile phone in her blazer pocket. Should she call the police? No. Her dad might not want them involved. He’d probably call an old contact from MI6, given his security-services background and the fact this obviously wasn’t a normal burglary.
It took a few minutes before she felt able to stand up. She steadied herself against the desk. When that felt OK, she focused on the bookshelves and walked straight ahead. Charles Darwin’s The Origin of Species was centre right. She reached out for the large hardback book but it was already tipped forward. The bookcase had moved a fraction of an inch.
Someone did know the house’s secrets and had opened her dad’s hidden door. Jessica took a deep breath and pulled the bookcase wide open.
Cold, stale air filled Jessica’s nostrils as she pulled the door behind her and stepped into the lift. She pressed the button to her left and crouched down; her legs still felt like jelly. The lift jolted as it descended to the basement. Once it stopped, she heaved open the grille.
Becky would never believe Jessica if she told her about the bunker. The walls and ceilings were lined with titanium-aluminium alloy, which was bullet- and bombproof. The house could come under mortar attack but it’d still be safe down here. Her dad even stored enough food and water for a week.
She flicked a switch and a computer suite was flooded with light. She looked about. This wasn’t how she’d left it last night. She’d made sure everything was exactly as she’d found it when she’d borrowed the iPad; Dad would kill her if he thought she was using his equipment unsupervised. Files marked “MI6 confidential” were strewn over the floor. She knelt down and flicked one open. It contained the names of MI6 agents in Algeria. Another file listed French agents and a third was marked “Vectra”. It contained a grainy photo of a dark-haired man, wearing sunglasses.
She pulled out her mobile and quickly rang her dad but it went straight to voicemail again.
Now what should she do?
This was seriously freaking bad news. The intruder must have been looking for MI6 agents, but what was Dad doing with their files after all this time anyway? They were dated this year. She looked around the room. On the right-hand side were the cupboards where he kept his equipment from his MI6 days, along with new purchases she secretly borrowed whenever he was away. She pulled open the drawers containing pens, key rings and hand-held games consoles – all hiding surveillance bugs. They were untouched, together with the equipment for picking locks and bugging phones. The intruder wasn’t interested in a stack of fake driving licences and passports either.
Jessica stared at the ranks of computers and television screens. Her dad used the computer on the far side for monitoring tracking devices. It could trace where a person was anywhere in the world. A second computer identified and sifted through voice patterns. It was so sophisticated, it could get rid of all the background noise in a busy bar and pick up the words of a target who was whispering something in someone’s ear. Both computers were turned off. She checked the CCTV equipment. Interior and exterior shots for the last month had been totally erased. The intruder hadn’t taken any chances.
She flopped down in the chair in front of her dad’s main computer. This was bad. Really, really bad. A green light flickered on the side of the black screen. It was already switched on. She tapped the keyboard and her dad’s files appeared, scrolling down the screen. Whoever had broken in was an exceptionally good hacker. Dad never took chances with his work computer, unlike his iPad. Even she didn’t know how to get in. It was protected with a series of encrypted passwords, but the intruder had still managed to access his secret files.
She flicked through the open documents. They were all about someone called Sam Bishop. One was a photo file containing pictures of a man in his thirties. He had bright blue eyes and dark hair. He appeared to be staring into direct sunlight, his hand shielding his right eye. In another, he was standing with his arm thrown around a grey-haired woman’s shoulder.
She clicked open a letter her dad had scanned into the computer. It was from Mrs Bishop, of 33 Crabtree Gardens, Hastings, dated 6th January. It read:
Dear Mr Cole
I have given much consideration to our telephone conversation and decided that I do wish to employ you to find Sam. My fears for his safety grow by the day and I feel I have nowhere left to turn.
As we discussed, Sam was sacked from Allegra Knight Skincare Company, based in Paris, last October after he allegedly failed a random drug test. He was also accused of stealing items from the company. The French police believe he’s gone on the run in Europe to escape prosecution, as he’s made no attempt to re-enter the United Kingdom or get in touch with friends and family.
I refuse to believe this explanation and remain convinced the French police are involved in a cover-up. My son has been anti-drugs since he saw the impact of cannabis use on a few of his former school friends. I do not believe he is taking drugs.
