‘My name’s Rebecca,’ she said.
‘I don’t care.’ The broker started to speak again, but he cut her off. ‘Be quiet.’
Victor looked around the room, examining light fixtures, plug sockets, under tables — checking for bugs. He searched the rest of the apartment. There was a meagre kitchen, bathroom, a double bedroom. A tiny balcony was accessible from the kitchen. He had to be quick just in case time was an issue. He didn’t find anything.
She was standing in exactly the same place when he re-entered the lounge. There was a two-seater sofa and an armchair she could have chosen to sit in, but she hadn’t, her nerves plainly evident. It was a good sign.
‘I’m going to search you,’ he said.
‘What? You already have-’
‘Take off your coat.’
‘You think I’m wearing a wire? Why would I?’
‘Take off your coat.’
Victor’s tone didn’t change, but his gaze demanded obedience. Her mouth was open as if she was going to protest but she didn’t speak. She unbuttoned the long coat and slipped it off her shoulders. She looked at Victor.
‘Stand over there and hold out your arms.’
She moved toward the table, into the lamp’s arc of light. She raised her arms so they were level with her shoulders. Her shadow was cross-shaped on the wall.
Victor stood in front of her. She was a tall woman, in modest heels only a couple of inches shorter than he. She had olive skin, dark eyes, the Mediterranean somewhere in her blood. He could see the hint of training in the way she was standing, the way she carried herself. Maybe military, but he guessed intelligence. There was fear in her eyes, but that fear was controlled. He could see the tiny, rapid flexing of the skin on her neck. Fast, but not overly so.
She was wearing dark jeans, not tight but not loose either, a dark cardigan over a cream blouse. Smart-casual, playing down her looks but still allowing for shoes that were more stylish than practical.
He ran his palms along the outside and underside of her arms, down her back, down the sides of her torso and centre of her chest, not caring that she flinched when he touched her breasts as part of the search. He squatted down to check around her waist and her legs before standing again.
‘Take off your shoes and jeans.’
‘No, forget it. I’m not doing that.’
‘You will if you don’t want me to put my hand into your underwear.’
She was stunned, glared at him, her eyes full of disgust. He held her gaze, showing no emotion. There was nothing to negotiate. She would do what he told her. After a moment he watched the fight drain out of her, and she nodded slowly. She took her shoes off first, then turned her head away so she didn’t have to look at him, unbuttoned her jeans, and slipped them off her hips. They fell to her feet.
‘Step out of them.’
She did.
‘Stand with your legs a little farther apart.’
Again she did as instructed.
Victor looked at her closely for a moment. ‘Turn around.’
She pivoted slowly on the spot.
‘Okay,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Get dressed.’
Victor stepped away and stood to the side of the lounge window, his back to the wall. The broker pulled up her jeans and put her shoes back on. He was embarrassed to find himself watching her as she dressed. He looked away before she noticed.
‘Are you happy now?’ she asked when she was clothed.
‘Not exactly,’ Victor answered quietly. ‘I’ve broken more rules than I can count by coming here so what you have to tell me had better be worth it.’
‘Otherwise what?’ the broker challenged. ‘You’ll kill me?’
‘Yes.’
It wasn’t just a threat, and Victor saw that she understood this. There was an immediate shift in her posture, a drop in her shoulders, the shifting of weight, the instinctive change in body language that told an enemy there was no threat, no challenge, no need for violence. He saw that though she may have convinced herself beforehand she could deal with him, she was fast finding out just how wrong she had been.
The broker asked, ‘What’s your name?’
The question caught Victor off balance. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I said, what do I call you? You were always referred to as Tesseract in our-’
‘Why Tesseract?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just a code name,’ she answered. ‘So, what shall I call you?’
‘You don’t need to call me anything,’ Victor said.
‘Okay.’
‘Tell me what you know.’
‘It’s the company that wants you dead.’
She delivered the information as if it were a huge revelation. There was no change in his expression.
‘You already know,’ she stated, surprised.
He nodded.
‘But how?’
‘If you expected me to be shocked, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I haven’t been standing idle since this thing started.’
‘What else do you know?’
‘I’m not here to answer your questions. For now let’s stick to what you know.’
The broker nodded and folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘This has to work both ways.’
‘I don’t remember agreeing to anything to that effect.’
She stared at him for a moment as if she was considering a particularly choice retort. But he’d broken her will and instead she said simply, ‘It’s the CIA who wants you dead because it was the CIA who hired you.’
Victor’s face showed nothing, but his mind was a mess of questions. ‘How do you know that?’ He found he disliked having to ask her questions immensely.
‘Because I used to work for them,’ she answered.
‘Used to?’
‘They want me dead too.’
‘Explain.’
‘They killed my control and cut me loose. They want me dead just as much they want you.’
‘What about the flash drive?’
‘There’s something on it they want. Information, obviously.’
‘Information on what?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then what good are you?’
‘Ask me something else and find out.’
‘Who was the man I killed?’
‘Andris Ozols.’
‘I didn’t ask for his name. Who was he?’
‘A former officer in the Russian navy.’
‘That wasn’t in the dossier.’
‘You didn’t need to know.’
The muscles in his jaw flexed momentarily. ‘What was he doing in Paris?’
‘Selling the drive to someone.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t need to know?’
‘I guess not.’
‘What about the memory stick? Can you decrypt it?’
‘Do you have it?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘But you have it somewhere?’
‘Can you decrypt it?’
‘Maybe. But I won’t know until I try. I have friends at the agency who-’
‘Not an option,’ he said and immediately had an idea. Something he hadn’t considered until now.
She saw him thinking. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. He changed the subject. ‘So they wanted me to get the drive before the buyer got hold of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I assume at that point it would be considerably harder to obtain. The buyer must be too well protected or someone they didn’t dare kill.’
‘Who are you thinking?’
Victor kept his thoughts to himself. ‘Why didn’t the CIA just do it, why use me? And why try and kill me afterward?’
‘Those two questions share the same answer.’ The broker took a step forward. ‘But I can’t be sure.’
‘Then why am I listening to you?’
‘Because you don’t have a choice.’
Victor was surprised by her words and more surprised by the strength of her tone. He reassessed his opinion on her will.
‘And neither do I,’ she continued. ‘But what I do know is that they tried to have you killed to cover up the operation. They don’t want Ozols’s death ever coming back to haunt them.’
Victor listened, face showing nothing.
The broker continued, ‘If the plan had worked all anyone would have to go on is the body of a killer in a Paris hotel room with no clue as to who hired you. At best they would have realized that you were a hired gun with no affiliation to anyone. Any connection between you and those who ordered Ozols’s death would have been neatly severed.’