Anne was moving to stage two. Even though she was a woman most of the men in the room, powerful men, listened. They knew how smart this woman was. None of them underestimated how dangerous she could be. When Anne Pembleton spoke, you listened. Her power stretched far beyond this building . Further, even, than her country. She was a woman with connections, powerful connections. It was rumoured that she had slept with most of her powerful males, and a few females also.
“Gentlemen, we all know who is responsible for this. Our governments have been after this group for quite a few years already.”
“Yes, amazing how we always manage not to catch their leader,” said Ethan Harrington. Chuckles and rasping laughters spread through the room.
The room was her office at MI6, the men in the room were some of her top staff, along with Ethan Harrington, Qureshi and a few other, strange, faces. She had called them in , again, after Zurich.
Anne silenced them all with one word.
“Enough, “ she said.
“We have a video. They, they have Julia Redcroft. We need to get her back. Now.
There can be no fucking around, gentlemen. The world is watching."
“And who are ‘they?’” said Ethan Harrington.
"I told you. We are sure pretty it is Bakr Nadir, and this is not good. We killed his daughter. It was an accident, but it seems he wants revenge. We need to act, and we need to act now."
“What does he know, this Nadir fellow?” asked Harrington.
“That is not the problem. He knows what we have told him. He obviously believes what we say. What we said. The plan is working.”
“And this is your plan, Anne?”, said Ethan Harrington. “Are you being the bitch we know you to be? Is any of it true?”
Anne looked down and to her left. When she looked up her face was a mask of ice. “Fuck you, “ she said, very slowly, very clearly “and fuck you all. If you want your money all you have to do is pay. Pay now. That’s it. And, don’t ever try to fuck with me.”
Anne stood up and walked to the door.
Sheik Jubair Qureshi was the only one who spoke. He spoke just as forcefully as Anne had spoken. “Dear Anne,” he said. “Don’t forget who you are working for.” He was not even looking at her. A man like Sheik Jubair Qureshi did not talk to the hired help.
“And you, don’t forget who I am, “ she said to the floor as she left the room. She did not look back. She was not worried about what they could do, she was worried about what Ax would do.
When Anne Pembleton picked up the phone her hands were shaking. She could hear the ice hitting the sides of her vodka glass. She was also a bit drunk. She knew how dangerous he was. She knew who he was and what he had said the last time so, yes, she was scared. But it was her only chance! Imagine if she could get out! Leave it all behind her. Everyone ran to South America, it was the safest place. No rules. No laws. Not like they had here. She would disappear. Live on a beach. Be forgotten. Or so she thought. She would live out her life in peace, far from terrorists, CIA, MI6, far from it all. A new life was waiting. A new life with Anastasia. The new love in her life. Anastasia would teach, and she, Anne, would write stupid fiction to be bought at airports. They had even talked about adopting. Anastasia wanted to be a mother but the thought of having a man inside her was loathsome. Perhaps they could buy a little South American bastard to take care of. Maybe a Somalian or Ethiopian would be cheaper? Anne was in the middle of imagining their last bedtime together and was just getting all nice and warm and wet when the phone rang.
It was Ax.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” he said.
“Ax, I told you, they have Julia and we need you.” She tried a different voice, calm, soft.
“I know, you told me,”
“We need you,” she said again.
“Fuck off.“
“Ax, please, her life, her life is at risk! You must come back to London ,we must talk!”
“Fuck. Off. “
“Ax.”
Anne dropped her glass onto the carpet and held her head with her hands, the phone pressing against her right ear. “Ax, you know they will torture her, terribly. And, it is your fault. You killed the child. You killed Aisha”
Her voice had risen and she was now shouting.
Silence. And she knew then that she had fucked up. You never shouted at an animal like Ax.
Ax put the phone down. He did not slam it. Not this time.
“Fuck!” he said. "Oh, Fuck!" she said.
His whole body relaxed and all expression vanished from his face. “Fuck!” he said again.
“OK.” Now he knew. He had needed to know.
He would do it his way. If this was his karma then he would do it his way.
First he would need to come clean with Lucy.
And so it was time. Ax knew he would have to talk to Lucy. His Lucy. People looking at her saw a French “Gal Gadot.” A smaller version. She was SO small and so very, very pretty. And so good at heart, he thought.
Lucy knew, too, that they must talk. And so it was with inevitable certainty that they sat down together. Each sure and scared at the same time. Now was the time. It was ripe, now. Lucy thought of all the years that had passed since she had shared her story with Ax. She had told him everything, how she had survived, and no matter what Ax said now she knew she would survive it, whatever it was.
“Talk to me, “ she said. “Tell me everything. I told you I would wait until the time was right. It is right, now. So, tell me.“
Ax had started.
“I used to work for a company. A shit company. Governments hired this company. We did the work that governments couldn’t or wouldn’t do themselves. We killed people. We were assassins, killers.“
Lucy pulled her tiny, long body up off the sofa. “Hang on, “ she said, “I think we should make some tea.”
Her hand fell towards Ax.
Ax reached up, took the hand, and pulled her back down to the sofa. “No, no tea,” he said, “listen.“
Lucy was scared. She looked at him for a long time. “Ax, you are scaring me,” she said. He smiled. Laughed a humourless laugh. “I fucking hope so,“ he said.