This was fun, she thought. A brilliant idea occurred to her. She removed one of his shoes and took it with her.
She laughed as she wondered what the scene of crime officers would make of the mystery of the missing shoe.
***
When Gil, as she was known by her colleagues, reported in for work the next day she was asked to report directly to Human Resources, where she was informed that her services as ‘Intelligence Analyst’ were no longer required. Nonetheless, as long as she maintained her silence, as required by her contract, her positive vetting agreement and the Official Secrets Act, she would receive a modest pension until she was sixty years old and in receipt of her full old age pension.
Still stunned by the morning’s events, she had lunch with Doug Mc Keown, who explained that the Labour government had decided that they wanted to pursue a more ethical approach to security and so the new Director, a Labour government appointee, had directed that all of those involved in the disposal side of the business would have to go.
“However, Gil,” Doug added in a conspiratorial whisper, “our services are still needed all around the world, and as you are the second best in the business, I would like you to join me as my partner. The pay is much better.”
“How much better?” Gil asked.
“The Chameleon charges one million US dollars per hit, and as no one knows who the Chameleon is, we can share the workload.” He held his right hand out and Gillian shook it.
As Doug had predicted, the partnership was a great success until May 2009 when an unstable supply of detonators exploded a briefcase full of Semtex prematurely, leaving only fragments of Doug left to bury. So now, once again, the Chameleon was a sole practitioner.
Chapter 15
The Hokobu Apartment, London, Wednesday 7am. 2011.
Geordie awoke to the aroma of bacon grilling and coffee brewing. Victoria Hokobu was obviously up early and in the mood for food. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and yawned widely before sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.
The young man lay flat on his back on the floor and went through his gruelling daily regime of stomach crunches before swinging, lifting and bending his body into a comfortable fluidity. A splash of water on his bristled face and a ruffle of his close cropped hair and he was ready to head towards the tempting breakfast aromas.
The cook was actually Samuel Etundi. Geordie had marvelled at how easily Samuel accepted being introduced as Mr Hokobu, even though that was his wife’s maiden name. His mind slipped back to his days as a young administrator where a male colleague was continually teased because his wife, a GP, signed their Christmas cards from Dr and Phillip Peterson. Nonetheless, Samuel was a good cook and the breakfast was as good as any fry up Geordie had experienced in the North East, where fry-ups were almost an art form.
Geordie was amazed that he felt such affection for this couple, having known these two central Africans for so short a time. The fact was that they had immediately accepted him as one of the family, and Victoria called him her ‘little Mussi’ which he pretended to dislike. They treated him like a brother and at night when they kneeled down to pray they included him. Geordie hadn’t prayed since school and so he was very embarrassed, especially when they kneeled down in a little circle and held hands as they took turns praying.
The North Easterner had felt a lump in his throat as the two visitors spoke to God as if he was standing there, as if he was a close friend of theirs. They told God all about their day, the new friends they had met and they asked him to keep Geordie safe and well. When they had both finished, they looked at him and he realised that he was expected to pray, too. Geordie did not specifically believe that there was no God, he had just not been acquainted with him for so long that he wondered whether he was still there, or if he ever had been. Geordie followed the formula they had used in his first spoken prayer in twenty years. Introduce yourself to Heavenly Father, calling him respectfully by that name, thank him for all of the good things in your life, ask him for what you need and close the prayer by invoking Jesus Christ, Amen.
It was the most uplifted he had felt for a long time. He had thought about his wife, his children and how much he loved them. He offered grateful thanks for his parents and suddenly he found himself appreciating life much more than he had done an hour before. He had slept the sleep of the righteous.
This morning, Geordie gathered up the items they needed for the day and talked over their security routine one more time. The danger, he pointed out, was at its zenith whilst they were on foot between the car and the London Eye. With that warning they headed out, the Hokobus looking forward to seeing London from the skies on a beautiful cold, clear day.
Chapter 16
The London Eye, Southbank, London, Wednesday 10am.
The Chameleon had spent the evening refining and reducing a batch of Redweed to a clear concentrated gel. Given her past experience, she knew that the degree to which she diluted the gel with liquid propellants would also determine its potency. On her first attempts as a student she had killed a lab rabbit with it whilst experimenting, but since then her detailed records had ensured that the solution was mixed and delivered in the proper proportions.
When she was satisfied that the mixture was disabling, but not fatal, she dispensed the clear liquid into a small perfume bottle with a vaporiser top so that it could be dispensed as a spray.
Now, as she sat and waited outside the London Eye, she hoped that she had guessed correctly and that this morning the Hokobus would take advantage of the beautiful clear skies to overlook a glistening but freezing cold London skyline from one of the London Eye’s capsules.
Gil had decided that she needed to travel by car today and so she hired a ‘Smart Car Fortwo’ from Quick Cars at Waterloo. The Chameleon had taken a risk carrying a rifle through the streets of London yesterday and she wasn’t about to risk carrying another firearm today. The chances of being stopped and searched in terrorist threatened London were too great. Assassins operating in London had to be more inventive.
Dressed in black tights, sensible shoes, black skirt and white blouse with a black chequered scarf, she could easily be mistaken for a policewoman. The look would be complete when she attached a large blue Police Community Support Officer logo to the back of her padded winter jacket and a Metropolitan Police badge onto the front. The jacket and the logos were perfect copies of the real thing, as was the policewoman’s hat she carried in her bag. The Chameleon had purchased the uniform, a variety of badges, warrant cards, fake radios and police equipment from the night security man at a London television studio costume department. Just in time, too, because now that The Bill had come to an end the Metropolitan Police were securing all of the cast uniforms to prevent their auction to the public. The last thing they needed was to have individuals passing themselves off as police officers.
Gil would attach the necessary Metropolitan Police idents with Velcro later; she did not want to be caught posing as a police officer and so she would limit her time in the public eye whilst in full uniform.
Parking the car in the Shell Centre close to the London Eye, the only parking anywhere near to the attraction, Gil paid the fee and attached the ticket to her car windscreen. She had parked in one of the small bays reserved for city cars where two such cars could use one normal space. It also meant that she would be at ground level in the multi-storey car park underneath the great tower block, and away from the security cameras.
Leaving her disguise and equipment in the car for the moment, she repeatedly walked a short circular route that would allow her to see the Hokobus, should they board the London Eye.
***
Boredom and the seeping cold were fast becoming her enemy when at last the Chameleon noticed the customised silver Mercedes turn into the Shell Centre car park. The driver chatted to the attendant as if they were friends, and the driver handed the man a twenty-pound note surreptitiously. It appeared that the bribe worked, because the silver Mercedes drove str
aight into a large parking space reserved by a brass plate for Mr Jochen Friede, who presumably wasn’t expected in today.
As the occupants alighted from the car the driver, a well built and powerful looking man in an unaccountably lightweight jacket, looked around, seeing everything. He was clearly a professional. That might make her job a little harder, but that was why she charged a million dollars per hit, although she had reluctantly agreed a discounted rate for two assassinations in one day.
Gil completed her final circuit of the area, by which time she had observed the Hokobus taking their place in one of the London Eye’s capsules. She set her watch on the thirty minute timer and headed back to her car.
Unless there is a technical problem, the London Eye will usually rotate at the speed of a running tortoise, taking thirty minutes to complete a rotation. This ensures that passengers can mount and disembark without the wheel having to come to a complete stop.
***
Geordie was regretting his bravado of earlier in the day when he had decided on the lighter weight jacket. He was spending as much time keeping warm as watching the clients; not that they were in any danger on the Eye.
They had almost completed the revolution, which meant that in a few minutes they would be back in the Mercedes, heater blazing in an effort to reproduce the tropical temperatures the Hokobus favoured.
As a distraction he let his gaze wander to a pretty Community Support Officer whose hair was bunched up under her hat. The brown-eyed officer was quite stunning and almost make-up free, or at least it appeared so.
As she approached he stood up from the bench.
“Excuse me sir, could you look at this photo and read the description and tell me if you have seen this young girl today?” The policewoman handed him a sheet of A4 paper containing a photograph and a description of a young girl aged around thirteen.
When Geordie looked up to confirm that he had not seen her, the policewoman had a handkerchief pressed to her nose and mouth and a perfume spray pointing at his face. A fine mist was sprayed into his mouth and nostrils; he breathed it in, puzzled at first as to what was going on. Was he suspected of something? Was this pepper spray?
Then it hit him. His mouth was dry, he had no saliva, he couldn’t swallow and he couldn’t breathe. He panicked and started to flap around before his limbs were paralysed too. The policewoman took hold of him gently and sat him on the bench, and then she made him lie flat.
“This is temporary. It only lasts ten minutes or so. I am going to push in your diaphragm. Concentrate on breathing from there. Your thorax is paralysed but you can still breathe.”
Geordie was desperate for breath but as soon as the woman expelled air using his diaphragm he could breathe again, though with difficulty. He lay on the bench, paralysed by fear as much as by the drug, as the policewoman stroked his cheek and smiled, her deep brown eyes belying her intent.
“You’re doing fine. You’ll be fully recovered before you know it.”
Geordie saw the Hokobus in the distance, hurrying toward them and looking concerned as the policewoman called for the urgent attendance of paramedics, using her non-working radio.
***
Gil had watched as the bodyguard began to ready himself for departure and she had picked that moment to approach him with her most radiant smile. He went down as predicted, and luckily the mixture had been about right. He would start to regain use of his internal organs in around ten minutes, and his motor functions and speech would be fully restored around five minutes after that.
She had to work fast. She approached the Hokobus, who looked very worried at the sight of their temporarily disabled bodyguard.
“Mr and Mrs Hokobu?”
“My husband is actually Samuel Etundi, but yes, that is us,” Victoria replied, her worried eyes flicking quickly from the policewoman to the bodyguard beyond.
“Your bodyguard here fears that he has been poisoned in an attempt on your lives,” Gil explained, and Victoria’s eyes and attention refocused on her quickly as she continued speaking in her best calming, authoritative voice. “He asked me to get you to the safety of your armoured car as soon as possible. Does that sound right to you?”
“Yes. We have such a car.” Etundi spoke this time, looking around in the hope of spotting it.
“OK, let’s go. The paramedics and my colleagues are seconds away. They will be here at any moment to take care of him, but I need to get you to safety.”
Reluctantly they followed the Chameleon as she held up the keys she had taken from the bodyguard’s pocket.
“Please be well, little Mussi,” Victoria said affectionately as she kissed the paralysed man on the forehead.
Geordie was desperately trying to speak, to warn them, but his body would not respond. Tears of frustration formed in his eyes.
***
Gil pressed the remote control and the doors opened.
“Quickly, please. Every moment you are in the open you are in danger.”
The Hokobus sat in the rear seat and held one another as they heaped praise on the policewoman who had acted so swiftly in their defence. Gil smiled, and for a moment felt regret that someone wanted this happy couple dead. However, Gil knew from her own experiences that even the most evil dictators could be pleasant when they wanted to be. She had a job to do, and she always took pride in her work. The Hokobus were going to die.
“I just need to make some notes,” the Chameleon said as she locked the doors of the car. She reached into an inside pocket, as if for a notebook, but when she turned back to face them she had her nose and mouth covered.
The spray did its work for the second time that day, and Gil escaped the car and waited for the spray to disperse. Keeping her face pointed away from the security cameras, she extracted a hypodermic needle from her pocket.
The Hokobus were not just paralysed; they were also confused because they could see that the hypodermic syringe was empty. Gil carefully tapped the side of Samuel Etundi’s neck and found his carotid artery. She carefully inserted the needle and injected air into the artery that carried blood directly to the brain.
The Chameleon repeated the procedure with Victoria Hokobu, whose face had hardened with resolve. Good for you, Gil thought; you have chosen not to die in fear, but sadly your death is inevitable.
Before the paralysis caused by the redweed solution wore off, the two Africans were dead from the predicted pulmonary embolisms. The Chameleon had used this methodology many times before when a stroke or heart attack needed to be induced. The air bubble she injected into each victim would be trapped in an artery in the brain or elsewhere, where it would cause a blockage and an embolism. Injecting into the main carotid artery is usually most effective, as it tends to shut off the oxygen supply to the brain very quickly.
Less than ten minutes had passed since she had sprayed the bodyguard. Gil reset her watch and wiped her mind of all regret as she walked the few yards back to her hire car.
Chapter 17
The London Eye, Southbank, London, Wednesday 11am.
Geordie was sitting in the back of the ambulance when Dee arrived at the scene. There were sightseers, policemen, yellow tape and news reporters everywhere. The policeman protecting the cordon would not let Dee past the tape without permission from a detective and, whilst he was radioing for that permission, Dee saw Detective Sergeant Scott and waved.
Last year DS Scott had been involved in the case where Dee had been shot and, whilst they were not particularly close friends, they did get along well. DS Scott came to the tape and lifted it for Dee to enter. He was not smiling, but he nodded briefly by way of greeting. He touched her arm gently.
“Dee, it’s good to see you again, but I wish it hadn’t been in such unhappy circumstances. Geordie tells me that you were both becoming close to the victims.”
Dee nodded. “Paul, they were such lovely people. I don’t normally get attached to clients but with these two you just couldn’t help yourself.” She recognised that
she needed to control her emotions.
“Come on, I’ll take you to your man, but I have to warn you that for a tough Geordie and former soldier, he is pretty upset.” Scott led Dee to the ambulance, where she could see Geordie sitting on a bed with an oxygen mask over his face. He looked pale and totally forlorn. DS Scott invited Dee to come and find him when she was finished talking to her partner, and he walked away towards the parking lot.
The scene was somewhat surreal; just a couple of hours ago she had been laughing and joking with Geordie and the Hokobus and now two were dead and the other didn’t look as though he wanted to go on living.
Dee climbed into the ambulance alongside Geordie and the paramedic. The paramedic carried out some checks, ensured the monitors were working and spoke to Dee.
“His blood oxygenation levels are really low, not dangerous but it wouldn’t take much of a drop to cause a problem. So, please make him keep the mask on as much as possible.” With that he picked up a clipboard and stepped outside to write up his notes.
Dee took Geordie’s hand in both of hers and stroked it. For the first time since she had known him he looked vulnerable, mortal even. Geordie was a man’s man; he was athletic, strong, loved sport and had an inner compunction that drove him to protect the weak. As she looked at the strong, rather hirsute, hand in hers, she thought of his wife and children and how much they would have lost if the assassin had taken him as well.
“It was my fault, Dee.” Geordie used his other hand to pull down the oxygen mask that was secured to his face by two white elastic straps. “All I had to do was to keep them safe for another twenty four hours.” He fell silent and his eyes glazed over as he receded into his shell, lost in his thoughts of self-recrimination.
“Look, Pete, you can never keep a client one hundred per cent safe unless you lock them up somewhere and never let them out. Armies of armed protectors surrounded the Pope, Reagan, the Kennedys and Martin Luther King and they still got shot. We do all we can and I’m sure that the Hokobus, wherever they are now, will know that.”