Catwalk Criminal (11 page)

“Why on earth would she ever want to talk to me? She gained a life sentence because of my evidence against her in court. She hates me. She wants me dead.”

“Isn't it worth a shot? Shouldn't we try to save all those agents before it's too late? They might not be as lucky as Aarash and Annette.” He jabbed a finger at the newspaper story.

“You must have read the file on Margaret by now. You know it's possible there's a link between her and the death of my mum in a helicopter crash? My dad and Nathan think she was paid by a terrorist called Vectra to sabotage the chopper.”

“Surely that's even more reason to confront her? As I said, you have personal history with her. You know which buttons to hit. I don't.”

Jessica picked her finger. The skin around her nail was ragged and bleeding. Zak had no idea who he was dealing with. Even behind bars, Margaret was manipulative and highly dangerous.

“Margaret won't even consider helping us unless there's something in it for her,” she said finally.

“We've already anticipated that.”

“So what are you offering her? A get out of jail free card in return for her full cooperation? I won't be part of any deal like that. I want Margaret kept behind bars where she belongs, whatever happens tomorrow. She's a psychopath.”

Zak shook his head. “It'd be nothing like that, I promise. There's always something a prisoner wants – a better cell, more privileges, and a higher paid job on the inside. What do you think? Will you help me if I can set up a visit? It could be our only chance to stop that list from being made public.”

Jessica closed her eyes. She felt sick at the thought of seeing Margaret again and having to listen to her taunts. She'd enjoy torturing her by mentioning her mum and then refusing to help them. “OK. I guess.”

“Brilliant. Thank you. It's going to take some organizing our end to ensure the prison authorities cooperate. I'll text you when it's sorted. We'll need to leave early tomorrow to get to Durham, so come up with a cover story. You can't tell anyone, including your dad or Mattie, in case they tip off Nathan.”

Spilling the beans about visiting Margaret wasn't something she was keen to do with anyone in her family. She could pretend she had another modelling shoot with Ossa; it was believable. This contract was taking up a lot of her time.

“I promised I'd keep you up to speed with everything in return. So here goes. I can tell you that Henry's still missing.”

He handed over a brown file marked “Henry Murray”. She flicked it open and stared at the first document – a photo of the blond, blue-eyed teenage boy.

“Are you any closer to finding him?”

“Not really, but he has resurfaced.” Zak leant over and fished out a grainy picture from the file.

“This was snatched from CCTV cameras late yesterday – a young man begging near Notting Hill Gate. We ran it through facial recognition technology. It's definitely Henry.”

“Which suggests he's still not risking using his credit cards,” Jessica said. “He could be sleeping rough or dossing down in a squat somewhere.”

“It's the most logical explanation. We've questioned his friends and examined his texts and emails going back months. He's not visiting familiar haunts or getting in touch with anyone he knows.”

“The Collective could have hacked CCTV cameras in central London and found this footage too,” she pointed out. “If Henry's got any sense, he'll stay away from built-up areas as much as possible.”

“He won't be able to if he can't find food from soup kitchens,” Zak said. “He has to eat and keep warm. He can't sleep rough for long in these temperatures. February's brutal.”

“The Collective will find Henry sooner or later, particularly if the hackers think that could be a way to win the jackpot.”

“That's our worry. MI6 has agents out looking for Henry too. But it's pounding-the-street kind of work; a lot of manpower for negligible results so far.”

“I could help. I modelled for
The Big Issue
a few months ago and I'm still in contact with Lucy, one of the vendors I met on the shoot. I could print off some copies of Henry's photo and ask her to tell other vendors to keep a lookout for him.”

Zak stuck a muffin crumb on to his thumb and licked it off. “That's why I knew MI6 should keep you on board. But be vigilant. You have to assume that The Collective has hacked everything you own.” He nodded at the mobile. “You need to be careful what you say even on your new phone.”

“I know Lucy's spot in Kensington,” she said, tucking Henry's photo into her handbag. “I'll visit her later and ask her to put the word out on the street.”

“Brilliant.” Zak reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Jessica. I mean, for everything.” Before she could reply, he'd snatched his hand back. “I'm really sorry.” His face was beetroot red.

“What do you mean?”

Zak jerked his head towards the door. Jessica looked over her shoulder. Jamie stood watching them, a look of disgust etched on his face.

“Oh God.” Why hadn't she kept a better eye on the time? Football had finished already. Hadn't he got her text?

“You can talk Jamie round,” Zak said softly. “I'll be in touch later. Remember, find a cover story for all day tomorrow. I will too. It's a long drive to Durham. Good luck.” He stuffed the file in his rucksack and strode out the café.

Jamie didn't take his eyes off Jessica as he weaved through the tables, knocking into chairs with his sports bag. He flung himself down into a seat and kicked the bag under the table.

“What was
he
doing here? Why were you holding hands?”

“We weren't holding hands.”

“It looked like you were from where I was standing.”

Jessica shook her head. “I told him about being kicked out of school and he was commiserating with me. He was being a friend.”

“So he's a friend now?” Jamie stared at her in disbelief. “I thought you couldn't stand him. I distinctly remember you calling him a jerk. Times
have
changed.”

Jessica flinched at the bitterness in his voice. This wasn't like him at all. “I know what I said, but I was wrong about Zak. I've given him a second chance. He's actually quite a good guy. I think you'd like him if you got to know him.”

“I really don't think so. You haven't explained what he was doing here. Your text said you'd be running late because of an interview across town, but here you were entertaining Mr I Think I'm So Wonderful.”

She took a deep breath. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been totally honest with him. “Zak wanted to discuss London Fashion Week. You know, it's coming up. We're modelling for the designer Ossa Cosway. He needed some tips, as he hasn't done the London show before.”

Jamie eyed her suspiciously.

“That's it,” she insisted. “You don't have any reason to be jealous. It's you I want to be with, not him.”

The muscles in his face relaxed a little as she reached out and clasped his hand.

“I mean it.” She leant forward and kissed him. His lips were amazingly soft. Her whole body seemed to melt as he kissed her back. But he pulled away first, running a hand through his hair.

“I was standing there a while, you know,” he said quietly. “You two looked intense, the way you were talking. We haven't talked properly like that in ages.”

“It was business.” At least that wasn't a lie.

Jamie sighed. “I trust you, Jess. I really want to. It's just…”

“What?”

“Everything's so messed up at the moment. You haven't been the same since the summer. You're here, but it's like you're a million miles away.”

“I don't—”

“No, hear me out. It's true. You're different somehow, like right now. I don't get how you can be so wrapped up in modelling when you've been suspended from school. This is serious, Jess. If you're permanently expelled, we won't be able to see each other every day. You could end up in another school, the other side of London. You'll make new friends and we'll drift apart. It's inevitable.”

“That's not going to happen. I told you, my dad's going to sort this mess out. He's getting my computers and iPad examined.” She bit her lip. Well, he would have had them analysed if MI6 hadn't confiscated them first. “I'll clear my name, I promise. I'll be back at school before you know it. You'll be sick of the sight of me before long.”

Jamie ignored her feeble attempt at a joke. “Not if Hatchett Hatcham has anything to do with it. He's been telling kids today that you're history, that Mr Reynolds has already decided that you're never coming back and he's been approaching head teachers at other London schools about taking you off the roll.”

She stared at him, aghast. Surely Mr Reynolds couldn't do that? He'd promised she'd be reinstated if her name was cleared. She shook her head violently; it had to be a lie.

“Hatcham's always had it in for me. You know that. He doesn't want me back, but he won't have a choice. Mr Reynolds will have to reinstate me when I've proved my innocence.”

“I hope you're right.”

Jessica did too. She wasn't sure their relationship could survive her expulsion from school. It felt as though it was hanging on by the most delicate of threads. She didn't want it to finally break.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Jessica squinted up at Low Newton prison, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. Her stomach had churned horribly all the way up the motorway. Most of her fingernails were chewed down and her cuticles were bleeding by the time Zak had found a space in the prison car park. They walked slowly towards the main entrance.

“Run it by me one more time. How are we going to pull this off?”

Zak shot her a quick look. Was he worried she was going to screw up big time?

“Rodarte's told MI6 that I'm working on security detail for the president's visit, so Nathan's not expecting me at HQ today. My bosses have given us fake IDs, which will get us in and out, no problem. Your suggestion for our aliases should work – Ben and Matilda Becker will make Margaret curious. She'll want to know who dared take her grandchildren's names. She won't refuse to see us.”

Jessica noticed the security cameras panning down on visitors streaming towards the first checkpoint. “And those? What if they use facial technology and run a check on us? They could find our real identities and alert MI6.”

“Again, it's taken care of.”

“How?”

“Let's just say, Rodarte has taken advantage of the current security situation with The Collective.”

Jessica's mouth fell open. “Please tell me you haven't hacked into the prison's security system. Are you crazy?”

“Not here.” Zak grabbed her arm, pulling her to one side. “You know The Collective exposed loopholes in the security of prisons in this country. We're briefly exploiting that to access the CCTV here. My team plans to take over the camera system temporarily. They'll either block cameras or redirect them to prevent us from being filmed.”

“Zak!”

“Once we're gone, everything will go back to normal. There's no risk involved. The guards won't be alarmed if certain cameras go offline for a few minutes. Any longer and they could run a diagnostics check, but it'll never get to that stage. It's a quick hack, in and out, before they know what's hit them. It's the only way to protect our identities.”

Jessica shook her head. “This makes us no better than The Collective. As government agents, aren't we supposed to be above that sort of thing?”

“We have to be prepared to do unpleasant things to protect our countries. Do you want to find out if Margaret has any connection with The Collective? Do you want to try and protect all those undercover agents?”

“Of course I do.”

The latest agent to be outed yesterday was twenty-four-year-old Veronica Furrows, who was spying on the Kremlin while studying for a PhD at Moscow University. The radio bulletin they'd heard in the car had described her arrest as a “diplomatic nightmare” for Britain.

“Then let's get going,” he said. “The last thing we need is MI6 discovering we've visited Margaret. We need to keep this under wraps for everyone's sake, yours in particular.”

She didn't need him to spell out how vulnerable she was. If Agent Hatfield or Nathan discovered she was still working the case, she might find herself in a young offenders' institution that looked very similar to this prison.

 

Zak was right; they sailed through the security checks even though they were visiting a high-risk prisoner. Rodarte had submitted the visitor applications and secretly managed to get them fast-tracked without notifying MI6. It was strictly against protocols, which was why he stressed yet again that their real identities mustn't come to light. The fact that he was beginning to freak out made her even more nervous.

Her heart was beating rapidly as they approached Margaret's wing. She rubbed her damp palms on her Ossa Cosway light blue trench coat. The smell of disinfectant made her feel nauseous. Now they were here, she wanted to get it over with and leave. The atmosphere inside was claustrophobic and noisy; shouts and screams rang out from cells. The prison guard took them through a maze of corridors, opening each door with his thumbprint and a security code. She didn't want to lose sight of him on the way out. Even if she could crack the code with her gadget key ring, she still wouldn't be able to get out, as the lock was only activated with an approved thumbprint.

“Here we go,” the moustached man said sternly. “We're in the maximum security area, which has strict rules you both must abide by.” The guard cocked his head down the corridor at the two red plastic chairs. “Stay seated at all times. Do not approach the glass. Do not attempt to pass anything to the prisoner or take anything from the hatch. Do not attempt to converse with the other prisoners. We will monitor you, but if you feel threatened in any way, hit the panic button on the outside of the cell and someone will return immediately.”

“Thanks.” Zak must have already noticed the security camera that panned directly on to them; he kept his head turned away. Had Rodarte managed to block the footage already? They didn't want the guards watching this encounter.

“Are you ready?” Zak asked as the man disappeared.

“I think so. Let's get on with this.”

It was a mission like any other. Except it didn't feel like that. This was going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done – confronting an old enemy who may have been involved in the conspiracy to murder her mum. She walked ahead, fixing her eyes on the chairs. She didn't want to see the prisoners in the other cells.

“Hey, pretty boy. Come over here and give me a kiss!”

Zak followed close behind, ignoring the catcalls and whistles from the female prisoners.

“Jessica Cole.” The familiar voice rang out even though she hadn't reached Margaret's cell.

She took a deep breath and stepped in front of the glass. Margaret stood with her back turned, wearing regulation blue uniform.

“Only you would use my granddaughter's name to get in here. You knew I'd want to meet whoever dared to take her identity. But I have to admit, I'm still trying to guess who stole my grandson's name.”

Margaret spun round. Her white hair was a little shorter and her face thinner than the last time Jessica had seen her in court, but her eyes were still cold. Margaret stared at Jessica for a few seconds before turning her attention to Zak. Her eyes flitted back and her lips curled into a smile.

“New boyfriend? I thought you were with Jamie. Or has there been trouble in paradise?”

Jessica's cheeks flushed. Margaret had mentioned Jamie's name to make the point that she was keeping tabs on her from behind bars.

“This is Zak. And he's not my boyfriend.”

Margaret chuckled. “Not yet.”

Jessica could feel her blush deepening as Margaret looked Zak up and down.

“You must admit, you'd make a very attractive couple. You have good looks in common. With those razor-sharp cheekbones, Zak, I'm guessing you're a model too?”

“That's correct,” he said coolly. “Calvin Klein, among other contracts.”

“So you're an American model who's gained last-minute clearance to see a high-risk prisoner like myself. Let me guess. That must make you a member of Rodarte. Am I right?”

It was Zak's turn to redden now. “Yes, you are. Now maybe—”

“Where are my manners? Won't you both take a seat, since you've taken the trouble to drive all the way from London to visit me?”

Jessica glanced at Zak as she arranged her coat on the back of the chair. They had to tread carefully. Margaret was deliberately making them feel at a disadvantage.

“Nice coat, Jessica,” Margaret said. “Is it Ossa Cosway, by any chance? I recognise the unique ribbing around the collar and sleeves.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How can I forget? You're Ossa Cosway's new muse, aren't you? I think I remember reading about it the other day.”

“You seem remarkably well informed for someone who's been in solitary confinement for the last six months,” Zak said.

“I still have access to newspapers and books.” Margaret gestured around her cell. “I like to keep my brain active.”

Jessica leant forward. “What about computers?”

According to the file Zak had let her study, Margaret had supervised access only once a week in the prison library. A guard sat next to her while she browsed BBC Online as well as Egyptology websites, which she'd developed an interest in. Margaret couldn't log on to emails or any social networking site. The firewalls were so strong that supposedly she couldn't click away on to sites that weren't approved by the prison authorities. Had she found a way around the rules to contact the leader of The Collective?

Margaret ignored Jessica and turned her attention to Zak. “It's interesting that Rodarte and Westwood have joined forces. In my experience, the agencies don't work so well together. Egos tend to get in the way and the jobs become complicated and messy. Rodarte always tries to ride in at the last minute and steal the glory or whatever else it can get its hands on.” Margaret smoothed her hair behind her ears. “You should be careful, Jessica. Male Rodarte agents have a reputation for breaking hearts, you know. They see pretty, young Westwood agents as quite the conquest. I'm guessing that will upset Jamie.”

Jessica kept her face perfectly still as Margaret scrutinized it. She couldn't afford to betray any emotion, otherwise Margaret would realize she'd hit a nerve and continue to push her buttons.

“To be honest, I'm not totally sure this is an official MI6-sanctioned partnership, judging by the way you both sneaked in here,” Margaret continued. “MI6 would have sent more senior agents, not a slip of a girl from Westwood who helped convict me. It'd be too much of a risk to bring us face-to-face again. Does your beloved godfather even know you've come to visit me? What about your school? Are you playing truant today?”

Jessica looked away. This was classic Margaret. She was fishing for information.

“Look—” Zak began.

“No, you look!” Margaret snarled. She pressed her palms against the glass. “Come here, boy.”

Zak looked up the corridor and got out of his seat. He approached the glass even though it was against the guard's orders.

“I presume you had the foresight to take out the cameras back there?” She jerked her head. “And the listening devices. They have those here too, naturally.”

Zak touched his hidden earpiece. “We're good for three minutes.”

“Excellent,” Margaret said, smiling. “This shouldn't take long. So tell me, what is Rodarte offering me in exchange for information on The Collective?”

Jessica's heart quickened. So she was right. Margaret
did
know something. If only Nathan had listened to her.

“We can move you out of this high-risk wing into another, more private, larger single cell,” Zak explained. “You will be given extra privileges – as many books and newspapers as you want, a job in the library and access to online distance-learning courses. You've expressed an interest in studying for a PhD in Egyptology, haven't you? We can make that happen.”

“Wow.” Margaret smirked. “Let me consider this for all of two seconds. The answer's no. What else are we going to talk about for two minutes? Correction, one minute and forty seconds?”

“Why?” Zak frowned. “What else were you thinking? Name it and I can take it back to my bosses.”

“Transfer me to a prison in the United States, where I'll tell you everything I know. Once that's happened, you'll release me under a new identity and allow me to live out my days somewhere in America under the witness protection programme.”

“That's never going to happen,” Jessica said, rising to her feet. “Is it, Zak? Tell her. She's going to die behind bars.”

Zak relayed the message to his handler through a microphone embedded in his jacket. He listened to the voice in his earpiece. Jessica guessed he was being told to stall.

“I don't have the authority to discuss those terms with you,” he said finally. “That would require sign-off from the director of the CIA, who's uncontactable at present. So let's discuss—”

“The truth is, Zak, you don't have the authority to clean my shoes,” Margaret barked. “So I suggest you find someone from the CIA that I can do business with. Remember, the clock's counting down. I wouldn't like to be in the shoes of those MI6 agents at three p.m. Tricky. Very tricky.”

Jessica caught her breath. Margaret knew about LibertyCrossing's plan to publish the list. She glanced at Zak. He couldn't hide his shock.

“You're wasting time, Zak. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Don't you get it yet? I won't make a deal with teenage models. I want to speak to someone far higher up the CIA food chain than you.” Margaret pounded her fist on the glass. “Guard? Is anyone there? Hello? We're done here.”

Jessica glared at her. Margaret knew the guards couldn't hear; it was all for show. But there wasn't much time before they did become suspicious about the glitch in the CCTV footage and came to investigate.