Catwalk Criminal (18 page)

“Exactly!”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I was wrong. I won't do it again. I'll include you in everything and give you full credit. Cross my heart.”

And hope to die.

Did he mean that? Or was he telling her what he thought she wanted to hear? She glanced across the room as Bree emerged from the fitting room wearing a short gold cocktail dress studded with hundreds of tiny, shimmering flowers. She looked totally stunning. Zak followed her gaze.

“I asked Rodarte to check her out, you know, along with the other Westwood girls.”

“And?”

“They were clean, apart from Bree. She
is
hiding something.”

She knew it! “What have you got on her?”

“Rodarte forensically checked her computers, bank balances – everything. She's not dirty, but she does have a secret boyfriend that she hasn't declared to Westwood.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. It was hugely embarrassing, but Westwood agents had to submit the name of the person they were dating, or planned to hook up with, for a full background check. That helped protect spies from getting romantically attached to “unsuitables” – people who could damage their cover or Westwood's.

“Who's Bree's boyfriend?”

“He's called Chris and works in a bookshop. It looks like they might be moving in together. They've signed up together at a rental agency in South London, looking for one-bedroom apartments. We haven't had a chance to dig any further with everything that's been going on.”

Jessica frowned. Was working in a bookshop a front for his real job? Could he have turned Bree and persuaded her to steal the blueprint that night at the Shard? It would explain why she hadn't submitted his name for vetting to Nathan if she knew he was dodgy. Failing to declare a boyfriend or girlfriend – let alone moving in with them – was a disciplinary offence and led to immediate suspension from Westwood.

She stared at Bree as Christine inspected the seams of her dress. What else was the model hiding that Rodarte hadn't managed to find? Christine glanced up and beckoned to Zak.

“It looks like Christine needs you for a fitting.”

“Great. Just what I need after a night of no sleep: standing still for hours on end while I'm prodded and poked.”

“Ditto.”

“So are we good, Jessica? After, you know, what I did or rather didn't do. I'd hate for there to be bad blood between us.”

She glanced down. “You're vibrating.”

“Sorry?”

She pointed at his rucksack; the fabric was shuddering slightly. Zak fished around inside and dug out his Nintendo. Flipping open the lid, he scrutinized the screen.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My software's gone haywire again.” He showed her the games console; random messages flashed up intermittently and she caught sight of the word “Rodarte”. It was a CIA gadget. She used to have a similar mini computer, except hers was hidden inside an eyeshadow palette.

“Something electrical's interfering with it,” he said, looking around the room.

“Doubtful. There aren't any computers here. MI6 checked it over before we arrived today. I haven't seen any iPads lying around either, unless one of the dressmakers has a tablet in their bag.”

“It's been playing up recently. I need to get it repaired.” He examined the gadget once more before turning it off and tossing it back into his rucksack. “Rodarte spends millions on the latest technology and it really sucks sometimes.”

Jessica watched him stride over to Christine. The dressmaker broke into a broad smile as Zak worked his charm.

“I need you too, Jessica,” Christine shouted across the room. She pointed to the flower dress that had sparked the argument with Amanda. “You're in this next. Hurry up.”

Yikes. Something told her she shouldn't mess with Christine's embroidered flowers. Why were they so precious to her? It didn't make sense.

 

Four hours later, Jessica was finally free from the endless fittings. All her gowns were hanging on the rail, marked up with her photo and a number indicating the order for the show, together with the rest of the models' outfits. She'd also managed to squeeze in a quick runway rehearsal with the other girls; Bree had mustered a brief hello and then continued to avoid her like the plague.

Zak sighed as Jessica walked past. He was stuck in fitting hell, fidgeting as Christine lowered the hem of his trousers. She dug around in her Victoria Beckham handbag for her mobile. She was desperate to know if MI6 had got anywhere with Ossa. Nathan could have texted or emailed a coded update. She stared down at the phone in disbelief. It was dead. The battery had run down even though it had been freshly charged. Heart beating rapidly, she checked her Omega watch; it had been specially adapted by MI6 with secret functions, including a telescopic lens, and could withstand explosions and water as deep as fifty metres. She gripped it tightly in her fist as she shouted her goodbyes to the dressmaking team and walked briskly out.

She scanned the street for passers-by and ran to catch up with a young woman, who confirmed it was four ten p.m. She uncurled her fist and stared at her watch. It was running exactly six minutes late. Zak's mini computer had also been affected. Mark wasn't crazy. The problems he'd described back at HQ were continuing here, even when Ossa wasn't around.

How was that possible? What was going on?

“I wanted to see you in person to tell you the news,” Zak said, beaming. “You know – the way I promised to keep you in the loop. It's Rodarte's success, obviously, but we couldn't have done it without Westwood's help.”

Jessica gritted her teeth as she sat down next to him on the bench. His gloating was hard to take. A pigeon brazenly strutted up to her feet and snatched a discarded bit of sandwich. It was tempting to wrestle the mouldy scrap off the bird and hurl it at Zak. He'd texted her an hour ago and asked to hook up for an early morning meeting in the park close to her home.

“If this is about Ossa Cosway and Lee Caplin, I've already heard,” she said flatly.

“You have?” Zak was temporarily thrown. “How?”

“Nathan had a change of heart and decided to keep me in the loop. I had a brief chat with him shortly before you texted.”

“That's brilliant! So it's win-win all round?”

Not exactly. It was 2–0 to the Yanks. Not only had Lee Caplin been apprehended at a police roadblock in a western suburb of Kansas City, but Rodarte had also managed to swoop in and arrest Ossa attempting to board an American Airlines flight from Heathrow Airport to Washington. Both were now in custody and being questioned. Jessica tried hard to be glad, she really did. The main thing was that they'd been caught. However, Westwood had
really
needed those arrests to prove that the unit shouldn't be axed.

“You are pleased, aren't you? This is a good thing, Jessica.”

“I know that. Tell me everything.”

Zak outlined how Lee was pleading the Fifth Amendment and refusing to answer any questions from the police about how he'd managed to escape from prison and who had helped him. Ossa was a lot more forthcoming, but Zak said Rodarte was highly sceptical of his story.

“Ossa denies being LibertyCrossing and claims to know nothing about The Collective. He says he tried to leave the country when he realized his financial affairs were about to come to light following the warehouse blaze.”

“What's up with his finances?”

“A hell of a lot. Ossa says he was contacted by email in his final year of college by an unnamed person, offering millions of dollars to help launch and support his fashion empire. The investment was on a number of conditions: that he never attempted to trace the identity of the backer and turned a blind eye to any suspicious activity in the company, particularly on computers. He also had to agree to all appointments that were put forward anonymously, including the employment of a very specific accountant who looked after the books. Needless to say, the bookkeeper's been arrested. Ossa claims cash regularly enters company accounts and he never checks its source.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, remembering the interview for
Teen Vogue
. Ossa had said his mystery investor was publicity-shy, but there was obviously far more to it than that. The anonymous backer sounded like he was using Ossa Cosway Ltd to launder money – taking advantage of the front of a legitimate business to conceal the source of money obtained illegally. It must have been lucrative; Ossa charged tens of thousands of pounds for haute couture dresses, which had been made using dirty money. How could Ossa have been stupid enough to take part in this scheme? He was hugely ambitious, but she couldn't believe he'd agreed to break the law to get to the top faster. He either didn't realize the legal implications or simply didn't care.

“If he's telling the truth, LibertyCrossing could be the silent investor for Ossa Cosway Ltd,” Jessica pointed out. “That person had already made millions from hacking in the States and could have invested in Ossa's business as a way to carry out further hacks on wealthy fashion clients. It'd explain why LibertyCrossing's modus operandi changed suddenly. He'd found a way to look legitimate while targeting more affluent people.”

“Ossa's made that suggestion too,” Zak admitted. “But another possibility is that he's come up with this story in a bid to save himself some jail time. Ossa could be LibertyCrossing, which means he invested all the millions he scammed from hacking into the start-up of his own company. He made up the story about a mystery backer to cover up how he obtained so much investment. We've carried out a preliminary analysis of the laptop he was carrying in hand luggage on to the plane; it's the only gadget that survived the virus that wiped out every single computer at Ossa Cosway Ltd.”

“And?”

“We found exchanges of emails between LibertyCrossing and Henry Murray as well as other teenage hackers, plus downloaded data from MI6. We discovered the entire agent database that LibertyCrossing was threatening to leak.”

“That evidence could have been planted,” Jessica said. “Plus your theory doesn't explain the connection between Ossa and Lee Caplin and how he managed to hack the couture clients.”

Zak stared at her. “Are you having a sudden change of heart?” His tone was sharp. “I seem to remember that back in the warehouse you argued the case
for
Ossa Cosway being LibertyCrossing. If my memory's accurate, I recall you saying the designer could have acted because he had sympathy for a teenage hacker.”

Jessica flushed. “I know what I said back then, but—”

“But what?”

“Something's not right. Hating to sound like
you
back in the warehouse, I don't buy that Ossa is LibertyCrossing any more. I think he's telling the truth about the money laundering and that he turned a blind eye to odd things happening at Ossa Cosway Ltd, because
really
odd things are happening there.”

She described how watches were routinely losing time, mobiles were running out of batteries and how Zak's own gadget had been affected by something inside the temporary premises while Ossa was absent.

Zak shook his head. “You know what I think, Jessica? You're annoyed that Westwood didn't make these arrests, so you're deliberately casting doubt on everything I say. You don't want to believe it.”

“Sure, I wish Westwood had got there first, but it's not about that. This is your
theory
about Ossa. That doesn't make it fact. I'm being objective and assessing the
facts
. I'm just saying I'm not sure you've got the right man.”

Zak stood up, glaring. “Don't worry. We'll find enough
facts
to keep even you happy. This was only the first interview. There's plenty of time to draw out more incriminating info from Ossa. We're not done with him by a long shot.”

Jessica got up too. She wondered what Nathan made of it all. They hadn't had a chance to discuss the arrests; he'd only given her the barest of details before he prepared for a briefing with the prime minister.

“Thanks for filling me in.”

“No worries,” Zak said stiffly.

“So…”

“Needless to say, Ossa won't make the show this afternoon and you can't discuss his arrest with anyone there,” he snapped.

Like she'd been planning to announce it on loudspeaker. “It's definitely going ahead?”

She'd received a text earlier that morning from the chief exec, giving details of the time she needed to be in make-up and hair backstage at the BFC Courtyard Show Space at Somerset House. It was the official venue for London Fashion Week.

“We don't have the power to pull the show, particularly at such short notice. Details of Lee Caplin's capture will make the news bulletins shortly, but we're planning to sit on news of Ossa's arrest for the moment. We can't stop Ossa Cosway Ltd from trading until we've got a forensic accountant to thoroughly investigate the company's finances, which will take weeks.”

Jessica nodded. Nathan had intimated the same. “So I guess I'll see you at two p.m.”

The tension in his face melted a little. “I'll be there hours earlier to do a recon of the site, you know, before the president arrives.”

She'd forgotten about Zak's main reason for being in the country. “His daughter's still walking for Burberry? It's at BFC too?”

“Lydia's show is on right after ours, so it fits my cover,” he replied. “I won't have to dash between venues. The president and the National Security Council have been fully briefed on the latest developments. The Collective's no longer seen as a high risk with Ossa and Lee in custody, so the president's itinerary for this week will continue as planned.”

“I'll see you later, then.”

“Yep,” Zak said, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “I guess.”

She watched him walk out the park. Yikes. That had been the most awkward goodbye. Ever.