Ian Hocking - Déjà Vu

She stopped.

‘Good afternoon,’ said a tall man. Nothing about him moved but for the tail of his coat. ‘Dr Jennifer Proctor?’

‘Who are you?’

His irises flared with sun. ‘Detektiv Lev Klutikov. I’m with the European FIB. Here’s my badge and a number you can call to confirm its validity.’

‘I believe you. What do you want?’

‘One of our agents, going by the alias Saskia Brandt, has turned rogue. We think she’s targeted you. I’ve been assigned to provide you with personal security, should Brandt attempt to make contact.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Not at all. There’s a high likelihood she will make contact in the next hour or so.’

‘Well, there’s no need to worry about me.’ Jennifer nodded to the rocky column ahead. ‘She can’t follow me in there without an army. Neither can you, for that matter.’

‘A renegade agent from the FIB is treated seriously.’ He waved a blue ID badge. ‘I have a level one pass and full co-operation from Met Four Base.’

‘Man.’ Jennifer had never seen such a clearance. Klutikov had the keys to the kingdom.

‘We should proceed immediately, Dr Proctor. We -’

‘What?’ asked Jennifer. She followed his stare to the road, but she could not see or hear anything.

‘Get your car. You’re in danger.’

‘Danger?’ she said. Her fear was turning to pique.

Jennifer gasped as he put his hand into the pocket of her jeans. He pressed her key fob. In the corner of the lot, her car started. ‘When it comes to pick you up, get inside and lock the door. Understand? Wait for me.’

‘Is she here?’

‘Brandt. Yes. She’s watching us.’

‘But I could hide inside the installation.’

Klutikov turned to the zigzag of iron steps that ran the full height of the column. ‘You wouldn’t make it.’

Jennifer’s car stopped at her sneakers. She settled inside and threw the locks. She looked from Klutikov to the unreachable castle of Met Four Base. Would its cameras be trained on the car park? Certainly. But there were no human eyes behind those cameras, and a computer would only summon help if presented with overtly suspicious behaviour.

Jennifer sank behind the driver’s wheel and planned. If something happened to Klutikov, she would run from the car. Her running would alert the computer, which would alert guards, who would come to her rescue. Perhaps she could make the iron steps before the agent reached her. They had told her, in the early days, that something like this might happen. She hadn’t believed them.

Through the arch of the steering wheel, she saw Klutikov walk away. He flexed his right hand.

Saskia stood in front of her car. Her hair was redrawn gust by gust. She watched Klutikov’s eyes. Somehow, she knew that he had hacked his sight to detect electromagnetic radiation above and below the thresholds of mammalian vision. He could taste her heat. Sense the tell-tale metals at the heart of her ceramic revolver. She waited for him to scan her body and the car. Satisfied, he nodded and held up his golden FIB badge. His free hand rested on the butt of his holstered gun.

In rapid German, he said, ‘Frau Kommissarin Saskia Brandt, you are arrested by Detektiv Lyova Klutikov of the Federal Office of Investigation, Russian section, badge number 012-919-001, on the internal charge of desertion. This charge will be pursued under the Russian constitution. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be recorded at the discretion of your arresting officer and reproduced in a court of law as evidence against you. These data are the property of the FIB.’

Saskia said nothing. Waited. Her hair licked her eyes.

‘Did you hear me, Saskia?’

‘Yes. Why German?’

‘I don’t want the surveillance computer to eavesdrop. Things might get more complicated.’

He walked towards her, closing his badge with an easy flick. ‘Are you armed?’

‘Airport security confiscated my gun.’

Klutikov drew her hair through his gloved fingers. Her scalp shivered. ‘Hello, Angel.’

‘Hello.’

‘Our boss made a serious mistake with you.’ He lifted the hair to his nose and sighed. ‘After all, what qualifications do you have, apart from getting caught?’ He put an arm around her shoulders and suddenly his gun was at the soft meat below her sternum. She growled a breath and he pushed harder. His pupils were wide and black. ‘Now, tell me again where you put your gun, and don’t be,’ he blew across her throat, ‘clever.’

‘Under the passenger seat.’ She indicated with her chin. ‘Let me get it.’

‘No, I think I will.’

With his free hand, Klutikov opened the door. He put one knee on the driver’s seat and reached across. Saskia, heaving a breath, hooked his back leg with her own and tipped him inside. At the same time, she shut the door on his forearm. His hand splayed and his gun dropped to the desert. Saskia tucked his arm inside and slammed the door. The locks clicked. Before Klutikov could sit, the car accelerated out of the car park and was gone, its dust thinned by the breeze.

David stepped from behind a van. ‘Good work, Saskia.’

‘Is the car still under your control?’

David listened to Ego. ‘Yes. He’s broken a window, but the car is travelling too fast for him to bail out.’

‘How long do we have?’

‘The car will be out of Ego’s range in twenty minutes. Maybe Klutikov can overcome the car’s computer. I don’t know.’

Saskia nodded and crouched to take Klutikov’s gun. Despite the satisfaction of besting him, she was uneasy about the questions that his appearance raised. Why had he been improperly briefed? He should have been told to expect two people, not one. If Beckmann had wanted to recapture Proctor, why would he limit Klutikov’s effectiveness by restricting his information? Klutikov was eminently capable of retrieving Proctor. He was, perhaps, more capable than Saskia.

She pulled at her lip. No. Her reasoning was not correct. There was nothing to suggest that Beckmann had abandoned Proctor. Beckmann had simply tried to remove Saskia from the case.

She studied Met Four. The ghostly traffic of sand rushed about her.

Beckmann had changed his mind. If he did not want Proctor to be captured, that meant he wanted Proctor to reach his destination.

And his destination was his daughter.

‘Come on, David.’

Jennifer’s fingers trembled. She felt for the door handle and gripped it hard. She would make a run for Met Four.

No , she thought. Just drive away. Play it safe.

She touched a button on the dashboard. The engine started.

‘Car, take me home.’

But the rogue agent called Brandt was in front of the car, looking at her through the windscreen. The car switched to reverse, then stopped immediately. There was a man at the trunk. It was not Klutikov. This was a man she had last seen in New York.

‘Park here. Unlock the doors.’

His face was older now, an extrapolation of the man who had cried with her on the steps of Wayne’s College long years before. He was trying not to laugh. Jennifer stepped into his arms.

In the car, sealed from the airs, slow minutes passed. Jennifer’s attention shifted from her father to the rogue agent, and back again. The two sat on the rear seat. They were waiting for Jennifer to speak. Jennifer pointed at the woman. ‘Why would Klutikov lie about you?’

‘He told you what you needed to hear. His larger aim was to return me to Beckmann, our mutual employer, for execution.’

‘That doesn’t explain his blue Met Four Base clearance.’

The woman nodded. ‘It doesn’t.’