Дэвид Уоллес - Island of Fog and Death

The door buzzer went off. She muttered a curse and ignored it. But whoever was down there was persistent, and kept buzzing. It was intensely annoying. Peri strode across to the intercom by her apartment’s door and her hand slapped the ‘talk’ button. “What?”

“Miss Carlton, we need to come up.” The voice was respectful, and Scottish, and familiar.

“Ewan?” She demanded incredulously. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Sorry, Peri,” he replied. “Before you say it, yes, I know what time it is. But we need to come in.”

“Get lost!” she snapped. “First, because it’s half-past god-forsaken o’clock. Second, because it’s Friday night, for god’s sake. Third, because no, it’s not Friday night, it’s bloody Saturday morning and that makes it the bloody weekend!”

“Still…” he began.

Peri slapped her hand against the ‘open door’ button and flounced across to her bed. She picked up a sheet and wrapped it round herself, then returned to her door and opened it.

Three people entered. They wore identical navy blazers with metal buttons, white shirts with blue ties, and dark grey slacks. Even though one of them was female.

Ewan was tall, grey haired and muscular, obviously a fit and athletic man who was keeping himself in shape well into his fifties. “Sorry, Peri,” he said. “Please don’t shoot the messengers, though.” He gestured to his colleagues, and they moved efficiently across the apartment and called out, “Clear,” evidently checking for other occupants.

“Sorry, Peri,” said Ewan again.

“Will you stop bloody apologising?”

“…but I’m glad you’re alone. It’s embarrassing having to throw out a – er – sleeping partner.”

“It’s just me and Captain Buzz tonight.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Peri said quickly, but too late. Ewan’s eye had already landed on the ivory coloured vibrator on the floor beside the bed. “Shit.”

The other two were now walking around the apartment with meters in their hands, paying particular attention to lights and plug sockets. Peri gaped at them. “What the hell are you doing? Ewan, should I be worried?”

The woman – Janice, Peri remembered – glanced across at Ewan and shook her head. Ewan glanced across at the man, and said, “Charles?” He shook his head.

“Right,” said Ewan. “Peri, you know our colleagues, I’m sure?”

“Right,” Peri answered. “Hi Janice, hi Chas. Now talk, Ewan. You better have a bloody good reason for getting me out of bed at this time on my weekend.”

“Steady, Peri. It’s my weekend too, and they got me up even earlier. So first, let’s get the sweep out of the way. You’ve only just moved in and you didn’t rent this place through the usual channels, so it was due a check anyway. You’ll be glad to know there don’t seem to be any nasties inhabiting the place. Apart from the usual cockroaches, I’m sure. But nobody’s listening in.”

“That was kind of the point of renting this myself, Ewan. For the privacy.”

He ignored the insinuation and pressed on. “The real reason is that you’re needed. There’s a meeting in Annex 3, and they want you in it.”

“Annex 3?” she echoed. “We won’t be rapping at MC Hammar? Who’s meeting whom?”

He smiled at her nickname for One Dag Hammarskjold Plaza. “That’s right, you’re going to the Annex. Mr Wilkinson wants you there.” He stopped and looked at her. “Do you have anything on under that sheet?”

“Oh, Ewan,” she said, in a mock sultry voice. “Give me a bit more time in bed, and you can join me and find out. What do you say?” She ran a hand over his chest.

“Oh, Peri,” he smiled back at her. “You tempting wee silver-tongued succubus, you. But what would I tell Donald?”

She grinned at him. She knew very well that Ewan had a very happy relationship with his partner Donald. “Worth a try,” she whispered. “But seriously,” she said, a little louder, “I had a late night out with the girls, and I’d kill for another hour in kip. What’s the rush? Tell them you had trouble finding me.” She frowned and stepped back. She levelled a finger at him, accusingly. “How did you find me, anyway?”

Ewan grinned. “You of all people shouldn’t need to ask that question, Peri.”

“Geolocation? Really? Is that legal?”

“Perfectly legal, dear. Your employer was simply verifying the location of their assets, namely one cell phone and one laptop. Don’t you remember signing the form agreeing to it?”

She punched him in the shoulder. “So they already know you’re here,” she grumbled.

“Correct. Now get some clothes on before I get Janice to do it for you. Dave’s got the car waiting downstairs for you.”

Peri moved across to the ‘sleeping end’ of her one-room apartment. “Get Janice to dress me? With her sartorial sense? You have to be kidding.” But she smiled and winked at Janice, who was hiding Captain Buzz and his accessories under the bed, and she winked right back.

She grabbed some underwear, a tee shirt and a pair of cargo pants – all black – and stepped into her bathroom to change.

She splashed water on her face, more to wake up than to wash up, and brushed her teeth. The person looking back at her from the mirror was about five feet eight, and slender. A bit flat in the chest, in fact, but it let her get away with wearing just about anything. Her skin was a rich golden brown, her eyes were dark brown and her narrow face with high cheekbones conveyed a hint of South Asia. Her hair was black and frizzy, and pretty much unmanageable, especially straight off the pillow, so she just pulled it back off her face and into a ponytail secured with a yellow clip. She stepped out into the apartment and began stuffing keys, phones and wallets into her many pockets.

“Okay, folks,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Chas preceded her and opened the door, but she realised that neither Ewan nor Janice was making a move.

“Hold it, hold it, Chas. What the hell – aren’t you two coming?”

“No,” said Ewan simply. “You need a decent lock and things.”

“‘Things’? What ‘things’ would that be?”

“We’ll see. Now go on, little birdy, fly away.”

She paused, uncertain, but decided to worry about that little smile of Ewan’s later. “Okay, Chas, let’s go find Dave.”

Chas and Dave were both ex-FBI, native New Yorkers, recruited for their local knowledge as much as their security skills. At this time of day, traffic was so light that they took the most direct route from Brooklyn Heights – over the Brooklyn Bridge, straight up FDR Drive, past the UN building, then some zig-zagging round one-way streets to get to an anonymous grey building in the shadow of Queensboro Bridge. Much more pleasant than Peri’s usual commute, which included a long stretch on the 5 train, or, as she preferred to call it, the Armpit Express,

Chas escorted Peri in, without a word, while Dave parked the car. There were absolutely no signs anywhere that hinted at what the building was used for, and in the lobby behind the main doors there was nothing but a security desk and bored looking guard. Peri strode over to the desk, and held out her ID card.

“Morning,” she said more cheerfully than she felt. “I’m Peri Carlton, UK Mission, and I’m meeting Mr Wilkinson here.”

The man tapped some keys on what looked like an ancient computer. He looked carefully at her face, her photo ID, and his screen. Finally he grunted, “Room 301, third floor. Elevator through the door.” He pointed his thumb back over his own shoulder at a door which gave a loud click as he remotely unlocked it.

Peri headed through the door, and made her way to the meeting room. Checking her watch, she noted that it was almost half past four in the morning, and shuddered as she shouldered through the door and into the room.