Mark Burnell - Gemini

The paper had been torn from a notebook. Some of the blue ink had run. There were two dark splashes on the top left-hand corner. It was a list. There were nine names before the rip, which severed the tenth. Six of the names appeared to be from the Balkans. The other three were French, English and German.

‘Recovered by Pearson three days before he died.’

‘What is it?’

‘Before his death in Kosovo, Savic was rumoured to be running an exit pipeline for war criminals. Four of the names on that list have International War Crimes Tribunal declared indictments against them, two have sealed indictments against them and the other two are on the third list. None of them have been seen since 1999.’

‘Savic spirited them away?’

‘It’s possible. One thing’s for certain: they’re not on this list by coincidence.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Locate Savic and find out if this so-called pipeline ever really existed.’

‘Savic is definitely alive, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘The Far East. We’re still collating. You’ll be fully briefed when we’re ready.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you have a way in.’

‘Marrakech?’

‘Correct. You were looking for Mostovoi. They know each other. You can make that work to your advantage.’

Stephanie shook her head. ‘This isn’t what I do. You know that. I’m S7, an in-and-out girl. This is something for S3.’

Section 3 was the intelligence section. Section 7 was Operations (Primary), one of two assassination sections. In total, Magenta House had ten sections, including Control, Archive, Resources, Support, Finance, Security (Internal), Security (External), Operations (Invisible).

‘S3 is fully stretched supporting the Ether Division. Besides, this will require an external presence.’

‘There must be somebody else.’

Still staring at her, Alexander said, ‘I’m not asking you.’

The carrot and the stick – it didn’t matter which Alexander used. In the end they came to the same thing. A choice with no alternatives.

I don’t bother picking the fight. In the past I would have. And Alexander would have expected me to. But we’re beyond that now. These days I know what I am and I don’t bother to deny it. I’ve accepted myself. I’m a professional woman of twenty-nine, trying to balance my work with my private life. On the Underground, in the supermarket, at home or in the office, most of my concerns are the same as everyone else’s. It’s only the nature of my work that marks me out.

Upstairs, on the ground floor, I run into Rosie Chaudhuri. I haven’t seen her since she came to Maclise Road after Marrakech. The fact that we’re friends is strange because we’re so different. She truly believes in Magenta House. She heads S10, Operations (Invisible), the newest section, which was established after the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001. S10 leaves no traces. Its victims die from natural causes, or accidents, or they simply vanish, ensuring they don’t become martyrs. Initially it only targeted Islamic extremists. Not a politically correct remit, to be sure, but then Magenta House has never been too concerned with political correctness. Now S10 targets anyone who merits their talents. Among Magenta House staff, S10 is always referred to as the Ether Division.

‘Hey, Steph. I didn’t know you were due in today.’

‘Nor did I.’

‘Something new?’

‘He wants me to chase a ghost.’

‘Savic?’

‘You knew?’

‘He mentioned it. I wasn’t sure how far he‘d take it.’

‘Apparently your lot are soaking up everyone in S3.’

‘You don’t sound thrilled.’

‘I feel like a three-star Michelin chef who’s been asked to scrub dishes.’

We take the lift to the top floor to Rosie’s new office with its view of the Adelphi Building. When I was first recruited Rosie was a member of the support staff with limited security clearance. It was her talent for analysis that won her promotion. With promotion came full clearance. I’ve never discovered Rosie’s flaw, but I know there is one. Somewhere, lurking in a file, she has a weakness that’s been documented. We all do. Magenta House insist upon it. Personally I have too many to count so it’s never bothered me the way it bothers others. Rosie has never mentioned hers to me. It is, perhaps, the only taboo subject between us.

In her early thirties, Rosie could be the picture of a successful modern woman. Before she started up S10 she spent a spell in S7 with me. That was when she lost weight and toned up. Like me, she was reincarnated.

She moves behind her kidney-shaped desk and settles into her Herman Miller chair. ‘What kind of tea would you like?’

‘Green, if you have it.’

She pushes a button on the phone base. ‘Adam, two teas, when you‘re ready. One green, one lemon and ginger.’

‘What do you know about Savic?’

‘Not much. He hasn’t strayed across my desk. But I’ve heard the rumours, naturally. There’ve been alleged sightings of him in Germany, Belgium and Holland. Some say he runs a chain of call-girls in Prague and Budapest.’

‘How original.’

‘Others say he’s gun-running down to Maputo. Or was it Harare?’

‘That sounds more like Mostovoi’s line of work.’

‘There have been reports of him in Pyongyang, Osaka and Shanghai.’

‘How long can it be before he’s spotted working with Elvis in a fish-and-chip shop in Scarborough? Anything concrete?’

‘Not until you landed Lars Andersen. By the way, I’m sorry about S3. I’ll get somebody to put some stuff together for you. Give me a couple of days.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How’s Mark?’

‘He’s well. We’re starting to plan a big climbing trip for next summer.’

‘Where?’

‘El Capitan.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘It’s in California. What about you? How was your date with that architect? You never said. Did he have any designs on you?’

Rosie winces. ‘Oh Steph, that’s really lame. Even for you.’

‘Couldn’t resist it.’

‘Put it this way. He made me go halves at dinner and then wanted to go the whole way afterwards.’

I laugh loudly. As gorgeous as she is, Rosie has little luck with men. I suspect it’s because she intimidates most of them. She wants to be dazzled and so assumes they do too. If she was more like me she’d understand that most men don’t want a competitor in a woman, or even an equal.

‘Are you taking precautions?’ she asks me.

‘God, you sound like my mother.’

‘You know what I mean.’

I tell her I am. The door opens and Adam, Rosie’s assistant, enters the room carrying two steaming mugs. He’s older than she is, in his mid-forties, perhaps. Stereotypically, it would be easy to imagine that he was Rosie’s boss. But then there’s nothing conventional here.

Rosie’s parents are first-generation immigrants. Both are doctors, both still practising; her mother is a GP, her father is a chest specialist. They live in north London and have three other children, all boys. Two work in the City, one shoots commercials. None of them have any idea what she does. Like me, she lies. Like me, she’s so good at it, it’s as natural to her as telling the truth. They believe she’s a security analyst at the Centre for Defence Studies at King’s College, London. Elsewhere it might seem strange that a young second-generation Indian woman is heading an outfit like the Ether Division. But in our world it seems perfectly normal because we can be anybody we need to be at any given moment.