Code Red Lipstick (11 page)

She produced the tiny origami swan as they waited at a red light.

“This belongs to Sam. I found it in the vents in the lab's clean room. It wouldn't have lasted long in there before being swept away.”

Nathan examined the swan curiously. “How do you know it belongs to Sam?”

“Because it's identical to the one I found in his hotel room.”

Nathan's face turned beetroot. “That's it! I'm going to put you on the train back to London myself. We're going to the station right now.”

Jessica unbuckled her strap. She reached for the door handle again. “If you do that, I'm going straight to the newspapers. I'll tell them that MI6 is deliberately fitting up an innocent man and ignoring all the evidence that points to AKSC being involved in some kind of cover-up.”

Nathan glared back at her. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitened and jaw clenched.

“I'll do it,” Jessica added. “Believe me.”

“Unfortunately, I do believe you,” he said harshly. “But let's get something straight, Jessica. Playing spy games in your spare time doesn't actually make you a spy. Did you ever consider that your dad could have made a call from the AKSC reception without actually going in to see Allegra? Perhaps he changed his mind or got called away. It's possible. And did it ever cross your mind that someone else dropped one of Sam's swans in the building recently? Perhaps he made one for a work colleague.”

Jessica flushed. She hated to admit it, but she hadn't considered any of these alternatives.

“MI6 needs hard evidence before it acts,” he continued. “We can't just interrogate someone on the hunches of a headstrong teenager who jumps to conclusions too quickly and is simply incapable of doing what she's told.”

“But I—”

“Enough! I'm going to drop you back at your hotel before reporting you to Mrs T. She can decide what action she wants to take against you for deliberately and wilfully disobeying my orders.”

“And Allegra?”

“I promise you, we'll look into her closely,” he said tersely. “Your father made me your Code Red contact, remember? He trusted me. You need to start trusting me to do my job too.”

Jessica glanced out of the window as Nathan pulled out in front of another furious taxi driver. He was, like, the worst driver
ever
. Her dad's decision still made no sense whatsoever. Why would he trust him? Why should she?

“Of course, Nathan,” she said mechanically. “As Margaret said the other night, we're all on the same team.”

Nathan shot her a puzzled look as she shoved her hand into her jeans pocket. Her fingers touched the pass she'd stolen from the lab. There were some secrets she wasn't prepared to give up, even to her Code Red contact.

Jessica yawned and swayed on her feet as she was stitched into her gown. Last night, she'd had rehearsals for Saint Laurent, Chanel and Alexander McQueen until one a.m. She'd managed to grab a few hours' sleep before she was back again at five a.m. having fittings, make-up and hair tests for all three designers ahead of the day's shows. Haute Couture Week was exhausting. It was hardly surprising the make-up artists had to slap lots of under-eye concealer on all the models. Everyone looked shattered.

It was ten a.m. and she'd already been sewn into an exquisite green floor-length gown with a long train and a traffic-stopping ruffled red dress with a huge corsage at Saint Laurent. Her line-up at Chanel included a jewel-encrusted silver lace gown with layers of hand-beaded tulle and a shimmering white sequinned creation. Seamstresses had checked all the dresses fitted perfectly and taken Polaroids of her wearing each outfit. They stuck the pictures to the clothes hangers to help assistants remember who was wearing which gown during the frantic mid-show outfit changes.

Now she was at Alexander McQueen: her final fitting. She closed her eyes as she stood in front of the mirror. What were Margaret and Nathan up to? She hadn't heard a peep out of either of them despite leaving messages on both their mobiles. Had they re-interviewed Allegra?

“Stop slouching,
s'il vous plait
,” a seamstress said.

She straightened up. Apart from the short taxi rides between the couture houses earlier, she'd been standing in front of mirrors or practising walking for the last four hours. She longed to escape. This fitting was dragging on for ever as the stylists experimented with different ways of doing her hair while Camille watched, hawklike.

“You look amazing,” she said, peering over her shoulder.

Jessica looked up and gaped at her astonishing appearance in the full-length mirror. A gothic princess stared back. She was squeezed into a royal blue boned corset that produced a tiny eighteen-inch waist. The blue silk skirt had a massive train, which was so heavy it felt like she was dragging a small child after her, and her rose gold stilettos had the most vertiginous heels she'd ever tried on. She resembled a skyscraper, standing at almost seven feet tall.

Hairstylists busied themselves around her. They'd decided on a massive beehive, which would be studded with Cartier diamond clips tonight, making her look even taller. A woman stood on a chair and perched a gold crown precariously on the top of her bird's nest hair.

“Voila!”

The whole effect was amazing yet bizarre.

“Wow!” Camille stared admiringly at her.

Jessica tried to turn around and lost her balance, almost toppling over the seamstresses who knelt at her feet, pinning the hem.

“I can't get used to wearing these heels,” she groaned. “They're too high and a size too big. I know I'm going to land flat on my face on the catwalk.”

“You'll be fine,” Camille said. “You need to keep your eyes fixed straight ahead as you come down the runway. Don't worry. I'll be there tonight and I'll keep an eye out for you.”

Jessica sighed.
Of course she would.

 

She had a few hours to spare before the first show. Camille had accompanied her back to her hotel room, but Jessica had fled minutes later and flagged down a taxi in the street without being caught. She made the driver take a detour past AKSC, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nathan's car, but the street was empty. She hesitated as the taxi pulled up outside. She had the key card in her bag. It was tempting to blag her way in but it was too risky. She'd probably get caught, then sacked, and maybe even arrested. She'd certainly be packed off back to London. She had to find out what Nathan and Margaret were doing now that she'd managed to shake off the limpet.

She fished out the card Nathan had given her. Margaret hadn't told her where she was staying, but she was probably at the Ritz too. She checked her emails and surfed websites until they arrived at 15 Place Vendôme. She paid the driver and jumped out. The hotel was as breathtaking as she'd expected, with gleaming marble floors and glittering chandeliers. It was also busy enough for her to blend in without drawing too much attention to herself.

She marched straight past the front desk and up the massive, red-carpeted staircase to the second floor. Nathan had helpfully given her his room number: 222. She knocked on the door. No answer. Even better. She looked up and down the corridor for the housekeeping trolley. He might have left some useful documents lying about. She went in search of a maid and found her in a nearby suite. She explained in French that it was her dad's room. The maid smiled and swiped her in before she could even pretend to be locked out.

That was frighteningly easy.

The suite was huge and decorated in soft green pastel tones, with gold fittings and a luxurious carpet that had to be Persian. It was so soft, her feet sank into it. She spotted Nathan's laptop on the large ornate oak desk and walked over to check it out. It was switched off and she knew it was pointless to try and guess his passwords. She'd need to be a super hacker to get into an MI6 laptop.

His gun and passport lay next to it, on top of a pile of interior design magazines. She examined the passport. Talk about grim-faced. Anyone would think he was standing in front of a firing squad.

Cheer up, Nathan. Working for Mrs T couldn't be that bad.

Then again, it probably was.

Her foot nudged something under the desk. She fished out a battered brown leather briefcase. The gold clasp was open. Delving inside, she pulled out a sheaf of files. They were all stamped
MI 6
CONFIDENTIAL
. She flicked through them. One contained a list of Algerian agents. She also found the file of French agents and Vectra's photos. That was odd. These were the files she'd discovered on the floor of her dad's study. But why did Nathan have them?

Her mouth fell open as she stared at the images in another file. They were of her – taken with a long-lens camera as she travelled to her underwater modelling shoot in east London. Here she was again after the shoot, running from the bus stop to school. She remembered the camera in Nathan's car when he'd intercepted her outside the AKSC building. Why had he been spying on her on Monday morning? She shivered. It was creepy to think he'd been watching her every move without her even realizing it. What was his game?

She went through the rest of the briefcase but there wasn't anything useful. She opened the top left desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was a pink, crystal mobile phone and a backstage pass for Haute Couture Week marked Lara Hopkins. She examined the phone through the plastic. On the back, crystals formed the letter “L” for Lara. Luckily it was turned off; otherwise Nathan could have picked up when she'd tried ringing it a couple of days ago.

Her heart raced as she fished out a brown wallet from the other drawer. Quickly, she checked the credit cards. It was definitely Nathan's. But why didn't he have it with him? Maybe he'd just popped down to reception, which meant she probably didn't have much time before he returned. She went through the wallet. Tucked in the back pouch was a piece of folded, dog-eared paper.

She gasped as she smoothed it out. It was another picture of her, except this time it wasn't taken with a long lens. It was a family shot. She balanced on one leg at her mum and dad's feet, wearing a floppy pink hat and sundress. She looked about four. It must have been taken shortly before her mum's death. She touched her pendant. Mum wore it around her neck in the photo. The picture looked like it had been well-thumbed; both her mum and dad's faces had faded beneath white crease marks, giving them a ghostly appearance, while she grinned brightly.

This was beyond creepy. Why was he so interested in her family? Why was he collecting photos of
her
?

Jessica froze. A muffled voice drifted out from behind a door on the far side of the room. Her eyes darted around, taking in the clues. She'd been distracted by its sheer opulence. Now she noticed the shoes on the floor. His jacket, gun and wallet were here too. Why hadn't she figured it out already? Nathan hadn't gone anywhere. He must still be in the suite. She stuffed the picture back into the wallet and threw it in the drawer. She shoved the briefcase under the desk before creeping to the bedroom door, which was ajar. She couldn't see him through the gap. She pushed the door open wider and caught her breath. He was on his mobile in the en suite marble bathroom.

“I'm telling you, she's guessed where her dad is and she could blow this whole thing wide open if we're not careful. We can't let that happen.” He listened intently while the other person spoke for a few seconds. “So Lily and Jack were expendable and now Jessica is? Right?” He spat the words out angrily.

A shiver passed down her back. Who was he talking to and why were they discussing Mum? Why were they talking about
her
as if she were a piece of worthless rubbish about to be thrown away?

“I disagree,” Nathan continued. “We need to get rid of Jessica. Surely you can see that? She's getting in the way. I can be with her in 20 minutes and end this thing right now.”

She crept back through the room, quietly closed the suite door behind her and fled down the corridor to the staircase.

Expendable, expendable, expendable.

The word pounded in her head with every footstep.

We need to get rid of Jessica. She's getting in the way.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and gripped the handrail tightly. Her hands shook with rage. She'd go back to Nathan's room and grab his gun. She'd point it at him and demand to know why he wasn't doing anything about rescuing Dad. She'd ask why he wanted to get rid of her so badly and why he claimed her mum was expendable. She didn't have anything to do with this. What on earth was he talking about?

Somehow they were all expendable to him.

The photos in his file and wallet were
really
worrying. What did he want with her? And why did he have the incriminating files from Dad's study? When he stared down the barrel of a gun, he'd have to tell her the truth. She started back up the stairs again and stopped. She could hear her dad's voice in her head.

A good spy always thinks things through logically, without losing control of their emotions.

He was right, as usual. She had to calm down. It'd be tough, but she couldn't let Nathan suspect she knew something was up. She had to play along with him if she wanted to find out what was really going on. If she confronted him, he'd deny, deny, deny. He'd been trained to tell lies. It was what he did for a living.

She sat in the foyer waiting for him, her eyes glued to the lift.

The lift door opened and a group of businessmen and an elderly Japanese couple walked out, followed by Nathan. She closed her eyes. She had to put on an act, the way she did when she was modelling. She stopped being Jessica Cole and became a mermaid, a rock chick or a gothic princess in front of the camera. Today, she had to be a naïve, grateful teenager who believed everything she was told.

“Nathan!” she called. “Over here!”

He jumped and gave her a piercing scowl. He barged past a businessman, knocking his newspaper to the marble floor. He thundered towards her without apologizing to the startled man. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You gave me your hotel card. Remember?” She waved it gaily at him.

He stared back suspiciously. “What's up with you?”

She lost the grin. She had to tone it down. He wasn't used to bright, cheerful Jessica. He'd only met the stroppy, disobedient one so far.

“I had a break before the shows so I thought I'd come and find out if you've looked into Allegra Knight yet,” she said loudly.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. Now they were back on familiar territory: her challenging everything he said.

“Not here,” he snapped.

He held her arm tightly as he led her to the lift and back upstairs to his suite. She followed him inside. He'd tidied his laptop and gun away but the briefcase now sat in its place. She rubbed her arm. It still smarted from where he'd gripped her.

“Have you been in here?” he said abruptly.

“Of course not. Why?” She managed to keep her best poker face. Maybe she'd left the briefcase a fraction of an inch too far to the left or right. He was the kind of person who'd notice if the tiniest detail was out of place.

He scrutinized her. “Never mind. I just don't like being surprised, that's all.”

“Really?” Jessica said. “I love surprises. I remember when—”

“I've just got off the phone with Mrs T and she agrees with me,” he interrupted. “There's a
slim
possibility that your dad and Sam could be inside AKSC, but we can't go storming in. It would scare Vectra and the
real
Starfish away before they do the pickup. We can't risk that happening. We need to catch both of them red-handed.”