TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (40 page)

“Make sure you don’t take anything or she might notice it’s missing,” she instructs.

He nods and tucks his rucksack under his arm, out of sight.

“What is it we’re looking for?”

“Nothing. We’re dropping off not picking up.” With long, assertive strides she exits the bedroom,

expecting him to follow. “This is only the guest bedroom we don’t need to be in here.”

“We don’t?”

“No. His bedroom’s downstairs. That’s where he’ll be fucking her on a daily basis now.”

“Right.” He accepts her explanation and follows at a reasonable distance, not wanting to look too

much like an obedient dog but enjoying the fact she’s not on her best behaviour. She’s dropped the

façade.

Having made up the couple of yards between them, they enter the master bedroom together. He

eyes her and watches the softness leave her face; she has transformed into a cold, vindictive bitch with

a mind to cause mayhem. It’s a good look for her.

“Like I said, don’t take anything. It will be missed and they’ll suspect someone’s been here.” Out of

the pocket of her long black coat she lifts out a small object; he cannot make out what it is. She scans

the room and her focus rests on a small, expensive looking bedside cabinet. She walks around the

enormous four poster bed and pulls out the empty drawer. Inside it she places her mystery object.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving a souvenir for little Miss Perfect.”

Dan sniggers at her words. “What is it?”

“Oh just an insurance policy I’ve put together.”

Realising she’s only feeding him bullshit, he loses interest. “It’s a nice place. Stone has done pretty

well for himself.”

She spins around and glares at him, her eyes fierce and cruel. “You don’t know him.”

“So it seems. But I know one thing…”

She waits impatiently to hear the rest of the sentence.

“… He’s ruffled your feathers.” With that, he turns and leaves the room. A couple of yards along

the hallway is an enormous office. Along one wall are six screens, all black and lifeless. Stretched out

along another wall are shelves full of books of varying colours and sizes. With a cream coloured digit

he fingers the spines and tips his head to one side, trying to catch a couple of titles. On the top shelf

are books on media, marketing, investment, communications and commercial law. On the shelf below

are leather bound books with gold leaf titles etched onto their spines. He takes hold of one,

“Don’t touch his books or he’ll notice if you put it back in the wrong place,” Elise calls out from

the doorway. “Anyway, when did you turn into a purveyor of poetry?”

Dan gives her an indignant stare hard enough to crack a walnut. “Watch your fucking mouth Elise.

I’m not one of your office lackeys checking out the square footage on a fucking town house.”

She looks back at him apologetically. “Sorry. This cloak and dagger stuff has me on edge. Let’s get

out of here. I need a drink.”

He accepts her explanation and takes his hand from the shelf, and proceeds to scan the room. The

dark, wooden desk takes pride of place by the window; he walks over to it, flicks through some of the

documents. When he sees ‘shipment.’ ‘Saudi Arabia’ and ‘MOD,’ his interest is piqued.

“Are you coming?” Elise asks from the doorway, drumming her fingernail on the door frame and

becoming more impatient by the second.

“Not yet. Hold your horses.” He reads the first page and moves on to the second sheet. With his feet

rooted to the spot he turns his head to Elise. “What is it Stone does exactly?”

“What?”

“Your big shot boyfriend, Stone. What does he do?”

She’s unwilling to consider the question. “I don’t know, communications or something like that.

Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I might not be a poetic prick Elise but I can fucking read; looks like he’s

been getting into bed with the M.O.D.”

She lowers her hand and strolls over to him. “You can’t be serious?”

Dan simply taps his finger on the documents. “Take a look.”

With her curiosity roused she scans the sheets. “This is a shipment document. He pays people to

handle this kind of thing. What’s it doing here?”

“I don’t know but I think we just got ourselves another insurance policy. Take a couple of photos

with your fancy phone.”

Without another word she does just that and he stands next to her, flicking over the pages and then

settling them back in their place.

“I think I’m ready for that drink now,” he says, with a smug grin. “Get your purse out Elise. It’s

your round.”

Feeling elated by the night’s proceedings, Dan settles into a discreet corner, leaving Elise by the bar

to order their drinks. His choice of venue couldn’t be more unlike the wine bar she chose. A mix-and-

match set of high backed chairs have been arranged around circular tables, so dark and so overly

varnished glasses reflect in them. There is no room for candles and cushions here. Accessories come

in one shape and one size only: square. Torn and tattered beer mats adhere to the tables, daring

inquisitive visitors to read them. There’s a proverb for every occasion. Dan slides one over:

Actions speak louder than words.

He sniggers at the appropriateness of the statement and takes out his phone. There is only one

person who he can speak to about acting on the information he has acquired and that’s Jack Simpson,

or Jack the Lad as he was known in Iraq. You wanted something, he could get it. If anyone can arrange

to have a shipment intercepted in the Far East, he’s your man. After all, it’s not like he hasn’t done it

before.

He clears his throat and prepares to break the good news.

“Evening Jack. Captain Cautious here. I’ve got some information for you that’ll have you throwing

your arms around my neck and asking me to marry you.” He laughs at Jack’s response which clearly

must be punctuated with four letter words.

“Forget the fucking money I owe you for the info on the Rolls. I’m about to send something your

way that will make us some
serious
money. You’re about to hit the jackpot my friend.”

Jack seems unconvinced.

“No. It’s not dodgy. Not for us. it isn’t.” He takes an impatient breath. “So … do you want to shut

the fuck up and listen or should I take my info elsewhere? I didn’t think so. Now, let’s get down to

business. Have you got contacts in the Far East?”

He listens intently to Jack’s reply and nods his head,

“Specifically? King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh. Is that specific enough for you?” He’s

nodding his head at his response.

“Yeah. That’s right, an interception. I like the way your mind works, my man. Now I’ve got some

info that will blow your socks off but you’ve got to move sharpish with it.”

He listens and scans the room for unwanted eavesdroppers.

“Yeah … it’s time sensitive. Call it what you want but get your arse in gear and get it to those

contacts of yours out there. This, they will want to get their hands on.” He’s shaking his head. “No, I

can’t tell you over the phone what’s in the consignment. But what I will do is send you pictures of the

shipping documents. Believe me, when you get a whiff of them you’ll drop whatever you’re doing and

get yourself to a computer sharpish.”

A wolfish grin forms slowly and remains as he listens “Never mind where I got it from. Just get the

job done. I tell you Jack we’ll be sitting pretty after this. I’m sending them over now.”

Noticing Elise approaching, he winds down the call. “Look. I’ve got to go but you stay sharp Jack.

The info’s on its way. Call me when you get it.” He ends the call abruptly and slips the phone into the

front pocket of his jeans.

Elise arrives with two tall glasses of golden liquid. “Have you been in touch with someone about

the documents?”

“Yeah. We’re on. Now we have to figure out a way of getting those documents to him.”

“What’s so hard about that?” Nonchalantly, she takes a sip of her lager. “We’ll just send them to

him off the phone. He has a smartphone doesn’t he?”

“How would I know?”

“Didn’t you ask him?”

“No! I didn’t,” he snaps, realising his mistake. “I was busy convincing him that it’s for real. If

that’s alright with you? Anyway…” He takes a long drawn out slug of lager, savouring the coolness of

it as it coats his tongue. “… Anyway, if you’re such a whizz, why don’t you send him the photos?” He

waits for a reply.

She checks her nails and shrugs her shoulders, seeming unconcerned about the urgency of the

matter. “I can’t do that.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to know my number.”

Dan’s laughter is met with an indignant stare. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? You just

broke into someone’s house and went through their stuff …”

“Did I?” She snorts. “I paid an old friend a friendly visit. I didn’t take a thing.”

She smiles so smugly he could slap her. “That’s right, you didn’t, but I don’t think Stone will be

pleased to know you were sniffing around his place with me in tow.”

“Then we won’t tell him, will we,” she sniggers, much too self-assured for Dan’s liking.

“But what about those photos? Are you telling me you won’t send them to my guy because you

don’t want him to know who you are?” His glass rattles as his slams it down on the table. Surprisingly

Elise doesn’t flinch. “After me giving him all the spiel about winning the fucking lottery?”

“Not necessarily. There’s another way.”

He waits. “And are you going to tell me what it is or are we going to play fucking charades until I

guess?”

She laughs at that ludicrous thought. “I could email them through my Gmail account.”

“Okay. Now you’re talking. Explain how that works.”

Making him wait, she sips her lager and places it delicately down before elaborating, “I could email

the photos to myself then email them to him and he could open them up as attachments.”

“Right. Do it.”

Stalling, purposely making him wait, she glances about the seedy public house. “Is this a favourite

haunt of yours?” She asks using her fingers like tweezers to pick up a beer mat. “It’s not exactly the

Ritz, is it?”

In a state of panic Dan retaliates. “Now how the fuck would you know that?”

She incinerates him with a look. It’s laced with such a venomous intensity, he can do no more than

look away. “Because I’ve been there several fucking times. That’s how I’d know.”

To break the stalemate Dan takes a dive. “Okay. I was a bit pushy. I should be asking not telling.

We are a team, after all.”

She turns to him awkwardly and arches her brows, looking down her nose at him at the same time.

“You think we’re a team?”

What a bitch!

“I thought we were, sort of …”

“For us to be a team Dan, we would need to have two things.” She’s bending back the forefinger on

her right hand preparing to count like a headmistress scolding a child. Dan’s having to grip his glass to

occupy his right hand and fears he may actually shatter the glass if she doesn’t stop with the fucking

counting.

“Firstly, you would have to be honest with me and …” Now she’s bending back another finger.

“Secondly, you would have to be honest with me.” Finding her own antics highly amusing she throws

back her head and roars with laughter.

Dan is rendered speechless. He has no riposte that will quell her audacity or halt her hysteria. She

has the upper hand. He knows it and she knows it. It’s a sucker punch he will have to recover from

quickly if he’s going to have a fighting chance of getting who and what he wants.

He’d underestimated her from the outset, he realises. But no more. His guard’s up and he’s boxing

clever again. “I think you’re enjoying this Elise. It’s just a game to you.” Knowing he has her attention

he reaches for the remains of his lager and tips it the length of the glass until it hits his lips, leaving

the glass empty of anything other than bubbles. He places it down gently, calmly. “You know, if

someone had done to me what you say Stone did to you, I would want him to pay for his crime.” He

cracks a smile. “But, that’s just me.” Sighing, he faces her squarely. “Instead, you’re happy to sip

your drink, laugh the night away at my expense and, don’t get me wrong, that’s your choice.” He pulls

out his phone. “But I‘ve got some guy hanging on the other end of a phone, waiting for information

that will hit Stone right where it hurts; in the pocket and in the public eye. So, it’s your move.”

Realising she has pushed him to the point of breaking, she reaches into her bag. “Alright.”

Dan sits quietly, not wanting to break her concentration, watching with admiration the way she

handles the phone, pressing buttons like an electronics wizard.

She pauses. “I’m about to send the photos to your friend but, before I do, tell me what will happen

when he gets them.” The phone rests on the seat between them. Another stalemate ensues.

“What do you care?” Dan asks curiously.

“Humour me. I won’t do it if you don’t tell me so you might as well.” Now she’s folding her arms

and leaning back in her seat, settling herself in. It could be a long night.

“Okay. Jack will contact his people in Riyadh and they will intercept the shipment …”