The Division Collection Page 14

  Tracy rolled her eyes at him and smiled now. She punched him on the arm. ‘You’re a shit.’

  He rolled back onto the A30 and headed north.

  32

  Steam filled the shower cubicle as Archer let the jets wash away the grime and blood and sweat.

  His body was sore from the enforced march with Boyle over his shoulder and he was wondering if he would have time for a good hard sports massage tomorrow.

  He knew a great place off Charing Cross Road run by Koreans who weren’t great conversationalists but certainly knew how to get the kinks out. Maybe it’s not such a good idea anymore, he mused as he washed his hair for the second time. They’re probably bloody spies.

  The more he saw of his new world, the more he realised it was like a parallel universe. All sorts of seemingly normal people doing very strange things, moving alongside normal people who were living their everyday lives and completely oblivious to the goings on around them.

  Smoke and mirrors, Jedi had said. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

  Archer stepped out and vigorously towelled himself dry. He took his time shaving and examined his bumps and bruises before dressing; nothing to worry about. Officers had cleaned out his hotel room while he and Tracy debriefed with a senior spook, and his luggage had been placed in quarters at Legoland.

  He hadn’t been surprised to learn they had barracks-like accommodation on site as well, which seemed to be furnished from a charity shop and smelled of farts. He sat on the single bed and dressed slowly, dumped his dirty gear in a plastic bag for washing and repacked his luggage.

  Freshly dressed in jeans and a shirt with the tails out, Archer made his way upstairs to the cafeteria. He’d been issued a pass which had very limited access, and the spook that had debriefed them told him to hang around for the day while they sorted a few things out and arranged a new hotel.

  Archer presumed that the few things including trying to bleed Boyle dry of intel.

  The cafe was nearly empty after the lunchtime rush, just a couple of girls finishing up coffees and a young Asian guy sitting alone and playing Angry Birds on his phone.

  Remember it’s Asian, not Paki; you’re in England now.

  The two girls glanced at him as he entered then did a double take as if realising who he was. He ignored them and ordered a coffee from the fat black woman behind the counter. The two girls were still looking when he turned to scout a seat. He gave them a smile and moved to the far side of the cafe where soft armchairs looked out over the Thames.

  He flicked through a well-thumbed copy of the morning’s Times while he waited for his coffee. It arrived at the same time as his phone bleeped with an incoming message. It was Rob Moore and the message was to the point.

  Call me.

  Moore answered immediately. ‘You across the river?’ His tone was urgent.

  ‘Yeah. Waiting to be kicked out.’

  ‘Free to speak?’

  ‘Yeah, are you? I was trying to get hold of you. You didn’t answer.’

  ‘Yeah well I’ve been tied up for about eighteen fuckin’ hours with my American friend.’

  Archer was silent as he waited.

  ‘Anything you wanna tell me about that?’ Moore said testily.

  ‘If you’ve been talking to him for that long you can probably figure it out for yourself.’

  ‘Might’ve been nice to know before I started to get my arse chewed off, mate.’

  ‘How about you tell your mate to keep a better eye on his troops then and shit like that won’t happen.’ Archer was tired and losing patience now. ‘They were off the reservation and trying to do a number on me.’ He took a breath to calm down. ‘I tried to tell you.’

  The line was silent but he could sense Moore seething at the other end.

  ‘They’re not happy.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less, mate. They need to sort their shit out before they come crying to you. What game are they playing anyway?’

  ‘They weren’t,’ Moore snapped. ‘Those guys weren’t on their books any more. They must’ve been private.’

  Archer paused. That put a different spin on things. ‘What about the cops?’

  ‘A deal gone wrong. Gangland stuff. The Friends have had a word.’

  Jesus, is every spy agency involved in this thing?

  Archer sipped his coffee. It was scalding hot and bitter. ‘So nobody needs to speak to me then.’

  ‘Huh.’ Moore grunted. ‘No, but a heads up would’ve been nice.’

  ‘I tried…’

  ‘I know, I know. I was at a meet first then when that finished I was straight into sorting this out.’

  ‘Sorry mate,’ Archer said, although he wasn’t entirely convinced he should be apologising. ‘I’ll try harder next time.’

  Moore gave a short laugh. ‘Or even better...’

  Archer saw Tracy enter the cafe and head in his direction. ‘Gotta go mate, I’ll catch up with you later.’ He disconnected and put the phone away as she took the seat opposite him.

  Her hair was still wet from the shower and she’d changed into a charcoal pant suit and a sharp white shirt. The two girls headed back to the office, whispering to each other as they did so.

  Archer indicated them with a flick of the chin. ‘Do I have food on my face or something?’

  Tracy grinned. ‘Big news like this doesn’t happen every day,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s talking about it. The Director even called me personally to congratulate me on the coup, as she put it.’

  Archer gave an approving smile. ‘Nice one.’ He noticed she had the spark back in her eye. ‘You seem pretty chirpy.’

  She grinned again. ‘The boss has even approved a blank expense claim for us. He told me to take our Antipodean friend out for a nice dinner and show him what London has to offer.’

  ‘Well, there’s one person who still uses that term,’ he grinned.

  ‘So, let’s go.’

  33

  The restaurant Tracy chose was near Victoria, hidden away in a cobbled alley with a discreet sign beside the heavy oak door. Archer didn’t catch the name of it and didn’t care; he was hungry and had more than food on his mind as he watched Tracy’s sculpted backside move in front of him.

  They were quickly seated at a corner table covered with stark white linen. The ceiling was low with heavy exposed beams. The candle in the wrought iron stick in the centre of the table flickered and threw dancing shadows on the stone walls.

  The waiter gave them a wine list and went to leave. Archer stopped him short.

  ‘Glenfiddich on the rocks please,’ he said, giving Tracy a glance. ‘For both of us.’

  She looked like she was going to protest, but thought better of it. The waiter nodded and disappeared. Tracy cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘I didn’t realise our relationship was at that stage, Craig,’ she said with the twitch of a smile, ‘would you like to order my dinner for me as well?’

  He wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking. ‘Don’t go all ‘independent woman’ on me. It’s a tradition I instituted with my troop,’ he explained. ‘After a successful contact we would crack a Glen.’

  ‘I’m not much of a drinker,’ she confided.

  ‘I noticed.’ He grinned. ‘Just be glad I don’t make you do the soapbox.’

  ‘Soapbox? Like at Speaker’s Corner?’

  It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know about Speaker’s Corner, but our soapbox was for all newbies to the troop. You’d have to…’

  He was interrupted by the return of the waiter with their drinks. Archer waved him away and raised his glass. ‘Bottoms up.’

  Archer held Tracy’s gaze as they drained their tumblers, ensuring she finished it in one hit. The heat of the whisky consumed his throat and down into his belly, a wonderful warm glow setting in after the initial alcoholic kick. Tracy struggled to finish hers but gamely set the empty glass down with a clunk. She wiped her mouth carefully with the back of her hand and let out a low gasp of almost sexual
pleasure.

  ‘Wow,’ she finally managed, sitting back. ‘Mr Archer, I don’t think I should make this a regular thing.’

  ‘Drinking?’

  ‘Drinking with you.’

  He laughed and handed her the drinks menu. ‘Nothing to worry about love, that’s it for tonight.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘Just an ice breaker. You can choose the wine.’

  ‘What, d’you think I’m cultured enough to choose wine in a posh restaurant? I’m from Croydon, nothing posh about that.’

  ‘Yeah well I’m pretty sure you’ll be more cultured than a hick from the sticks, so it’s all on you.’

  The waiter drifted back and they ordered starters and mains in one go; Archer was pleased to see Tracy didn’t hold back for once. Tea smoked salmon with lemon and radish for two followed by sea bass with kale and pork belly for Tracy and lamb with turnips, shallot and Lancashire pudding for Archer.

  Tracy ordered a bottle of Ronco del Gnemiz Sauvignon Sol from Italy, and looked at Archer as the waiter wafted away again. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you serious? That was ninety six quid! Your boss’ll have a shit fit.’

  She waved a hand airily at him. ‘Bahh, don’t worry, she won’t care. Besides, you should see what she and Matthew put away.’ She shook her head in wonderment. ‘They’d do this every week, so just enjoy it while you can.’

  Archer mentally shrugged and did as he was told. The starter was excellent and he ate with gusto, washing it down with the sweet fruitiness of the Sav. He had always thought white wine should be matched with white meat and fish, but Tracy had a different viewpoint.

  ‘If you’re a wine snob, yeah,’ she said. ‘But I think what you personally like is more important.’ She shrugged. ‘And I like Italian, so that’s what we’re having.’

  He couldn’t argue that and it was good wine with good food, so he topped up their glasses and braced himself for the main. It proved to be just as excellent as the starter and he closed his eyes to savour the full bodied flavour of the tender lamb. When he opened them, Tracy was looking at him with amusement. Her eyes were smiling and her lips slightly parted, like she knew something naughty and wanted to tell.

  ‘What?’ He suddenly felt self conscious and wiped his mouth.

  ‘You’re definitely a man who likes his food.’ The tip of her tongue flicked across her lower lip. ‘It’s nice to see.’

  ‘Food should be enjoyed,’ he said earnestly. ‘I hate seeing people picking and dancing round it like it’s something to be scared of. You should be in there with your sleeves rolled up, exploring it and discovering something new every time you take a bite.’

  Tracy cocked her eyebrow at him but said nothing. She didn’t need to; he could see it in her eyes.

  ‘I love food, I love cooking it and I love eating it.’ He leaned forward across the table, looking into her eyes. ‘There’s something very exciting about sharing a good meal with a woman.’

  She gave him that playful smile again. ‘The way you describe it, it’s almost a sexual thing.’

  Archer held her gaze. ‘It is. It’s very intimate. When you eat you reveal what you like and you show your inner self.’ He smiled slightly, still holding her gaze. ‘The beast that lurks within must be sated somehow.’

  ‘Sounds like your beast is hungry,’ she replied, leaning forward now too. Their faces were scarcely inches apart. Her warm breath made his skin tingle.

  ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘I think it needs to be fed.’ Tracy still had that twinkle in her eye and he decided to push his luck. God she’s arousing. ‘How’s your beast feeling? Satisfied, or wanting more?’

  Tracy smiled and he was sure she could hear his heart pounding in his chest, like a teenager on heat. She leaned back and his heart sank.

  ‘I think my beast is okay,’ she said gently, still smiling but with a touch of disappointment now.

  Archer leaned back too, feeling like a chump. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he didn’t know where to look.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tracy said softly, ‘but I think we eat off different menus, if you know what I mean.’

  He looked at her quizzically and it slowly dawned on him. He felt an even bigger fool, but relieved at the same time. ‘Oh,’ he said. The thought had occurred to him earlier, but her flirtatiousness had dispelled it.

  ‘Don’t worry, you haven’t lost your touch.’ Tracy grinned at him and took a sip of her wine. ‘And if I ever go back to your menu, I’ll be sure to give you a call.’

  He grinned and felt the humiliation start to ebb. ‘Please do. But for now, how about dessert?’

  Archer ordered praline mousse with white chocolate and muscovado sugar ice cream. Tracy asked the waiter for a second spoon, and when it came she helped herself off his plate. It was a rich and velvety heaven and together they devoured it, savouring every spoonful until the dish had been scraped clean.

  They took their time over coffees and Archer started slipping into a contented state with a full belly and a warm glow. He still felt a fool for being spurned, but comforted himself with the thought that he was years too late in that department so it was nothing personal.

  He waited while Tracy settled the bill and hailed a cab. She leaned against him as they watched the cab slide to a stop at the kerb.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr Archer,’ she smiled, and tip-toed to give him a peck on the cheek. She lingered there for a second before stepping away towards the cab. ‘I’m a little bit gutted, but what can you do?’

  He shrugged and opened the door for her. ‘And thank you too, Ms Spencer.’ They grinned at each other and he leaned to give her a brief but firm hug. ‘You were magnificent. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  He shut the door behind her and watched the cab pull away. Tracy waggled her fingers out the back window and he tipped an imaginary hat before turning to hunt out another cab.

  He still had an alcohol buzz in his veins and the beast had not been sated.

  34

  The pub doors closed at eleven sharp and Becky emerged from the staff entrance ten minutes later, her coat flapping at her legs as she hurried up the alley to the footpath.

  She was rummaging in her bag when she sensed somebody’s presence and looked up. It was the Kiwi guy from the night before, the one who’d promised so much but failed to deliver.

  He stood motionless on the footpath, hands in the pockets of his long black coat, a wolfish half smile on his face as he watched her. Becky paused as she sized him up. He wasn’t handsome in the classic matinee idol way, but that was fine. His nose had been broken at least once and he had a small scar on the right of his upper lip which gave him an almost-curl when he spoke.

  He had the kind of confident rugged appeal of a soldier or fireman. This was no pink shirt-wearing pretty-boy who wanted to talk about his feelings or debate climate change. This was a man’s man who knew what he wanted and was going to take charge.

  A thrill ran through her.

  ‘Alright?’ she said nonchalantly, giving him disinterested.

  The Kiwi smiled, his eyes warm and strong as they searched her face. ‘I feel bad.’

  ‘That you ran out last night?’

  ‘It wasn’t nice.’ He stepped closer to her and she could smell his aftershave, something deep and warm and masculine. Becky let the smell fill her nostrils. ‘I usually have impeccable manners.’

  ‘Really?’ She cocked her head up at him. ‘All the time?’

  ‘Well.’ He gave a tiny twitch of the head. ‘Not all the time.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Becky took another step, into his personal space now. ‘Sometimes a bad boy can be just what the doctor ordered.’ Another step brought them torso to torso. Neither backed off. ‘And I’m feeling a bit poorly. I may need a lie down.’

  Archer smiled down at her, feeling her press against him. ‘Enough talk,’ he said softly.

  She proved to be as adventurous in bed as he had anticipated, throwing herself into it with an enthusiasm he admir
ed. She was voluptuous and womanly in every way and knew what she wanted. He gave it to her and she willingly returned it with interest, and when they finally collapsed on the tangled sheets of his hotel bed, he was exhausted.

  Becky rolled over in the darkness and reached for her watch on the floor. ‘Plenty of time for a shower,’ she said, rolling back to Archer. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, down to his stomach, and down again.

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  She was certainly determined to get the most out of the night, so he went with it and afterwards they showered together, washing the sweat and sex off each other’s bodies. Becky stepped out of the shower first and towelled herself dry in front of the mirror. She had a wide tattoo across her lower back, some kind of scroll design. A small red rose adorned her left shoulder blade. Archer cut the water and drew back the curtain, standing naked and wet as he watched her.

  She looked at him in the reflection, unashamed of her nakedness. ‘I should be getting home,’ she said.

  He stepped out of the shower and stood behind her, pressing his body against hers. His hands came around to cup her full breasts, his fingers lightly brushing her nipples.

  She let out a small gasp. ‘That isn’t helping me get ready.’ She pressed back against him, feeling his excitement.

  ‘Oh, I think it is.’ He continued what he was doing for a few moments and she responded by reaching down and guiding him into her again.

  It was nearly three when she finally left the hotel room, checking her watch again and cursing.

  ‘Somebody expecting you home?’ Archer asked lazily from the bed. She hadn’t mentioned anyone else, but then he hadn’t bothered asking either; that was her business.

  ‘My sister’s lookin’ after the kids. She’ll kill me.’ Becky hurriedly closed her bag and leaned over the bed for a last kiss, firm and hot. ‘Hope I see y’round, Kiwi boy. Don’t be a stranger now.’

  She gave him that cheeky grin and opened the door, throwing a shaft of light into the room from the hallway. Archer gave her a smile and a wave and she was gone. The room fell into darkness again and he lay back on the wrecked bed, thinking of Tracy and Jazz and the other women of his life.