Licence To Howl by Helen Harper

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Noneof them breathed a word for the rest of the journey and, when they landed at RAF Northolt, which was far less appealing than Heathrow, there was a small contingent of grim looking men waiting for them at the end of the runway. Sarah Greensmith sighed audibly but Devereau forced himself to plaster on a smarmy grin.

‘Hey! Which way to duty free?’ he asked. ‘I want to pick up some booze and fags before I head home.’

None of the men cracked a smile. That was understandable given the circumstances. The oldest man, a blank faced bloke with thinning hair and the hint of a paunch, lifted up his chin to speak. ‘We will transport you back to your home, Mr Webb. You can expect a thorough debrief in the days to come.’

‘I only like it when Scarlett here debriefs me.’ He winked but his heart wasn’t really in it.

The men still didn’t smile. Neither did Scarlett come to that.

‘Miss Cook will also be debriefed,’ the older man said. ‘In the meantime, we thank you both for your service to your country and we release you from any further obligations.’

Devereau’s pathetic attempts at light-hearted banter vanished. ‘That’s it? You’re giving me the boot?’

‘We will take up the hunt for Stefan Avanopoulos from here. We are in a better position to find him.’

‘I don’t think Avanopoulos is the mastermind.’

The anonymous man barely reacted. ‘I’ve heard your theory. You’re talking about Alina Bonnet. It’s very doubtful that she is still alive. She wouldn’t have the means or the power to pull off an operation like this. Leave the strategy and analysis to us. We’re better at it.’

Devereau bit back his anger at such blithe dismissal. ‘I think you’re under-estimating what she could be capable of.’

‘Women rarely do this kind of thing.’

‘Actually,’ Greensmith broke in, ‘that’s not true. There are several studies which show –’ She faltered in mid-sentence when the man gave her a cold look.

‘Regardless, we have this now. You don’t have to worry, Mr Webb. We are in charge now. You are done.’ He jerked his head to the right. ‘Your car is waiting over there.’ He stepped aside, folding his hands together and waiting for Devereau and Scarlett to depart.

Devereau remained exactly where he was. His eyes swung from man to man before sliding to Greensmith. ‘It’s you,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re going to be the scapegoat.’

‘You should go, Mr Webb,’ Greensmith said.

‘You recruited me. You identified Solentino as a target. You ran the operation to infiltrate his little gang. You saw the threat. And now you’ll be blamed.’

She gazed at him and, for the first time, Devereau thought he saw her mask slip. Beyond her brisk, no-nonsense façade, there was vulnerability. And rage. He knew that the latter wasn’t directed at him, however, but at the blank faced men who were standing next to her. There was far more to Sarah Greensmith than he’d given her credit for.

‘Go,’ she repeated.

‘And what if I don’t?’

‘You’re not helping,’ she said.

Scarlett moved up beside him and took his elbow. ‘Devereau,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘It’s for the best,’ Greensmith said. She bowed her head. ‘You did good, Devereau Webb. Don’t ever tell yourself otherwise. This is not on you.’

‘Let’s go, Ms Greensmith.’ Two of the men moved up, each one taking one of her arms, as if they thought she was going to make a run for it and sprint across the airfield to get away from them.

Devereau gazed at them all in disgust. ‘You people. You fucking people.’

* * *

The MI5 driver,who was as taciturn as his colleagues, dropped them off in the centre of Soho.

‘The entire city is on alert looking for Stefan Avanopoulos,’ Scarlett said to Devereau. ‘And I’m fresh out of ideas. Unless you’ve had any brainwaves in the last hour that you’ve not told me, I don’t think there’s anything more we can do.’

He desperately wanted to disagree. He knew, however, that he couldn’t. Sarah Greensmith had been right. The bad guys were about to win. He gave Scarlett a tight nod and looked away.

‘Heart will be too busy right now,’ Scarlett said. ‘I’m not in the mood for people but I don’t want to go home to sit alone and I have no idea what I’ll say to Lord Horvath right now. I know a little place near here. Do you feel like a drink before you head home?’

The last thing Devereau was going to do was say no. He nodded once more before allowing her to lead him away from the busier streets and down a small alleyway. The only sign there was a bar there at all was a small mark etched into the stone on the outside wall. Scarlett pushed open the door and he followed her in, glad that she’d been right. It was smoky and dark and seemed to sell only a very limited selection of drinks. The place was perfect.

They sat together in the corner by the door, neither saying very much. The bartender, a grizzled looking vampire who had more scars than teeth, had taken one look at their faces and given them an entire bottle along with two empty glasses. Then he’d retreated to his spot behind the narrow bar and paid them no more attention.

Devereau downed three glasses of whiskey in short succession. He was tired enough that the alcohol went straight to his head, loosening his tongue and releasing a great deal of his pent-up tension.

‘I can’t get those two choir boys out of my head,’ he said as much to himself as to Scarlett.

‘Yeah.’ She took a sip of her own drink. ‘I’m much the same. I’ve been over and over it though. I don’t know what we could have done differently.’ She put her hand on his and squeezed. ‘It’s not your fault, Devereau. None of it is.’

He gave her a baleful look. Several seconds passed as they gazed at each other, the silence of their shared experiences over the last few days hanging heavily between them.

Eventually, Devereau sucked in a deep breath. ‘I miss you, Scarlett.’

She stiffened and pulled her hand away. ‘Don’t go there, Devereau.’

‘Why not? We’re good together. We fit together. No, I don’t know your deepest ambitions or desires. I’m willing to take the time to find out though. Together we could be anything. Do anything.’

‘Apart from stop a terrorist group in their tracks, you mean.’

Damn it. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘That was facetious and uncalled for.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You’re asking for more than I’m able to give, Devereau. We had fun while it lasted. Can’t you leave it at that?’

‘No,’ he said honestly. ‘I can’t.’ He met her eyes. ‘But what I can do and will do is wait until you’re ready. For whatever reasons, you’re terrified of commitment. I don’t know what happened to you to make you feel that way but you can trust me to the grave. If it takes the rest of my life to get you to see that, then that’s what I will do. I was yours the day you sat down beside me in Heart. I’m not going anywhere, Scarlett. Not now. Not ever.’

‘You know you sound like a crazed stalker, right?’ she said. Her tone was light but her eyes were guarded. She wasn’t with him yet. Not by a long shot.

‘I meant what I said that first night in Rome. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. I won’t make a move on you unless you do first.’

‘Then what the hell do you call this?’ she asked, gesturing towards him with a touch of flame.

‘My feeble attempt to get you to see that I’m in love with you, I guess.’

Scarlett stared at him. ‘I’m not the type of woman that men fall in love with,’ she said finally. There was a tiny tremble in her voice. ‘I’m the type they lust after. The type they think they’ve fallen for until they realise who I really am behind the gloss.’ She curled her fingers into tight fists. ‘I’m the type who won’t let a man take my independence or my freedom.’

‘I’m not asking for either of those things. I wouldn’t want them.’

‘You don’t want me either, Devereau. You might think you do because right now I’m the shiny thing that you think is playing hard to get. I’m not a conquest though. I like you. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear on more than one occasion that I fancy the pants off of you. But that’s not love. I don’t love you. And you definitely don’t love me.’

All he could tell her was the stark, absolute truth. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I do.’

‘Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.’

This wasn’t going particularly well. He grimaced and felt his stomach tighten unpleasantly. ‘I’m going to go to the restroom and re-group,’ he told her. ‘Don’t go anywhere, Scarlett. Please.’

In response, she picked up her glass and took another delicate sip although she didn’t look him in the eye. And when he returned to their table several minutes later with the newly sanitised Ring of All Seasons in his hand, she’d already gone.

Devereau headed straight for the door, sticking his head out to the narrow street to search for her.

‘Scarlett!’

His voice echoed back at him. Damn it. There was no sign of her in either direction and he knew that if she didn’t want him to find her, he wouldn’t be able to. He supposed that was one thing – the only thing – she had in common with those fucking terrorists. Devereau paused and turned his head, glancing round at the bar.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

The bartender looked up. Then he grunted and pointed up at the clock on the wall. Devereau stared at it. It was after two in the morning. There had been no distant explosions of any kind. ‘Can you turn on the TV?’ he asked.

The bartender sighed but did as he requested, lifting up a dusty remote and pressing a button. The television set, hanging precariously off the far wall, flickered into life.

‘If you’re just tuning in,’ the news anchor intoned, ‘we are getting several reports that both the French and British governments have agreed to meet the terrorists’ demands. A spokesperson stated that it was a highly unusual step but that it was warranted under the circumstances and that they were confident they could recover the money and locate the terrorists within days if not hours.’

Bullshit. Devereau knew a blatant lie when he heard one. He reached down for his whiskey glass and threw it with all his might at the far wall. It shattered instantly, shards of glass flying across the small room.

The bartender didn’t blink. ‘Feel better now?’ he inquired.

Devereau’s shoulders slumped. No. Not in the slightest.

* * *

He awokein his own bed the next morning with a headache throbbing behind his eyes and a nasty taste in his mouth. Devereau groaned and flipped over onto his back, just as a sharp knock came at his bedroom door.

‘I make breakfast,’ Dr Yara called. ‘Eggs and bacon. Will do you good.’

His stomach rolled. He doubted it. ‘Thank you,’ he called back anyway. Where Dr Yara was concerned, it was far better to give in to the inevitable rather than attempting to argue.

Shrugging on a dressing gown, he padded downstairs. ‘You don’t have to cook for me,’ he told her. It was an old argument.

‘I know.’ She waved at him, her eyes indicating that she wouldn’t brook any kind of disagreement. ‘Now eat.’

‘I thinking while you are away,’ she told him. ‘I like to set up clinic. I know I am not allowed to be doctor here but maybe if I work only for supes it is okay. Supes will be happy to have doctor and government will not care because I do not treat humans.’

He reached for a slice of toast. ‘That’s a really good idea.’

She beamed at him. ‘You think?’

‘I do.’ The vampires and the clans had their own medical teams but the smaller supe groups find it much harder to get treatment. Not to mention that such a thing would be much better for Dr Yara than cooking him breakfast. ‘Let’s sit down together later and discuss how it could work. I’ll do whatever I can to help you set it up.’

She widened her eyes. ‘Oh no. You too busy. I can do it myself.’

‘I’m not busy,’ he told her. He sighed. ‘Not any more.’

‘Is full moon again soon,’ she reminded him.

How could he forget? ‘Yeah.’ Life went on. He should be pleased.

From the other room, the landline began to ring. Devereau began to get to his feet but Dr Yara glared at him. ‘You stay. You eat. I answer phone.’

He gave her a mock salute and picked up his knife and fork. Then it occurred to him that maybe it was Scarlett calling and he quickly placed them down on the table again and sprang up.

‘Is for you!’ Dr Yara called through.

He all but sprinted to the living room. ‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver.

‘Good morning, Mr Webb.’

Devereau’s heart sank. ‘Greensmith. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.’

‘You probably won’t after today,’ she told him. ‘I’m not supposed to be calling you now but everyone else is busy and not paying attention to what I’m doing. And I still have some friends who are on my side.

He tensed. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is it?’

‘I have some new information that I thought you’d want to hear before it ends up on the national news.’

He tensed. ‘Go on.’

‘After an anonymous phone call, the remains of Stefan Avanopoulos, along with several others, were discovered early this morning in a farmhouse not far from London. It appears they died as a result of some kind of unfortunate accident.’

Devereau remained perfectly still. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Somehow, Avanopoulos blew himself up with one of his own bombs. By all accounts it’s very messy and there are no survivors.’

He sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Alina Bonnet?’

‘It does not look like there are any female casualties.’ Greensmith paused. ‘And from what I’ve heard, there’s nothing to be found which might allow either France or Britain to recover the bitcoin they sent mere hours ago.’

‘How very convenient,’ he murmured.

‘Indeed,’ she said drily. ‘The manhunt to find those responsible for all that has occurred would have been unprecedented. Four separate countries were involved. The entire international community would have been searching for those terrorists. Despite their success thus far, they would have been located eventually. Now they’re dead, no-one will be searching. Avanopoulos’s unexpected death has saved everyone a great deal of time, hassle and money.’

‘It was very thoughtful of him to die at this particular moment then. And for someone to phone it in too.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘it’s all very caring. We didn’t recover our money but the bad guys didn’t get away and we can all relax now.’ She sniffed. ‘Go us. It will be publicised as our great success rather than a horrific failure and, because of the optics, nobody will stop to question the dramatic coincidence that Avanopoulos blew himself up mere hours after achieving his goals.’

Devereau chewed on his bottom lip. ‘You know, you are thoughtful and caring too.’

‘I am?’

‘Yep. You kept me out of German hospital last night. You kept my involvement secret from the world at large. And you’re calling me now.’

‘Don’t thank me for that,’ Greensmith said. ‘I understand the same as you,’ she told him bitterly, ‘how it feels to be left out in the cold from your own operation. This is an entirely selfish phone call.’

Devereau smiled to himself. His headache had all but gone. ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

‘I take back what I said before, Mr Webb. You’re more intelligent than I’d realised. Than any of us realised. Trust that furry gut of yours. I strongly suspect your theories about the truth of this entire operation are right.’

He envisioned Alina Bonnet for a moment. ‘We underestimate others only at our own peril.’

‘Then we understand each other, Mr Webb. Good luck.’ And with that she hung up.