The Society by Karen Guyler (feel good fiction books .txt) 📗

caught up in this, she’s only eleven, she doesn’t deserve that.”

“The sins of the fathers.”

A sudden surge of fury stained Eva’s worry about Lily. Whatever Charles had done would not get her daughter hurt, she wouldn’t let it. Maybe that flash of anger was what he was waiting for. The bodyguard produced a pen out of an inside pocket in his suit jacket and tore a strip from the paper detailing the ward’s daily menu choices. He searched for something on his phone and wrote it down.

“This is how you get in touch with The Society.”

Eva looked at the long string of letters and numbers suffixed by .onion. Was this a wind up?

“It won’t connect, it’ll redirect you but if you follow their breadcrumb trail, you’ll reach them.”

“Thank you.”

She reached for the door handle when he stopped her again.

“A word of warning, before you use that,” he gestured at the note in her hand, “be sure you want to come to their attention.”

42

“You sure this isn’t a wind up?” Iago asked exactly what Eva had thought as he frowned at the copy of The Society’s contact details she handed him.

“Apparently not.”

“And these are the guys Oblov’s bodyguard said are after his boss?”

“Something like that.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, it was probably the same poison, something that elaborate wasn’t an easy over the counter purchase.

Iago typed in the URL, hit return. Error flashing in the middle of the screen wasn’t what she’d hoped to see.

“He said it wouldn’t go straight through to them, that it would redirect.” They watched the unchanging message. “What about a general search for The Society, would that work?”

“It might, but I’m not risking this system on a trawl through the dark web. I’ll pass it to our tech team, they’ve got protocols, stand-alone systems for stuff that looks dodgy.”

But she couldn’t wait that long, one minute more was too long. She had one other option, but was it going too far?

“Where’s my doughnuts?”

“Where’s the closest place to get some?”

“You forgot.”

Eva nodded. “I forgot, the whole poisoning thing was distracting.”

“There’s a Sainsburys not far, a wicked bakery the street over, though the good stuff’ll be gone by now.”

“You had lunch?”

 He grinned. “Can always eat another lunch. Food’s my language of choice.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Nora popped her head round the door before Eva had finished her baguette.

“It’s going well then if he’s had you on a doughnut run already.”

“I’m not sharing.” Iago reached for the bakery bag.

“I’m not asking, I’ve got a raw cashew nut bar in my desk calling to me louder than your sugar addiction.” Nora checked her fitness tracker on her wrist. “And definitely not today.” She gestured at Iago’s kingdom. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

Eva nodded. “Things have changed a lot since I was here, well, there,” she waved a hand as though pointing at where she’d worked in Vauxhall Cross, MI6’s public headquarters, the Legoland building, as it had become known. “But one thing’s the same in the work, one step forwards, two back. Walk with me to the kitchen?”

“Coffee, since you’re going.” Iago said.

“You’re not tied to that chair.” Nora followed Eva out of the surveillance room. “What’s up?”

As perceptive as ever. “What’s the process to get an unlocker?”

“QM Provisions, same process for everything, has to be signed off by a signatory once they’ve reviewed the case, then you just sign it out, sign it back in. What’re you thinking?”

Eva filled Nora in on the morning’s events at the hospital.

“A two-part poison? Our opposition keeps getting smarter.”

“I’m thinking that while the Oblov’s bodyguard is otherwise occupied, I could take a look around to see if I can figure out how they were poisoned.”

“Breaking and entering’s still not policy.”

“It’s only breaking and entering if you’re breaking something. With an unlocker it’s just like having a key. I recognised it, the smell on them both, I’ve smelt it before, when I said goodbye to Eric.”

Nora sighed. “You’ve got to do it then, haven’t you?”

Eva walked up the street, which the Oblovs now called home. Londoners had nicknamed this area Red Square, nothing to do with the architecture but everything to do with the fact that the extortionately expensive houses were only affordable to oligarch level bank balances. Most of the Russian ex-pats would have bought their way in waving the twentieth-century equivalent of suitcases of money that the UK had been happy to stash under the bed of the banking system, no questions asked.

She rang the doorbell at the electric gates of the Oblovs’ mansion, probably one of the most impressive in the row, eight zeroes worth, maybe nine these days. Eva’s first press of the buzzer on the pillar beside the electric gates wasn’t answered. Another one, to make sure. She stared up at the tall gates, getting over those would be—

“Hello.” Someone home, helpful.

Eva summoned up her rusty Russian, “I’m a friend of—”

“I don’t speak that.” The woman cut her off.

Eva tried her best I’m a Russian speaking English accent. “Kathy is my friend, I need to get clothes for her at the hospital.”

“Mrs Oblov has died.”

She already knew? Eva wailed, a caterwauling perfectly pitched to draw attention. She grabbed hold of the gate bars as though they were the only things holding her up, shouting her distress louder still toward the neighbours, shouting over the woman’s reasoning on the intercom.

She couldn’t yell loud enough for anyone to hear past all the shrubbery and locked-up frontages, but she was attracting awkward should we do anything about the mad woman glances from the few passers-by. She swung herself from side to side on the gate, making sure all the cameras watching her got a noticeable performance.

It popped open. Eva rushed inside, up the driveway to the huge front door at which a middle-aged lady stood.

“Poor Kathy,” Eva wailed, “I can’t believe it, I spoke to her yesterday. But Aleksandr?”

“He’s in hospital, he’ll be coming home. Viktor is with him.”

Eva nodded. “Good. I can collect clothes for Aleksandr? I