The B-Team (Benson Security)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rachel Ford-Talbot wasn’t in the mood to play nice. Her phone and favorite handbag had been confiscated by the duty officer and were probably being pawed over while she waited in a nondescript room for a pompous little man to get over his ego and deal with her.

To make matters worse, she was afraid contractions actually had begun, although she was praying they were purely a false alarm. She glared down at her belly. This was not how she wanted to start this relationship. She’d booked the birthing suite at the hospital the royals used, scheduled a cesarean, and chosen the date the baby would arrive. The birth had been planned around her very busy schedule as CEO of one of Europe’s largest companies and silent partner in Benson Security. She used the term silent loosely. The team, she found, was in desperate need of her input on regular occasions.

“Are you okay?” Rachel’s lawyer glanced at her baby bump before focusing on Rachel’s face. Some people didn’t make it past the bump.

“Of course I’m not okay.”

Rachel tossed her long dark hair over the shoulder of her blood-red blouse. It had been custom-made by a couture house in London’s Mayfair district. The matching black pants were Prada, again, custom-designed to fit her blossoming frame. She was dressed as she always was, in her armor of designer brands, but she still felt naked without her phone. It made her a little tetchy.

“What I mean is,” Ms. Patel said, unfazed by Rachel’s attitude, “are you about to give birth?”

“Not right now.” Rachel hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable. It was not a state she was familiar with, neither was it one she enjoyed. “To be frank, I’m not sure what’s happening. I didn’t read up on giving birth. I just scheduled a C-section and called it done. My hospital appointment isn’t for another two weeks.”

Her lawyer arched an elegant eyebrow. “You do realize that isn’t how babies work, don’t you?”

Rachel lifted her chin. “It’s how this baby is going to work.”

Before the lawyer could say anything else, the interview room door opened, and DI Singh strode in, accompanied by another officer Rachel didn’t recognize. Not that she recognized many. There was no need.

“Ms. Ford-Talbot, Ms. Patel.” The DI took a seat on the opposite side of the table. The young man accompanying her sat beside her and took out a notebook. “Thank you for waiting. This is Detective Constable McManus; he’ll be taking notes today.”

Rachel didn’t bother acknowledging the man. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at the DI. “I’m assuming your boss was too afraid to speak with me.”

DC McManus broke out into a cough and snatched up the glass of water in front of him.

“Commander Fitzwater,” DI Singh said evenly, “is a very busy man. Which means he runs to his schedule, not the schedule of detainees brought in for questioning.”

Ms. Patel shifted in her seat, a ghost of a smile playing around her lips. “Would you like to start the recording and then say that again? That way, he can watch it later.”

DI Singh’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned into the microphone. “Interview started at ten twenty a.m.; present are DI Singh…” She nodded at the others, who said their names for the tape.

“So,” Rachel repeated, goading her. “Your commander’s too afraid to do this himself?”

DI Singh seemed to enjoy the challenge. “Commander Fitzwater is a very important and busy man. He doesn’t take instructions from detainees. He has his own schedule to maintain.”

For some reason, Rachel wanted to reach across the table and pat the woman on the head. Elle was right. Hormones were making her soft. She twisted in her chair, trying to get comfortable as pain throbbed in her lower back.

She turned to her lawyer. “Contractions. Do they happen in the front or the back? I have pain in my back.”

“I don’t have any children.” Ms. Patel looked pained.

The young constable cleared his throat. “It can be both, ma’am. My wife and I have three kids.”

“Really?” Rachel must be getting old because she could have sworn he was still a teenager.

The man mistook her meaning and nodded. “The main thing is to pay attention to how often you have the pains and how regular they are.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said because it seemed appropriate, and although most people thought otherwise, she did have manners.

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” DI Singh asked.

“Not right now.” Rachel sounded much more certain than she felt.

The DI’s face softened. “We could have our nurse examine you if that would help?”

“Dear Coco Chanel, no!” Rachel was horrified. “Who knows what the woman has contracted from the criminals she deals with every day.” There was a pause where her lawyer seemed amused and the officers offended. “Thank you, though,” Rachel added. This being polite thing was starting to grate.

“Could we get down to it?” Ms. Patel said into the ensuing silence. “What crimes exactly are you investigating in regard to my client?”

The inspector gestured to her constable.

He cleared his throat and read from a piece of paper in front of him: “Aiding and abetting cybercrimes—including unlawful collection of information. Inciting domestic terrorism, dangerous driving, threatening behavior, financing criminal enterprise, harboring wanted persons, and threatening a police officer.”

“Is that all?” Rachel asked when he was done.

DI Singh pinched the bridge of her nose before speaking. “Ms. Ford-Talbot, these charges carry long-term prison sentences. I suggest you take your situation seriously.”

Rachel rubbed the spot in her lower back that throbbed, her attention still firmly on the Detective Inspector. “We both know this is preposterous. These are trumped-up accusations by a petty little man whose ego was hurt by Lake Benson many moons ago. All this”—she waved a hand to indicate the whole process—“will do is waste everyone’s time and make several important people very irritated.”

DI Singh sighed. “We have a witness who says you threatened to chemically castrate him, using a drug your pharmaceutical company developed, to get him to give you information. That’s assault.”

Now Rachel was just getting irritated. “You’re talking about Stephan Prentice. The man who kidnapped Ryan and his wife before dumping them underground. I doubt his testimony would carry much weight with anyone other than Fitzwater.”

“You threatened, and I quote”—DI Singh consulted her notes—“‘testicular atrophy’ if you injected him.”

DC McManus made a whining sound before turning beet red.

Rachel couldn’t help but smile. “First, there is no such drug. Second, my company doesn’t manufacture any chemical castration drugs. And third, the man knew where my colleague was being held, and time was running out. I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t even raise my voice. I simply put an idea into his tiny mind and waited for it to cause a reaction.”

“You took matters into your own hands,” DI Singh said. “You should have brought the matter, and the man, to the police.”

An icy calm washed over Rachel as she leaned on the table in front of her. “You mean the same police who were working with the James Syndicate and almost got two of my security specialists killed? Why on earth would I trust any of you after that?”

“Tessa Sharp doesn’t represent all of us,” DI Singh said.

“No. But her successor doesn’t exactly instill confidence either.” Rachel sat back in her seat. Her back was aching now, and she desperately needed a massage. She made a mental note to find out whether the birthing suite at St. Mary’s provided a massage service or if she’d have to bring in her own masseuse.

There was another sharp pain low in her back. “Would you mind terribly contacting my husband and telling him that his offspring is ruining my well-thought-out plans for its arrival?” she asked DI Singh.

For a second, she looked slightly panicked before turning to the constable. “Please ensure that Mr. Michael Carter is informed of the situation.”

“Also,” Rachel said, “Michael primarily works for TayFor and rarely with Benson Security these days. I would appreciate it if you could postpone his questioning until after the baby arrives. If I’m going to be in pain, I’d like very much for him to be there to share it.” She’d bloody well hook him up to a TENS machine and see how his muscles coped with contractions.

“Mr. Carter is barely a part-time contractor with Benson Security,” Ms. Patel added. “He is, however, a former CIA operative who is still in good standing with his government. I’m sure that the lawyer I assigned to represent him will have already put in a call to the American Embassy. I believe Mr. Carter is a personal friend of the ambassador.”

DI Singh sighed. “Is there anybody in your organization who doesn’t have friends in high places?”

“Megan,” Rachel said immediately. “She has plenty of friends in low places though. She’s also barely house-trained. You might want to tell your officers to be careful of her teeth.”

“Do you have any other evidence of illegal behavior?” Ms. Patel asked.

The DI consulted her notes again. “We know that Ms. Ford-Talbot often pays for hotels for the Benson Security team. Once or twice, those hotels were booked while the police were interested in talking to some of her colleagues in relation to other crimes. Essentially, you were harboring criminals and impeding investigations. Do you have anything to say to that?” she asked Rachel.

“Yes. I don’t have colleagues. I have staff.”

“Do you deny you hid your team when the police were eager to question them?”

“I deny having any knowledge of the police wanting to question anyone. As far as I’m concerned, Benson Security has always been the company the police turn to when they need help. Also, any information we uncover that may help an investigation is promptly turned over to the police. I do believe we handed over enough evidence to close down the James Syndicate for good. And then there was that terrorist group we detained—for the police—in Scotland. Not to mention the human traffickers we gift wrapped for you when the London office first opened.” She spread her hands. “It would seem that, if we’re keeping score, the police are far more indebted to Benson Security than we are to them. After all, you were the ones working in league with the James Gang.” She rubbed her back again, and her lawyer sat forward.

“It’s clear that Ms. Ford-Talbot’s pain is increasing. I suggest we postpone the rest of this interview so we can get her to the hospital—with her husband,” she added pointedly. “Also, from what you’ve given us today, I suggest you take the time to get your facts in order before questioning her again. Your so-called evidence is flimsy at best.”

“We still have several questions,” DI Singh said. “Especially concerning illegal hacking and dangerous driving.”

“I don’t hack, and my driving has never caused me any problems,” Rachel said.

Her lawyer shot her a pointed look, signaling that it was time for her to stop talking. “I’m sure Benson Security’s computer specialist is better placed to answer any hacking-related questions you may have. And as Ms. Ford-Talbot is up to date with paying any speeding tickets, I’m not sure what else there is to discuss here. Are we free to go?”

Rachel almost felt sorry for the detective; then she remembered that the woman hadn’t stood up to her delusional boss and, therefore, didn’t deserve her sympathy. If someone had taken action to stop Fitzwater’s vindictive pursuit, Rachel wouldn’t be sitting in a room that had housed thousands of unwashed criminals before her.

Which reminded her. “Please tell me this room is cleaned thoroughly every day. I will sue if the baby contracts a bacterial infection from my having been in there. You do employ cleaners, don’t you?”

“May we go?” Ms. Patel asked drolly. “Unless you’re ready to charge my client?”

DI Singh leaned into the microphone. “Interview suspended at 11.30 a.m. You can go, but please don’t leave the city. We will need to question you further.”

As soon as the cameras and sound recording stopped, she signaled to her DC to leave the room. Once he was out of hearing, she leaned in to speak to Rachel’s lawyer. “Does your uncle still work for the Met?”

Ms. Patel nodded.

“You might want to give him a call,” the DI said.

“What about the terrorism investigation?” Ms. Patel asked. “With that on the table, you can hold Rachel and her husband for up to fourteen days.” She glanced toward the open door. “How serious are you about that aspect of the investigation?”

“The commander is very serious about all aspects of this investigation. But as he hasn’t instructed me to detain Ms. Ford-Talbot on terrorism charges, she’s free to go. And I’d be quick about it if I were you.” With that, DI Singh gathered her things and left the room.

“So, she does realize her boss has crossed the line into fairyland?” Rachel said as they followed the DI out into the corridor.

“It would be hard to miss,” Patel agreed.

But Rachel had already moved on from DI Singh to much more important matters. “Can I please get my phone back now?”

“Yes.” Ms. Patel sighed. “Tell me, honestly, are you really having contractions?”

“Would I lie about something like that?” Rachel stalked past the lawyer as best she could with a belly her size.

Behind her, she heard Ms. Patel mutter, “In a heartbeat.”