CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX #2
I glared at Jorgen for a moment. If this man was a spy, he was a really fucking bad one. I mean, for a start, who would choose a name as memorable as Hugh Jorgen?
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Hugh!” I warned.
“I suggest you get your ten thousand Euros and take a short holiday!” Jorgen was trembling with fear and I felt a little shitty for making him scared.
“Now, close your eyes and count to five hundred before you leave the bathroom.” I gave him a light slap on the cheek, the way I’d seen so many macho men do in Mafia movies, and then I unlocked the cubicle door, closed it, and got the hell out of there.
For all the high-spec security measures for delegates, the security for staff was a joke.
Getting out of the conference centre was as easy as getting in.
There was no badge terminal on the inner door of the staff door, just a big red button that would release the door lock.
I stepped through and headed across the foyer for the main exit.
The rush of adrenaline at completing my mission was heady.
I got the information I needed and hadn’t broken a sweat. Nate was going to be so impressed.
It was then I noticed an androgynous man with dark long hair, his surprisingly beautiful sapphire gaze fixed firmly on me.
He was wearing a cream linen summer suit and leaning against a pillar in the entrance foyer.
I pretended that I hadn’t noticed him as nonchalantly, I passed through the double doors and out onto the sun drenched square full of tourists.
It was a glorious day, so instead of going back to the hotel I decided to take a walk down Simsonweg and into the Holocaust Memorial Gardens to mull over what I’d learned.
Jorgen said he was approached at an event at the Berlin Institute of Technology.
Start-ups are always in need of investment, and events like that invite the rich and well-connected.
Erik Thorne’s a billionaire who, according to Nate, has a wide investment portfolio.
Who was the American who’d offered Jorgen ten grand to pass the chips onto Nate?
Could it be that Nate’s husband was doing something shady to void their pre-nup?
That sounded far-fetched, even for me! There were lots of men who fit the same description of being a handsome older American man with silver hair and a short beard.
I strolled down the pathways of the peaceful memorial garden.
A covert look behind told me, to my surprise, the pretty man from earlier was there.
He must have recognized me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been followed by a fan.
But, I couldn’t be distracted by him. I sat on a bench to check my phone and see if Nate had left any messages.
Where the hell was he and what was he doing?
The pretty man sauntered up and sat on the far end of the bench.
Without even waiting a beat to pretend he hadn’t had his eyes on me, he said, “Berlin is so lovely this time of year,” in an accent about as British as you could get!
“Sorry mate, I’m on holiday…really not in the mood to do autographs and selfies,” I grumbled.
“HA! Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Boyd,” the stranger chuckled.
He slid along the bench and offered his slender hand.
“Alexander Deveraux, MI6.” I didn’t take his hand.
I looked the man up and down. He had an angular face, razor sharp cheekbones and impecably shaped brows.
His build was slender, and wiry. His pretty sapphire blue eyes were unreadable and, honestly, I didn’t know what to make of him.
“Sure mate! I didn’t ride in on the last dick!
If you’re MI6 I’m a chocolate teapot. Let me see your ID,” I insisted.
The man smiled provocatively as he eased his hand into the inner jacket pocket of his linen summer suit and pulled out an ID card.
He passed it to me. Sure enough, it said his name was Alexander Deveraux and that he was an MI6 active field agent with a level six clearance. Was that high? I didn’t have a clue.
“Did you print this out yourself or buy it on ? I’ve got a better one I used for cosplay last Halloween,” I scoffed as I passed the card back.
“It’s real alright, as am I,” he assured.
“Look Jack, much as I’d like to share catty barbs, we don’t have time.
I understand from a colleague across the pond that you and your…
friend Nate Linden encountered a bit of trouble here in Berlin.
It was suggested that we have a private chat and find a way to help you move forward. What do you think?”
So much for me and my pathetic attempt at a covert operation! How did the British and American secret service know that Nate and I were in trouble?
“Do I have a choice?” I asked dryly.
“You always have a choice, Jack,” Deveraux said, “Make sure you make the wise choice.” Then he stood and sauntered out of the memorial park.
I didn’t know what to do. This man was a fucking secret service agent and he wanted me to go for a private chat!
I was really worried about Nate now. His phone was dead and I had no idea where he was.
What if those men from the ship hotel had found him?
What if he was tied up in the boot of a car?
If I was going to believe Deveraux and go with him, someone needed to be aware of my location and predicament. I swiftly sent a text message.
Luce, this is not a drill! I’ve been asked to accompany an MI6 agent named Alexander Deveraux for a ‘chat’.
I don’t know where he’s taking me. If you don’t hear from me, contact the British Embassy or the Foreign office or someone…
and tell Roz…Nate left the hotel alone a few hours ago and I don’t know where he is.
The message sent, I rose and followed the man who said he was from the British Secret Intelligence Service.
An SUV with diplomatic plates was waiting at the curb outside the park, and as if he already knew I’d give in to my curiosity, Deveraux stood beside the open rear door.
I slid into the back seat and the door was closed.
Agent Deveraux took the passenger seat in the front.
Central locking clicked, securing all doors.
“You know where to go, Marc,” the agent directed. The driver nodded and eased around the corner and into the flow of traffic.
“I’ll need your phone, Jack…security reasons,” Agent D said eyeing me in the rear-view mirror.
I pouted, he glared. “Hand it over!” he said again brooking no argument.
I was relieved I’d had the forethought to send a message to Lucy.
Reluctantly, I passed the phone to Agent D who switched it off and placed it into a Faraday bag.
Then he put the bag into the glove compartment.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we sped past a huge billboard with my movie poster on it.
“That, my dear, is need to know!” Agent Deveraux said, his mouth twitching into a smirk. So much for the glamour of being a movie star! At that moment, I despised seeing my massive grinning face looking down at me.
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