Chapter 16
All Gordon Pryce ever wanted was to lead a quiet life.
He was a reader and, as such, took more pleasure in the stories he consumed than in any real-life interactions.
Every morning he’d have a breakfast of toast and a soft-boiled egg, take the Tube to the office, spend the day with his eyes glued to his computer screen, then return home with a takeout meal he would eat while reading another book.
The perfect life.
Or it would have been if not for the one mistake he’d made years ago that had turned his world upside down.
He was not a particularly attractive man and had little luck with the opposite sex. He’d eventually come to terms with the fact that a romantic relationship was not in the cards for him.
And then he met Rachel.
He’d seen her several times at his favorite coffee shop on Saturday mornings, where he would enjoy a cappuccino and his latest book. She would already be there, working on a laptop, oblivious to the movements around her.
Then one day, she arrived after he had. She took a seat at the table next to his and drank her drink.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
That simple question had been his downfall.
He told her about the book, and she told him that she was a writer, working on her first novel. He was instantly intrigued.
Over the following months, they became “friends”; eventually, she had asked him to have dinner at her flat.
The last thing he remembered from that night was sitting on her sofa and taking a sip of wine. Then he was waking up in his own bed at home, all alone.
He was still trying to figure out what had happened when he received the first of many visits from Leonid Bronsky.
At that initial meeting, Bronsky had given Pryce a packet filled with glossy photographs. Each featured Pryce with a frightened-looking woman. She was naked, tied to a bed, and—according to Bronsky—was underage.
The pictures would have ruined not only Pryce’s career, but also his perfect, quiet routine.
“Or you could become a double agent for me,” Bronsky had told him.
Pryce really hadn’t had a choice.
He thought he’d finally escaped that hell several years ago, when Bronsky had suddenly been recalled to Russia.
Pryce’s life had gone back to normal, and he had even begun to think Bronsky had forgotten about him.
It turned out, that had been too much to hope for.
When the Russian finally called him again, all the anxiety Pryce had felt when he’d first met the spymaster returned like a sledgehammer to the gut.
As much as he’d wanted to hang up right away, he quietly accepted the task of verifying Dame Felicity’s death, in the hopes that Bronsky would forget soon about him once more.
Unfortunately, confirming her death was not as easy as it sounded. And the best answer he was able to come up with was “maybe.”
He was contemplating how he was going to tell Bronsky this, when his phone began ringing. It was from a blocked number.
Too scared to answer, he let it go to voicemail.
A few seconds later, his mobile rang again, the same message on the screen.
Pryce took a deep breath and answered, “Hello?”
“Gordon,” Bronsky said. “I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”
“Of course not. I-I was, um, in the loo.”
“Ah, then my apologies for disturbing you.”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you have an answer for me?”
“Nothing definitive, I’m afraid.”
“That is very disappointing.”
“I did find out that her funeral will be held on Saturday,” Pryce said, hoping it would be enough to placate Bronsky.
“Is that right? Interesting.” The line went quiet for a moment. Then the Russian said, “I want you to be there.”
Pryce brow knitted in surprise. “What?”
“I want you to attend Dame Felicity’s funeral.”
“Oh, um, I-I think…I think it’s private.”
“Then get invited.”
“I’m not sure I would—”
“Or I could send the media those lovely pictures of you.”
“No!” Pryce shouted. “I mean, please don’t do that. I’ll…I’ll figure it out.”
“I knew you would,” Bronsky said and hung up.
Pryce lowered his phone and stared out his living room window. Outside, it had started raining.
He considered stepping into the street, in hopes of being hit by lightning, but decided against it.
He would never be that lucky.