As the door closed behind the older Mr Chambers, Nick indicated for Martin and Bill to sit in two armchairs across the room. Goodnight and Nick sat on a small sofa opposite, with Nick’s arm flung across the back of it behind Goodie’s shoulders. Martin noticed Goodie’s hands move to her stomach. He was a fairly hardened agent. Not much surprised him, but the shock of seeing Goodnight cradling a small but very distinct bump in her abdomen caused him to suck in a sharp breath. All eyes flashed to him and he cleared his throat to cover his reaction.
‘Mr Chambers, would it be possible to have a brief word with your wife alone?’ Nick stiffened and moved closer to Goodnight, scowling across at Martin.
‘We have no secrets between us,’ he said, his anger making his words sharp. ‘Anything you have to say to Anya can be said to me.’
‘There may not be secrets between the two of you, Mr Chambers,’ Martin said carefully, ‘but I can assure you there are things that I am not permitted to share with anyone other than those directly involved or those with appropriate security clearance.’
‘If you muppets think you can come into my house in the middle of the night and demand to speak to my pregnant wife without me here, you’re insane. I’ll not have –’
‘Nick-Nack, lyubov moya,’ Goodnight said softly, laying her hand over his leg and smiling up at him. Neither Martin nor Bill had seen Goodnight smile in any of the few research photographs they had of her. They’d known she was beautiful, but until she’d smiled they hadn’t realized quite how dazzling she could truly be. ‘They will not hurt me and they must speak to me.’ Nick gave a quick shake of his head and opened his mouth to speak but Goodnight reached up to put a finger over it to stop him. ‘It will not take long; then they can leave and it will be over. All of it. Finished.’ Nick stared at her for a long moment, then clenched his jaw.
‘Okay,’ he said, giving her hand at his mouth a squeeze and then standing between the sofa and the chairs. ‘I won’t be far though,’ he told the men pointedly. ‘Shout if you need me,’ he said more softly to Goodnight, and then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Both men watched him leave. When they turned back to Goodnight she still seemed perfectly relaxed, but somehow her face had lost all the softness from before, her eyes were cold, expressionless.
‘So, gentlemen,’ she started, her Russian accent filtering a little more thickly through her words. ‘You want to talk … talk.’
Martin cleared his throat again. ‘Right … well …’ He lost concentration for a moment as she stared at him, her head cocked to the side. For some reason he felt a shiver of fear creep down his spine. ‘The last contract you had with the agency was terminated eighteen months ago.’
Goodnight nodded. ‘The protection of Mr Chambers. Although this was not government funded.’
‘No … I …’
‘In fact I have not performed paid work for the British government in many years. Quite frankly your rates are not high enough.’
Martin ran his hands through his hair. ‘No, you haven’t. But, as I understand it, you do have information which could be of a sensitive nature should it be allowed to –’
‘I have never broken confidentiality and I am not about to start now. How would that benefit me?’
‘Well, no. I’m sure it wouldn’t benefit you now, but if in the future there came a time …’
‘Are you asking if I would use the information I have if I needed to? If so then I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you. All I can say is I am not so easy to silence, no? I am no longer in the shadows. I have an identity now – a high-profile one; it is this and not my anonymity that gives me power this time.’ She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You think if I disappeared he would not find me? You think nobody would ask questions?’
‘Mrs Chambers, I’m not suggesting –’
‘My point is,’ she cut him off, her voice back to normal volume, ‘that as far as Legoland is concerned they need to pray that they can keep me happy and reassured, not the other way around.’
The familiar use of the nickname for MI6 headquarters, combined with the implied threat, was enough to make Martin’s face flush red with angry heat. ‘Look,’ he said, further annoyed when she didn’t so much as flinch at his sharp tone, ‘we need to know you’re not active any more. Someone with your skills and contacts could still be a threat to –’
He was cut off by Goodnight’s laughter. The angry colour drained out of his face and he sat back into the sofa as he watched her.
‘A threat?’ she eventually managed to get out when she’d calmed down. ‘You do realize that without this stick I am virtually immobile? That even with it I cannot get up stairs on my own? I have to be carried up them like a baby. Do you know what it is like to have to ask the man you love to carry you up the stairs so you can get to bed? To have to limp down the aisle to marry him? To know that you won’t be able to run with the children he gives you? To know that once you are heavy with his child you may be rendered nearly totally immobile? I am no threat.’ There were tears in her eyes, partly from her laughter but, Martin guessed, not entirely.
‘You’ve recovered from injuries before,’ Bill put in. ‘Eight years ago you had a gunshot wound to you abdomen and shoulder, six years ago you dislocated both shoulders; you broke your right leg ten years ago. I mean, even as a teenager you –’
‘I have no desire to go through my sordid medical history with you.’ Goodnight transferred her icy expression to Bill, who also shrank back into the sofa. ‘Yes, I have recovered before, but the likelihood I will this time is very small. Have you read my hospital reports? My weekly physiotherapy reports?’
‘Yes, yes, we met with Bruce. He said you told him we’d come and to answer all our questions. Chap’s not averse to a bit of lycra is he?’
For the first time since they had been left alone, Goodnight’s lips tipped up slightly. ‘I’m glad you too experienced that particular delight.’ Martin shuddered. Interviewing a bloke in full lycra, with his cock and balls basically on display, in a smelly gym whilst this guy, for reasons known only to himself, was doing lunges was not Martin’s idea of fun. ‘He told you, then,’ Goodnight continued, her smile now dropping and sadness sweeping her features. ‘He won’t say it to my face. He believes in the “power of positive thinking”, so he won’t be honest. But I know he doesn’t think my leg will improve much more.’
Martin looked down at his hands and sighed. The Australian had actually been more pessimistic than even that. He’d said that Goodnight’s improvement had plateaued for now, but that he wouldn’t be surprised if she deteriorated further. ‘So you see, I am not active. I will never be active again.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Martin muttered. Goodnight shrugged.
‘My life is about something different now,’ she said, again cradling the small bump in her abdomen. ‘I have other priorities.’
‘But I don’t think that –’
‘Right,’ Martin said sharply, cutting Bill off and giving him a pointed look. ‘We have taken up enough of your time, Mrs Chambers. Come on Bill.’ Martin gestured to Goodie as he stood. ‘Don’t get up, we can find our own way out.’
‘But Martin,’ Bill hissed, ‘we should –’
‘Bill, it’s time to leave,’ Martin told him through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to hammer any more questions at this woman whose physicality, which had been such an important part of her life, was now stripped away. She was broken. There was no threat here: not any more.
‘Out with it,’ Martin said into the uncomfortable silence as they trudged back to their car from the house after the heavy door had been slammed in their wake. ‘Come on. You’re pissed off. You may as well just tell me.’
‘Why wouldn’t you let me ask any more questions?’ Bill said, his voice low but threaded with anger. ‘I’m the one who did all the research. I know her.’
Martin threw up his hands. ‘What more could we have asked? She’s visibly pregnant, hobbling around at a snail’s pace. Let’s just let her get on with her life.’
Bill stopped by the car and looked back up at the house, narrowing his eyes. ‘I don’t know. Something feels off. Did you see her IQ tests? Her resilience tests? Off the fucking scale.’
‘Let it go for Christ’s sake,’ Martin said. ‘What could she possibly do now?’
*****
Goodie listened to the slow beating of his heart under her ear and his breathing evening out, then lifted her head to prop it up on her hand and watch his face in the moonlight. She traced from his eyebrow down to his strong, stubble-covered jaw with her finger, and smiled. He was so beautiful and he was hers. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth lightly and he didn’t move. He was out. Goodie was not surprised; he’d certainly expended a fair bit of energy before falling into a deep sleep. She smiled again and was tempted to snuggle back into his chest but managed to resist. Turning away from him, she slid off the bed naked, and stood beside it on both feet before padding silently to the bathroom: no limp, no stick.
Once in the vast en suite she shut the door and turned on the light. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and smiled again. Cheeks flushed pink with desire, rounded stomach with his child, long blonde hair falling past her shoulders; she looked content, she looked happy. He’d given her that; he and his family, and Goodie knew how to protect family. After all, she’d been doing it since she was a child. With one last look in the mirror she turned to the laundry basket and pulled out underwear; not the lacy, flimsy kind she tended to wear for Nick, but the kind of industrial sports bra and cotton knickers that could stand up to anything. Next she extracted some tight black trousers, and a black polo-neck jumper, which she pulled down over her bump. Once dressed, she pulled on her hard-wearing leather boots and secured her long hair in a bun before covering it completely with a black beanie hat. She opened her make up bag and started to cover her face in black camo paint. Soon the clear blue and white of her eyes was the only thing breaking up the unrelenting darkness. She smiled and her teeth stood out stark white against the dark background. She moved her hands to her stomach again.
‘Time to learn how Mummy protects her family, little one,’ she whispered in Russian, before grabbing her black leather gloves and pulling them on. She opened the door silently and moved to the window, where she stood looking down at her watch. The minute it hit two a.m. she slid up the pane and then threw a leg over into the night.
She perched on the stone windowsill, took one last look back at Nick, then turned and dropped gracefully until she was holding on to the sill with only her fingers supporting her weight. Swinging her body like a pendulum, she managed to gain enough momentum to reach the drainpipe at the side of the building. She flew through the air, caught hold of it, and slid down it. Once on the ground she flexed her neck to the side and shook out her arms. Salem was sitting waiting for her on the grass. She tousled the fur on his head briefly, then silently, gracefully, and with no hint of an uneven gait, she ran, Salem running beside her.
Goodie herself may have come out of the shadows, her life may be out in the open, but the image she presented was what she wanted it to be: weak, defenceless, and, above all, not a threat. It had made leaving behind the life she’d lived easier; even those idiots from Legoland didn’t question her for long. They saw a washed-up, broken woman; they felt pity. To some that would have been annoying, frustrating even – but not to Goodie. She had never cared about what people thought of her; to her, the only thing that mattered was having the power to protect what was important to you. That streak of fierce loyalty had always been one of the most prominent traits of her personality; and now, with the safety of her family in question, she was not going to fuck around.
The tears she had had in her eyes for the agents when she talked about limping down the aisle at her wedding, about being carried up the stairs, had been genuine. The pretence did make her sad, but it was necessary, and Goodie was patient. Really fucking patient. Keeping things from Nick was difficult, but he would not understand what she was doing and he would stop her. Also she sensed that, for a while at least, he needed to take care of her; he wanted to carry her up the stairs. Yes, he would be pleased when in a few years she slowly recovered her function, but for now he was happy with her depending on him to some extent, and she was happy to give him that.
How had she done it? Bruce the physio had not always been a physio. When Goodie was out in Iraq on a private contract she’d been deployed with his unit of the marines; and she saved his life. He owed her and she called in that debt as soon as she flew into the UK. They worked together in the gym and the pool Nick had built for her. They were both underground and there was a lock on the gym and pool door. Nick had once asked why he couldn’t watch and help her train. She’d told him she didn’t want him to see her like that: weak and struggling. When he pressed the issue she’d only had to let her face fall once and give a half sniff before he gave in. He never asked again.
Her other partner in crime was Arabella. People always underestimate children. Goodie did not. She went to the woods with Arabella and Salem everyday. Under the cover of the trees she carried on training, running, lifting logs and branches. Even lifting Arabella, much to her amusement. Goodie had told Bels that she needed to be strong to protect the family, that there was one more thing she needed to do and that nobody could know she was better. Arabella didn’t breathe a word; she loved her family, she wanted them protected, and she trusted Goodie.
After two miles in the woods Goodie and Salem came out into a field, then continued with care so as not to be visible from the road. As the house they were aiming for came into view they crouched in the undergrowth and waited. It took twenty minutes but eventually a guard walked past. Goodie lifted a hand, palm down then lowered it, and Salem dropped to lie on the ground. Then she moved out into the open, padded over behind the guard. When she was close enough she uncapped the needle at the end of the syringe she had between her teeth and stabbed it into the side of the guard’s thick neck. He grunted, clutched at his neck and whipped around, but she was too quick, staying out of his line of vision. After a moment he stumbled, and then with a long groan he fell the floor.
Goodie watched him for a few seconds until she heard him give out a loud snore. She turned to Salem who had raised his head with his ears pricked forward. Lifting both hands palm down this time, she lowered them and Salem’s head dropped back to his paws. Goodie nodded towards the man lying in the grass and Salem turned his head to watch him. She looked up at the large, imposing mansion and the scaffolding erected along the side wall, and she smiled.
*****
Dmitry felt the weight settle on his stomach and smiled in his sleep. He loved the frisky ones. He blinked open his eyes and tried to focus on the dark figure looming over him, but the room was pitch black. As he swam up to full consciousness he frowned: he couldn’t remember bringing a woman home with him last night, and anyway he wasn’t in London. He hardly ever took women back to the country house. It was then that he felt something cover his mouth which sealed his lips together with implacable force. Panicking now, he grunted and reached up to pull the tape off, but felt the cold metal against his neck.
‘You should have done as I asked, Alexandrov,’ a woman’s voice whispered into his ear, and he froze in terror. ‘You notice I speak to you in English. This is because we, both of us, live here now. When you live somewhere you abide to their laws, their customs.’ She paused for a moment, then continued in Russian. ‘But you didn’t do that, did you, Dmitry? You stuck to the old ways, and you hired someone from the old country to do your dirty work. I made the exception for him and I will make it for you too. I’m happy to revert back to how things were if that’s how you want it: happy to do things in the old way. Do you know how I earned my name?’ The Russian nodded carefully against the knife. She leaned forward over him until he could feel her breath on his cheek before she whispered in his ear: ‘Spokoynoy nochi zhopa.’*
* Spokoynoy nochi zhopa – Goodnight, asshole
