Tango Two smiles back, still confused, but counting the rooms and working out the length of the corridor, noting the surface of the floor and how it echoes from the sound of Safa’s boots, but not from her bare feet. She follows Safa down to the next set of doors, feeling that weird conflicting sense of threat while the voice inside tells her there is no threat.
A big room. A long table at one end. Cups, plates, cutlery and things to use as weapons. Her eyes sweep round, taking in the rough-hewn tables and chairs. This is where they eat. A training area on one side. Almost like a dojo, with soft mats on the floor. Boxing gloves, head guards, rubberised bats and sticks against the wall. Safa said they train for combat in the main room. Tango Two spots Ben Ryder and Harry Madden standing with the doctor at a table stacked high with money. US dollars. Lots of US dollars, used banknotes too, judging by the tang of grease hanging in the air. Safa just said smurfs. Smurfs are used to deposit illicit funds. They took a smurf out yesterday and backtracked to the main stash.
Why do that? Why steal money? Is this a criminal operation? Terrorists? Fanatics? Government organisation? No government agency would use something as important as a time machine to disrupt a shitty money-laundering operation. It could be a terrorist organisation. Terrorists need money, but then criminals are easier to exploit than fanatics. The profiles of Safa, Ben and Harry don’t fit anything illegal or immoral. All three stand for decency, honesty and courage. But then greed and power can change anyone.
With luck, this will be a bog-standard organised crime syndicate. She’ll put the charm on Ben or Harry first chance she gets. If that fails, she’ll go for the doctor. The thought repulses her. Ben and Harry are both physically attractive. The doctor isn’t, but then men are men, and Alpha said she must do whatever it takes. Tango Two has no idea why Mother ordered her to be killed, but if she can bust this operation, maybe she can erase whatever hostility against her has formed.
‘Look at you, still being a spy,’ Safa laughs. Tango Two immediately drops her eyes.
‘Good morning,’ Ben says, turning from the table at hearing Safa. ‘How you feeling?’
‘Er, fine, thank you,’ Tango Two says. She keeps her voice low and timid, and offers a glance up to Ben then across to Harry, playing on the stereotypes of big strong men needing to protect a vulnerable woman.
‘Hello, miss,’ Harry says, offering her a friendly nod.
‘Hello,’ she replies. She blinks several times. Emphasising her nerves, while knowing that fluttering, feminine eyelashes sends a subconscious signal to heterosexual men. She widens her eyes at the last second. Like a doe. Meek and bashful. Tiny variances of her body language that start planting seeds.
‘We stole loads of money from bad guys,’ Ben says, pointing at the huge pile of money.
She nods, then lifts her head to peer over and to show the slenderness of her neck. She adopts an air of being impressed. Men like to be heroes. They seek validation of their exploits and derring-do. ‘Wow, that’s a lot of money.’
‘Want a coffee?’
Tango Two feels a fresh jolt of surprise at realising Safa is at the main table and not immediately next to her. She has been left with space around her. She checks hips, seeing no pistols worn. ‘Er, yes. Yes, please,’ she says, flicking her gaze constantly to the three men at the table holding the money.
‘Poor Maurice,’ Ben says with a laugh. ‘Safa had this guy in an alleyway, Lucas . . . Little guy . . . She was asking him politely where the smurf house was when Maurice tried to intervene.’
‘I wasn’t polite.’
‘Huge,’ Ben says to Tango Two. ‘Maurice, I mean. Almost as big as Harry.’
‘Aye, big lad,’ Harry says.
‘Oh,’ Tango Two says in a tone suitable to show genuine interest while conveying a sense of worry at the topic of the conversation. This is good. They are relaxed and laughing. Not a hint of aggression or sullenness. Not a foul look from any of them.
‘So you okay then?’ Ben asks, softening his voice. ‘You look bruised. You sore?’
‘Oh, yes, I am a little,’ she replies, touching the bruises on her face while offering a brave smile. ‘I’m fine though, really.’ Hurt, but brave. Vulnerable, but trying not to show her fear. Protect me. Help me. I am feminine. You are masculine.
‘You got me a cracker in the back of my head,’ Ben says, rubbing it with a wince. ‘Still bloody sore.’
‘I am so very sorry,’ she says earnestly. ‘I was following the orders given . . . Truly, I did not know who you were . . .’
‘Ah, it’s fine,’ Ben says, sensing her discomfort. ‘Safa got you a few times, by the looks of it.’
‘Yes. Yes, she did,’ Tango Two says. She clocks the glances between Ben and Safa, and immediately detects the chemistry between them. She responds instantly by switching her gaze to Harry. ‘Were you hurt, sir?’
‘Ach, it’s Harry, miss,’ Harry says. His voice is so deep. So masculine. I am feminine. Protect me.
‘Harry, thank you,’ she says softly. ‘You look bruised.’
‘Had worse, miss.’
He speaks simply and honestly, without a shred of boasting.
‘I’d say between ten and fifteen million dollars,’ Doctor Watson says after a thorough medical examination of the pile of money, which consisted of counting one wad then multiplying it by lots.
‘No way?’ Safa says from the table. ‘Fuck me, Roland would have a fit.’
‘Miri’s not Roland, that’s for sure,’ Ben says, looking back at the money.
‘Say that again,’ Safa says.
‘Miri’s not Roland, that’s for sure,’ Ben says, grinning at Safa tutting and calling him a twat.
Miri is not Roland. Roland was in charge. Miri is now in charge. Tango Two wishes Roland was still in charge. It’s far easier to manipulate a man than a woman. There has been a recent change in leadership. Good. Easier to exploit.
‘Right,’ Safa says, walking over with two mugs, ‘that’s yours . . . but actually they’re both black with no sugar, so it doesn’t matter, but fuck it, have that one anyway.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t throw it in anyone’s face,’ Safa says.
‘Okay.’
‘And stop trying to honey-trap Ben and Harry.’
‘Pardon?’ Tango Two balks at the suggestion, staring wide-eyed in innocent response, then immediately worries she overplayed it.
‘We’ll go outside,’ Safa says, offering a grimace at the money. ‘That stinks. Do you want breakfast now or you okay for a minute?’
‘Money always does smell,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘Handled by so many people.’
‘I, er, I can wait . . . sure,’ Tango Two says quietly.
‘You coming out?’ Safa asks Ben and Harry.
‘Aye, I’ll have a smoke,’ Harry says.
‘Yeah, I’ll come out,’ Ben adds.
Safa takes the lead. She is Safa. She always takes the lead. She goes through the doors into a second corridor, holding it open again for Tango Two, who in turn holds it open for Ben Ryder behind her. The surrealness of it hits again. She is holding a door open for Ben Ryder.
‘Thanks,’ he says, smiling nicely. She smiles back. Coy and shy. A quick flutter of lashes as she looks down and away.
They walk through with Safa giving a running commentary. ‘That’s Malc and Kon’s rooms, which we’re leaving as they are UNTIL WE GO AND GET THEM . . .’