Trust No One. Alex Walters

buying a printing franchise, for Christ’s sake.’

      ‘So you say. It’s just that we’ve got an interest in that business of yours. It has a bit of history.’

      She felt a sudden unease. The print franchise was an established business, used by a previous officer operating in the same area. She’d queried whether this was good practice, whether there was any risk that her predecessor had been compromised. She’d been told that, on the contrary, it made life easier. Simpler to take over an established business than to build one from scratch. And, far from being compromised, her predecessor had credibility as a wheeler-dealer who could supply goods – vehicles, people, documents – that others couldn’t. He’d been withdrawn from the field only because he was suffering from health problems. A recently-diagnosed heart condition, she’d been told. She was beginning to understand why that might be a problem in this line of work.

      The story they’d put about was that he was taking early retirement, and that Marie was an associate in the same line of illegal business. That she was buying into more than just the print shop. All it needed was for her predecessor to effect a few introductions to the right people and she’d be off and running.

      Shit, she thought. Maybe this wasn’t an exercise after all. Maybe it was for real.

      If so, she couldn’t imagine that this was just their way of making the introductions, short-circuiting the usual social niceties by bundling her into the back of a sodding van. If this was for real, they’d already sussed out who she was. And that meant that she wasn’t likely to leave this place alive.

      Jesus, what was she thinking? Of course it was just an exercise. She was allowing them to play with her head. This was another of Winsor’s fucking tests. Physical assault, threat, psychological torture. Let’s see how she copes with that little lot.

      ‘What history?’ she said. ‘What are you talking about?’

      The man suddenly leaned forward, his features finally becoming visible to her. He was no one she recognized.

      ‘Don’t you understand, love? We know who you are. We know who you work for. Do you get it now, bitch?’

      There was a venom in the final word that shocked her. Christ, she thought. I was right. It’s not a fucking exercise. She began to push herself to her feet, her mind racing.

      ‘I don’t—’

      The man pushed the table violently against her, knocking her back into the seat. ‘Sit down.’ He leaned towards her, the pistol back in his hand. He was tapping the barrel gently against the tabletop as if he didn’t quite know what to do with the weapon. ‘You’re going nowhere. You’re going to tell me all about your undercover work. You’re going to tell me who else is undercover. You’re going to tell me who’s a grass. You’re going to tell me every fucking thing I want to know.’

      ‘Look, I really don’t—’

      ‘Know what I’m talking about. Change the record, love.’

      She took a deep breath. She would say nothing. She thought – she hoped – that she’d have said nothing even if she believed that it might help secure her release. But these people weren’t going to release her. Not if they believed she was an undercover officer. Not now she’d seen this man’s face. She could feel herself on the verge of breaking down, but she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing that.

      ‘I don’t know who you think I am,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘But you’ve got the wrong woman. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

      The man smiled and shook his head. ‘You’ve got bottle, I’ll give you that, darling. But you’ll talk in the end. You’d be surprised how persuasive we can be when we put our minds to it.’

      As he spoke, she silently eased her chair back a few inches, giving herself room to move her legs. Then, suddenly, she thrust the chair back further and kicked out with both feet at the edge of the table, driving it back into the man’s groin. Immediately, she was on her feet, trying to force her way past him to the door.

      It almost worked. Her aim had been perfect. The man doubled forwards in pain, momentarily losing his grip on the gun. She’d been unsure if there was anyone else standing behind him in the darkness, but there were only the two of them in the room. She was past him and already reaching for the door when he grabbed her wrist, pulling her savagely back round towards him.

      ‘Stop it, you stupid bitch.’ He grabbed her throat and forced her back hard against the wall. She was reaching for his face, trying desperately to claw at his eyes.

      Behind them, she heard the sound of the door opening, and she knew that any chance she might have had was gone.

      ‘OK, Josh. That’s enough. I think we’ve seen what we needed to see.’

      The man – Josh – loosened his grip, and she stared, baffled, at the figure standing in the doorway.

      ‘Not bad, sis. You did good.’

      ‘What the fuck, Hugh?’

      Salter. Hugh fucking Salter. Grinning at the terror on her face and Josh’s testicular agonies. Not that she was wasting any sympathy on Josh, whoever the hell he might turn out to be. From the look on Josh’s face, the feeling was largely mutual.

      ‘Thought you’d got us sussed at first, sis. Thought you’d rumbled it was just a training exercise.’

      ‘I had. But your friend Josh there was just too convincing as a macho sexist bastard.’

      ‘Ah, well,’ Salter said. ‘He’s bloody good is our Josh. Mind you, he’ll need to keep his balls on ice for a few days. That’s quite a kick you’ve got there.’

      Josh was still glaring at her. ‘Just fuck right off,’ he said. She assumed, perhaps over-charitably, that the words were aimed at Salter.

      ‘Bit of risk goes with the territory, mate,’ Salter said, still beaming. ‘Especially when you tangle with Marie Donovan, undercover officer.’

      It was the closest Salter would ever come to acknowledging her success. But it was close enough for her.

      ‘What’s this all about, Hugh?’ she said.

      ‘Training exercise, like I say. Which you came through with flying colours. Sorry if Josh went a bit over the top, but we had to get to the point where you’d start to think it might be real. Up to that point – well, it was useful, because at least it showed us you could stay in character . . .’

      ‘Even at the crack of dawn after two days of just being myself?’

      ‘Quite so. And you did it well, but there was no real pressure. Not till Josh managed to get you questioning whether it might be real after all. Then we saw what you were made of. Josh in particular, I think.’

      ‘Christ, you don’t do things by halves, do you?’

      ‘Can’t afford to, sis. Look, this is what it’s going to be like. I mean, not like this – let’s hope not, anyway. But having to keep up the act even if you’re being challenged, even if you’re scared out of your wits. Having to improvise when things don’t go to plan. Having to remember which lies you’ve told and to whom.’

      ‘Jesus, Hugh, anyone suggested you get a job in sales?’

      ‘They like people who tell the truth, do they? But you’ll be all right, sis. If you can get through this lot, you’ll cope with anything the job can throw at you.’

      ‘I hope you’re right, Hugh. Because it doesn’t feel that way just at the moment.’

      ‘You did good, girl,’ Salter said again.

      ‘Well, thank you, Hugh.’ She turned and nodded to Josh. ‘And thank you, too, I suppose. You make a very convincing total bastard.’

      She moved towards the door, wanting now just to be out of