Chameleon

My guess is that the relaxant they were given first would have prevented them from suffering. Embolisms are extraordinarily painful, usually.

Finally, I would suggest that this is a professional job. Beyond that I would say that this type of execution is usually the province of governmental assassins, or black ops as they like to call it in the States.”

He promised that an interim report would be ready by that evening, with a full report within seven days.

Coombes and Dee wandered across to DS Scott, who had been busy interviewing eyewitnesses. When they arrived at his side he had a puzzled look on his face.

“I think we have a problem, Guv,” he said uncertainly. “Every witness saw the same thing. A policewoman approached Pete Lowden. He collapsed and she ushered the victim couple away.”

“A policewoman?” Coombes replied quizzically.

“That’s what they all say, Guv.”

Chapter 1 8

Celebrato Offices, Spital Square, London, Wednesday Noon.

The offices were bustling when Gil returned to the office, properly attired and bearing no resemblance to the policewoman of that morning’s events. She had been ready to leave her apartment when she remembered that she had left her brown contact lenses in and so she quickly removed the left lens, restoring her steely blue-grey eye. When she came to the right eye she noticed it was missing. It must have fallen out sometime during the morning. One brown eye and one blue eye would have been hard to explain at the office. Worse was the possibility that she had left behind a clue to her identity.

Not being identified was clearly a key objective when one was working as an assassin, and so when she was working on assignments the Chameleon liked to wear uniforms, because witnesses could rarely see past the uniform to notice any identifiable features on the wearer. Then, just to be certain, if you could hide your hair and change your eye colour, the chances of the witnesses providing a worthwhile identification were almost nil.

Gil sat down at her desk, but before she had time to worry about missing contact lenses her assistant came into her office.

“Miss Davis, I have been trying to call you all morning. The accountant has been on the phone and he wants you to call him immediately.”

“Thank you, Sheila, I’ll do that now before I get drawn into other things.” The assistant left her office and Gil dialled a familiar number.

“Duncan, this is Gil. I believe you called me and left a message.”

“Gil. Yes, I did. Great news, I think. Anyway the Clayton Card Chain has upped the offer for Celebrato. They have almost no online service and we have no shops. They see a tremendous synergy.”

The Celebrato MD sighed. During the last year, Clayton Card Chain had made an offer for her business almost every month.

“Then they are wrong, Duncan,” she answered. “You know as well as I do that if we had our own card shops the major retailers would be reluctant to stock our cards, and that’s where we make most of our turnover. I agree that the high margin sales would increase if we sold through an extra one hundred and thirty card shops, but ultimately we would lose turnover. They must know that.”

“Gil, maybe they do and maybe they don’t. Perhaps they have a strategy to overcome the risk of reduced turnover and maybe they don’t. What I do know is that they now think that we are worth fourteen and a half million pounds.”

Gillian tried not to react. Her share of the company would net her well over ten million pounds in a scenario such as that, a five fold return on her investment over the past two years.

“OK, Duncan, tell them I am ready to talk, but that I want an exit plan for the end of the year. I’m done with working for other people.”

The Chameleon sat back in her comfortable leather chair and breathed out heavily, relaxing every muscle. She was on the verge of a fourteen million pound deal and she still had the Chameleon money in the bank in Grand Cayman, amounting to over eleven million dollars, with a million more due today.

Gillian Davis was a rich woman, thanks to both the original Chameleon and her own business acumen. She thought back to Mac, the original Chameleon, and how he had not lived to enjoy the fruits of his labours. He had earned just less than half of the US Dollar account, but on his demise the joint account became hers alone.

Out of nothing more than sentimentality, Gil had spent almost a year searching for Mac’s relatives so that she could pass on the frozen remains of her partner for burial and dispense his share of the money, but she found only two living relatives, a wife and daughter who both refused to bury his remains. They were so awful when she spoke to them that she wanted to terminate both of them. Whilst she restrained herself, she could not bring herself to pass on his money to women who vilified him so completely.

Gil missed Mac, otherwise known as Douglas Mc Keown, because he had been both her partner and her confidante. The age difference also meant that he treated her like a daughter and never made any romantic advances. He was almost a replacement for Uncle Nick; almost, but not quite.

Mac had an intense dislike of working with governments who had to use mercenaries to win or maintain control of their own countries, but as an assassin it was inevitable that he would eventually be hired by one. As a result, Mac had been in the Ukraine with an assignment to detonate a bomb at a political rally and kill the trouble-making opposition leader. Perhaps Mac should have followed his first two rules; don’t work for zealots and don’t work with amateurs.

Working under the scrutiny of CCTV and observation by his government employers who recorded the whole process on DVD, Mac had been careful and cautious in his preparations; he had handled the explosives and detonators by the book. His methodology was foolproof except for one thing; an idiot Irishman whom the client assured Mac was an explosives expert. Whilst they were packing the perfectly safe and malleable Semtex into two briefcases, the Irishman inadvertently detonated his Semtex. The explosion simultaneously detonated Mac’s otherwise stable Semtex just inches away. The two men were almost vaporised. The building was destroyed and the DVD picture vanished into a universe of white noise. Eventually Mac’s belongings were sent to the Chameleon’s London drop box, with a note of regret and an explanation that no further payment was due. Thankfully, Mac’s employers were religious extremists who believed that they were under an obligation to ensure that as many body parts as possible were properly interned. As a result the drop box contained the DVD and a receipt for Mac’s remains, which had been sent to Cryostorage UK, in London. Gil knew that sooner or later she would have to recover the remains and have them interred, but somehow it never seemed to be the right time.

Later Gil would reflect on why Mac had come into the forefront of her mind at the exact moment that someone else was looking for him urgently, an ex colleague whose search for the Chameleon would bring him to her door.

Chapter 1 9

Vastrick Security, No 1 Poultry, London, Wednesday 4pm.

Geordie, recently released from the accident and emergency unit at Guys and St Thomas’ Hospital near London Bridge, was looking at Dee’s plan and smiling for the first time since the deaths of the Hokobus.

“This is brilliant! It is a real tribute to Victoria. How did you manage to arrange it so quickly?”

“I spoke to Angela, explained the circumstances and she insisted on helping. I didn’t even have to ask. She adores you, apparently. What is it with you and these older women?” Dee paused. “Anyway, grateful as she was for your protection in 2009, she said that it was the cause that obliged her to become involved.”