Chameleon

Doc was the UK Security Services go-to guy for anything Apple, be it iPad, iPod or iPhone. Such was his expertise that within days of the release of a new iPad, Doc would be selling his own souped up version at many times the price. Disassembled, improved and reassembled, the iPad VOX looked and behaved like an ordinary iPad, but it also did so much more.

Gillian owned an iPad Vox, iPod Vox and iPhoneVox. They had been extraordinarily useful to her as the Chameleon, and now they were going to be pressed into service to help her escape the clutches of MI5.

Gil Davis had returned to room 431 after her sojourn in the spa and by the pool, and was now sitting on the bed with her iPad VOX. Laying it to one side for a moment, she do

After a minute or two Gil unplugged the headphones and laid the iPod on the bed close to the iPad. They synchronised immediately, and the iPad screen came to life, showing a series of white dashes, lighting and dimming as they raced around the perimeter of an unseen circle. In a few seconds a floor plan appeared, showing two bright green dots along with a single red dot.

One green dot was in the bathroom, in the vicinity of the wash hand basin. The other was in the vicinity of a large oil painting on the wall. The red dot was beside the bed. Gil clicked an icon labelled 3D View and a skeletal 3D picture of her room appeared on the screen.

The new screen showed the red dot, a video source, on the bedside table, probably hidden in the clock. The first green dot, an audio only source, was right behind the painting, and the second green dot was indeed on the wall behind the pedestal wash hand basin.

Content that she now knew that she was being spied upon, she decided that listening was acceptable but watching, well, that was just plain rude. Gil sniffed a couple of times and left the bed to pick up a cube shaped box of tissues. Returning to her iPad and the bed, she sat down and blew her nose loudly before placing the tissue box, without looking, on the bedside table. The box had landed, as she pla

A little while later Gil retired to the bathroom for a few minutes, singing as she went, to offer a few crumbs of comfort to the surveillance team who were no doubt listening in. As soon as she had prepared herself for bed she returned to the bedroom, lay down and fluffed the pillow. Twenty minutes later, Jared Stevens was sitting at a monitor in a nearby room, listening to gentle snoring and keeping his eye on the picture from the hallway security camera that pointed straight at the door of room 431.

Chapter 40

The Frank Sinatra Suite, The Savoy, London.

Thursday, 2am.

Katie Norman was wearing fluffy pink pyjamas with red hearts of all sizes displayed in a random but repeating pattern. The pyjamas were still too big for her petite frame, even though they were the smallest adult size. Her make-up was gone and her hair was brushed out. Her young skin radiated good health and her moisturiser gave her a slight glow. She looked about twelve years old again as she reclined on the sofa, holding a Las Vegas themed cushion across her stomach as she cradled a large mug of hot chocolate.

Dee had secured the room and was ready for bed also. She wasn’t generally a night bird, preferring to get to sleep before eleven at night, as a general rule, so that she could arise early. Dee dropped her weary frame into an oversized armchair facing the young Katie. Wearing short pyjamas under a Savoy branded robe, she curled her legs up under her. The robe opened around her knees, revealing the begi

Katie noticed the bruise and mentioned it. Dee touched it tenderly. It was already begi

“Is that the leg you were shot in?” Katie asked in as tactful a way as she could manage late in the day.

Dee slid the robe over to show a scar on her thigh.

“This is where I was shot last year,” she said, stretching the skin to show the full effect of the injury, which had healed exceptionally well.

“The second bullet wound is now virtually invisible, because the gun was pointed upwards when it fired and it passed through my under arm.” Dee unconsciously touched the spot with her left hand as Katie spoke.

“In the movie I made with that ex-wrestler last year, I was a rich heiress being guarded by an ex marine, and he was shot in the leg early on in the film, but he managed to strap it up and struggle through the rest of the day, and the next day he barely had a limp. I guess that was artistic license.”

Dee smiled. “Yes. Although the man that shot me in the leg deliberately tried to avoid the bone and the arteries, it was still a week before I could stand up without fainting and a month before I could limp about. At least when you’re shot in the arm you can stay mobile.”

Katie stood up and set her mug down on the table before moving over to Dee’s chair and squeezing in beside her. The young woman curled her left arm around Dee’s waist and rested her head on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Katie murmured in a tiny voice. “It’s not that I wouldn’t have survived a kiss from that slimy toad, but it would have been humiliating and I would have had nightmares about it for weeks. In this business everyone thinks they own a part of you. The fans love Clara and they think that she and I are their best friends. It’s scary how possessive they can be sometimes.”

Dee smiled as she placed a comforting arm around Katie’s shoulder. She was an only child, and had often envied her friends who had younger sisters, whose hair they would style and tweak as if they were a live doll.

The two of them had a busy schedule for Thursday, today and Friday, culminating in a late Friday flight back to the USA, but luckily the first assignment for Thursday was at eleven in the morning.

They sat on the chair in silence for a while until Dee noticed Katie’s shallow, rhythmic breathing. Recognising the younger woman was falling asleep, she roused her gently, and they both retired to their beds, hoping for a good rest before the next day’s turmoil started afresh.

Chapter 41

Room 431, Hotel Nacional, Havana. Cuba. Thursday 7am.

From its privileged location on top of a promontory overlooking Havana's coastline and seawall drive, the Nacional was perfectly placed. Room 431 commanded a magnificent view of the sea and the bustling Vedado section of Havana. With its elegance and timeless splendour, the Nacional had played host to hundreds of celebrities from the world of arts, science and politics since the 1930s, according to the brochure, and Gil could see why. Its location in the busiest part of town, its one hundred year heritage and its closeness to Old Havana, about a twenty minute walk along the Malecon, made it an ideal holiday spot. It was a pity she would not be taking full advantage of her stay.