“Do you have a problem with your laptop, is that it? I can see that your software is in good order,” he quipped, looking again at her chest.

Gillian smiled sweetly and then threw out her hand so swiftly it was a blur. Her fingers were curled into her palm and the heel of her hand hit Jensen in the centre of his forehead.

His head rocked backwards and then rebounded forwards. He was unconscious and concussed by the time he hit the floor. The simple martial arts technique that Gillian had utilised was intended to shake the brain around in the skull so that it collided front and back, shutting down to protect itself.

Gillian took a pair of yellow Marigold plastic gloves out of her bag and slipped them on. If her mother could see what her daughter got up to in her marigolds she would have a fit. In the kitchen she found what she needed - a large pair of scissors - in an unused knife block. Taking the scissors firmly in her right hand, she plunged them deep into Jensen’s chest, puncturing his heart. His body jerked, expelled some air and collapsed flat on the floor again.

Now Gillian had time for some fun.

She found a banana in the fruit bowl and snapped off half of it, eating the piece in her hand, and the remaining half she left on the TV table. Moving to the cupboards, she removed a wine glass and two whisky tumblers. She put a splash of whisky from the spirits shelf in one glass and a healthy serving of sherry in the other. She then took two different lipsticks from her make-up bag and smeared Boots No.7 Red Crystal on the rim of one glass, and then she smeared L’Oreal Purple Pearl on the rim of the other. Finally, she filled the wine glass with a rich red Bordeaux before throwing it in the face of the dead man and dropping the glass beside him.

This was fun, she thought. A brilliant idea occurred to her. She removed one of his shoes and took it with her.

She laughed as she wondered what the scene of crime officers would make of the mystery of the missing shoe.

***

When Gil, as she was known by her colleagues, reported in for work the next day she was asked to report directly to Human Resources, where she was informed that her services as ‘Intelligence Analyst’ were no longer required. Nonetheless, as long as she maintained her silence, as required by her contract, her positive vetting agreement and the Official Secrets Act, she would receive a modest pension until she was sixty years old and in receipt of her full old age pension.

Still stunned by the morning’s events, she had lunch with Doug Mc Keown, who explained that the Labour government had decided that they wanted to pursue a more ethical approach to security and so the new Director, a Labour government appointee, had directed that all of those involved in the disposal side of the business would have to go.

“However, Gil,” Doug added in a conspiratorial whisper, “our services are still needed all around the world, and as you are the second best in the business, I would like you to join me as my partner. The pay is much better.”

“How much better?” Gil asked.

“The Chameleon charges one million US dollars per hit, and as no one knows who the Chameleon is, we can share the workload.” He held his right hand out and Gillian shook it.

As Doug had predicted, the partnership was a great success until May 2009 when an unstable supply of detonators exploded a briefcase full of Semtex prematurely, leaving only fragments of Doug left to bury. So now, once again, the Chameleon was a sole practitioner.

Chapter 1 5

The Hokobu Apartment, London, Wednesday 7am. 2011.

Geordie awoke to the aroma of bacon grilling and coffee brewing. Victoria Hokobu was obviously up early and in the mood for food. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and yawned widely before sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

The young man lay flat on his back on the floor and went through his gruelling daily regime of stomach crunches before swinging, lifting and bending his body into a comfortable fluidity. A splash of water on his bristled face and a ruffle of his close cropped hair and he was ready to head towards the tempting breakfast aromas.

The cook was actually Samuel Etundi. Geordie had marvelled at how easily Samuel accepted being introduced as Mr Hokobu, even though that was his wife’s maiden name. His mind slipped back to his days as a young administrator where a male colleague was continually teased because his wife, a GP, signed their Christmas cards from Dr and Phillip Peterson. Nonetheless, Samuel was a good cook and the breakfast was as good as any fry up Geordie had experienced in the North East, where fry-ups were almost an art form.

Geordie was amazed that he felt such affection for this couple, having known these two central Africans for so short a time. The fact was that they had immediately accepted him as one of the family, and Victoria called him her ‘little Mussi’ which he pretended to dislike. They treated him like a brother and at night when they kneeled down to pray they included him. Geordie hadn’t prayed since school and so he was very embarrassed, especially when they kneeled down in a little circle and held hands as they took turns praying.

The North Easterner had felt a lump in his throat as the two visitors spoke to God as if he was standing there, as if he was a close friend of theirs. They told God all about their day, the new friends they had met and they asked him to keep Geordie safe and well. When they had both finished, they looked at him and he realised that he was expected to pray, too. Geordie did not specifically believe that there was no God, he had just not been acquainted with him for so long that he wondered whether he was still there, or if he ever had been. Geordie followed the formula they had used in his first spoken prayer in twenty years. Introduce yourself to Heavenly Father, calling him respectfully by that name, thank him for all of the good things in your life, ask him for what you need and close the prayer by invoking Jesus Christ, Amen.

It was the most uplifted he had felt for a long time. He had thought about his wife, his children and how much he loved them. He offered grateful thanks for his parents and suddenly he found himself appreciating life much more than he had done an hour before. He had slept the sleep of the righteous.

This morning, Geordie gathered up the items they needed for the day and talked over their security routine one more time. The danger, he pointed out, was at its zenith whilst they were on foot between the car and the London Eye. With that warning they headed out, the Hokobus looking forward to seeing London from the skies on a beautiful cold, clear day.

Chapter 1 6

The London Eye, Southbank, London, Wednesday 10am.

The Chameleon had spent the evening refining and reducing a batch of Redweed to a clear concentrated gel. Given her past experience, she knew that the degree to which she diluted the gel with liquid propellants would also determine its potency. On her first attempts as a student she had killed a lab rabbit with it whilst experimenting, but since then her detailed records had ensured that the solution was mixed and delivered in the proper proportions.

When she was satisfied that the mixture was disabling, but not fatal, she dispensed the clear liquid into a small perfume bottle with a vaporiser top so that it could be dispensed as a spray.

Now, as she sat and waited outside the London Eye, she hoped that she had guessed correctly and that this morning the Hokobus would take advantage of the beautiful clear skies to overlook a glistening but freezing cold London skyline from one of the London Eye’s capsules.

Gil had decided that she needed to travel by car today and so she hired a ‘Smart Car Fortwo’ from Quick Cars at Waterloo. The Chameleon had taken a risk carrying a rifle through the streets of London yesterday and she wasn’t about to risk carrying another firearm today. The chances of being stopped and searched in terrorist threatened London were too great. Assassins operating in London had to be more inventive.