From Paris With Love by Samantha Tonge Read Free Book Online Page B

‘These are small enough for any handbag. Here… Start using this one first…’
    Cue an hour of fiddling with the lock barrel, trying to align the pins inside with this tiny metal rod, so that the cylinder inside would turn. Then he gave me something called a “rake” which you pushed to and fro, to jam the pins instead. In, out. In, out. This was harder than it looked.
    However, another hour later, after a couple of swear words even Lady C’s training couldn’t prevent…
    ‘I did it!’ With a squeal, I threw down the instruments and hugged Joe around the neck.
    ‘I mean…’ Clearing my throat, I stood back. My cheeks felt hot. Blimey, Joe’s face had cracked into a smile.
    ‘Good job, Gemma,’ he said and examined the lock barrel. ‘It’s a matter of practice now. Try it at your flat – obviously when Edward isn’t around. And carry those tools with you all the time. You never know when you might need to get in somewhere – or out.’
    Face locked into a grin, I clapped my hands and jerked my head towards the holdall. ‘Please tell me I finally get to see gadgets?’
    I raised both eyebrows and – oh my God! Joe actually laughed. It was deep and heartfelt and lasted several seconds, as if his chest was making the most of something that rarely happened.
    Once more he delved into the holdall and pulled out a pepper spray, lipstick and leopard-print bag. My mouth drooped.
    ‘Is that it? They don’t look very technical or exciting. What about the packet of fake stick-on fingerprints, cigarettes loaded with bullets or an attaché case concealing a gun? How about a defibrillator so I can bring myself back to life, like Daniel Craig did in Casino Royale?’
    Joe shook his head.
    I grinned. ‘Just kidding – I know this is real life, not written by Ian Fleming…’
    Joe picked up the pepper spray. ‘Use sparingly,’ he said. ‘I bought this myself for you and just added some special blue dye that won’t wash off for forty-eight hours – useful if you’re attacked in the dark and won’t recognise the culprit or be able to give a good description.
    ‘Great,’ I said and fingered the small bottle. ‘And the lipstick?’
    He lifted it up and pulled off the lid to reveal a small tube of clear liquid.
    ‘This is a sedative,’ he said. ‘Add this to someone’s drink and they’ll fall asleep within five minutes. It’s only to be used as a last measure.’
    ‘So, basically, I’m not going to get any proper MI6 gadgets?’
    Joe’s eyes twinkled for a second. ‘Sorry, Gemma – like I said, this isn’t an official MI6 mission. I guess this leopard-print bag is the nearest thing to high-tech.’ He turned it over. ‘I managed to get my hands on a tracking device and have attached it to the bottom.’ He pointed to a gold button and pressed it hard. A loud beep emitted from his pocket. He took out his phone which had lit up, to reveal a map.
    ‘This shows me your exact location,’ he said. ‘If this ever flashes up I’ll be with you as quick as I can. Emergencies only, it goes without saying… Although I doubt you’ll ever need it…’
    We looked at each other. No words were necessary. Not after yesterday’s fight. I agreed that the idea of my actually uncovering an assassination plot was unlikely. But just in case I did – just in case a sticky situation arose, it was comforting to think I could summon a MI6 agent to my side.
    Joe put the lockpicks, lipstick and pepper spray into the handbag.
    ‘We’ve scratched the surface of MI6 training, Gemma – the self-defence is the most important thing to take on board.’
    I smiled. ‘Shouldn’t you call me Agent G from now on?’
    ‘Whatever you like.’ He passed over a mobile phone number. ‘List me in your contacts as Joe, then text me so I have your number.’
    I followed Joe through the bunker, to the entrance door. John Smith stood there, the overpowering smell of his musky aftershave wafting towards me. He looked at Joe, who