London, some months ago.
There were a dozen casinos in London’s Chinatown, right next door to Leicester Square. But none finer than the Hippodrome.

It wasn’t the classiest place in London; far from it. The crash of old and new worlds was poorly layered and almost grotesque. Upon entering through the main doors, a visitor to the Hippodrome Casino would find themselves ascending red carpet steps with modern metal railings. They would trail down whitewashed walls cluttered with a three-dimensional timeline of the casino’s history, past pop-out straitjackets and ballet shoes yellowed with age. Then, to enter the casino itself, they would have to step through a Star Trek style archway with vibrant red bulbs beaming down on them. Once inside, they’d find their attention torn between the electronic lights of the slot machines, the shining steel-rimmed bar stools, and the historic moulding on the magnificent old pillars. Someone had rammed a glittering world of modern temptations into a building which was, itself, a museum.

Rosa Llewellyn loved it. Every inch of it, the old and the new. The past and the future. She lent over the poker table, avidly watching the hands of the house dealer as he shuffled the deck of cards. Behind her, the slot machines gurgled and chimed, people laughed, orders were shouted over the bar. The men on either side of her stank of sweat and beer. She grinned sideways at the younger of the two, a dark-haired, bearded man who was probably himself a university student. He smiled back, leaning in, charmed by blonde hair and the trace of a Welsh accent as she placed her bet.

It was as the dealer placed the cards face down in front of her that she felt it: a slight tug in the gut. A flutter of the heart. A piece of a puzzle in her brain which she’d not had before.

Rosa’s grin widened and she pushed the rest of her chips into the centre of the table without bothering to pick up the cards first.

“All in,” she smirked, turning her head to kiss the dark-haired man.

Less than twenty minutes later, Rosa Llewellyn was strolling empty-handed out the front door, pulling the collar of her coat up against the wind. The casino weren’t overly worried; they had her contact details, and they had access to a security team who would do whatever it took to get the money they were owed. Unfortunately for the Hippodrome Casino and its security team, when they showed up to the University College of London later in the week, they would discover that no one by that name was enrolled on campus. The number they’d been given was disconnected. The address their quarry had flashed them on her official ID turned out to be a disused barn on an abandoned farm in Wiltshire.

As she stepped out onto the street, Rosa pulled an old-fashioned Motorola from her pocket and pressed the speed dial. She lifted the phone to her ear.

“I need you to get me into headquarters. As an intern.”

The guy on the other end of the line was usually a smart alec. Usually. Around other people. At the sound of Rosa’s voice, he shelved the wise cracks and started tapping furiously on his keyboard on the other side of the world. “Okay, I’m into the system.” He paused, briefly. “What name shall I input?”

“Rosa Llewellyn.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking no one had followed her. “I’ll report to work tomorrow at nine, sharp.”

She pressed the red button, slipping the phone back into her pocket. No one was following her. The dark night air was rent with drunk singing, the thump of a muffled beat and the distant wail of a siren. Rosa smiled. Music.

--

Dubai, eight hours later
The receptionist frowned at his computer screen, annoyed.

“I wasn’t told about any intern,” he muttered as he printed off the appropriate badge. “No one tells me nothin’.”

The intern’s smile was so sympathetic, he almost forgot his grievance and smiled back. She was pretty in the way that all young people were pretty, fresh-faced and glowing with youth, her forehead smooth and carefree. She was smartly outfitted in a crisp, enthusiastically ironed suit and she was leaning eagerly over the counter, blue-black eyes bright behind a pair of square-rimmed glasses. Ah, to be young and keen, the receptionist thought as he stuffed the freshly printed badge into the wallet on the end of a lanyard.

“Here you are, Miss Llewellyn,” he did smile then, as he passed it over to her. “It says here you can go straight up. Do you know your way around?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you,” Rosa gushed as she slipped the lanyard over her head, her own smile carefully constructed to be three-quarters excited and one-quarter nervous. She grabbed the pair of coffees she’d brought with her off the counter and whisked herself off before the receptionist had a chance to offer directions.

The Alliance HQ hadn’t changed much in recent years, except for the fact that it had moved countries. All of the Council organisations had been based in Cairo until increasing unrest in the Egyptian capital had forced Tsi to make an executive decision. Although the movements were only supposed to be temporary and the unrest had settled down, Alliance HQ seemed perfectly at home in its new tinted glass skyscraper in the swankier part of Dubai. Allianah may have been a traditionalist, but apparently even she couldn’t resist the stunning panoramic views of the city. Apart from the views, though, not a lot had changed on the inside. Same high-tech security systems. Same clean, modern offices. Same people with hard-to-read faces and purposeful walks.

Same layout, broadly, too. Ignoring the signs which told her where she was supposed to go as an intern to one of the head honchos in the Research and Development Department, Rosa found her way into an empty surveillance room with a wall of screens showing her the CCTV footage for the entire building. At least, it was empty after she disposed of the two security guards, who she left tied up and drooling in a supply cupboard. Settling down into one of the leather office chairs, Rosa rested her elbows on the armrests and placed the tips of her fingers together, watching the screens. It was only a few hours before movement at the front entrance caught her eye.

The corner of Rosa’s lips twitched. Right on time.


To be continued.

RUAIDHRI