The Unseen by James McKenna Page B

franchise deal. If I introduce a friend, there is free invite. So I do it over the Internet and put your name, but you must go this weekend. It is in Brighton, so you have the seaside. There is also free gym, swimming pool, sauna, and most important, the latest cyberspace games room.”

    “Danielle, you’re very sweet, and I’m touched, but it’s not for me. I have work.” He placed the invitation back on the table and smiled into her eyes, hoping she wasn’t upset.
     
    Momentarily she squeezed his hand, something she had never done. He felt himself weaken.

    “Think of what the girls will tell Camilla and Bradley. Swimming pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, disco. The games room has the most advanced virtual reality systems in Europe. It can only be used by invited hotel guests. The girls will love it; Bradley will hate it. My gift to a good father.”

    Sean reasoned with a large gulp of wine. “You’re some sales lady. How can I refuse?”

    Danielle stood and walked around the table. “As a French woman, I understand honour and pride, monsieur.” She kissed his cheek and retrieved her wine glass. “I go back to my computer game, leave you to eat in peace.” She crossed the floor and he watched the sway of her departure. In the doorway she turned. “One thing I forget, the weekend, my friend may come, it’s OK to stay maybe, two nights?”

    She had conned him so shrewdly Sean felt only admiration.

    “Sure,” he smiled reluctant consent. “Just make sure he doesn’t leave smelly socks.”

    “Not him, her. And I’m sure her stockings will stay secure.”

    Realisation of macho jealousy was enough to make him think perhaps he had been alone too long. “Put the girls together, use one of their rooms,” he said.
     
    “No need. My bed is big enough for two.” She blew a kiss.

     

    Mark opened his eyes and listened, his body gripped by panic as a harsh exhalation of coarse breath disturbed the stillness. His mouth closed and the sound stopped. For moments he peered around the room, glad nobody was there to see his fear. Glad nobody was going to hurt him. He was alone. Always he found himself alone. Except today he had Cindy and tomorrow, Katherine. He saw her vision, her body cloaked in white, waiting.

    Mark rose from his bed, he had a mission. At 0500 hours precisely he began his daily training and worked up a heavy, grunting sweat. Twenty minutes were spent at martial arts, ten on muscle toning. Showered and towelled, he stood in his boxer shorts before a full-length mirror. He liked the mirror, he understood perfection. Beside him, open shelving held theatrical makeup, wigs, body padding, face distorters and coloured contact lenses. He prided himself on his ability to camouflage, to slide through the city jungle without visible recognition. That meant voice change too. The voice gave persona to image and misled people’s interpretation of whom they saw. During preparation he played speech tapes and practised the accents for his chosen character. He considered it essential to blend, to become a shadow within shadows.
     
    At 0815 hours, Mark presented a beer-gutted and balding man at the intercom shared with Cindy’s ground and basement flat. A male voice responded from above, clipped, impatient.

    “National Water,” Mark spoke into the speaker. “Bradshaw’s got a leak. Might ’ave to turn yer water off, OK mate?” He wore a black T-shirt under overalls. A plastic ID card around his neck identified him as authorised fitter 304. Mark believed in giving a justifiable presence. It eliminated chance discovery and satisfied inquisitive hostiles over noise and intrusion.

    “That’s inconvenient.” The voice became authoritative. “Do you have a key? Who gave you a key?”

    “The Bradshaw’s left ’em wiv the office.”

    “The main stopcock is under the basement steps but don’t turn anything off until my wife leaves for work. Is that understood?”

    “No problem, mate.” The intercom went