Casanova (34 page)

The driver with glasses was now creeping around the Audi. He had reached the rear-quarter and was holding his pistol out with both hands. I changed my feet and gave balaclava man a hard left elbow to his abdomen. I heard him grunt as the air left his lungs and then his body weakened further. It was time for me to leave. My fast actions had bought me just enough seconds but outnumbered, as I was, retreat was the sensible move.

Most pedestrians had scattered. A few stood and watched. Either shock or a dangerous curiosity had kept them near. Vehicles slowed to squeeze past and then accelerated away. Some blasted their horn.

I found the trigger for a third time. The assault rifle barked for me like a well-trained heel hound. Its bullets thumped the pavement and peppered the Mercedes. The creeping driver stopped and crouched lower. Missouri and his partner remained hidden behind the Mercedes.

I spun the semi-conscious balaclava man out into the open space between the two cars and then bolted. I raced past the Audi, darted across the street, reached the first corner and was out of sight quicker than a spooked Midwestern jackrabbit.

I maintained a fast pace until I’d crisscrossed four streets and cut through an alleyway. I didn’t expect any pursuers but I wanted to be certain. I stopped beside the entrance to a street market to wipe my forehead and check the K106. The taxi was now over a quarter of a mile away, and only twenty minutes of the hour remained. Missouri had ruined my chance. The chance I had worked so hard for. I also knew that all the while I used the K106 London could track me, and if London could track me, Missouri could find me—again.

I interrogated the K106 and assessed my chances of reaching the taxi in time. They weren’t good. I put all negative thoughts aside and steeled myself for twenty minutes of unconditional effort.

I chose my first direction. It was east through the market. I turned and ran off between the stalls. Many of the traders were still open and bargain hunters crowded the narrow street. I threaded my way through and then I saw something coming the other way that made me smile.

It was a man riding a scooter.

He was driving slowly, weaving in-between the shoppers. Behind the dipped headlight, I could see he wore a shiny hardhat with a chinstrap and held a recently lit cigarette between his lips. He was relaxed with a smooth, untroubled face. That was about to change.

I didn’t have time for a pleasant negotiation. Anyway, I couldn’t be sure of the language or the outcome. No, it would have to be a simple mugging, a smash and grab.

I aimed for his neck. In that way, I was certain to knock him off and the pain and shock would keep him down.

The man was unaware of what was about to happen. I was casual and surreptitious, nonchalant even, right up to the moment of attack.

I stepped easily across. He turned the handlebars to go round me. I stepped again with speed and raised a straight arm. My flexed forearm worked like an iron bar. It struck below the chinstrap and propelled him straight off the back. He appeared to bounce a couple of times. The bike went down and slid. It made an unhappy scraping noise. I moved quickly, grasped the handlebar, pulled it up and jumped on. It was a simple twist and go. The banshee engine screeched with displeasure as I sped away weaving to avoid the onlookers.

I pulled out the K106 and negotiated the traffic one handed while I checked on the taxi. The scooter bounced along between the cars. I chose the direct route. At the lights, I went straight over and kept a watch for the Mercedes and the Audi. I didn’t want to get blind-sided and find myself kissing the tarmac. There was every chance Missouri would continue to track me. I had to be watchful.

After a few minutes of whizzing around, I found the taxi was proving harder to catch than I had anticipated. I increased my efforts.

Following another series of disappointments, I changed tactics. I followed the same approach as I had when I was on foot. I used judgement and anticipation.

The hour was falling away. By my calculation, I had about five minutes left. I was sure Xing would stop the taxi when the hour was up. I just had to get close enough.

I pulled over by the side of the road and studied the moving blip on the screen. I made a deduction and then traced a route that if my deduction were right would bring the taxi and me to the same point at the same time. I set off again and made the scooter work hard.

The taxi made a turn I hadn’t expected so I adjusted my own route by cutting across a pedestrian walkway. By now, I had found the scooter’s horn and was using it liberally. It made people jump.

The shortcut had helped. I just needed the taxi to turn north at the next junction. I watched the screen, I waited and then at the junction the taxi turned south. For a moment, I was surprised until I realised why Xing had done it. She was heading away from the city. When the hour was up, she wanted the taxi to be somewhere quiet. I knew why.

The taxi drove onto the bridge and left the island of Macau. It was now travelling south towards the island of Tamzai. At least I knew where it was going to be for next few minutes. I chased after it but the speed of the scooter was limited. A decent lawn mower would have given it a good race. On the bridge, despite riding flat out the taxi continued to pull away.

I was over a mile behind when the taxi stopped. The hour was up. Xing had to make a phone call. I still had time, I hoped. It took me a further two minutes. It seemed longer but finally, I caught it.

The duckling had parked the taxi off the road behind a public telephone. Its lights were on. He had reversed onto an area of scrubland. The lights from a row of houses, set back on the opposite side, did little to penetrate the darkness. It was a quiet spot and late enough for the road to be deserted. A single white bulb lit the public telephone, and standing, watching the road while she made a call was Xing.

I stopped the scooter behind the taxi. The first thing I did was to switch off the K106 and remove the battery. I knew that London would have the phone’s final location so I needed to move fast.

Jemima’s window went down. ‘How did you find us?’ he asked, in a quiet voice.

I didn’t answer.

‘Where did you get the scooter?’

I looked past him. In the driver’s seat sat the duckling, and curled up on the back seat was Penny. She was asleep.

I walked over to the phone booth. Xing watched me approach. She didn’t appear surprised to see me.

‘Is that Meriwether?’ I asked.

She nodded.

‘I’ll speak to him when you’re finished.’

She nodded again.

She listened for a few seconds more and then passed me the telephone.

‘Tell me,’ I said.

‘As you requested, I told Jackie that Missouri has transferred the money,’ Meriwether said.

‘...and has he?’

‘No, he has not,’ he replied.

‘What about the other thing?’ I asked.

‘I’m looking into it,’ he said.

I ended the call.

‘Meriwether’s got his money back,’ Xing said. ‘Now, we can take Penny home.’

30

MONDAY, 19:30—19:45 (local time)

MISS CHARLOTTE MILLER

The cab pulled over on Pall Mall and Charlotte Miller stepped out. Her heels tapped on the pavement. She paid the fare with a single note. The cab driver took it from her gloved hand. ‘Thanks, love.’

After turning away, she straightened her scarf and then buttoned her coat. The winter evening sky was clear. Even in central London, Charlotte could clearly see the three stars of Orion’s belt. She wasn’t sure what had made her look up. Perhaps she needed to stargaze, if only for a moment. Riding through London as a child, seated in the back of her father’s Bentley, she had wondered at the twinkling night sky. It was somehow comforting. Sometimes, she wished...no, wishing was for children and she was no longer a child
...but when I became a man (woman), I put away childish things.

They had come for her when she was nineteen. Her cleverness was what they wanted. Cambridge had seen it almost immediately. It was a recruitment house. Charlotte never understood why there, and not somewhere else. British Intelligence only sought the rarest of all young talents. It was the ability to lift the veil. To see what no one else could see. Charlotte Miller possessed that skill.

Inside the Square, the lights from the Georgian buildings tempered the darkness. Charlotte followed the pathway between the lawns. The stillness hung like the moments before evensong. She saw two young men in suits and coats. They walked briskly with their heads close together. Soon, they were out of sight.

The equestrian statue of William III appeared in the shadows ahead. She searched for Meriwether but he wasn’t there. Unpunctuality was not like him. Then her phone rang. Her coat pocket muffled the sound. It was Meriwether.

‘I’m most terribly sorry, my dear. Another call I’m afraid. I’m coming out now. I shall be with you in two shakes.’

Charlotte relaxed and stared skywards again. She reduced her eyes to narrow slits against the London glare and the stars shone brighter. They made her feel better. She almost cheered up.

‘Stargazing?’

She hadn’t heard Meriwether approach.

‘As a girl I would gaze at the stars and imagine other worlds,’ she said. ‘I realised this evening that I hadn’t done it for a long while.’

‘
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping earth,
’ Meriwether quoted.

Charlotte smiled.

‘It’s always Coleridge or Keats or Shelley,’ she said.

‘I only know the romantics,’ Meriwether explained.

Charlotte smiled again.

‘It’s cold, my dear. Shall we stroll?’

They walked together along the pathway.

‘I have completed all the checks,’ Charlotte said. ‘Gnasher has confirmed his findings.’

‘Um, I see. Well, he wouldn’t have said it unless he believed it,’ Meriwether said.

 ‘No, he wouldn’t.’

‘Well, there it is,’ Meriwether said. ‘Was Gnasher denied all identifications?’

‘Yes, I followed strict protocol. All codenames remained secure throughout the process.’ 

The pathway turned and they followed it round. Then Meriwether stopped. ‘So, only you and I know.’

‘Yes,’ Charlotte agreed.

Meriwether thought for a moment. ‘It’s a bad business,’ he said.

Charlotte wrinkled her nose.

‘Why do I always feel this way?’ she asked. ‘Why can’t we do things differently?’

‘My dear,’ Meriwether said kindly, ‘we are simply the players, not the rule makers. A billion people write the rules, continually. They make the game. We just play it.’

Charlotte was thoughtful.

‘Will you keep me informed?’ she asked.

‘Of course I will, fully informed.’ There was a pause. ‘Come in for a drink,’ Meriwether said, ‘and you can tell me more about your stargazing.’

They walked on together.

‘
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen
,’ Meriwether quoted.

‘What does that mean?’

‘One can only fully understand the words of John Keats when one is drinking fine claret,’ Meriwether replied.