Dark Winter (36 page)

I knocked on the door and she opened it. ‘Nice day at the office, dear? Cup of tea?’

‘Good call.’

I followed her into the kitchen. ‘There’s an attack planned in the States as well. The Golf Club pretty much told me.’

She turned and leant against the cooker. ‘Oh, shit.’

‘Nothing to the Yes Man, OK? She did it for Kelly.’

She nodded. ‘She say anything about Germany?’

‘No, but I bet there is one. This is outrageous. They’d have to co-ordinate so there was no early alert.’

We both went quiet. She was probably doing the same as me, thinking about the nightmare of just one attack, let alone three. And, as we’d discovered, it wasn’t rocket science. All the ASU needed was DW, some aerosol kit and a few cell phones.

I cut away from thinking about it. Our part was done. George would have another team out on the ground in the States, trying to locate DW before having to go to government. I guessed the Germans would be doing the same. I thought about Josh and his kids, and what I could do for them.

I went to the fridge, pulling out two lots of shit-in-a-tray we’d bought after the first source meet. As I ripped off their cardboard sleeves I thought how strange it was that I couldn’t think of anything to say now. Maybe Suzy felt it too: she was certainly concentrating a bit more than necessary on positioning teabags in the mugs.

I stabbed the Cellophane covering with a fork while she fiddled with spoons and milk cartons.

‘What’s for breakfast?’

‘I don’t really know.’ I inspected it. ‘White stuff.’ I couldn’t be arsed to check the cover. ‘Chicken, maybe?’

Her face screwed up in disgust. ‘I’ll give that a miss, I think.’

Still not looking at me, she busied herself pouring the kettle, then we both just stood there, watching the microwave, waiting for it to go ping. This was getting stupid. ‘Things happen like this, you know.’ I gently touched her shoulder. ‘You’re just beginning to get to know someone, then it all stops. That’s just how it is.’

She sighed as she squeezed a teabag against the side of the mug. ‘Never mind, Nick, we’ll always have King’s Cross, eh?’ She still wouldn’t look up.

‘I suppose I’d better say it was wonderful working with you, something like that.’ It sounded corny, but actually I meant it.

‘It was all right, wasn’t it?’ She took half a step towards me, her eyes still down, seemingly intent on avoiding mine at all costs. I wasn’t too sure what she was going to do, but whatever it was, I wanted her to.

She put down the spoon on the worktop and took another step towards me. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get it wrong: to open my arms, only for her to walk straight past and check the microwave.

She was just a couple of feet away from me when the door buzzer went. That rueful smile came back as she diverted to the hallway intercom.

‘It’s me, open up.’ The Yes Man obviously hadn’t brought his audience.

She hit the buzzer and came back into the kitchen. ‘Saved by the bell, eh?’ We both laughed, a little too self-consciously.

The microwave pinged as Suzy filled the kettle to get a fresh brew on and I went and opened the front door.

The Yes Man looked as if he’d been doing a bit of overtime. The suit and shirt we had first seen him in were badly creased now, and his tie was loose. I was very pleased to notice a boil developing nicely on the back of his neck.

He took the settee and Suzy put his tea down in front of him, but he didn’t thank or acknowledge her in any way, just waited for her to sit in the chair opposite him. ‘Right, step by step.’

I shifted in my chair until first light as we went through the whole job, giving Suzy credit for saving my life and for the DW not getting smashed. The Yes Man took it all in, then nodded at her, and for once there was a smile on his face. ‘Well done.’ She deserved nothing less.

He looked over at me and the smile disappeared. ‘You’re weapons free, but you will stay here in the flat. You are to stay here until I release you. Got it?’

I nodded. He’d have to get the OK from George before he let me off the hook. ‘What about the States? Are they hitting the west coast, or the east?’

I was thinking about Josh and the kids. Maybe I should be DHLing them a shit load of doxycycline.

He pointed at Suzy, totally ignoring me. ‘You can go home. No point in keeping you here. Just be on call.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He stood up and repeated his congratulations to Suzy, then hesitated. ‘In fact, well done, both of you.’ I could almost hear his teeth grinding. He picked up his briefcase and made to leave.

‘When do you think I’ll be able to go, sir?’

‘When I’m ready.’

‘Can I have a sub then? I am getting paid for this, aren’t I?’

‘Take it out of your cover documents.’ His lip curled. ‘It’s just cash for you, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, sir. Just cash.’

The moment the door was closed, her eyes flashed. ‘He was trying to say thank you.’

‘Not hard enough.’

She stayed where she was for a moment, then hauled herself up. ‘Thanks for all that credit stuff. You didn’t have to.’

‘Yes, I did. You’re going to need as much help as you can get, working for that arsewipe full time.’

She walked past me, laying her hand on my shoulder for a second. ‘Thanks anyway.’

She turned into the bathroom and a few seconds later the electric shower kicked in. She came out again and headed for the bedroom. I finished the Yes Man’s brew, hoping his boils weren’t contagious, as I listened to her padding about. I checked traser. It was nearly six thirty. Surely Carmen and the gang would be up by now?

I hit my cell yet again as Suzy came out of the bedroom wrapped in the green towel. ‘Kelly?’

I nodded as the BT service came on, and Suzy disappeared into the shower. I told myself there was still plenty of time: they weren’t leaving until eleven.

I stretched out in the chair, rubbing my temples. What now? First thing, go to Bromley, see Kelly, and get my documents and antibiotics. Fuck the Yes Man – and George, for that matter. I’d leave my cell here so he couldn’t track me, be back here by the afternoon, and with luck they’d never know I’d left. Did we stop taking the antibiotics now? Nobody had told us. Fuck it, I’d carry on for a bit longer.

I was half dozing in the chair when Suzy reappeared. ‘You need a shower, you’re minging. Get through?’

‘No, I’ll go there as soon as I’ve cleaned up.’ I went into the kitchen. The door to her bedroom was still open a little as I dragged the shit-in-a-tray from the microwave and pulled back the film. I fished about in the drawer for a spoon and took a mouthful. ‘I was wrong.’

‘’Bout what?’

‘It’s fish.’

She was somewhere behind the door, still in dead ground.

‘You going straight home, then?’

‘I’ve got a conservatory to build, remember?’

‘You sure you can resist one of these?’

She came out, her hair scraped back, dressed in black cargoes and a jumper. ‘I’m not eating that crap.’

‘No problem, I’ll eat it for you.’ I put the tray down on the side and reached for the next one. She seemed to have other ideas. I felt her hair, wet against my face, and her breath on my neck. I put my arms round her, but an inch or two away as hers moved tightly round my back. She smelt wonderful, and all I could think about was that I smelt like a wet fart.

I ran my fingertips slowly down between her shoulder-blades. She nuzzled into my neck and I could smell apples again and feel her skin against mine. Then she put both hands on my chest and pushed herself away, blushing with embarrassment. ‘Nick, I . . . I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Beats breakfast, anytime.’

‘No, really, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have done that.’ She turned and went back to the bedroom.

I picked up the second tray, looked at it and put it down.

When she reappeared a couple of minutes later she was wearing her short black leather jacket and carrying her bag. ‘I’m off. Maybe we’ll see each other again?’

I nodded. ‘Yep, maybe.’

But we both knew we never would.

She held out her hand, and as we shook she pulled me to her once more and her lips brushed my cheek. ‘ ’Bye.’

I let go of her hand and she left.

48

The traffic crawled through south London. I listened to the same news on LBC’s nine o’clock bulletin that I’d watched a couple of times on BBC24 while I cleaned myself up. Most of it was about SARS and Iraq, but the breaking story was that the USA had heightened its terrorist alert state to amber, just one away from closing down the country. It looked like George couldn’t risk keeping his operation covert any longer, now he knew the UK ASU had been in their FOB, ready to attack.

There was nothing about Germany. Maybe I’d been wrong about that, or maybe their people had been successful too. If so, I thought fleetingly, Suzy and I might deserve some of the credit. Nobody would ever know, of course: the few who did would be taking that information to their graves, along with a lot more where that had come from. They knew that if they ever decided to open their mouths, people like Sundance and Trainers would be digging that grave for them much earlier than they had expected. That was just the way things were.

There wasn’t anything about three bodies being found near King’s Cross station either. The clean-up team would have been sent in quick before Zit Girl or her mates broke in for shelter and found more than they’d bargained for. By now all four bodies would have been burned, along with every shred of evidence in that room, and any lumpy bits left over would be floating about in the Thames estuary, waiting to feed the fish.

I’d hired a Vectra from Victoria station using my covert documentation, then maxed out on one of the Yes Man’s cards at a nearby cashpoint. What was he going to do? Sack me?

I was feeling surprisingly good on not very much sleep as I reached Bromley high street. I’d shoved my clothes in the washer-dryer at the flat while I’d showered, and even my Caterpillars felt OK.

I didn’t know why, but I always felt depressed as I entered the prim and proper road they lived on, with its miles of neat hedges and bungalows with shiny Nissan Micras and six-year-old Jags that got the good news with Turtle wax every Sunday. It was probably the thought of people being retired that did my head in. I’d rather be dead than land up trimming hedges and pruning roses. Or, even more depressing, maybe I’d get to like it.

I turned into the engineered-brick drive and stopped in front of the red garage door that Jimmy had had to repaint recently because the coat underneath hadn’t been quite shiny enough for Carmen. I got out and hit the bell push. A nice traditional bing-bong echoed from the hall.

No answer. I tried again, then fished into the shrub pot just to the left of the double-glazed PVC door and pulled out the key. People never learn.

I bing-bonged a few more times as I turned the handle. ‘Hello? It’s me – anyone home?’ I was hit by the smell of polish and plug-in air-fresheners, and a lot of silence.

They couldn’t still be in bed, because Jimmy deadlocked the front door every night. Maybe they’d left early: the way Jimmy drove, eleven would have been cutting it a bit fine.

It was shit, but not a big problem. I’d call the American desk at Heathrow and say there was some family drama and Carmen needed to call the house.

I went into the kitchen and was surprised to see the table still laid for breakfast. Carmen put the things out every night before bed, and whisked them away the moment the meal was over – sometimes even before. If the multi-grain toast was getting the better of Jimmy’s teeth and she was anxious to get on with the Hoovering, that was just tough shit.

I grabbed a handful of Mini Shreddies, Kelly’s favourite, and tipped them into my mouth. I could see my two brown Jiffy-bags on top of the fridge-freezer, where all the mail was kept. I picked up the phone and got the dual tone. Why couldn’t they just check the thing now and again? It would have made life so much easier.

Chomping away, I dialled 1571 and wedged the receiver between my shoulder and ear. BT told me there were two messages. I grabbed the first envelope, gripped the top of it in my teeth and started to tear it open, showering myself with bits of Shreddies. It felt quite good getting my life back, no matter how fucked up it was, as I listened to myself waffle away to the answering service.

I glanced into the hallway. From this angle I could see that the door into the garage wasn’t quite closed. That Jimmy had dared leave a door ajar was strange enough, but I could also see a highly polished section of his Rover still sitting there.

Shit.

The envelope and phone went down slowly on to the kitchen worktop and the last bits of cereal fell from my mouth as I let my jaw drop. Stretching out my hand, I grasped the handle of the cutlery drawer and eased it open. Everything was in its place: potato peeler, bread-knife, forks and spoons. I pulled out two vegetable knives, one for each hand, and moved into the hallway, placing my feet carefully on the Amtico tiles so the Caterpillars didn’t squeak.

Throat constricted, I checked the corridor and turned right.