The Avenue of the Dead (14 page)

‘Wait till morning. She may come back. Or you may get a message. I think in view of the cab, you've got to consider kidnapping.'

He looked up sharply and stared at Davina. ‘Kidnapping?'

‘It's beginning to look like it,' Lomax said. ‘The cab was a phoney. Someone has picked up your wife and is holding her. Davina's right. Do nothing, wait till morning. You'll hear from whoever has got her by then.'

‘I can't believe it,' he said. ‘Holy God, I can't believe it.'

‘I think we'd better go now,' said Davina. ‘If you hear anything, call, doesn't matter if it's in the middle of the night. I won't sleep anyway.'

Fleming didn't get up. He watched them both and said in a tense voice, ‘If it's anything political I won't give way. They can have every cent I've got to save Elizabeth, but my duty to the President comes first. I won't be blackmailed.'

‘Don't tell us,' Lomax retorted. ‘Tell them.'

In the car, she said to him, ‘I don't think Fleming is mixed up in this. He was shaking like a leaf when we got there. Colin – are you thinking the same as me?'

‘KGB snatch? It looks like it. Phoney cab, they must have the phone or the apartment bugged to know she wasn't being driven back. Kidnappers can grab their victims any time. This was planned well ahead.'

‘Then why wouldn't Fleming know? They're protecting him!'

‘They're not famous for communicating,' Lomax said. ‘And you can bet your bottom dollar his Russian friends don't know we have the diary.'

‘They do, if our flat is wired up,' Davina said. ‘They've probably been listening in on every word we said today. That explains it. They know Liz has documentary proof that Fleming is a traitor. They also know she gave that proof to us. Oh, Colin, they'll tear her to pieces.' She covered her face with her hands. Memories, terrors, came crowding back. She took a very deep breath as she had been taught to do, and fought them off. When Lomax looked at her she was sitting upright again, but her face was terribly white.

He said quietly, ‘Never mind her. We are the ones they'll come after now, to get the bloody diary back. Let's get the apartment phones checked out straight away.' They called Hickling from the nearest drugstore. He said he'd bring an electronics man within half an hour.

It took the expert ten minutes to find that the main phone and the kitchen extension were being tapped from outside. Then he went through the apartment room by room. He sounded the walls with a detector, the light fittings, every piece of furniture, every crevice that could conceal a microphone. He paid particular attention to the bedrooms. He came back to the sitting-room and said to Hickling, ‘The flat is clear. They didn't have time to do a proper job or they'd have gone into the walls. They just cut in on the two phones.' He turned to Davina. ‘They're OK now. I fixed them so anyone tuning in gets a high pitched buzz.'

‘Thanks,' Davina said. The man went out to make his own way home. She said to Peter Hickling, ‘It's very lucky for us they didn't wire up the whole place. Particularly as Elizabeth Fleming gave me classified information. But it's no thanks to the efficiency of your department. I suggest you make it standard procedure to check on any apartment used by British staff
before
they actually move in.' She turned her back on him. ‘Goodnight, she said. He grimaced at Lomax, who didn't respond, and then shrugged slightly. The Scot had changed his attitude towards Miss Almighty God Davina Graham. The fact that she was right, and he'd been negligent, just made it worse. He let himself out of the flat.

Colin gave her a lighted cigarette. ‘Well done. He deserved that. How about a cup of coffee? You're shaking, woman.'

‘What bloody incompetence!' She swung round on him. ‘Fancy not checking on a thing like that, knowing how sensitive this business was with Liz – I've a good mind to make an official complaint – it's time these embassy layabouts woke up.'

‘Steady on,' said Lomax. ‘Personally I don't think it is a KGB job. They'd have found a way to do the apartment over properly. The phone is easy for anyone with a basic knowledge of electronics. I'm beginning to think this is exactly what it seems. A straightforward kidnapping. Fleming will get a ransom note. Wait and see.'

‘I don't believe it.' She shook her head at him. ‘I'd like to, because it would ease my conscience. Fleming could buy her back. If the others have got hold of her – I know very well what that means.'

‘For Christ's sake,' he said, ‘get your priorities straight! The flat's not bugged so nobody knows about the diary. If you were right, they'd have got it out of her, and that would worry me. But nothing's happened, and I don't think anything's going to. You need a good night's sleep. Shut up the imagination. You can't help her by worrying.'

‘I sent Liz back home,' Davina said. ‘I sent her out to that cab. I don't think I'm going to sleep too well on that.' She got up and went to her room.

A few minutes later there was a brisk knock on the door. Lomax came in with a steaming glass. He set it down beside the bed. ‘Drink that. And no arguments! It's my own toddy – the famous Lomax special. I promise you, you'll sleep!'

‘There's no need to be afraid, Mrs Fleming,' Jeremy Spencer-Barr said. He was shielded from her by a bright light; all she could see was a man in shadow, with other shadows behind him. She squinted against the powerful light, her face putty grey with fear.

‘Who are you? What do you want?'

Jeremy ignored the repeated question. ‘We've been watching you for some time,' he said. ‘And we don't like what we've seen. We've brought you here to give you a friendly warning.'

‘Who are you?' she asked again.

‘Never mind who we are.' His voice was suddenly sharp, bullying. ‘I'm asking the questions! Shut up and listen!' She cringed, and he changed tactics immediately. It was part of a well tried technique. ‘That's better,' he said. ‘I don't want to frighten you. Just don't interrupt me, OK? I'll ask for an answer when I want one, OK? You understand?'

She nodded miserably.

‘Right.' Jeremy leaned forward a little; she could see more of his outline but nothing of his face. ‘You want to know who we are,' he said. ‘Let's just say that we're loyal Americans and good friends of your husband's. We can be very good friends – or very tough enemies with people who cross us. We think you may be doing just that, Mrs Fleming. We're not very happy with the way you've been treating your husband. You're drinking too much, making people talk. How come you're friendly with Miss Graham? She's hardly your type, is she? She doesn't get pissed. Why do you see so much of her, Mrs Fleming? What
do
you have in common?'

‘We were at school – she came on a visit – who are you, for Christ's sake, stop frightening me, can't you – I feel sick.'

‘I wouldn't do that,' the voice said from behind the light. ‘We'll only make you clean it up. And you don't need to work yourself up, nobody's going to hurt you. Just answer the questions. Tell me about Miss Graham. Tell me what she says and what you say.'

‘We talked about school.' The voice quivered. ‘We go shopping. I don't know what you want. I want to go home.'

‘What do you mean by home?' Jeremy asked her. ‘Home to Georgetown or home to England? Why don't you go home to England, Mrs Fleming? What do you and Miss Graham
really
talk about?'

Terror showed in the face of the woman in the circle of light. She made a sudden grimace, and Jeremy Spencer-Barr thought she was going to vomit. He reached out and switched off the light. ‘Give Mrs Fleming a glass of water,' he said.

The room was dim, full of shadows that moved. She took the water and sipped it. ‘Let me go home,' she whimpered. ‘Please, I haven't done anything.'

‘You've disgraced your husband,' Spencer-Barr snapped at her. The light flared again, blinding her. She dropped the glass and water soaked her skirt.

‘The only home you should go to is for alcoholics. There are plenty of places like that. Do you realize, your husband could have you committed and you'd never get out?' She shook her head; tears were running down her cheeks. ‘I think that's what he should do.'

‘No – no – please. I won't drink, I won't do anything …'

‘What does Davina Graham ask you?' The question was shot at her again. ‘What does she want with a tramp like you?'

‘Nothing,' she cried out. ‘I'm unhappy, I'm lonely – I talk about the old days when we were girls.' She started to crumple and the man standing behind caught her and held her in the chair. The light went out again. There was no sound except her muffled crying.

‘Mrs Fleming,' Jeremy said and his voice was gentle. ‘I'm sorry I've upset you. But we have to take care of people living in Washington. We have to keep a watch on them. We even have to call them in and ask them questions sometimes. I can't promise this won't happen again. It wouldn't, if you decided to go back to England. Think about it, won't you?'

He whispered to a man just behind him, ‘I think that's enough. Get her cleaned up, and get her out of here.'

Lomax woke very early. He was a light sleeper by nature, and a man who had to get up once he was awake. It was a beautiful morning, and at five a.m. the Washington streets were deserted. He opened the window. It was cool and fresh at that hour, the humidity held at bay. He went to Davina's bedroom and looked inside. She was asleep, nursing her pillow. He thought she looked vulnerable, almost like a child. He closed the door again very quietly. The disappearance of that worthless woman had shaken her badly. She needed a long healing sleep, before she faced the day.

He dressed, and put the diary in his back pocket. The sooner they could work on it and deposit it in the embassy safe the better. He decided to go for a walk and pick up the early editions of the morning papers.

It was a quiet, tree-lined street. As he strode towards the central avenue bisecting it, a solitary car sped past him. The driver slowed, watched Lomax in the driving mirror, accelerated again. At the end of the street he pulled into the kerb. When Lomax disappeared, he put the car into reverse and drove back down the street, slowly this time, coming to a stop twenty yards from the studio apartment door. He checked his watch, and got out. There was nobody about. He ran lightly up the shallow steps to the entrance, and jammed his finger on the bell.

Davina heard the persistent buzzing through her sleep. She woke unwillingly, confused by the ringing of the outside entrance bell.

She got up and called out ‘Colin?' He wasn't in his room and the apartment was empty. ‘Damn,' she said, ‘must have gone out without the key …' She picked up the entry phone and said automatically, ‘Who is it?' At the front door the man said in a muffled voice, ‘It's me.' She pushed the release knob and downstairs the entrance door clicked open. I'm still half asleep, she thought, and yawned. There was a tap on the apartment door. She slipped the latch and said, ‘You're an early bird …' and started to scream as the man leaped at her.

He was very quick; he knocked the breath out of her with a blow to the stomach that sent her doubled up and reeling, and cut the scream off before it began. She crumpled to the ground. He bent down and pulled her to her feet; she was gasping with pain and shock; he gripped her bare arms and squeezed brutally. Her eyes were full of tears, blurring his face.

‘You're going to be quiet,' he said. ‘Or you'll get more.' He dragged her to a chair. She was focusing now, seeing him properly for the first time. Young, dark-haired, eyes like a wild animal in a thin face. He pushed her backwards into the chair. ‘Don't talk, put your hands behind you.' She did as she was told. She had started to shiver. He tied her wrists together and fastened them to the chair rail.

He knelt beside her, and said softly, ‘Now you can talk. Where's the little book?'

Lomax bought two papers, glanced at the headlines, folded them under his arm, and paused, wondering whether to go home or take some exercise round nearby Jefferson Park. He had never been able to explain what activated his instinct for danger. It was like a chill, a swift frisson of the nerves that was as basic as the warning system of animals in the wild.

Standing there with the newspapers tucked under his left arm, Lomax scented danger. He had never ignored that premonition, and it had saved his life on three occasions. He turned for home, and as he came to the top of the street and noticed the distant car parked near Davina's flat, he broke into a run.

‘Where is it?' The point of the knife was under Davina's chin. She stared into the eyes and saw the savagery in them. ‘I don't know,' she whispered. ‘I haven't got it.'

‘Don't lie to me,' he hissed at her. ‘I'll cut you into little pieces. I'll make a jigsaw out of your face. What have you done with the book? All you have to do is tell me. Then I won't hurt you, see?'

She saw murder in her captor's face, the longing to use that knife on her face and body. ‘It may be in my friend's room,' she whispered. ‘He kept it.' He reached behind and cut her bound hands loose from the chair rail. He said, ‘I haven't got time to search. You come and tell me where it is.' He propelled her forward by the nape of the neck; his fingers were claws digging into her skin.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Show me, before I cut a little slice out of you.'

Davina's mind was racing. Where was Colin? Oh, God, where
was
he …?

‘It's not on the table, is it? Not in the drawers? You've been stalling, haven't you?' He was holding her bound arms above the elbows, hurting her so that she gasped and almost cried out. She felt the hot, stale breath by her cheek as he brought his face close to hers. ‘I'm going to cut you,' he whispered. ‘Just a little …'