The Doll’s House (12 page)

‘Bob might know,' she suggested. ‘I don't come from round here, but he does. Bob?'

She called to a large red-faced man polishing glasses further down the bar.

He came over and said, ‘Yes, Betty?'

‘Gentleman here asking about somebody called – what was it?'

‘Oakham,' Parker prompted. ‘Thought I recognized him – he was in here earlier and I just missed him.'

Bob was a Suffolk man and he regarded strangers with suspicion. Strangers started at the boundary with Essex, or any other county.

‘There's Oakhams living in Dedham,' he remarked after a pause. ‘Been here for generations. My grandad used to work for them before the war. You could try up at Bruton Hall. It's flats now, but some of the family's still there.'

He knew Harry Oakham well enough. He'd said ‘Good morning' when he came in. He wasn't going to identify him for anyone who wasn't even local. He didn't look like someone an Oakham would be friendly with. He went back to his place and started on more glasses. Jim Parker decided to try the barmaid again. It might be the shortest route.

‘Any big hotels round here?' he asked.

She stared at him.

‘What's wrong with this then?'

He wouldn't be put off. He grinned at her. ‘Nothing, nothing at all. It's very nice. Very friendly.' He couldn't resist the sarcasm, but she didn't see it. She probably thought she
was
being friendly.

‘It's just that I've got a lady friend and she likes candle-lit dinners. Bit more romantic than a pub. I'm taking her out tonight.'

‘We can run to a candle in a bottle,' she retorted. ‘But if you want to spend a lot of money, then try the one at Barrington. You'd have to book, it's very classy. And pricey,' she emphasized. ‘Doll's House Manor. Big old place – just been sold. Bob said the last owners were going broke. But it is good,' she added grudgingly, ‘if you like all that fanning around. I hope the girlfriend's worth it.'

‘Oh, she is,' Parker enthused. ‘Thanks a lot. I'll run over and take a look at it. I'll have a half pint of draught bitter and have something for yourself.'

She said, ‘Gin and lime would be nice, thanks,' and managed a brief smile.

4

When Harry came into the bar of the Old Mill, it was crowded. He stood for a moment looking round, said ‘Morning' to Bob who'd been there when he was old enough to order his first pint after a cricket match, and looked for Hakim. Hakim was a pro; he wouldn't be conspicuous. Harry shouldered his way to the bar, ordered half a pint of Pimm's No. 1 and took his time while the surly barmaid made it up. Lots of tourists, some locals, nobody he knew. He'd been away a long time, but Bob remembered him. Bob would. His family had worked for the Oakhams for three generations. Harry was touched when the first time he went there the old man leaned closer to look at him and said, ‘It's Mr Harry, isn't it? How old are you, sir?'

He sipped his drink, checked his watch. He was a little early, it was a few minutes before twelve. Then he spotted Hakim coming in, glancing round him quickly, going to the furthest and darkest part of the bar and sitting down with his back half turned to the room. He had a newspaper under his arm. He opened it up and started reading. It was his recognition signal. Hakim had a sense of humour. One of his scant virtues, Harry thought. The
Sporting Life
was his joke at the expense of the English. And like most Lebanese he loved to gamble. Horses, dogs, anything. Oakham saw another waitress come up to Hakim and take an order. He waited, letting Hakim stew for a while longer. Never show eagerness. Never hurry a deal. Hakim would see it as weakness. The Lebanese finished his drink, wiped his mouth with a white handkerchief and looked round. Oakham left the bar and went over to him.

Oakham sat down opposite to him. They weren't friends. Nobody was Hakim's friend.

Oakham said, ‘No trouble getting here?'

‘No.' The Lebanese was surly. He disliked country pubs. He was a city rat by upbringing and inclination.

‘What's the proposition?' Harry Oakham didn't waste time.

‘We've got a target,' Hakim said. ‘It's an elimination job.'

Harry sipped his Pimm's.

‘With extreme prejudice?'

‘Don't talk Langley crap,' the Lebanese hissed at him.

Oakham liked to needle people. Harry smiled benignly back at him. The CIA preferred to wrap up ugly deeds in long words.

‘All right, you want some bugger's neck broken. Is that better? Who is it?'

Hakim lowered his voice so that Harry had to bend to hear him.

‘Prince Abdullah Al Rashid,' he muttered.

Oakham finished his Pimm's. It was too sweet for his taste.

‘No deal,' he said. ‘We don't go into Saudi. Nobody would get near enough to spit on him.'

‘He won't be in Saudi,' Hakim said. ‘He's coming to London on a private visit. Staying at the Regis Hotel. Two weeks' time.'

Harry's eyes narrowed, peering at nothing. Hakim knew that look. He was encouraged.

‘What's he coming for?'

‘Eye trouble, the usual. He likes to gamble. And he likes blondes.'

‘What chance of getting to him outside?'

The Lebanese shook his head.

‘No chance. Bullet-proof car, armed bodyguard and Special Branch crawling round like fleas.'

Oakham pointed to Hakim's empty glass.

‘Gin?'

‘Yes, with orange. Thanks,' he added.

Harry came back with the drink and a glass of bitter. The Lebanese grimaced.

‘How can you drink that filthy stuff? Not even iced …'

‘Well, you know what they say about gin and orange – tarts love it. Which reminds me – where does he go for the girls?'

‘He doesn't, they come to the hotel. He uses the same agency every time.'

‘And he likes blondes,' Oakham mused. ‘Where do you get your information?'

‘We have a sympathizer quite close to him,' Hakim answered.

‘Not sympathetic enough to do the job for you?' Harry asked.

‘No. You lose both arms and legs before they behead you in the public square at Riyadh for a crime against the Royal Family. This is our only chance. Are you interested or not?'

‘Depends on the money. What's the offer?'

Hakim had been given an open-ended cheque. The Arab Prince was his father's favourite son. An ardent pro-American after the Gulf War, a bitter enemy of the Muslim fundamentalist movement. Iran had wanted him dead for a long time. But not in Saudi and not by the hand of one of their organizations. The ideal solution was assassination in Europe, in scandalous circumstances that would outrage Muslim opinion.

They were ready to pay anything to achieve that aim.

But Hakim was a Lebanese and bargaining was like breathing. He named half the expected sum.

‘Five hundred thousand sterling.'

Oakham shook his head. ‘Don't fart around with me,' he said pleasantly. ‘Three quarters of a million is the price.' He moved his chair as if he was about to get up and leave. ‘Not a penny less,' he said, and he was on his feet.

Hakim gave up. ‘Agreed. Sit down, sit down. But there's a condition.'

‘Three quarters for the elimination – conditions cost more.'

‘We want some dirt to spread around,' Hakim said. ‘A scandal they can't hush up. Drink, drugs, something the papers can have fun with …'

‘You want us to smear him as well as kill him,' Oakham murmured. ‘I see. That will be another two fifty thousand.'

This was not the back-street bazaar plotting of the rival groups in Lebanon. This was a top assignment, masterminded and directed from Tehran. The death of their arch-enemy, coupled with a private visit to the forbidden flesh pots of the West … Nice stuff.

‘Well?' he asked, and after a moment Hakim nodded.

‘Agreed. A million for the whole job. But nothing on account. I can't move on that. Payment by results for that kind of money.'

Oakham made a quick judgement. He decided not to push too hard., ‘Fair enough. You've met me, I'll waive the deposit. Now I think I've got something to work on. But I'll need very detailed information from your end. Call me tomorrow. Around six-thirty.'

He got up, finished his beer. Hakim opened the newspaper. They didn't say goodbye.

Two girls had come to the edge of the lake with a bag of crumbs; they were throwing them to the ducks. There was a lot of splashing and scrambling.

Jim Parker said, ‘I like ducks. Especially the ornamentals. Carolinas are pretty. I tracked Oakham down from the phone book. I rang up and introduced myself. He wasn't very welcoming. But he was like that, apparently. Never got on with officialdom. I said I was in the area and would like to drop by and see him. Welfare and all that; wouldn't take up much of his time. So far everything checked out, Mrs Bennet. He was the manager of this hotel, all I had to do was drive up and have a chat, sum up the situation and ask about his friend Jan.

‘Which is exactly what I did. And there was the tiger in the pussy basket, all snug and curled up, and purring.'

‘And you weren't satisfied,' Rosa said. ‘You felt something was wrong.'

‘Everything was right, that was the trouble. You see he didn't know what my job really was. We do have a Welfare Department and they do offer a service to retired staff. Oakham knew that.

‘So when I went there I expected him to be offhand. Mind-your-own-bloody-business attitude. That's what I got over the phone. But it was different when I saw him. The hotel was a magnificent place if you like old buildings. Tudor brick. The sun was shining on it as I drove up, and it was quite a drive. Lovely grounds, everything well kept. I remembered the girl in the pub saying the last owners were nearly broke. That place had had a fortune spent on it, and very recently. Whoever bought it, didn't penny pinch. And out he came, morning coat, pinstriped trousers, and a big smile on his face. “Hello, nice to meet you. Do come in.”'

Jim Parker. Welfare. Just popping in to make sure he was settling down in the new job. Harry Oakham hung up. Then he picked up the house phone and dialled Jan's office. He wasn't there. He was in the dining room, the receptionist said, she'd just seen him go past.

‘Ask him to come and see me right away.'

Welfare. Yes, he knew they did the good Samaritan bit and looked up the boys and girls when they'd kicked them out on their backsides. Very caring of them. Then he paused. It wouldn't do to be antagonistic. Whoever this little creep was, he'd better send him away happy. The door opened and Jan came in. He looked worried.

‘What's the matter, Harry? Something wrong?'

‘There's a bloody Welfare nosey parker on his way over.'

‘For Christ's sake,' Jan said, ‘why do you let him come here? What does he want?'

He was agitated; Harry noticed how worked up he was getting.

He said coolly, ‘Don't be a bloody fool, Jan. It's routine; we'll have a drink and I'll tell him I'm settled and enjoying being out of the game, and he'll go home and put it on file.'

‘All right, all right,' the Pole was pacing up and down. ‘How did he find you? Why is he checking up now?'

‘Use your head, can't you? Think straight. I'm on some computer print-out that says refer to records, non-urgent, and they finally get around to me.'

‘That's right,' Jan muttered. ‘They came to see me regularly after I left. The same old bullshit. How're you managing? Anything we can do? When they'd kicked me out with a lousy pension and they'd fixed me up in a job that paid cigarette money!'

His face darkened with rage. ‘They're bastards, Harry. You look out for this sod. You be careful.'

Oakham said gently, ‘I'm a bastard too. I'll handle him. Don't worry. You just calm down and don't worry about a thing. Trust me.'

‘I do,' Jan said simply. ‘You're the only one who stood by me. I'll never let you down, Harry.'

‘Don't talk rubbish. We take care of each other. We always did.'

Jan said, ‘For the last six months Welfare sent a woman, a very tactful lady. Last time she called I told her to fuck off. She didn't mind. She knew I'd gone funny in the head. Very tactful lady. If they ask about me, you say I went back to Poland.'

‘OK,' Oakham nodded. ‘You're right; we've got a job coming up. We don't want to make waves.'

Jan's eyes brightened. ‘Hakim?'

‘Yes. Look, stay in your flat, keep out of sight till this bugger's gone. If he asks about you, I'll say what you said. You went to Poland to find some relatives. I'll make it sound final. They'll close the file with luck. I'll phone through when he's gone.'

He left his office and went out to the main reception hall. The creep was due in the next few minutes if he'd followed the directions, and as he looked through the windows, he saw a car coming steadily up the long drive, slowed down by the speed humps on the way. It stopped and a man got out. He was dressed in trousers and a sports coat, with an open-necked shirt. About forty, Harry judged, ordinary looking, going bald.

Wipe out the cool reception when he rang up. Be friendly, show him how well you've adjusted to your new career. Send him off with a warm glow.

He came out on to the steps and said, ‘Hello, nice to meet you. Do come in.'

The man held out his hand.

‘Jim Parker. I hope this isn't a bad time? You're not too busy?'

Oakham had implied that it was inconvenient at any time when he suggested calling. Now the response was different.

‘Not at all. Come into my office, we can have a drink together.'

It was a well-furnished, even luxurious office by Parker's reckoning. The manager did himself well. He sat opposite Harry in a leather armchair. Gin and tonics arrived. He lifted his glass.