by Chris Ryan
‘Pull over here,’ Porter said.
Bald nosed the XC90 into a free parking spot forty metres due north of the hotel, on the opposite side of the road. Gate at their nine o’clock, leading into the park. Low-level apartments at their three o’clock. The Hotel Flamingo was at their one o’clock, forty metres downstream. Lansbury had debussed from the S-Class. He gave the chauffeur the thumbs-up and set off towards the entrance at a quick trot. Behind him the S-Class peeled away, continuing further south of the hotel.
Five seconds later, Lansbury disappeared inside.
Bald frowned. ‘Who the fuck is he meeting in this shithole?’
‘Could be a mistress,’ Porter suggested.
‘You reckon?’
‘He told us he was meeting a woman.’
She’d never forgive me, Lansbury had said to them back at the Royal Duna. It would be a betrayal of her trust.
‘If that’s true, our man is a randy fucker. He’s slinging one up his PA, and then nobbing some other bird on the side as well.’
Porter looked over at Bald, eyebrow arched. ‘You think he’s shagging Jansen?’
‘Definitely. The way her eyes light up when she talks about him, I’d bet my life on it.’
‘Maybe he’s on Viagra.’
‘Aye.’ Bald chewed on a thought like it was gum. ‘But if he is meeting his bit on the side, he’s going to a lot of effort to stop anyone finding out about it.’
‘He’s a populist, Jock. They’re all big on family image. Traditional values, all that bollocks. It wouldn’t look good if it leaked out to the press that he was shagging around.’
‘Could be,’ Bald mused. ‘But if he was getting his end away, you think he’d choose a better spot for it than this dump.’
‘Maybe that’s part of it. He’s less likely to be spotted out here than at one of the big hotels.’
‘Only one way to find out.’ Bald turned to his mucker. ‘Get that audio up and running.’
TWENTY
Porter took out his iPhone and sent a text message to the SIM card stored inside the listening device. The text message simply read, 181215. The code activated the coin-sized bug hidden beneath Lansbury’s jacket collar, waking it up from standby mode and switching on the microphone. They couldn’t follow Lansbury inside. Too much chance of being spotted by the principal. Which would lead to all sorts of awkward questions. And there was no clear advantage to trailing him on foot. They couldn’t exactly follow him into the hotel room. Not unless they were planning to dress up as lampshades. Easier to stay in the car and listen in from a safe distance.
Once the listening device was activated Porter tapped the two-way recording icon on the bottom-left of the iPad screen, transmitting the signal back to a bunker room somewhere in Vauxhall. The two-way icon changed colour, indicating that the recording mode was turned on. The signal strength indicator at the top right of the display showed two bars. Which was okay, but not great, thought Porter, recalling what Hogan had told them back at the briefing, about needing good network coverage in order to remotely operate the listening devices.
He sent a brief message to Strickland’s phone. BROKEN RECORD at Hotel Flamingo. Inside building. No visual but audio up and running.
We’re listening, Strickland replied.
Porter turned his attention to the microphone. For several moments they heard nothing except the rustle of Lansbury’s coat, the muffled sound of his breathing. The audio quality wasn’t great. A tiny microphone, secreted under a collar, in a dodgy reception area, wasn’t going to give them crystal-clear audio. But it was better than nothing. Porter sent another coded message to the bug, increasing the volume on the device. The sounds amplified. They heard the cheery ping of a lift, followed by the metallic scrape and judder of doors sliding open. Then the dull patter of footsteps.
The footsteps abruptly stopped. There was the rap of knuckles on wood, followed by a voice from inside the room that was too far away for the microphone to clearly pick up. Then the diplomatic click of a lock, the groan of a door being opened. More footsteps.
A gravelly male voice said, ‘Derek. You’re late.’
‘I got held up,’ Lansbury replied tartly. ‘Had to brief my new bodyguards.’
‘Ah yes,’ a third male voice said. It was soft and nasal. ‘We heard about your unfortunate incident the other day.’
Porter counted three voices in total. Lansbury, plus the two unknowns. The guy with the gravelly voice and the nasal one. Both were thickly accented and harsh. Eastern European, he guessed. There was an air of easy informality between the three of them. They sounded chummy, familiar.
Not strangers meeting for the first time.
Not a mistress, either.
So who the fuck is Lansbury meeting?
They listened in silence as the conversation continued. The three men sitting down, the two foreigners offering Lansbury refreshments. Tea or coffee, Derek? Something to eat? Lansbury declined. Every so often the chatter became distorted as the network signal weakened. But they heard enough to get the gist of the meeting.
Nasal Voice said, ‘We don’t want to waste time, so let’s get right to it.’
‘As you wish,’ Lansbury said.
‘Our boss has concerns about tonight’s arrangements.’
‘He shouldn’t have,’ Lansbury retorted. ‘Everything’s been taken care of, I can assure you. The last of the guests arrived this morning. Everything is set. Tell your boss that.’
‘And how confident are you that everyone will agree to the terms we propose?’
‘Some of them may take issue with it. At least to begin with.’
‘Such as who?’
‘Zanetti can be a stubborn bugger, if the mood takes him. And the Dutch are notoriously flimflam. Big on talk, reluctant to commit to hard action, in my experience. But we’ll get there in the end, I’m sure.’
Gravel Voice said, ‘Our boss doesn’t share your optimism.’
‘He bloody well should do. I’ve been busting a gut over this thing, trying to get it over the line.’
‘The issue isn’t your commitment. No one doubts that, Derek. But we’re concerned that some of your colleagues may prove more resistant to our proposal than you think.’
‘Based on what?’ Lansbury demanded.
‘We’ve had reports from our assets in the field,’ the guy with the nasal voice explained. ‘They’ve been monitoring the other guests, intercepting their communications. Some of them have privately expressed views that suggest they are not as loyal to Mother Russia as we had hoped. The feeling inside the agency is that they will be difficult to persuade. Even for a man of your considerable powers.’
‘You’re bribing them, for Christ’s sake. Isn’t that enough?’
‘We thought so. Now, we’re not so sure. We’re asking them to swallow a big pill, politically speaking. If even one person votes against it, others might cave in. We can’t let that happen, for obvious reasons.’
‘It won’t.’
Gravel Voice said, ‘You’d fucking better be right.’
‘Is this why you called me here? To berate me? I thought I was going to meet our guest speaker.’
‘You are,’ Nasal Voice said. ‘This guy is going to help you get the deal over the line. We think he might help persuade some of your more reluctant comrades.’
‘I don’t see how he can do a better job than me.’
‘This Russian isn’t just anybody, Derek. He’s high-profile. Very famous. All your friends will have heard of him. And he’s got an interesting story to tell.’
‘Who?’
‘Someone you’ll know, when you see him.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Not here. We’ve been keeping his whereabouts a closely guarded secret. For obvious reasons.’
‘I assume his attendance is non-negotiable.’
‘This request comes straight from the boss. He trusts you’ll agree to it.’
‘And if I refuse?’
> ‘Then our boss would be pissed off. You don’t want to do that. Not a man you want to upset, you understand?’
‘I’ll need to see him at once, then,’ Lansbury said sharply. ‘Run through the agenda with him, what he needs to say. All of that.’
Nasal Voice said, ‘We’ll take you right there. First, we need to make sure you’re clean. Are you wearing anything?’
‘Not now, no. My bodyguards made me wear one of those damn trackers, but I got rid of it.’
‘Where?’
‘In a bin. On the other side of town.’
‘That might look suspicious. Losing your tracker like that.’
‘If you’ve ever seen me on TV you’ll know that I’m rather a clumsy fellow. If those two idiots ask, I’ll just say I dropped it when I popped out for a pack of fags.’
‘Fags?’
‘Cigarettes.’
‘And they didn’t make you wear anything else?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, no.’ Lansbury sighed audibly. ‘Now can we please get going, gents? I’ve got a very busy day ahead of me. Time is of the essence here.’
There was a pause in the chat as Nasal Voice barked at the other guy in a tongue that sounded familiar to Bald. Russian, he thought. It sounded as if Nasal Voice was the one calling the shots. Gravel Voice was the muscle, he guessed.
‘Andrei will sweep you first,’ Nasal Voice said. ‘Make sure you’re clean.’
‘What the hell for? I just told you I’m not wearing anything.’
‘Precautions, Derek. As you say in England. Better to be safe than sorry.’
Bald turned to Porter and said, ‘They’re gonna find the mic. Turn that fucking thing off.’
Porter reached for his iPhone, punched in the six-digit code to deactivate the coin bug. Hit Send. A red exclamation mark flashed up next to the SMS. Message failed to send. Porter looked up at the signal-bar indicator at the top of the screen. No service.
Shit.
‘Well?’ Bald asked. ‘Is it off?’
Porter shook his head, impotently tapping icons on the screen. ‘I can’t, mate. There’s no signal . . .’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Bald hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Useless. Give it here.’
He snatched the handset from Porter, frowning at the screen. He saw the No Service alert on the top left-hand corner and held up the phone, pointing it in various directions to try and get the ghost of a signal. Nothing. He tried sending the message again anyway. Got the same red exclamation mark. Message failed to send.
Then they were too late.
A loud repetitive beeping noise came down the microphone, like a metal detector hovering over a Viking hoard. In his mind, Bald pictured Gravel Voice standing over Lansbury, sweeping him from head to toe with a handheld radio-frequency detector. They’ve found the bug, he realised.
There was a pregnant pause followed by a loud rummaging noise. Gravel Voice lifting up the collar and ripping off the bug, Bald assumed.
Nasal Voice said, ‘What the fuck is this?’
‘I-I don’t know. I swear to God.’
Lansbury’s voice sounded small and weak.
‘Don’t fuck with me, Derek. You think we don’t know what this is? This is a micro-GPS tracker. It transmits your location on a continuous signal. You told us you were clean. Who the fuck are you working for?’
‘Nobody! Christ, I swear!’
‘Then why the fuck are you wearing a tracker?’
‘I don’t know. Someone else must have put it there.’
‘Like who?’
‘How the hell should I know?’
‘I knew we couldn’t trust this piece of shit,’ Gravel Voice rasped.
‘No, you can! Jesus, I’m on your side here! Everything I’ve done for you lot, I’d never betray you.’
More silence. Nasal Voice said, ‘Then it’s obvious. Someone is watching you, Derek.’
Bald heard an absurd laugh from Lansbury. ‘Impossible.’
‘There’s no other explanation. Either you hid this fucking thing, or someone else did.’
‘I had no idea this thing was on me. You have to believe me.’
Gravel Voice said, ‘He’s lying, boss—’
‘I’m not! I swear on my kids.’
The two foreigners lapsed into a long silence again.
‘You’d better not be fucking lying to us,’ Nasal Voice said at last.
‘I’m not,’ Lansbury insisted.
‘Good. Because if you are, we’ll find out about it. You know that, right? This is what we do for a living. The boss will strap you to a stretcher and cremate you alive. You’ll scream like a fucking baby. We’ll film the whole thing, send copies to your ex-wife and kids. That’s what happens when you fuck with us.’
‘Y-yes,’ Lansbury replied nervously, his voice cracking. ‘I understand.’ He hesitated, then went on. ‘Perhaps, in light of this, it would be wise to delay things, Victor. Just for a few days, until I find whoever is responsible.’
Victor, aka Nasal Voice, remained quiet for a beat. Then he said, ‘We can’t. The wheels are already turning. There’s a very specific timetable. The boss wants everyone to stick to it. Anyone who fails . . .’
His voice trailed off.
‘But if someone is listening—’
‘Big deal. Maybe someone followed you here. So what? These things don’t have audio. They don’t know what we’re discussing. If they knew everything by now, they’d have you in handcuffs. You’re still a free man. Which means they don’t know shit.’
‘But they’re on to us.’
‘Twenty-four hours from now, that won’t matter. We stick to the plan. Unless you want to explain to the boss how you fucked up, and his project is in ruins?’
Lansbury didn’t reply.
‘I thought so,’ said Nasal Voice. ‘Now, let’s get a move on. We’ve kept our friend waiting for long enough. And from now on, make sure you check your fucking clothes for trackers.’
‘Yes,’ Lansbury replied. ‘Yes, of course.’
There was a brief exchange in Russian between Nasal Voice and his mate. Bald couldn’t understand a word of it. But from the tone he guessed Nasal Voice was issuing a series of orders to Gravel Voice. Then he heard a fumbling sound, followed by a sudden electronic squawk, like a burst of radio static.
Then the bug went silent.
Lansbury emerged from the hotel exactly two minutes later. He was sandwiched between a pair of medium-built guys, dark-haired and mean-faced. Both were decked out in black trousers, Gore-Tex boots and North Face puffer jackets. The guy on the left had a black goatee and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. His mate was a couple of inches shorter, with high cheekbones and a thin nose, wearing a grey beanie hat, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
‘Get a shot of them, quick,’ Bald said.
Porter snatched up his iPhone, tapped on the camera app and pinched the screen, zooming in on the three figures as they strutted over to the car park. He took three close-ups of Lansbury and his two mates before they turned away and stopped beside a dark-blue BMW 5 Series. Beanie Hat yanked open the rear door and gestured for Lansbury to get in. Red Sox took the wheel. Beanie Hat manoeuvred round to the front passenger door and paused for a moment as he scanned the area around the hotel. A casual sweep of the road, searching for anything suspicious. He seemed to stare at the XC90 for a beat before he climbed into the BMW.
A few moments later the BMW pulled out of the car park and headed south, in the opposite direction of the XC90. Porter dialled Strickland’s number on his iPhone. She picked up on the second ring
‘Talk to me. What’s going on?’
‘They’re on the move,’ Porter said. ‘BROKEN RECORD and the two blokes he was talking to. They just left the hotel.’
‘On foot?’
‘Vehicle. They’re driving a BMW 5 Series, dark blue with tinted windows, licence plate VSZ-184. Heading south on Demeter Street.’
‘Don’t follow them,’ Strickland order
ed. ‘Withdraw from your position. We’ve got guys waiting nearby who can pick them up. Local assets. A surveillance team.’
Porter thought back to the initial briefing. The Hungary-based assets Strickland had mentioned before. Additional surveillance teams, drivers. Whatever you need.
‘Why not us?’ he demanded angrily. ‘We’re right here, ma’am.’
‘No. It’s too risky. You might blow your cover. Leave it to our local guys. They know their way around the city. They’ll pick up the scent.’
Porter didn’t like handing over to another team, but he could see the logic behind Strickland’s decision. They were dealing with a pair of potential foreign agents, trained in counter-surveillance measures, already jumpy from the discovery of the listening bug. They would be keeping a close eye on the road behind them, looking ten cars back, noting anyone who took the same turn-offs as them. And Bald and Porter were driving a vehicle that directly linked them to Lansbury. If Red Sox and Beanie Hat made the Volvo, the mission would be fatally compromised.
Strickland said, ‘Did you get a look at the people BROKEN RECORD was talking to?’
‘We did better than that,’ Porter said. ‘We took pictures.’
‘Send them through. Soon as you can.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The photos will tell us. But the smart money is that they’re with Russian intelligence. We’ll ask GCHQ to run a voice recognition check too. See if that throws anything up.’
Porter looked ahead. The BMW had already disappeared from view. Where the fuck are they taking Lansbury?
Strickland said, ‘Right now, you need to get back to the hotel. Bug the room, while BROKEN RECORD is out of play. We’ll keep you posted on his whereabouts.’
‘Roger that.’
