‘Every woman needs to be that, however seldom she may have to use the skills. I was taught domesticity by my mother.’
‘It’s difficult to imagine you with a mother.’
‘I know. Adolf Hitler once said I was an incarnation of Eurynome, the Pelasgian Goddess of All Things, born out of Chaos, who spent eternity dancing through the heavens, creating and destroying as she saw fit.’
He stared at her with his mouth open, and she smiled at him. ‘But I do have a mother, who I love dearly.’
‘And does she . . .?’
‘Yes, she does. And no, she does not approve. But she knows why I am what I am.’ She raised her glass. ‘Happy days!’
‘I’ll say amen to that. But Anna, can’t I tag along discreetly . . . just in case you need me?’
Anna ate her steak. ‘Jerry, if there is so much as a suspicion of your presence, you are going to get a bullet. These characters have got me sized up as a bimbo who has seen her best days and is running low on cash, so she is on the make. Nothing more than that. And that’s the way it has it to stay. Savvy? Now listen. I don’t know how long it will take me to get back to town, and I don’t know what condition my clothes will be in when I do. But even if they’re in perfect nick, I can’t turn up at the airport in evening dress without attracting attention, so I’m going to have to come back here to change.’
‘Won’t that be risky?’
‘How? As far as the hotel is concerned, I’m booked in for another four days.’
‘Ah . . .’ He turned his head, as there were several bumps in the corridor. ‘What’s that?’
‘Relax, for God’s sake. That’s guests moving in. Midday is turnover time. The previous occupants have to be out by noon, and the new guests come in after that.’
He drank some wine.
‘Now keep listening. If everything goes according to plan, I will, as I say, pick up some form of transport and come home, and hopefully go to bed for a couple of hours.’
‘Hold on. Those guys will know where you’re staying. That fellow Khouri certainly will, if he’s picking you up.’
‘Jerry, think. When I leave Fahri’s house, that fellow Khouri is going to be dead. Along with any of his pals who may make themselves a nuisance.’
He gulped.
‘I will then leave the hotel at nine tomorrow morning, and be at the airport at ten.’
‘If you’re playing it so straight, why do we need the empty suitcase?’
She sighed. ‘Because as far the hotel will know, I’m just going out for my normal morning’s shopping and will be back for lunch.’ She opened the case and began packing her clothes, including her recent purchases. She couldn’t get everything in, so had to make a selection; but that was useful, if painful, in case a maid opened her wardrobe while she was out. She then placed her jewellery in a little bag, retaining only her crucifix and watch, and put the little bag into her shoulder bag.
Jerry watched her with interest. ‘I thought you never went out without that stuff?’
‘I can’t be certain how this evening is going to turn out, and I don’t want some light-fingered mortuary attendant to get his hands on it while I’m lying on a slab in the morgue.’
‘Jesus! You can contemplate that so calmly?’
‘It’s an occupational hazard. Not something to worry about. You need to remember that if I wind up on a slab in the morgue, I won’t know anything about it. What I want you to promise is that if I don’t show at the airport you’ll get this bag back to my parents. The shoulder bag also contains my passport. So don’t lose it.’
‘Which passport?’
‘The real one. I’ll keep the Kelly one in my handbag, just in case Fahri wants some identification.’
‘Do you ever miss a trick?’
‘I’m alive, Jerry. Let’s have that promise.’
‘I promise,’ he said fervently. ‘What about the coat?’
She grimaced. ‘That goes with my outfit, and I can wear it with casual gear tomorrow. If by any chance I have to abandon it, that too is an occupational hazard. This is my fifth. Now, Jerry . . .’
She closed the suitcase. ‘See you tomorrow.’
He stood up. ‘Anna . . .’
‘Tomorrow, Jerry,’ she said and kissed him.
*
‘What appears to be the crisis?’ Clive Bartley inquired, entering Baxter’s office. ‘I’ve never seen Amy so agitated.’ Clive Bartley was a tall, powerfully built man with rugged features. He had graduated to MI6 from Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, and had thus been in undercover work nearly all of his adult life. He had acquired a formidable reputation, both in the field and when manipulating events from behind the scenes, handling every scenario he encountered with calm assurance, including those involving his fabulous wife. The only discernible indication of his age (just past fifty), and of the various traumas that had studded his life, were the grey wings edging his lank dark hair.
Baxter, who had been his boss for most of those years, regarded him without enthusiasm. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he suggested.
Clive did so. ‘I think you should know,’ he said, ‘that whatever it is, you can count me out.’ He placed a folder on the desk. ‘My report. I have just completed a long and very messy assignment, and I now intend to return to the Bahamas.’
Baxter began to fill his pipe, scattering tobacco. As Clive knew, from years of observation, that this meant he had an unpleasant, or at least, tricky, situation to handle, he began to tense. ‘I am all in favour of you going back to the Bahamas,’ Baxter said. ‘Just as quickly as possible.’
‘That is a very acceptable point of view.’
Baxter struck a match, which enabled him to concentrate on his pipe. ‘Just as long as you take your wife with you.’
‘You’ve lost me. Are you saying that Anna wants picking up? From where?’
‘That is part of the problem. I don’t know.’
‘Billy, you must be using the wrong tobacco.’
Billy puffed. ‘But I can tell you,’ he said, ‘that she is situated within a few miles of where we are sitting now. Probably less.’
‘For God’s sake. How can Anna be in Britain? In London?’
‘I’d like to know that, believe me.’
‘I suppose someone has reported seeing her. Billy, do you suppose she’s the only long-haired blonde in the world?’
‘This morning,’ Baxter said, ‘I had a visit from Lord Bordman. You may remember him better as the Honourable Ballantine Bordman. You were his bodyguard in Berlin in 1938.’
‘He was the fat slug who managed to get his hands on Anna. Every time I think of that it makes my blood boil.’
‘He got his hands on Anna,’ Baxter pointed out, mildly, ‘because she invited him to do so. All right, so she was acting on the orders of her Nazi bosses. But the fact remains that he did get his hands on her in a big way, and I’m sure you’ll agree that any man who has enjoyed that experience is not going to forget it.’
Clive glared at him.
‘Bordman,’ Baxter continued equably, ‘claims that when he was at a nightclub last night he saw Anna, seated at a table on the far side of the room, large as life and twice as beautiful.’
‘Now I know you’re talking rubbish. Anna has never been to a nightclub in her life. Except perhaps when required to do so by her job.’
‘Exactly.’
Clive ignored the implication. ‘And you believed this twaddle? Wasn’t Bordman institutionalized after his separation from her?’
‘He was. But that was a long time ago. He is perfectly compos mentis now.’
Clive blew a raspberry. ‘So he thinks he saw Anna sitting all by herself at a table in a nightclub. Does that sound like Anna to you?’
‘She was not alone, Clive. She was sitting with a clearly foreign gentleman. Holding hands.’
‘What?!! How is she supposed to have been dressed?’
‘She was wearing a very revealing evening gown, and apparentl
y dripping with jewellery.’
‘And where did this sighting take place?’
Baxter began to knock out his pipe. ‘At the Coca Club.’
‘The . . . that’s the sleaziest club in London.’
‘Quite. Bordman was embarrassed about that. It would appear that like so many middle-aged men he has started to seek new experiences.’
‘And you seriously believe this story?’
‘Unfortunately Bordman was not alone. His companions all saw Anna, and commented on her looks. They didn’t know who she was, of course, and he didn’t tell them. But they apparently will be able and willing to support his description.’
‘And what does he intend to do about it?’
‘It’s what he wants us to do that has to take priority. Because if we don’t do something PDQ, he is threatening to take the matter to the Home Secretary.’
‘And you are prepared to allow a pompous windbag, who is also a mental defective, frighten us?’
‘Now stop blowing off steam, and listen to me. By being here at all, Anna is breaking the terms of her agreement with us, and that covers her immunity in the Bahamas. That she has that immunity, that she is actually alive at all, is known to only half a dozen people; and it has to stay that way, or heads could begin to roll. If the newspapers got hold of it, it could bring down the government.’
‘Wouldn’t the simplest answer be to take out Bordman?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Baxter said. ‘I didn’t hear that. And I don’t want to hear it. Just keep calm. Now, if her trip is just an outbreak of loneliness at your long absence, we might be able to smooth it over, providing you manage to get her out of the country ASAP. But if, as I suspect and the evidence suggests, she is here to work – and it can only be for the CIA – we need to identify her target and stop her completing her mission before all hell breaks loose and we find ourselves up to our ears in deep shit. So your business is to drop everything, revert to being the top-class gumshoe you were twenty-odd years ago, and find her quickly.’
Clive regarded him for several seconds. ‘And when I find her?’
‘We’ll get her out of the country – if you make it before it’s too late.’
Clive stood up. ‘And Bordman?’
‘If I can assure the Home Secretary that we have the matter under control, we don’t have to worry about Bordman.’
Clive left the office.
*
When Jerry left, Anna wheeled the lunch trolley into the corridor, hung out a DO NOT DISTURB notice, locked the bedroom door, and – as was her custom when about to undertake a mission, and certainly one that might take all night – retired to bed. Her mind was already fully focused on the coming job itself, and thus emptied of all worries and apprehensions, despite the as yet unknown circumstances she might encounter.
She slept soundly for two hours, rose at five, and had a leisurely bath. Then she put on her knickers, strapped on her pistol and spare magazine, and finished dressing. Despite the temperature outside, she was not wearing stockings; she had always found them a nuisance in the past, and the suspender belt was inclined to get in the way of the gun belt. Her sable would have to do the job of keeping her warm when in transit.
She chose her black evening gown as this most effectively set off her golden hair and pale complexion, and worked the side vent vigorously for some seconds to make sure that the zip was absolutely free.
Satisfied, she added perfume and make-up, brushed her hair (she was wearing it completely loose save for two small clips above her temples to hold it away from her face and forehead), strapped on her watch, and surveyed herself in the mirror. Then she checked the contents of her evening purse. Apart from her Kelly passport, she was carrying only sufficient money to pay for a taxi home; there was nothing that could possibly identify her as Anna Fehrbach or the Countess von Widerstand or, most important of all nowadays, as Anna Bartley of Fair Cay in the Bahamas. Finally, she telephoned the desk. ‘This is Miss Kelly,’ she said, ‘Room 416. I am expecting to be picked up this evening at about half-past seven by a Mr Khouri. Will you call me when he arrives, please?’
‘Of course, Miss Kelly.’
Then it was a matter of waiting, but that was a necessary part of the business. Sitting in an armchair, her arms resting to either side, her fingers spread, they and her head absolutely motionless. Already entirely concentrated, it remained only necessary, but also very necessary, to turn herself from a woman into a lethal machine which would continue towards its objective until that was achieved, regardless of the cost, to anything or anyone. And that included herself.
*
The phone rang at twenty past seven. ‘Mr Khouri is in the lobby, Miss Kelly.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be right down.’
A last look around the room, a last check in the mirror, and she put on her gloves and coat and left the room. As she walked towards the elevator she realized that she had company, but she did not turn to look at him until she was in the lift, when she was joined by a heavily set man wearing a dinner jacket. She had never seen him before, so she merely smiled at him. For his part he studied her with interest, but she was used to that. His hand was hovering over the panel, so she said ‘The lobby, please.’
‘Me also.’ He had a faintly foreign accent, but pressed the button and they went down, gazing at each other. Anna had an idea that were they both to be remaining in the hotel this evening, he would fancy his chances of making a successful advance. But the poor chap was never going to see her again.
Khouri was as flawlessly dressed and groomed as before, and bent over her hand to kiss the back of her glove. ‘You are as exquisite as always.’
‘As are you, Mr Khouri.’
He smiled, still holding her hand and running his finger over the glove. ‘But you are no longer wearing that beautiful ring. Don’t tell me you’ve already sold it?’
‘It is in the hotel safe. I do not like to wear it when I go out at night, unless I know my escort very well. I mean, it’s all that stands between me and bankruptcy.’
‘And that gentleman you were with at the Coca?’
‘I told you, he’s an old friend. Quite harmless. I only allowed him to escort me because I had to have an escort.’
‘Of course. Well, my dear, after tonight, I do not think you will ever have to fear bankruptcy gain.’
Anna simpered, and he escorted her to a chauffeur-driven Daimler. ‘You travel in style,’ she commented.
‘The car is Mr Fahri’s. For my own part, I have nothing.’
She was finding his obviously false humility a little tiresome, so she concentrated on watching the countryside as they left London. Noting landmarks was difficult in the darkness, but she as yet had no idea what means she would have to employ to get home. An hour out of London might mean that taxis were scarce, certainly in the middle of the night. That only left this car . . . if it could be done.
The houses disappeared, and she saw trees to either side. That might be interesting. ‘Where is this?’ she asked.
‘It is a small wood. I really cannot remember its name. Are you nervous?’
A chance to gain some information? ‘Should I be?’
‘There is no necessity to be nervous of Mr Fahri. He is a very charming man. But meeting him could be a great opportunity for you.’
‘Will there be many people present?’
‘No, no. When meeting people for the first time, Mr Fahri prefers to dine tête-à-tête.’
‘But you will be there, surely?’
‘My dear Miss Kelly, I am only his aide, not his equal.’
‘Oh!’ She filled her voice with disappointment ‘Does he have many aides?’
‘There is only me.’
‘Good heavens! You must have been with him a long time.’
‘Indeed. I served with him in the War.’ His tone was proud.
‘You were in the War?’
‘Mr Fahri and I fought together, against the Italians.’
‘
And you’ve been fighting together ever since?’
‘Eh?’ His head turned, sharply.
‘Oh, please forgive me,’ Anna said. ‘I’m Irish, you see. Isn’t there a Mrs Fahri?’
‘There was. But she died.’
‘How sad. So you and he live alone?’
‘Oh, well, no. It is a large house. There are servants, of course, and then there are the bodyguards.’
‘Bodyguards!?’ Now she injected a note of alarm.
‘But of course. Every wealthy man needs a bodyguard.’
‘Oooh! You said bodyguards.’
‘There are four of them. But only two are on duty at a time.’
This was sounding more simple by the moment – certainly when she remembered the three heavily armed thugs who had guarded Roberto Capillano in Mexico City, or the support team surrounding Smettow only a couple of weeks ago. Not to mention that snake! Although she supposed that, when push came to shove, Khouri would also attempt to take part in the defence. She certainly hoped so. Which would leave the servants. But she could think of few servants, unless they were of the Tommy variety, who would risk their lives to defend their employer.
There remained one last matter. ‘And I suppose he also has guard dogs and things?’
‘Oh, yes. Two Rottweilers.’
‘Gosh! How terrifying. Will they bite me?’
‘Good lord, no, dear lady. They do not bite the master’s guests.’
‘Ah!’ Anna’s breath gushed in relief.
*
A few minutes later the car turned into a driveway, ended by wrought-iron gates. On either side of them, a seven-foot-high stone wall stretched into the darkness.
‘You’ll be telling me next that that wall has broken glass scattered along the top,’ Anna suggested.
Khouri chuckled. ‘That is hardly necessary. Not while the dogs are active.’
‘Ah!’ Anna commented.
The driver flashed some kind of a signal with his headlights, and the gates slowly swung inwards, closing again when the car had passed through. Then there was another drive, lined with trees and curving round an ornamental fountain to bring them in front of a very large somewhat unimaginatively four-square house, ablaze with light on all four floors.
Angel of Darkness Page 14
