‘Clive! Billy said you’d just got in this afternoon. How are you?’
‘I’m fine. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with Billy.’
Mildred Baxter hesitated. ‘Is it important? I mean, we’re in the middle of dinner.’
‘Believe me, Mildred, it is very, very, urgent.’
‘Oh! Well . . . hang on a moment.’ He heard her say, ‘It’s Clive Bartley. And he seems to be in a monumental flap.’
A moment later Billy was on the phone. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Oh, my God! What’s happened to her?’
‘Listen carefully. The gentleman Bordman remembers seeing her with at the Coca Club last night was the private secretary of Kola el Fahri.’
‘Kola . . . you’re not trying to tell me she’s after Fahri?’
‘That is exactly what I am telling you, Billy.’
‘How can you be sure of that? This fellow could have just been someone she met in the club.’
‘Billy, you are not listening very carefully. Anna does not go to nightclubs unless it’s a part of a job. Anna does not allow herself to be picked up, unless it’s part of the job. Anna doe not hold hands with strange men in public – or with any men, come to think of it – unless it’s part of the job. Anna would never risk returning to England, except as part of a job. Anna works for the CIA. And finally, we know that for the last six months the State Department has been trying to get its hands on Fahri for the destruction of that Pan Am flight, and they’re also pretty sure he was responsible for the Manila bomb. Now, they’ve got fed up waiting for us to stop dragging our feet over his extradition, so they’ve sent they’re top girl to do the job – because they know women are Fahri’s only weakness, the only people who can get inside that fortress of his, if they play their cards right.’
‘As Anna is so adept at doing,’ Baxter said bitterly. ‘Your wife!’
‘Yes,’ Clive said ‘My wife.’
‘But would Anna take the risk of coming back here, with the possible negation of the immunity we have granted her, to take on such a high-risk project? Isn’t Fahri surrounded by armed guards?’
‘Anna has been dealing with armed guards all of her adult life. As to why . . . who knows what pressures that bastard Andrews has brought to bear on her. Even I still don’t know everything about Anna, what really makes her tick.’
‘After three years of marriage . . . Well, she has to be stopped. We can’t have a war hero assassinated, no matter how much of a murdering bastard he may be. And if something were to go wrong and it came out that the assassin was a US agent, God knows what would happen. You had better get on the telephone and warn Fahri that his life is in danger.’
‘I’m sorry, Billy, that is the one thing we cannot do. I certainly am not going to do it. And if I find anybody else trying to, I may do some shooting myself.’
‘Now, look here, Clive . . .’
‘No, Billy, you look here. If we were to do that, we could well be signing Anna’s death warrant – if she is in the process of carrying out her assignment, unaware that Fahri knows who and what she is.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting we just let her go ahead and do it.’
‘I don’t think it need come to that. Anna does not hang about when she’s on a mission. If she was holding hands with Fahri’s secretary or whatever last night, by now she will have achieved her objective of getting invited into his mansion. For all we know, she could be there now.’
‘Clive, if Anna has managed to get into Fahri’s mansion, she may well have completed the job by now.’
‘I don’t think so. Anna is a meticulous worker, and a meticulous planner. That’s why she’s survived so long. She cannot possibly have known in advance the exact layout of Fahri’s house, nor the number or equipment of his guards. She will suss that out before she goes into action. Now, we know that Fahri invites women to his home to sleep with them, after entertaining them lavishly. My bet would be that if she’s there tonight, Anna will check things out as best she can and then wait to be alone with him.’
‘In his bedroom or whatever. You happy with that?’
‘No, I’m certainly not happy with that. But there is damn all I can do about it. My business is preserving Anna’s life.’
‘And Fahri’s, I hope.’
‘If it can be done. But Anna comes first.’
‘And just how do you propose to do that?’
‘I want your permission to call out a squad of our people, get down to Fahri’s place, throw a cordon round it so no one can get in or out, then bang on the door myself and see what turns up. It’s still only nine fifteen. If we can get there by ten, I’m sure nothing will have happened yet.’
‘And if you’re invited in, and find yourself face to face with her?’
‘I’ll play that by ear. She’s certainly not going to shoot me.’
‘Clive,’ Billy said, earnestly, ‘you do realize that we have absolutely no legal jurisdiction inside the UK? What you should do is bring in MI5, or Scotland Yard.’
‘Billy, we simply do not have time to convince some stuffed shirt of an assistant commissioner than he has to do something. We have to do something now, ourselves, or the situation could get out of hand.’
Billy sighed. ‘All right. go ahead. But I want it clearly understood that you’re on your own. If this turns out badly and you wind up being arrested by the local bobbies, I shall deny that this conversation ever took place. It could mean the end of your career.’
‘Billy, if I manage to extricate Anna from this mess in one piece, I am taking her back to the Bahamas tomorrow and you will never hear of either of us again.’
‘Good luck,’ Baxter said.
*
‘Your bedroom?’ Anna squeaked. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, Mr Fahri. I mean, it wouldn’t be proper.’
Fahri held her arm to urge her up the stairs. ‘Anna,’ he said winningly, ‘why did you come here tonight?’
‘Well . . . Mr Khouri said you might be able to get me a job.’
‘That is exactly it. With your looks, your poise, your elegance, the world of films is at your feet. Acting ability can be taught. Looks you are born with, and without the right looks no actress can ever get anywhere.’
‘Ooh!’ Anna said. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. But to impress movie producers there are certain other assets you need to possess, or cultivate. You need to be able to shed all inhibitions. To be a star, you will have to kiss men you have never seen before and may not like. You will have to commit acts of violence you have never dreamed of, even if they are largely simulated. If a scene demands that you have to be naked, you have to be naked. If you are required to have sex with a man, you will have to have sex with that man. All you have to remember is that it is all make-believe.’
‘Oooh!’ Anna squeaked again.
‘Anyway, as a woman who has had two husbands, you surely are acquainted with bedroom scenes?’
‘I have only been in a bedroom with my husband,’ Anna protested, stretching a point.
‘Believe me,’ he assured her, ‘the scenario never changes.’ They had reached another hallway, and more doors. Fahri opened the one immediately in front of them. ‘Voilà!’
Anna allowed herself to be propelled into the room. ‘Gosh!’ She blinked at the red-and-gold motif on the walls and even on the bed, where the sheets were blood red.
‘I like colour,’ Fahri explained.
Anna surveyed the bed, clearly overwhelmed. ‘You sleep in that?’
‘Every night. But I, we, are not here to sleep. What I would like you to do is undress.’
‘Oh, Mr Fahri, I couldn’t possibly undress in front of a strange man.’
‘But I have explained that that is something you must get used to. In fact, when you take into account an entire film crew, it will have to be in front of several strange men, and women. Anyway, I must make sure your body
is as good as it appears in that dress. That there are no blemishes.’
It was time. Anna pulled on her gloves and transferred her purse to her left hand.
Fahri gazed at her. ‘My dear young woman, you are supposed to be taking your clothes off, not putting them on!’
Anna allowed her tone to change. ‘You know, Mr Fahri, you strike me as not being a very nice man.’
‘Eh?’ He was taken aback. ‘What?’
‘In fact,’ Anna said, slipping down the zip at the side of her dress, ‘you strike me as being the sort of man who would plant a bomb to blow up an airliner with more than a hundred innocent people on board simply to satisfy some childish hatred for the country they come from.’
‘What!?’ he said again. ‘Who are you?’
‘Consider me as Nemesis,’ Anna suggested. ‘So come now, be a man. Tell the truth for once in your life. Did you plant that bomb in Manila?’
‘What!? What’s that to you?’
‘Important. Did you, or didn’t you?’
‘You . . .’
‘Did you, or didn’t you plant it?’ Anna withdrew her hand from inside her gown.
He goggled at the gun. ‘You . . .’
‘You are becoming terribly inarticulate,’ Anna said. ‘No matter. All I want from you is a simple yes or no. Did you, or one of your people acting on your orders, plant that bomb in Manila?’
‘You think you can get away with this?’
‘Yes.’ She levelled the gun at his groin. ‘Answer me, or I shall blow away what appears to be your most precious possession.’
He gaped, and clasped his hands to his crotch. ‘What is it to you?’ he snarled. ‘They were guilty. That whole nation is guilty of trying to rule the world.’
‘Thank you,’ Anna said, and raised her pistol. But as she did so, a bell jangled throughout the house. Momentarily distracted, Anna half turned her head, and Fahri threw himself away from her and across the bed, revealing a remarkable agility for such a ponderous-looking man, left hand reaching for a panel on the bedhead containing several control buttons, right hand seizing a pistol that was lying on the table beside the bed; in the multicoloured gloom, she hadn’t noticed it.
She recovered instantly. And, as he turned back towards her, still sprawled on the bed, lips drawn back in a wolfish snarl, she levelled the Walther and shot him in the centre of the forehead, experiencing as she did so a sense of relief; she hated having to kill unarmed opponents. But in that instant there was a series of loud thuds, and steel shutters came down over the windows.
*
Fuck it! she thought, and listened to the noises seeping up through the house, shouts and bangs. She went to the bed, gazed at the dead man, and the gun, which she recognized as a Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol, with a thirteen-shot magazine. This was a weapon she had used before, and was just what she wanted, as she had no idea how many men there remained between her and freedom, supposing she could release the shutters, and the exterior doors too.
She leaned over him to take the gun from his grasp, and studied the panel. There were twelve buttons, but everything had happened so fast she couldn’t be sure which one he had pressed to activate the system. Presumably, the same button would deactivate it; but equally, she had no idea what pressing a wrong button might do, what other unpleasant surprises he might have had installed. As she hesitated, considering the matter, there were several knocks on the door. ‘Sheikh Fahri???’ What followed was a stream of Arabic, one of the few languages Anna did not speak. But the voice definitely belonged to Khouri.
She left the Browning where it was, to act as a bait, and unlocked the door, the Walther drooping from her fingers. ‘Mr Khouri,’ she said. ‘Just the man I wanted to see.’
‘What has happened? Why did Sheikh Fahri activate the system?’
‘I think he had a rush of blood to the head. Probably caused by that bell. What was that?’
‘Oh, someone at the outer gate. The boys downstairs will sort it out.’
The dogs were again barking.
‘It was nothing to alarm the sheikh,’ Khouri said.
‘Well, then, a storm in a teacup. Would you like to deactivate the system? It’s awfully stuffy with the shutters closed.’
‘Only Sheikh Fahri has the power to deactivate the system. You must ask him to do so.’
‘But just supposing he was incapable . . . You know how it’s done, don’t you?’
‘I cannot do it without orders from the sheikh. What do you mean, incapable?’
‘But you can do it. I’m so glad. Because, you see, I don’t think the sheikh is able to right now, and I would like to go home.’
‘What? Let me speak to him.’
‘Well,’ Anna said, ‘if you must. But I’d be very surprised if he replies.’
She stepped aside to let him into the room, moving behind him to close and lock the door.
The click went unnoticed. Khouri was staring at the bed.
‘My God! He’s . . .’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You . . .’
He turned back to her, and for the first time noticed the pistol, which she had brought up. ‘You . . .’
‘Absolutely,’ Anna said again.
‘You have killed the sheikh? You came here with a gun? How could you do such a thing!’
‘It’s a habit of mine. Be prepared, as they say. I suddenly found that I had formed a violent dislike for him. And I must tell you that I formed a violent dislike for you the moment I saw you.’
His mouth was opening and shutting like a fish’s. Anna could read his mind as if its contents had been displayed before her on a screen: total disbelief that this could be happening and a desperate urge to think of a solution to the immediate problem.’
‘Now,’ she said, ‘all I want you to do is deactivate the system. And then, you see, I can leave.’
‘You expect me to do that?’ As she had hoped, his eyes were straying back to the dead man . . . and the pistol. ‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then I will have to persuade you.’
‘Ha!’ he commented.
She had to concede that he did not lack courage, although she was also sure that he felt she had taken Fahri by surprise. Admittedly, she had to concede that Fahri had taken her by surprise, in the speed with which he had been able to move and the fact that he had had a weapon so handy. That she had not noticed it had been utter carelessness and overconfidence. Hubris!
But time was passing, and she was certainly fully concentrated now. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘if you insist. Do you hang to the left or the right?’
For a moment he did not understand her, but as she levelled the pistol he realized what she intended. ‘Wait! I will release the shutters.’
‘Thank you.’
He had clearly taken the bait, but she could not kill him until she was free. She waited, as he turned away from her and knelt on the bed. His hand moved over the panel, and with a rumble the shutters went up. As he pressed the button, his other hand seized the Browning and turned back towards her, firing as he did so. But as he had not had time to aim, the bullet went wide, and Anna squeezed her trigger.
She surveyed the two bodies lying together in death, just as they appeared to have walked together in killing, for most of their lives. A hundred and thirty-seven. Would they be the last? She still had to get out of the house. She holstered the Walther, the little gun warm against her stomach, then knelt on the bed, removed the Browning from Khouri’s hand, and checked the magazine. It had been fully loaded, and only the one shot had been fired. The heavier pistol had a much louder, sharper report than her own gun; but the door had been shut, as had the windows.
She moved to the door, opened it, and listened. Noise seeped up from below, but none of it suggested alarm. They had left it to Khouri to investigate the reason for the closing of the doors and shutters; and now these had been opened again so quickly, seemed to have accepted that it had been a mistake. Thus she was still ahead; but she
still had to get past the front staff, and get the gates open. And if possible, obtain the car keys. Most important of all, however, she had to reclaim her coat.
She took the key from the lock, closed the door, and locked it again, putting the key in her purse, paused at the head of the private staircase, and listened to another bell ringing. But this one was much less resonant, and she reckoned it was the front door, as opposed to the gate – which might provide an easier way out.
She went down the stairs to the little lobby. In front of her was the door to the dining room, but she heard movement in there and deduced that the domestic staff were still clearing the dinner table. She did not wish to involve undoubtedly innocent people, and there was another door on the far side of the lobby. She opened this, and found herself in a very comfortable library-cum-study. She crossed this and emerged on to the upper gallery . . . and stopped as if turned to stone. On the ground floor, immediately beneath her, two floors down, the front door had been opened, and a man was saying, ‘That took you a hell of a long time!’
Shit! she thought. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Clive!
*
What in the name of God, she thought, or, as God had no place in her professional life, of the Devil, was Clive doing here?
‘We have come to see Sheikh el Fahri,’ he was explaining.
Which, clearly, meant he was mob-handed. The temptation to announce herself, and thus be able to relax in the warmth of his protection, was enormous. But it would also be catastrophic. She had just, in the eyes of British justice, committed a double murder. What is more, with Clive’s long experience of her methods, he would need no more than a quick examination of the bodies to discover two single shots to the head and know who was responsible. Nor, as she now had Fahri’s pistol, did she have much hope of claiming self-defence. In any event, it had been made perfectly clear that if she were ever to attempt to operate in England again she would be for the high jump – which would mean the long drop. And she could not face the situation of having to force him to choose between his wife and his duty; whichever he chose, it would destroy him.
But what was he doing here? Obviously that bastard Bally had gone to MI6 in preference to Scotland Yard, because he knew she had had links with the Secret Service before the War – even if he could not possibly know that she had worked for them since. And Billy Baxter, reasonably, had turned the problem over to Clive, who was not only her husband but was also supposed to be keeping her out of trouble in the Bahamas.
Angel of Darkness Page 16
