Defend or Die

by Tom Marcus

  So far, so good.

  I left them to it, making sure to bang the door shut after me. I walked back up towards Oxford Street and found myself a coffee shop. Alex would send me a text when she was ready.

  Forty minutes later and I was just starting to get twitchy when my phone pinged.

  Time for phase two.

  I marched back to the shop, and there were Alex and Mrs Shlovsky, laughing like schoolgirls, while the two assistants gleefully boxed and bagged their purchases. From the growing pile on the desk, it looked like the shop must have had some clothes hidden away somewhere after all.

  Alex spotted me and waved me over. ‘I think there may be a teeny problem with my card, darling. Could I use one of yours?’

  ‘I just paid the fucking thing off. How can you have maxed it out again?’

  Alex shrugged with a sheepish smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know. This thing never has as much money on it as I think it does.’

  Mrs Shlovsky turned away, pretending to look at her phone, while keeping a discreet eye on me.

  I crossed my arms. ‘Well if you can’t count, that’s not my fucking problem.’

  Alex whirled on me, eyes blazing fury. ‘Just give me the card!’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’ I shook my head.

  Alex stomped over, breathing hard, her hand out. I gave her a nasty smile. She made a grab for my wallet and I put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Get off me!’

  I gripped her by the shoulders and she tried to shrug me off. Both assistants had gone white, their mouths open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs Shlovsky furiously texting. I needed to get a move on.

  Alex gave me a tiny nod and I counted to three then flung her away as hard as I could. She careened against the wall and fell to the floor, taking down a couple of clothes stands with her. I turned on my heel and was out the door before the chauffeur could pitch up.

  I jogged back to the car and waited for phase three.

  15

  Fifteen minutes later Alex texted me the name of what I was hoping was a restaurant: Sollozzo’s.

  I grinned to myself. You fucking star. Give that girl an Oscar.

  It seemed like a while since anything had gone to plan, but so far this one was working a treat. And that was all down to Alex, though I had to say I was quite proud of my tightwad boyfriend act, too. If Mrs Shlovsky had been a cold-hearted bitch, or just a bit savvier about her own personal security, it wouldn’t have worked. But Alex had had a feeling that this was a woman who would instantly bond with someone being given a hard time by her domineering partner – especially if he manhandled her a bit in the process. And what would be more natural than to invite poor old hard-done-by Alex to lunch, so they could both drown their sorrows with a nice bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc?

  It was only a few streets away, so I took my time, driving slowly past the restaurant. The chauffeur had parked up the Range Rover more or less opposite on a double yellow. Either he was going to move off when a meter maid turned up or he had some other arrangement – like not giving a fuck about the fines, for instance. I cruised by on the lookout for a parking spot, and found one two streets away, managing to beat a spanking-new Porsche to the punch as someone pulled out. I guess it always helps if you give less of a fuck about your paint job than the other guy.

  I settled down to wait, hoping Alex could keep up the performance until she got the opportunity she needed.

  From the look on her face when she tapped on the window an hour or so later, it seemed like she had.

  ‘Bloody hell, Logan, I’m pissed,’ she said, slumping into the passenger seat.

  ‘Don’t expect any sympathy from me. A nice bit of shopping, a slap-up lunch with a bottle of bubbly . . . What are you bloody complaining about?’

  ‘OK, you can stop being an arsehole, now, Logan. You were very convincing in the role, but the play’s over.’

  I grinned. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before we get spotted. We don’t want to fuck it up now.’

  I pulled out and we headed back to the office.

  ‘So what’s she like?’

  ‘A sweetheart, actually. I think she must have been a nurse or a physio or something before she married Shlovsky. She gave my ankle a real going-over. And she was all for paying for the stuff I’d bought. I almost let her, too. Well, I did let her pay for one thing.’

  She caught my look.

  ‘No! I couldn’t stop her. Look, isn’t it lovely?’

  She held up a scarf. It was a bit bright for my taste, but it looked expensive.

  ‘Very nice. And she paid for lunch, too, I suppose.’

  ‘Well I haven’t got any money, have I? Because meanypants over here won’t give me any,’ she pouted.

  She gave me a dig in the ribs.

  ‘Oi, I’m driving. So apart from her warm heart and her medical skills, what else did you find out?’

  ‘Not a huge amount. She was pretty tight-lipped about Viktor, just said she was married to a businessman, couple of grown-up kids, blah blah blah. She mostly asked about me, which kept me on my toes. Especially after a couple of cocktails. I told her about you, obviously.’

  ‘Only nice things, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, you know, what a bully you are, how controlling, always trying to see what’s on my phone. Then you go off for two nights running and don’t tell me where you’ve been. She said I should dump you. She said forget about the money; it would only make me unhappy in the end. Actually, she said, “Find a man whose wallet is empty but whose heart is full of love.”’

  ‘Very poetic. She really fucked up when she married Viktor, then, didn’t she?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘He wasn’t always a billionaire.’

  ‘So she didn’t invite you home for a cup of tea then?’

  ‘Yeah, that would have been good, but no. She was nice, but she kept her distance too, you know? Like a part of her was still wary.’

  ‘Not too wary, I hope.’

  She grinned. ‘Nah.’

  ‘So how’d you do it?’

  ‘Cloakroom. We went to get our coats and she went to the loo. I’d already swapped our coat check tokens when they handed them out, so they handed me her coat and I managed to pull the seam in the pocket and slip it in before she came back.’

  ‘Sweet.’

  ‘Best I could do. I couldn’t get near her bag.’

  ‘We’ll have to hope she doesn’t give the coat to Oxfam as soon as she realizes it’s got a couple of stitches loose.’

  ‘Let’s just hope the bloody thing works as well as Alan says it does,’ Alex said.

  Back at Clearwater Security, Mrs Allenby was making tea. She’d obviously got fed up with the instant coffee and teabags that gave the place its authentic workplace feel, and we were now being treated to the best Darjeeling, poured from a silver teapot that looked as if it had been in the Allenby family for at least a couple of generations.

  Alex looked as if what she really needed was a couple of paracetamol and a lie down, but she sipped her Darjeeling with a smile on her face and her pinky finger stuck out like the rest of us.

  Ryan was the only one who didn’t have a cup in front of him. I imagined he was more a green tea sort of guy.

  ‘Where the fuck were you this morning?’

  ‘Had a bit of trouble on the tube.’ He gave me a meaningful look.

  I glanced at Alex. ‘Right.’

  ‘Shall we have another look at those architect’s plans?’ Mrs Allenby suggested.

  ‘Sure.’ Ryan clicked on the file and turned his laptop round so we could see. ‘OK, so this space was originally designated as an office.’ He tapped the screen. ‘And this was supposed to be the dressing room. But it looks like they swapped.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t like the idea of someone aiming a listening device at his window,’ Alex suggested pointedly.

  ‘Anyway,’ Ryan continued, ‘if we can get the transmitter into the dressing room, ideally in a wardrobe against the adjoining
wall, we have a chance of picking up something from the room on the other side. That right, Alan?’

  ‘It’s not a hundred per cent. Depends how thick the wall is, obviously. But yeah, technically it’s possible. It’s a powerful little thing. I’m looking forward to seeing how it performs, actually.’

  ‘As are we all, Mr Woodburn,’ said Mrs Allenby, taking a sip of her tea. ‘We’ll just have to hope she’s the sort of person who hangs her things up properly and doesn’t just fling them on the floor, won’t we?’

  ‘I’m sure the maid will take care of it,’ I said.

  It reminded me. I needed to get out of the suit and back into civvies. ‘I’m going to change out of this,’ I said, heading for the loos.

  ‘Don’t just chuck it on the floor, Logan,’ Alex called. ‘You never know when you might need it again.’

  ‘Quite,’ Mrs Allenby added. ‘The pair of you have used up a good deal of our budget today. Let’s hope it proves to have been worth it.’

  Amen to that, I thought to myself. Otherwise we’re screwed.

  After I’d changed, I went out and grabbed a sandwich from the place on the corner and ate it walking round the block. While Alex had been scoffing her lobster salad at Sollozzo’s, my stomach had been rumbling. I thought about going back to the flat for a few hours, maybe getting in a run and a couple of hours’ kip before the evening shift, but I was hoping if I hung around, Mrs Allenby might disappear off somewhere, and we could have a proper chat with Ryan about what happened last night. Also, if things kicked off earlier than expected, I didn’t want to risk missing the party.

  I closed my eyes and tried to work the cricks out of my neck.

  ‘She’ll be all right, you know.’

  I opened my eyes. Sarah was sitting at the other end of the bench, throwing crumbs from a paper bag at the pigeons.

  ‘I told her you’d be back. When this is all over. You will do that, won’t you, Logan?’

  ‘I’ll try. It was nice having someone to talk to. She got a bit, I don’t know, she got in a mood or something the last time.’

  ‘Not a mood. She was just upset. And frightened.’

  I thought about that. What could frighten a dead girl? Only memories, surely. And Daisy must have had some pretty bad ones. But you’d think she’d be beyond all that by now. I wanted to ask Sarah, but I knew she wouldn’t tell.

  I was trying to remember what I’d said that could have triggered Daisy’s reaction when my phone pinged. I fished it out of my pocket and looked at the message.

  ‘You need to go,’ Sarah said.

  16

  ‘So what happened?’

  We were all grouped around Ryan’s work station. Mrs Allenby had left for the day, leaving instructions to message her if there was any activity at the house.

  ‘I can’t be sure. I was on the tube, trying to pick out any followers. I ended up alone on the platform, and then this guy appears. I got the feeling he hesitated, like he was expecting a crowd and didn’t know what to do when there wasn’t one. Then he made a decision and started walking towards me.’

  ‘Not what you’d normally do,’ I said. ‘Just two people on a platform.’

  ‘Unless he was a creature of habit, always stands in the same place,’ Alex said.

  ‘Could be. Description?’

  Ryan thought for a moment. ‘Short, I guess. Five foot six? Fawn raincoat, black briefcase, looked like a salesman who’d been stuck late in the office and was on his way home. I didn’t get a chance for a better look because he came and stood behind me and a little to the side. I could just see him in my peripheral vision.’

  Alex pulled over a chair. ‘What did you do?’

  Ryan started twisting his ponytail. ‘Tell you the truth, I was bricking it. I could just feel him there, you know?’

  ‘If he’d been planning to push you in front of a train, he’d have wanted a crowd. Just the two of you and he would have had to practically pick you up and throw you,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t fancy taking the chance. There was a bench on my right, so I went and sat down. I tried not to let him see my knees were shaking. Started reading my book. A few more people came onto the platform, but I kept thinking he was going to stick a needle into me or something.’

  ‘And when the train pulled in?’

  ‘I stayed where I was, and so did he. It was a Bank train, and the next one was Charing Cross, so I thought he’s got to get on that one.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yeah. I stayed put, like I was so engrossed in my book I wasn’t paying attention.’

  ‘And you got on the next one?’ Alex asked.

  Ryan shook his head. ‘I left the station. Thought I’d get out on the street. I needed some air. And I thought he’s not going to be able to pick me up again if I leave the area quickly.’

  ‘And you think he clocked you were on to him?’

  Ryan shrugged. ‘We never made eye contact. I didn’t just leg it as soon as I spotted him, which is what I bloody well wanted to do.’

  ‘You did all right,’ Alex said. ‘Would you recognize him if you saw him again?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘That’ll be how we know this is for real,’ I said.

  ‘And in the meantime?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘We try not to get into a routine. Stay in pairs when we can. Keep working on the “why?”’

  Ryan chewed a pen thoughtfully. ‘You think it’s got anything to do with Shlovsky?’

  I looked at him. ‘A bit of a leap, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know – the PM doesn’t want him watched. I’d like to know why.’

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  On the other side of the room, Alan had a pair of headphones on and was tapping away on his laptop. ‘I’m getting some audio,’ he said, waving us over.

  He took his headphones off and turned up the volume.

  ‘There was some unidentifiable stuff earlier, which at least means it’s working, and could be consistent with the coat being hung up in the walk-in wardrobe. But I’m picking something else up now.’

  We listened. A few pings and whistles. Some deeper rumblings. It sounded to me like a bunch of humpback whales having a singalong.

  Alan frowned, trying to adjust the balance. ‘OK, this should be better.’

  Nothing for a few seconds. Then some buzzes and clicks. Finally a voice emerged out of the background, faint but identifiably human.

  And Russian.

  ‘. . . should meet. What . . . you mean? I . . . not Stasi . . .’

  I put a hand on Alan’s shoulder. ‘Can you turn it up a bit?’

  Alan shook his head. ‘You’ll get too much distortion.’

  I closed my eyes, trying not to force it, just letting the words take shape of their own accord.

  ‘Yes . . . yes. What? . . . don’t care. The merry . . . OK. No, I don’t think . . . kill? Yes, or there will be . . . eleven, tomorrow, yes. OK . . .’

  Silence. I thought for a moment the receiver had stopped working. Then something very loud – shouting, in Russian, and what sounded like glass shattering. Then a bang that could have been a door slamming.

  I looked at Ryan, our resident linguist. ‘Fuck was that?’

  ‘He called someone a rabid dog, I think. Then maybe threw a glass against the wall?’

  Alex had made a transcription. I looked over her shoulder. It seemed to be mostly gaps and question marks.

  ‘That was Shlovsky?’

  ‘Stands to reason,’ Ryan said.

  ‘OK, so he’s setting up a meet with Rabid Dog. At eleven tomorrow. A.m. or p.m? And where? It’s not a lot to bloody go on. And what was that about the Stasi?’

  Alex tapped her teeth with her pencil. ‘Maybe Stasi means spies in general. Or just non-Russian ones. Maybe Five?’

  ‘Could be. Which means he’s worried about being under surveillance.’

  She folded her arms. ‘So why “not Stasi” then?’

 
‘You can’t enhance any of it?’ I asked Alan.

  ‘Good as it gets, mate. Actually, considering it’s through a bloody wall, it’s a miracle it’s as clear as it is.’

  ‘So where would he go if he wanted a meeting away from prying eyes? He’s not going to pick a bench on Hampstead Heath. And he’s definitely not going to risk whoever it is coming anywhere near the house.’

  ‘Somewhere private. Secure. A controlled environment. But where there’s people. So he has cover.’

  ‘Like a private club?’ suggested Alex.

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, could be. But it would have to be a very exclusive one.’

  ‘Can’t be that exclusive if he’s meeting someone he calls Rabid Dog there,’ Ryan said.

  I read through it all again, checking that Alex’s transcription chimed with what I thought I’d heard.

  ‘The “merry” something. Is that the location? But the “merry” what?

  ‘The “Merry Widow”?’ Alex suggested.

  ‘Sounds like a pub,’ I said.

  ‘There’s a hotel, the Merridale, off Piccadilly,’ she added.

  I rubbed my chin. ‘I suppose. Book a suite, maybe? It’s still a bit public, though.’

  Ryan was tapping away at his laptop. ‘You said a private members’ club? There’s a very private one called the Merrick in Mayfair.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Alex said.

  Ryan smiled. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And is Shlovsky a member?’

  ‘Let’s find out.’ He tapped away for another couple of minutes, then frowned. ‘This is going to be harder than I thought. Hold on, here we go. Ta da.’

  We all took a look as Shlovsky’s face appeared on the screen. ‘That’s our boy.’ I looked at the membership details. ‘Joined in 2009. What about Rabid Dog?’

  Ryan looked at me. ‘You’re joking.’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe someone with the initials RD?’

  Alex rolled her eyes. ‘He was speaking Russian, remember. Different spelling.’

  ‘Different alphabet,’ Ryan added.

  ‘All right, all right. So I didn’t go to bloody Oxbridge like you posh cunts.’