‘No, but he will,’ replied Malikov. ‘He will.’ He stood, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared out the window at the terraced garden. ‘What happens if we don’t take delivery?’
Krupin shrugged. ‘It can’t be traced back to us. The first instalment was paid in cash using a secure drop-off location. Used notes.’ He stood and joined Malikov at the window. ‘It would only take a phone call to have them arrested.’
‘Or,’ said Malikov, wagging a finger at Krupin, ‘we simply walk away. If we continue to try and control this situation, it could expose us further.’
‘If you do that, they’re likely to panic, and there’s no guarantee who will buy the material,’ said Krupin. ‘Given what you’re trying to achieve here, is that wise?’
Malikov sighed. ‘Probably not,’ he conceded. ‘Any news from the negotiations?’
‘Apparently the Prime Minister is still pushing his agenda of keeping this country in the European Union, but trying to do so with concessions.’
Malikov grunted. ‘I would have hoped that we would have been more persuasive.’
‘We have to be careful, Vasili,’ said Krupin. ‘If we push too hard, the Prime Minister will become suspicious. We knew this could take time.’
Malikov’s eyes fell to the bottle of pills on the desk, before he snapped his attention back to the view from the window.
‘What’s the news from Moscow?’
Krupin frowned. ‘The sanctions are weighing heavily on business. The leader is sabre-rattling, picking fights he knows he can’t win simply to divert the country’s attention from the state of the economy.’ He cracked his knuckles. ‘There was another demonstration two days ago.’
‘Really?’ Malikov pondered the point for a moment. ‘Nothing in the news?’
‘Six protestors killed. Not the sort of thing that’s good for public relations.’
Malikov returned to his desk and sank back into his chair. ‘Something’s going to give, Krupin. I can sense it.’ He tapped his fingers on the desk, momentarily lost in thought.
‘You think he’ll make a mistake?’
‘It’s a worry,’ agreed Malikov. He rubbed a hand over tired eyes. ‘That’s why what we’re doing here is so important.’ He thought for a moment and then sighed. ‘All right. Let’s see what happens while the Prime Minister is in France. If there’s no progress by the time he arrives in Germany, we’ll have to consider our options.’
‘In the meantime,’ said Krupin, pointing at the display on his smart phone, ‘how are we going to deal with him?’
Malikov picked up a photograph from the desk and handed it to Krupin.
‘Use her. Maybe that will convince him we mean business.’
CHAPTER 19
Sarah tapped the button for the pedestrian crossing and checked her watch.
She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t have left the apartment, but the property had CCTV cameras installed in its hallways and on the outer perimeter to protect its inhabitants. All her work had been locked away in a safe she’d had installed in her bedroom wardrobe, so she didn’t feel that the men who had been parked outside her home for the past twenty-four hours would attempt to break in while she was out.
She hadn’t told Dan when they’d last spoken, but the frustration of being cooped up with nothing to do until he returned had begun to grate on her nerves.
Surely a quick trip to the supermarket is okay, she’d reasoned. Besides, knowing Dan, he’d return to the apartment empty-handed so she needed to get food supplies.
She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Still no missed calls from him.
She sighed, dropped the phone back into the bag, and then tapped her fingers on the leather strap that hung over her shoulder.
The afternoon was drawing to a close, the commuter rush to leave the city already an hour old, and the crowd of people next to her grew as offices emptied and people made their way towards the entrance to the Underground station on the opposite side.
The illuminated icon of a walking man on the opposite display flashed from red to green, and she joined the throng of pedestrians that surged over the demarcated crossing.
Halfway across, her elbow was grabbed, something pointed into her spine, and a voice hissed in her ear.
‘Keep walking. Don’t scream.’
Sarah’s heart leapt painfully, and she gasped as the grip on her arm increased.
‘Move. Over there.’
She was steered away from the small crowd that converged on the pavement and led towards the entranceway to an alleyway that ran behind a row of shops.
She swore under her breath, her mind working through all the self-defence moves Dan had taught her when they’d had time. None of them were of any use to her with a gun against her back.
‘Smile. People are staring.’
She forced a smile on her lips, her eyes darting to the left and right as they neared the alleyway.
What’s going to happen to me?
The man stopped, pulling her to a halt at the entranceway, then shoved her forward and kept pushing until they’d passed a large industrial waste bin.
She bit her tongue as he let go of her elbow and then jerked her forward until she was facing the wall.
‘Hands against the wall.’
She stretched until her fingers touched the brickwork of the building in front of her and closed her eyes. She gagged as her assailant’s hand began to search her clothing, his fingers lingering too long over her breasts.
‘I’m not carrying a gun,’ she said, her voice shaking.
‘You’re a journalist. I’m more concerned with a wiretap,’ the man said and then straightened. ‘Lower your hands. Move towards the wall until I tell you to stop.’
Sarah followed his instructions. ‘Now what?’
‘Now you’re going to listen,’ said the man, his mouth close to her ear.
***
Dan handed over a couple of twenty pound notes and waited for his change, before he slid onto one of the stools next to the counter and turned his attention to the European football match being played on the television above the kitchen door.
His phone began to vibrate in his jeans pocket, and he fished it out, smiling as he recognised the number.
‘I’ve just ordered the food. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Dan?’
He frowned. Sarah’s voice was shaking, panicked.
‘What’s wrong?’ He turned away from the television, his heartbeat increasing.
‘I-I was really stupid,’ said Sarah. ‘I was going crazy cooped up here, so I thought I’d go and get some groceries for the weekend.’
Dan stood, already heading towards the door. ‘What happened?’
‘There was a man – he grabbed me when I was crossing the road. I think he had a gun.’
’Sir – sir! You forgot your food!’
Dan shook his head and waved his hand at the Chinese owner, before launching himself out the front door of the restaurant towards his car. He checked over his shoulder when he reached the vehicle but saw no-one watching him. ‘Where are you now?’
‘At home.’
‘Door locked?’ He aimed his key fob at the car and leapt in as soon as the indicator lights blinked.
‘Yes.’
‘Buzz me in when I get to the apartment,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll knock five times when I get to your front door.’
‘Okay.’
He hung up, turned the key in the ignition, and tossed the phone into the coffee cup holder next to the handbrake. Sliding his seatbelt across his chest, he swung out of the parking space in front of the takeaway shop and accelerated into the traffic.
‘Shit.’ He drew up at the first red light and tapped his hands on the steering wheel as traffic crossed the intersection in front of him. ‘Come on,’ he urged, and then as the lights turned green, he shifted up the gears as he sped towards the apartment.
He drove a zig-zag course through back str
eets, the tyres squealing in protest as he cut corners and broke the speed limit in several places, grateful the route took him in the opposite direction to the commuters streaming out of the city towards their homes in the suburbs and beyond.
As he approached the apartment, he slowed and drove past the building, his gaze roaming the vehicles parked on each side of the street.
The sun was now well below the horizon, and the street lamps had begun to pop to life along the road, their orange glow pooling over the pavements and facades of the buildings that cloaked the road. Subdued light shone through windows, muted by blinds and curtains as families and flatmates settled in for the evening.
The mysterious sedan and its occupants were nowhere to be seen.
Satisfied, Dan completed a circuit of the block and then parked in a space a few metres down the road, grabbed his mobile phone, and jogged back to the apartment block.
The entranceway comprised two double doors, only accessible with a resident’s key code or by pressing a doorbell next to the apartment number.
Dan stabbed the button for Sarah’s apartment and didn’t wait for her to speak when the connection was made.
‘It’s me.’
A loud buzz emanated from the lock, and Dan pushed open the door, closed it, and then tore across the wide hallway and up the winding staircase two steps at a time, his long legs closing the distance towards Sarah’s apartment in under thirty seconds. He wiped sweat from his brow as he jogged towards her apartment and then knocked five times.
Sarah ripped open the door before his knuckles had left its surface, her face pale.
He pushed her back, slammed the door, and hugged her hard.
When their breathing had calmed, he ran his hands down her arms.
‘Pack whatever you can into a small suitcase,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving. Now.’
CHAPTER 20
Hugh Porchester exhaled as his driver turned into the familiar tree-lined cul-de-sac and eased the car to a standstill under a streetlight outside a modern four-bedroom house.
He preferred the trappings of his parents’ home in Gloucestershire, but he had to keep up appearances of a different sort when working his way up through the government ranks. It wouldn’t do well to alienate himself from the very people he sought to serve. And prestige meant the occasional sacrifice.
‘You’ve got your next meeting in an hour, sir,’ said the driver. ‘I’ll leave the engine running, shall I?’
‘No,’ said Porchester. ‘Don’t, Josh. You’ll only get the snide bitch at number fifteen moaning about noise pollution again.’
The driver chuckled and killed the engine. ‘Right you are, sir.’
He stepped from the car, walked round to Porchester’s door, and opened it, his back to him.
As the politician stepped out, he noticed how Josh kept his eyes on the surrounding properties, his head turning as he conducted constant surveillance. He automatically followed the man’s gaze.
‘Anything?’
‘No. All good.’
‘Come on then.’
Porchester led the way from the tree-lined pavement through a small gate, past carefully manicured flowerbeds, and up to the front door. He punched in a six-digit security code and pushed it open.
‘I’m home,’ he called.
The house remained silent in answer, despite lights coming from the kitchen and living room.
Porchester checked his watch and then cursed.
‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘It’s Emily’s ballet. Her class is putting on a show tonight. I forgot. I was meant to be there.’
‘Flowers, sir.’
‘Eh?’ Porchester turned and frowned.
‘Buy your wife some flowers, sir.’ Josh’s mouth quirked. ‘They’ve gotten me out of the shit on a number of occasions. Sir.’
Porchester smiled. ‘Good thinking.’ He shut the door and made sure the locking mechanism clicked into place. ‘Right, I’m going to freshen up. Back in a minute.’
He left Josh standing in the hallway and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom.
Dan Taylor’s investigation into the stolen isotope worried him. No doubt there were some long days and nights ahead until the thieves could be located and apprehended, all without alerting the general public to the fact that there was a very real danger someone in the country was intent on building a dirty bomb with the stuff.
He groaned as he removed his jacket and tie. Lily would kill him. She was already having trouble adjusting to the increased workload.
What with some of the extracurricular activities he’d been involved in of late, there’d be no telling what would be left of his marriage if his current situation didn’t change – and soon.
He stripped down to his boxers, threw the bundle of clothes into the laundry basket, and flipped the taps in the en suite shower. While he waited for the water to warm up, he selected fresh trousers, matching jacket, pale shirt, and a tie in the Party’s colours and laid them out on the bed. For good measure, he added an extra shirt and a more sombre-coloured tie.
Just in case things didn’t go to plan.
He shook his head to clear the thought, unclasped his watch and placed it next to the washbasin, and then climbed out of his boxer shorts and stepped into the shower.
Porchester closed his eyes as the jets of water pummelled his aching shoulders. He was tense, something that seemed a permanent problem of late. He’d woken up almost hourly in the night for the past three months, and the strain was beginning to have a lasting effect on his body.
He opened his eyes and reached out for the shaving foam and razor, rubbed the steam off the wall-mounted mirror and began to methodically scrape at the stubble on his face.
Somehow he’d make it up to Lily.
When she found out what he’d really been up to, what he’d been trying to achieve all this time, she’d forgive him for neglecting her and their daughter so much.
He hoped.
He rinsed the last of the soap from his body, switched off the taps, and stepped out from the shower, grabbing one of the fresh towels that hung from a rail set into the tiled wall next to him.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and padded back to the bedroom. Once dressed, he grabbed the spare shirt and tie and hurried back downstairs.
Josh held out his hand to take the clothing from him.
‘Thanks,’ said Porchester and turned towards the kitchen.
The driver was right; he’d ask his secretary to order a bouquet of flowers for Lily, maybe a teddy bear for Emily, too. In the meantime, he’d leave a note to let her know he’d be out of touch for a while, dealing with a crisis.
He glanced across at the refrigerator door as he made his way across the room to the kitchen bench; Emily’s drawings covered its surface, and he wondered how he’d missed the fact that her artistic skills had improved dramatically over the past six months. Then he frowned, as he realised the most recent two only depicted Lily, not him.
He exhaled and, turning his head, reached out for the notepad and pen that lay on the kitchen bench.
His hand froze in mid-air.
Lily’s usually neat handwriting covered the open page, except it was a scrawl, the message written hurriedly and to the point.
Porchester read it twice, his heart beating painfully.
His throat dry, he checked over his shoulder.
Josh was still in the hallway out of sight, whistling under his breath.
Porchester ripped the page from the notebook, folded it into a small square, and put it in the pocket of his trousers and then grabbed the notebook and threw it into the rubbish bin, making sure the lid closed properly.
He took a deep breath, smoothed back his damp hair, and walked back towards the front door.
‘Ready, sir?’
Porchester nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a busy schedule.’
CHAPTER 21
Sarah dropped her suitcase at the door and stood
, open-mouthed, as the lights flickered on.
‘How long have you known about this place?’ she managed.
‘A while,’ Dan replied. ‘It’s an old safe house David organised for me and Mitch.’
‘Does anyone else know about it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Just them, and now you.’
He bent down, picked up her suitcase, and moved it to the foot of the stairs alongside his kit bag. ‘We’ll sort those out later. Let’s set ourselves up downstairs first.’
He led the way through the hallway and into a large kitchen that took up the whole back of the house.
To the left, the kitchen opened into a formal dining room, its window facing the street outside. A window along the back wall of the kitchen allowed a view of the back yard, its perimeter protected by a high stone wall.
Dan leaned over and pulled the blinds shut, checked the locks on the back door were secure, and then walked past the kitchen bench and gas hob towards another door set into the wall. He glanced over his shoulder.
‘Remember you’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, okay?’
Sarah nodded, her eyes wide.
He winked, pulled open the door, and punched a password into a security panel set into the steel surface of a second door.
The soft click of the mechanism filled the space, and Dan pushed the door open, reaching round the frame until he found a cord, and pulled it.
Lights flickered to life, illuminating a staircase that disappeared under the house.
Sarah peered round his shoulder. ‘What’s down there?’
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you.’
The air cooled as they descended, all the heat from the day trapped above ground due to the bunker-like qualities of the basement.
It was why the house had been chosen in the first place. Rather than for its grand layout upstairs, the basement offered the team a secure bunker for their activities – especially when they had to operate outside of the auspices of formal orders to get the job done.
Once at the foot of the stairs, Sarah walked towards a set of thin silver-coloured drawers set into the wall and ran her hand over the surface.
Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 10
