by Pryor, Mark
“And you believed every word he said, I suppose?”
Hugo reached for his badge and stepped forward. “She did. And you should, too. As I said, I’m Hugo Marston and I’m looking for Dayton Harper. Merlyn told me he had a room here. I need to know if he’s been back.”
“Why?” Rose asked, unmoving. The eyebrow went up again. “National security, I suppose?”
“Not really,” Hugo said. He put away his badge and looked her in the eye. “But his security is very much in question.”
“Like I said, I heard he was in jail.”
“And like I said, he’s not.”
“Then he’s probably at a spa or holed up with that hot little wife of his.”
“No,” said Hugo, deciding to take a risk. He’d wasted enough time and needed to find Harper above all else. “His wife is dead, and I plan to make sure he doesn’t end up the same way.”
“Dead?” Doubt swept across the woman’s face and she shifted nearer to the cash register as her eyes flicked over to Merlyn. Hugo looked at her, too, and saw that the blood had drained from her face, her pale lips mouthing a silent question: Dead?
When Hugo glanced back at Rose, she was eyeing the stairs. Harper clearly had a room here, still, but why did she move away from him to the register like that?
“Where did you get that cash?” Hugo asked.
“None of your business,” she bristled. But again, the flick of the eyes toward the stairs.
Hugo started forward, eyes now on Merlyn. “You have his key and room number?”
“Yes,” she said, doubt in her voice for the first time. “Rose, we should—”
“He’s here,” said Hugo. “Now. Let’s go, hurry.”
Rose sailed out from behind the counter, blocking their way up the stairs. “No you don’t, you have no right.”
Hugo, a foot taller and just as broad, put a firm hand on her shoulder and shunted her to the side. “We can talk about rights later.”
He started up the wooden stairs, taking them two at a time. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Merlyn ignore Rose’s glare and follow him. The staircase curved up and to the right, breaking at a landing before continuing to curl up to the second floor. Hugo paused to let Merlyn catch up and show him the way. She ghosted past him and looked quickly left and right, down each corridor where Hugo could see doors recessed into more stone.
“This way.” She headed to the left and Hugo followed, suddenly aware of the sound of his feet on the wooden floor. Cowboy boots scored high on comfort but less high for stealth, something he’d not needed to worry about for several years. Merlyn slowed and nodded toward a door. Harper’s room. She handed him the key and stepped back. Instinctively he pressed his elbow to his side, feeling the reassuring weight of his holster and SIG Sauer P229. He had no plans to use it but, like the long, slow breaths he took to calm himself before breaching a door, a reminder that he had a weapon calmed him in the final seconds before action.
He stepped close to the door and listened for two, three, four seconds. No sound. He moved the card toward the electronic lock but froze at a sound behind him, at the far end of the other corridor. He looked back and saw a heavy metal door swinging shut.
“Where does that door go?” His voice was low, urgent. And before Merlyn answered, he saw the small, rectangular signs, like Hansel and Gretel’s cookie crumbs.
Exit signs to the fire escape.
“That’s him.” Hugo pressed the room key into her hand. “Stay here.”
Hugo sprinted down the hallway, not caring about the noise. He passed several rooms, the doors set back under stone archways. He must have heard us coming and been lurking in one of the doorways.
Hugo hit the door at a full run, his ears ringing as it crashed into the wall as it flew open. He took the steps two and three at a time, touching the wall and metal rail to keep himself upright, slipping once as his boots lost traction. As he righted himself, he heard the bang of another door below.
He was there in less than ten seconds, barging through and finding himself in an alley, the mirror image of the one he’d left his car in. He looked right toward the dead end and saw no movement, then left to Cork Street, but saw only the flitter of traffic as cars passed the end of the narrow alley in the fading day, their headlights casting explosions of light on the wall as they went by.
Hugo ran toward Cork Street, anger and disappointment mixing in his chest and he fought to stay focused. At the entrance to the alleyway he stopped again and looked up and down the street. Small stores lined both sides to the left and right, and he saw just three pedestrians, none of whom was Harper.
Why the hell was he running? And to where?
Hugo pulled out his cell phone and dialed Pendrith’s number. The Englishman answered on the second ring.
“Pendrith here.”
“This is Marston. I found him but he’s back on the run.”
“Where?”
“Cork Street, he was staying at a hotel here.”
“I thought he was at the Ritz?”
“He was. He got a second room so I came to check it out, to see if he was here. He was, but he heard me coming and split.”
“The little bugger. Does he think this is a movie or something?”
“No idea what he thinks,” said Hugo honestly. “But we have to catch up with him, or at least figure out where he’s going.”
“I’m on my way.”
“What about the media?”
Pendrith laughed. “Don’t worry about them. There’s no greater keeper of England’s moral code than a tabloid reporter, until he commits a moral indiscretion of his own. Then he becomes quite the secret keeper. For now, anyway.”
“OK, good work,” said Hugo. “I’m going to check out Harper’s room; he came back here for a reason and I don’t think he was carrying anything when he hightailed it. Maybe he left something behind that will help us find him.”
“Wait for me, will you old chap? You’re a little out of your jurisdiction.”
“Maybe,” said Hugo with a smile, before closing his phone.
He started along Cork Street to the front of the hotel, pulling up in surprise as a police car nosed into the curb by the entrance, its blue light flashing. Two uniformed constables strode into the hotel, pulling caps onto their heads as they went. Hugo moved forward, cautiously now, but the hotel’s front door had closed behind the officers so he couldn’t see in. He assumed Rose had called them, and the last thing he wanted was a manhunt for him launched by London police.
He pushed the wood-and-glass door open and stepped into the lobby. Merlyn sat morosely on the stairs, and Rose was gesticulating angrily as she shouted at her and the officers. They all turned and looked at Hugo as he closed the door behind him and moved farther into the room.
“That’s him,” Rose said, a quivering finger pointing at Hugo. “Be careful, he’s got a gun.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The policemen moved away from Rose and toward Hugo, approaching him from each side, encircling him as best they could.
“Sir, keep your hands where I can see them.” The cop on the right had three stripes on his arm and moved like a cat, cold gray eyes on Hugo.
“I’m US Embassy security,” Hugo said. “I have a weapon and a permit for it.” He stood still and slowly raised his arms away from his body to show he was no threat. The policemen didn’t slow, used to stories from suspects, trusting only their procedures and training.
The sergeant stopped just over an arm’s length from Hugo. “Where are your credentials, sir?”
“Inside my coat pocket. Right side.”
“Please take them out with your fingertips. Slowly, please, sir.”
Always with the politeness, Hugo thought, and wanted to say. But he did as the man asked, letting his wallet fall open as he drew it out. As the sergeant took it, the other officer casually reached in and slipped Hugo’s gun from its holster, then stepped away, his eyes still on Hugo, waiting for instructions
from his superior officer. Hugo was impressed and guessed that both men had been in the military. They had that calm confidence about them, an efficient way of moving, and coolness that said, “This is nothing, pal, and you pose no threat at all.”
Hugo heard the door behind him open, and a rush of cool air rustled his jacket. He wanted to look around but didn’t dare move. He relaxed, though, when he heard the familiar voice of Pendrith.
“What the bloody hell is going on here? Leave this man alone.”
Pendrith carried with him an air of authority and, being a member of parliament, of vague familiarity. Enough to make the uniformed officers hesitate for a second.
“Sir? May I ask who you—” started the policeman holding Hugo’s gun.
“Lord Stopford-Pendrith?” The sergeant spoke, and for the first time Hugo saw uncertainty on his face. “Sir, do you know this American?”
“I do, and we’re working together. We need to search one of the rooms here and we need to do it now.”
“Not likely,” said Rose, advancing on the men. “This is my hotel and I’m not about to let some nosey Yank wave his gun around and bully me and my guests. They expect privacy and discretion when they come here, and unless a judge tells me otherwise, that’s what they will get.”
“Do you have a warrant, sir?” the sergeant said.
“No,” said Hugo, “we have exigent circumstances. The room we need to search belongs to a man who may be in serious danger. He’s missing and if we don’t find him soon, he may be worse than missing.” Hugo knew that in the United States, cops could do what the hell they liked if they could show “exigent circumstances,” but he had no idea if the same rule applied here or not. Judging by the glances they were shooting each other, the cops weren’t sure either—or weren’t sure whether American exigent circumstances qualified.
Pendrith caught Hugo’s eye and winked, then took charge. “Sergeant, do you know what the actor Dayton Harper looks like?”
“Yes,” said the sergeant. “Yes, of course. Isn’t he in jail?”
“No, he’s not,” said Pendrith. “He’s on the loose and very close to here. I’d like you and your colleague to hop back in your car and look for him. Ever widening circles, with this hotel as the fulcrum. He was here ten minutes ago and is on foot.”
“He’s in danger?” asked the sergeant. “You want me to call it in, get a bunch of squad cars here?”
“No. For his own safety, we need this kept quiet. And I do mean quiet, I would consider it a personal favor, Sergeant . . .”
“Axelrod, sir. David Axelrod.” The officer nodded toward his companion. “Constable Miles Standish. We’ll get right on it, sir. And don’t worry about discretion—this doesn’t go beyond us.”
“Thank you.” Pendrith was scribbling in a notepad he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. He ripped the page out and handed it to Axelrod. “My cell number. Call every ten minutes, and sooner if you find him.”
“Very good. You want us to watch him or detain him, sir?”
Hugo spoke up. “If he’s somewhere you can watch, and be sure he’s not getting away, do that.” Hugo looked at Pendrith. “I want to know what he’s up to.”
“Me too,” said Pendrith. He turned to the policemen. “Right, chaps, get to it. And you can rest assured your cooperation will be noted.”
The officers both nodded and headed for the door. When they’d gone, Hugo turned to Merlyn. “Got the key?”
“What key?” Rose said, still fuming. “You can chase that nice young man all over London for all I care, but you damn well leave my hotel alone.”
Hugo was about to give her a tongue lashing when Pendrith spoke up. “Certainly, madam, please forgive our intrusion.”
Hugo couldn’t believe his ears and turned to stare at the Englishman, who gave the barest of nods. The two moved toward the door and, behind them, Rose started in on Merlyn.
“As for you, you can get the hell out of my hotel, too. Sneaking around like a little spy, how dare you? And give me that damn key back, right now.”
They were at the door, and Pendrith put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder to stop him. The Englishman turned and spoke, his voice strong enough to freeze Rose in her tracks.
“Be sure to keep that key available for the authorities,” he said. “I imagine they will be here within thirty minutes or so.”
“Who will be here?” Rose frowned, unsure if she was being tricked again. “Don’t you be threatening me, just because you’re a politician.”
“Not at all, my good lady. I’m sure you have nothing to fear from an environmental-health team, no matter how thorough they are.” Pendrith rubbed his chin. “Of course, they may ask you to evacuate the hotel for a day or two. Depends on the type of hazard they are looking for. But that gives us plenty of time to get the search warrant that you keep insisting we get.”
“You wouldn’t . . .” Rose began, but stopped. Her face told Hugo she’d realized that he probably would. Her shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “Fine, go ahead. Search his room, what do I care? He’s long gone, and by the looks of you two, he won’t be coming back.”
Hugo didn’t wait for her to change her mind, striding past her and taking the key card from Merlyn’s outstretched hand. He heard Pendrith on the wooden stairs behind him and kept going until he reached the door to Harper’s room, where he turned to see Pendrith panting slightly.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Pendrith said. “But why do I get the feeling we need a crime-scene team with us?”
“Let’s hope not. But be careful what you touch, just in case. The way things have gone so far, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“In which case we should wait for a crime-scene unit and a search warrant.”
Hugo smiled. “Not that safe.” He looked over Pendrith’s shoulder and saw Merlyn and Rose standing at the top of the stairs, watching. “Ladies, please stay out here. I don’t want your fingerprints getting on what might turn out to be evidence.”
Hugo slid the card into the reader and watched as the little light changed from red to green with a soft click. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was smaller than he’d expected, sparingly furnished in the style of the hotel. The bed was a four-poster in dark wood with a silk canopy. It sat on a heavy cream carpet that covered the whole floor. The walls were unadorned, an off-white stone that was almost yellow, and thick beams crossed the ceiling. A pair of wrought-iron sconces were bolted to the beams, adding to the gothic look, though Hugo noted that they held energy-efficient bulbs. A stone archway with an engraved keystone capped an iron-studded wooden door that, Hugo assumed, led to the bathroom.
He took in as much as he could before walking into the room, noting that the bed was made and the room was tidy, but definitely occupied. A pair of shoes sat neatly under the main window opposite him, and from where he stood he could see that the open closet to his left was filled with clothes, mostly black. Men’s and women’s, as far as he could tell without touching anything.
He moved farther into the room and, in the far corner, he saw a small desk and a laptop computer. He stepped toward it as Pendrith spoke behind him.
“I’ll check the bathroom, make sure there are no bodies in the tub.” Hugo knew the Englishman was joking, but if there were bodies in there, Pendrith was welcome to find them.
Hugo slid the lever on the front edge of the laptop, but it wouldn’t open. He applied a little more force and managed to get it open but frowned when he saw the keypad. It had been beaten with a blunt instrument, and when Hugo looked down to his left he saw the murder weapon, a retro-style phone, black, heavy, and very broken. An empty can of Coke lay on the desk beside the computer and, by brushing his fingers over the brutalized keypad, Hugo could tell it had been emptied over the laptop. Beaten and drowned, he thought. Hugo tipped the computer back and saw that the hard drive was still in place. That was the thing about computers. If you didn’t know anything about them, ho
w they worked or what information they stored, they’d get you every time. If Harper had been trying to destroy evidence of a crime, or some other secret, he’d managed only a temporary destruction. Hugo was pretty sure a forensic computer scientist would laugh at broken keys and a sticky motherboard.
On the other hand, Hugo was no computer scientist and had hoped to find something that would locate Harper now, so even a temporary hurdle like this was a victory for the man on the lam.
“Got something?” Pendrith asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Busted computer,” Hugo said. “Fixable but no use to us right now.”
“He didn’t take the hard drive out?”
“Apparently doesn’t know much about computers.”
“Even so, the Coke seems to have done the trick. What a bugger.”
“Anything in the bathroom?”
“Nothing that tells me where our runaway is headed.”
They separated and started searching the bedroom, Hugo stooping to look under the bed, where he spotted a suitcase. He reached under and pulled it out, then heaved it onto the bed and flipped up the lid.
The case was light and now Hugo saw why. It was empty except for half a dozen silk scarves, all black. Besides those, the suitcase contained just one large, clear plastic bag and a roll of Saran Wrap.
“What do you make of this?” Hugo said to Pendrith, who had emptied out the closet and stood there frowning at a pile of clothes on the floor.
“What do you have there, old boy?” He walked over and stood by the bed, looking into the case. “A magician’s kit?”
“I don’t see any doves or a white rabbit, do you?” Hugo said dryly.
“No,” Pendrith guffawed. “But our man Harper is pretty good at the old disappearing trick.”
Hugo nodded, committed the items in the case to memory, and closed the lid. As he did, a small rectangle of paper fluttered out of the lining and landed on the bedspread.
“What’s that, a business card?” asked Pendrith.
“Looks like it.” Hugo picked up the card by the edges and inspected both sides. All it contained was, on one side, the words Braxton and Weston, and a phone number. The type was heavy and the card itself flimsy. A cheap business card with little information, but it was all they had. Hugo pulled out his cell phone and dialed the main number to the security offices at the embassy. The phone was answered by one of the duty officers, Jeremy Sylestine. Hugo asked him to run the names and phone number and see what came up.
