The support staff behind the rope looked like they carried more than a marketing degree for comfort. In the few minutes it took to sign in and receive their room key no one arrived to go through the magic doors.
Up on the fifth floor it was business as usual, albeit with a polite notice that one of the two restaurants was unavailable for the week due to a private conference. Regrettably, that meant another reason for Thomas and Karl to be away from the action. Guests were also advised that floors one to three were out of bounds unless you were a designated gold visitor. Thomas wasn’t impressed. Shakespeare had it right: “All that glisters . . .”
Their shared room was surprisingly spacious. Thomas claimed the bed nearest the window, so he could catch a glimpse of the Tower of London. He unpacked methodically, moving the balled sweatshirt on to the bed with infinite care.
Karl held a finger to his lips, took out his RF detector and went walkabout around the room, checking gaps and closed spaces, and finally standing on a chair to wave the detector under the lights and the smoke detector.
“All clear. Let’s hope they don’t have a firearms detector on the premises. You better put that in the room safe while I use the little boys’ room.”
* * *
By the time they returned to the hotel that evening, after a hard day’s analysing, the atmosphere in reception was very different. Thomas spotted two guests heading for the roped off area, and loitered for a moment on the pretence of checking his pockets. He glimpsed a sharp-suited woman pulling out a portable scanner to verify identities. No way would he and Karl be able to get in there if they weren’t on the database.
Thomas changed for dinner upstairs, prompting comments from Karl about whether he ought to add a monocle. Karl’s concession to the hotel restaurant was a pair of shoes rather than trainers, and to moisten down his hair: one hundred percent style.
Thomas scoured the menu to see what he could squander Heick’s money on. “I still don’t get it. We have a visual on the fourth floor room and this place is tighter than a drum, so how the bloody hell can we use any of the other devices?”
“Not sure. Now, what say we break the bank and try a Belgian shandy as a treat?”
It didn’t take Thomas long to figure out the game. Karl became unfeasibly loud and boorish for a sober man. He’d also managed to attract attention from the restaurant staff and a maître d’, who hovered nervously by the kitchen. Thomas knew their money was good though, so the staff would have to put up with them.
The rowdiness continued to the very end of the meal, culminating in Karl licking his dish, giggling, and then accidentally letting it slip to the floor where it become a jigsaw puzzle. Thomas dropped a tenner on the table, muttering to Karl that it would be coming out of his wallet, and steered his seemingly inebriated colleague to the lifts.
He figured Karl knew he was pissing in the wind when he pushed the first floor button, although the security staff facing them as the lift doors opened was a surprise. Karl tried to stagger out abruptly and was returned with some momentum.
“This floor is out of bounds, sir.”
Karl slammed into Thomas and waved as they tried their luck on the floor above. Same story without the shove.
“Fourth floor, I think.” Karl hit the button.
The moment the lift doors opened again he set off in earnest. Thanks to the floor plans, Karl knew his way around and quickly navigated the corridors until he pointed to room 430.
“Aha!” he stepped smartly towards a console table, three rooms down, which seemed to have no business being in the corridor. As he passed it he grabbed a statuette and kept on walking.
Thomas followed him and they took the stairs up to the fifth floor. Back in their room, Karl opened his jacket.
“It looks genuine. Pity. Still, needs must.” He rested it on a pillow and went to his bag for his miniature tool kit.
Thomas put the TV on and flicked around until he found a football match. It was clear Karl didn’t want to be disturbed. By half time Thomas had decided to either go for a walk around the hotel or suffocate Karl with one of the pillows. Either would be preferable to the grunts and sighs and the interminable scrape scrape as Karl worked away at the ceramic with the smallest of tools to create an opening big enough for a miniature camera. He managed to convince Karl to take a break and have a brew, and then helped out by holding the statue steady so that Karl could position the device inside and glue it into place. That was twenty minutes of his life he was never getting back.
After testing the field of vision it only remained to take another stroll down to the fourth floor, the statuette under Karl’s jacket and Thomas bringing up the rear with some fast acting glue. Once the shepherdess was back in position, and unlikely to ever leave it again, they called it a night.
“One down, Tommo . . .”
Chapter 36
Henriette Voclain arrived on the third day. Close up, she was exactly how Thomas had imagined. Her clothes wore her and they seemed to enjoy the experience. It was easy to see why Stephen Heick had fallen for her. She could have given Diane Wright a run for her money in the older woman stakes.
They almost passed her in the lobby, only Karl stalled. So Thomas had taken the lead, waiting until she turned to enter the magic kingdom with all the other golden ones. Karl didn’t speak until they were out on the street, heading to Tower Hill tube station.
“It’s a funny thing, seeing her in the flesh. Different to a photograph or film footage. She seemed . . . I dunno . . . vulnerable? Kinda makes me wonder if she bit off more than she could chew?”
Thomas understood he wasn’t required to answer. Karl soon saved him the bother anyhow.
“Nah, there’s more to this, Tommo. Heick’s made it all too easy for us. We just turn up and collect the evidence. Why does he even need us at all?”
“Got me.” Thomas shrugged.
* * *
DS Edwards was all smiles come eleven o’clock when she made her customary appearance in the information room. Mr Leibowicz had been caught on camera at home in the early hours, giving her the opportunity to have him picked up by the local police. Since then, she and DC Wen had brought him in for questioning.
“Of course, the thing is,” she rattled a bag of muffins in Karl’s direction, “All we have is a tenuous connection with Moretti. On paper, they’re the victims.”
Thomas clocked the way she looked at Karl. Not quite affection, more like familiarity.
Karl nodded. “Find Moretti and we strengthen the connection.”
Edwards placed the bag down and left them to it.
“Simple as that?” Thomas tossed him a muffin, which Karl caught left-handed and then held it aloft like a trophy.
“Simpler, in fact. Our good friends in Slovakian Intelligence have already provided information—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t know the details. Jesus, Tommo, How many times? I’m like you — a spy chaser — only I have another badge. I’m not told everything and, frankly, I don’t need to know everything. What is it now, Lassie?”
Thomas had started worrying away on a piece of paper. Why would Leibowicz go back to the house now? He tapped at the page and the harder he thought the slower he tapped. Jack Langton’s meeting, thud thud thud. Arlo Moretti, thud . . . thud . . . thud. Stephen Heick. Thud . . . . . . thud . . . . . . thud.
“What room is Heick staying in?”
“Dunno, Tommo. Maybe he’s not even here at all — you met him south of the river before.”
“No.” Thomas held up both hands to quieten Karl’s chatter. He was on the brink of something. “Heick won’t want to be far from Henriette. Where are the best rooms?”
“Seventh floor. What’s your point?”
“I don’t know. I can’t quite get my head around all this.” He blew through his hands. “Okay, let’s take a step back. Jack Langton talked about an introduction to Henriette — how would that work?”
“Well, she’ll not want him to meet her friends from the off, so I’m guessing a private meeting to see if he's made of the right stuff — like an interview.”
“And far from prying eyes — ours.”
“I’m on it.” Karl fired up his laptop and keyed away as if his life depended on it. “Hmm . . .” He triple-tapped his keyboard. “No Heicks listed, unless he’s in under another name.” He looked up. “You don’t think . . ?”
“You did say he was a shifty bastard.”
More tapping. “Got him. Stephen O’Neill, probably to match his passport. Room 702. Lemme see now.” Karl searched through his bag and pulled out the floor plans. “Opposite 711. Now all we need is a way to get in there, rig up a camera, and stop anyone else using the room.”
Twenty minutes of silence convinced Thomas that they needed an alternative plan. When his phone rang it was a welcome change from thinking. Natalie Langton gave him the good news — Jack was being released from hospital and she expected to see him that night. It was the night that did it, triggering that instinct he’d come to rely on, the one that smelled trouble.
“Jack’s coming home tonight.”
“You don’t sound convinced, Tommo.”
“Lemme ring him.” He didn’t wait for a decision.
“Hey, Thomas. Yeah, I’m getting there. They let me out so I can attend that meeting. Are you still in?”
Dear God. Jack thought they were potential business partners.
“I’ll ring you later, Tom. Have you changed phones? Only your number’s withheld.”
* * *
Sometimes there was no plan beyond marshal your forces and make it up on the hoof. Thomas got in the lift and pressed seven. Karl hadn’t tried to talk him out of it. Why would he? It wasn’t as if they had any other options.
Heick opened the door cautiously, half checking it with his shoulder. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk.”
Heick opened the door and pulled him in. Thomas heard the click of a safety catch and then Heick holstered the weapon. Nice.
Thomas kept it brief and to the point. He told Heick he’d heard that the room was compromised. Heick didn’t put up much of a fight about it. Thomas pulled out his trusty RF detector anyway and offered to do a sweep. Heick immediately backed down and Thomas followed his gaze to the clock — no time for big changes. That left two rooms available without any great upheaval — his and Karl’s, or Henriette’s. No contest. Thomas left him to it.
* * *
Thomas sat and watched them all as they either passed the statuette or approached it, on their way to Henriette’s room. Sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs. Without sound to rely on he formed judgements, each one as random and instantaneous as the next. This woman an accountant and that man a politician. They could be nobody of significance, except every one of them paused before they knocked on the door, as if they understood the line they were crossing.
“What do you think really goes on in there?”
“Some will be first time introductions. Others are there to talk terms. You ever heard of multi-level marketing? Cleaning products and the like? You earn from the sales of the people below you — so you build up . . .” Karl grasped for the words.
“A pyramid?”
“I was gonna say an organisation. Close enough though. Everyone wants to go up a rung and get closer to the big chair. Here’s the thing though. I think Henriette’s got so close that she realises there’d be no turning back. Can you imagine the crisis if someone in her position tried to walk away, knowing what — and who — they know?”
“So why is she meeting her organisation then?”
“Maybe she’s funding her retirement.”
Thomas took the late shift — one till two in the morning. He’d stared at that closed door for so long he was starting to imagine shapes in the paintwork. The silhouette brought him to his senses and he waited eagerly for the short appointment to end. Fifteen minutes later the door opened again and he watched Sir Peter Carroll on screen.
Karl didn’t take kindly to being woken up, even if he did acknowledge the significance. He stood over the table and scratched his groin through his boxers. “Well, I never knew that — I thought Our Leader was better connected within the Shadow State, but Heick said she’s only been approached for higher office.”
Thomas put his hands together in prayer. Either she’s lying or he is. My money’s on her. In which case, he’s being played.”
“Maybe they’re both playing each other.”
* * *
Edwards wore it well when both Thomas and Karl phoned in sick the next day. Karl took a call in the bathroom and it hardly occurred to Thomas to go through his things. My, how times had changed. When Karl emerged, phone clamped to his ear, he announced he was going out for a couple of hours — on business.
“I think we both need a little downtime.”
Thomas surfed the web and then flicked through the TV channels, settling on a news station. As the ticker tape of scandals and disasters played out along the bottom of the screen, it seemed to him that lately he’d been living in a bubble. Time for coffee.
He’d just polished off the last of the biscuits when the tap tap at the door and a cry of ‘room service’ brought him out of his sugary haze. He pressed his eyes to the spy hole and opened the door at the speed of light.
“Miranda!”
“Buenos días!” Her Spanish accent was good for someone who hadn’t caught the plane. She closed the door behind her and took a step closer. “Remember me?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working the early shift in the conference suite. I’ve been here since the day before you arrived. Now, are we gonna stand here talking or would you like to come down to the basement and help me out of this uniform?”
He switched the intruder detector on and followed her out.
Chapter 37
Sneaking down to the staff rooms reminded him of the old days in Hyde Terrace, Leeds — creeping around the bed-sit to outsmart the landlady, who lived in the building.
“We’re in here.” She swiped the door card and led him by the hand.
He’d once told Miranda that she had a touch of the witch about her. A day apart felt like a week — when things were good between them, anyway. Every time he had her figured out she managed to turn the tables. Like now, closing the door so that the side lamp turned her hair to gold.
They didn’t waste time with words. Maybe it was the buzz of somewhere new, or the sheer delight of seeing her at the hotel, but it was the most intense sex he could remember. He could still feel his insides trembling as he lay on the bed, watching her change her laddered stockings.
“Come on, up you get.” She fixed her hair in the mirror. “We can’t stay here forever.” She smiled then, as if the thought had crossed her mind.
He was mid pee when she barged in the bathroom.
“Sorry, your phone went off. I thought it might be important.”
He checked. It was.
“Shit. My room’s breached. Gotta go.” He dragged on his clothes in a frenzy, jammed trainers on his bare feet and broke into a run. Miranda was a heartbeat behind him.
She pulled at his arm. “This way. Service lift.”
He counted the seconds as the display changed, running scenarios through his head. Heick or Voclain doing counter surveillance, Jack Langton settling a score with Karl. None of them played out well. And where was his gun? Safely in the room safe. Idiot.
When they exited at the fifth floor he kept Miranda behind him and moved cautiously along the corridor. Their room was closed but he could see the indentation where something had hit the catch. He held his breath and pressed an eye against the paintwork.
“You give them to me and maybe I let you live.”
The voice chilled him. Moretti — in his room, and there was only one person he could be talking to. He leaned back and mouthed Moretti’s name to Miranda.
“I can buy yo
u a couple of seconds,” she whispered, straightening her uniform.
Thomas moved behind her, coiled like a spring.
“Room service.” She tapped on the door. “Room service!”
“Go away.”
The voice was so strained Thomas couldn’t even tell if it was Moretti or Karl. Miranda glanced round to Thomas, who nodded for her to try again. As she turned back to face the door he noticed her palming something.
“Room service. I have to get a signature for this Yorkshire Hotpot or I’ll get in trouble. Sign please, or I’ll need to fetch the manager.”
Thomas smiled — smart.
“All right.” That was Moretti, definitely under stress.
Miranda took a large breath as the door handle slowly turned.
“Give it to me then.”
She did as he asked — with pepper spray — and didn’t stop when he screamed. Thomas charged the door and sent Moretti sprawling.
“Gun!” Karl moaned from the corner of the room.
Moretti frantically wiped at his eyes with his free hand, and reached over to try and retrieve the gun. Thomas gave him a swift kick in the bollocks, and beat him to the drop.
Karl looked like a car had ploughed into him. The fire extinguisher on the floor was a bit of a giveaway. It explained the doorplate as well.
“Jesus, Karl, what happened? How did he find us?”
“Well . . .”
Miranda helped Karl sit up. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.
“I sort of lured him here, using your old phone number — after I’d rescued your SIM card from the scrapyard, courtesy of Terry.” He pointed vaguely across the room. “I texted him and said I knew where the Leibowiczs were hiding.” Karl coughed and spat some blood into his hand. “Then I reset the device at the door, in case we were both out. I miscalculated — didn’t realise he was already in the hotel. He surprised me on my own — can you believe that?”
Thomas let the accusation slide. Moretti hadn’t moved and he soon saw why. Miranda had the gun trained on him — on a part of him, anyway.
“You shot up my pub, you bastard.”
Shadow State Page 16
