A doorman in pinstripes trotted towards Kyle as he stopped the van in the hotel driveway.
‘We have guests arriving imminently,’ the doorman warned. ‘You can’t stop here, poppet.’
‘The Tan Abdullah party?’ Kyle asked.
He hopped out of the van and noticed a small gathering on the opposite side of the narrow one-way street. Hopefully there would be twenty or thirty more by the time the three Mercedes arrived.
‘You really can’t stop here now,’ the doorman repeated, his voice becoming shrill.
‘I have June Ling’s flowers,’ Kyle said. ‘We just got a call to say she was arriving early. These have to be in her room when she arrives or she’ll throw a fit.’
‘Oh goodness, we wouldn’t want that, would we?’ the doorman said, shuddering at the thought. ‘Well you’d better pass the flowers over, we’ll take them up to the room.’
Kyle shook his head and looked offended. ‘This is a floral display. Only I can set them up in the room.’
The doorman pranced inside and called out for Carlo, who duly arrived with a baggage trolley. Kyle loaded three huge displays of flowers on to the trolley, as the driver took the van into an alleyway at the side of the hotel.
A glass lift had been constructed in the hotel courtyard, and Carlo had to swipe a card to bring the lift up to the luxury suites on the top floor. Tan Abdullah and June Ling each had a personal assistant, who had travelled directly from the jet to the hotel so that the billionaire couple would arrive to find bags unpacked, beds made the way they liked and any other special requests fulfilled.
Carlo knocked and double doors swung open, admitting Kyle into the lounge of a spectacular hotel suite, centred around a circular leather couch with strips of pink neon running between the cushions. June Ling’s chunky-legged assistant looked horrified when she saw the flowers.
‘What is this?’ she said urgently. ‘Mrs Ling will be here very soon. She’s not in a good mood. You must not be in here.’
Carlo looked alarmed, but Kyle stayed cool as he glimpsed a huge marble bathroom where a tub was being filled ready for June Ling’s arrival.
‘These flowers were sent to Mr and Mrs Abdullah by the French ambassador,’ Kyle lied smoothly. ‘Would you like us to pass any message back to the embassy on why you refused them?’
Tan’s personal assistant was hovering in the background, but as soon he heard the word embassy he came rushing over. ‘From the embassy?’ he smiled. ‘Of course we shall accept the flowers. Would you like to display them on the dining-table?’
Kyle contemplated the table for a couple of seconds, before nodding. ‘I think the light coming through the skylight will illuminate them beautifully in that position. There’s also a message for Mr Tan Abdullah.’
Kyle passed over an envelope, embossed with the crest of the French embassy in London.
‘I’ll make sure Mr Abdullah is aware of the message as soon as he arrives,’ the assistant said.
Carlo had already pushed the trolley stacked with flower vases towards the dining-table and Kyle began standing the pots on the table and fiddling with the stems, using the limited knowledge of flower arranging he’d picked up in a North London florist’s shop a few hours earlier. As Kyle fiddled, Tan’s assistant waved an electronic wand over the pots to make sure none had been fitted with listening devices.
‘I just got a text from the driver,’ June Ling’s assistant shouted. ‘They’ll be here in two minutes. I need everyone out of this room.’
*
Following the attack outside Elbridge’s, a marked police car had picked up the convoy of Mercedes. But even an occasional siren blast wasn’t much help and the two miles between Oxford Street and the Mayfair hotel took twenty-five minutes.
The Leith was situated on a narrow lane, with upmarket boutiques opposite and a coffee shop on the corner. As the final black Mercedes clipped the kerb, half a dozen latte drinkers stormed out behind waving placards.
Kevin looked back and was confused by a long banner with an anti-arms trade slogan, placards bearing the Guilt Trips logo and others holding up the picture of a skinned mink he’d already seen outside Elbridge’s.
He jumped as an egg pelted the back windscreen.
‘Full reverse,’ TJ demanded. ‘Run the bastards over!’
‘Quiet,’ the bodyguard at the wheel said firmly. He was trained in advanced combat-driving techniques, but no amount of skill could counteract being stuck in a long car on a narrow street. The way ahead was blocked, so he put the car in reverse and began edging back while making regular blasts on the horn.
The protestors didn’t appreciate this aggressive gesture. They surrounded the car on all sides and pounded on the windows and the boot lid. TJ got rather excited with his hand pressed against the window giving them the finger.
‘Don’t provoke them,’ the driver said irritably, as he continued crawling backwards.
Up ahead the middle Mercedes was half in the road and half on the driveway of the Leith Hotel. There were a couple of dozen protestors stopping them from going any further.
‘Why are the police just sitting in their car?’ June Ling complained.
‘Waiting for backup I expect,’ the bodyguard in the front passenger seat explained. ‘Get out in front of a mob that size and they’ll just make fools of themselves.’
‘Well I’m not anyone’s prisoner,’ June Ling shrieked, with such violence that Lauren put a hand over her left ear in case of a reprise. ‘I’m getting out of here. You’re my bodyguard, now guard me!’
The crowd surged as June Ling threw open the passenger door. She’d left her high heels in the foot-well, and a couple of cameras flashed as she scrambled barefoot across ten metres of concrete and into the hotel lobby.
The jostling crowd reacted furiously because their prime target had got away. But they were better prepared by the time the bodyguard flung his door open. The protestors threw eggs through the open doors, one of which cracked on the seat beside Melissa and spattered her leg. She turned quickly towards Lauren.
‘Wanna make a run for it?’
‘Sod it,’ Lauren nodded. ‘We could be stuck in this car for ages.’
The police officers grabbed a protestor as Melissa and the bodyguard in the front passenger seat made the dash towards the hotel.
Lauren flipped her cardigan up over her head and ran through the gap in the protestors cleared by the huge bodyguard. A hotel doorman stepped out bravely, shielding the three runners with a large umbrella. Lauren almost made it, but took simultaneous egg hits as she passed through the doorway. One hit her back, the second spattered noisily against the cardigan over her head.
‘You OK, sweetie?’ Melissa asked, as Lauren peeled off the cardigan.
Outside, one of the protestors was yanking at the glass door, while a doorman pulled in the other direction. June Ling stood with folded arms, breathing fire as she waited for the lift.
‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Melissa said.
‘Not your fault. You’re not security,’ June Ling snapped, as she turned angrily towards the bodyguard. ‘This is the biggest shambles I’ve ever seen. These people know every step we make.’
The lift doors made a dinging sound and in her rush to get upstairs to her room, June Ling knocked into a young man dressed in a green polo shirt who was trying to step out. Lauren’s mouth dropped open as Kyle emerged from the lift and brushed silently past her.
31. CALL
The Leith wasn’t a large hotel and the entire top floor had been booked out by the Malaysian government and David Secombe. Lauren had a two-bedroom suite which she was supposed to be sharing with Kevin, but he was off with TJ as she padded out of her bathroom in her robe and slippers. She picked up her mobile, slid a glass door and stepped out on to a balcony.
She dialled Kyle, then peered down into the street below, and saw that the protestors had been cleared into a pocket on the opposite side of the street. There was a police van parked on the
hotel driveway and armed officers standing by the main entrance.
‘Kyle, what the hell is going on?’ Lauren asked, sounding angry but keeping her voice low in case someone was out on another balcony.
‘Oh, hi,’ Kyle answered awkwardly.
‘You went through James’ mission briefing before he pulled out, didn’t you?’ Lauren asked accusingly. ‘That’s how the protestors knew what hotel we were staying at.’
‘I might have glanced at it,’ Kyle admitted.
Lauren shook her head. ‘If security finds out, you’ll never be allowed on campus again. They’ll cut you off financially and throw the book at you in court if you give them an excuse. And the last thing you need is a criminal record when you want to become a lawyer.’
‘That’s why I didn’t tell you,’ Kyle said. ‘But I’m not an idiot, Lauren. I’m working with good people.’
‘They know there’s a leak,’ Lauren said. ‘So you’d better have covered your tracks. And what about James, is he involved?’
Kyle had to think before answering. He didn’t want to lie, but it was more important that he didn’t drop James in it.
‘I have no idea where your brother is,’ Kyle said.
‘Is there anything I should know?’ Lauren asked. ‘What are you planning exactly with your flower delivery?’
‘It’s better if you don’t know,’ Kyle said firmly. ‘You’ll probably encounter a few more protestors when you’re out and about, but the element of surprise is gone. The cops will follow every step you make from now on.’
‘Just be careful, OK?’
‘I will,’ Kyle said. ‘Are you pissed off that I didn’t tell you?’
‘Slightly,’ Lauren admitted. She heard the boys coming into her room. ‘I’ve gotta go, bye.’
‘What do you want?’ Lauren said aggressively as she stepped back into her bedroom.
‘They’ve taken the booze out of the mini bars and locked out porn on our TV,’ Kevin explained. ‘We’re bored.’
TJ inspected the eggy cardigan balled up on the floor. ‘They got you good,’ he grinned. ‘Should have stayed in your car for five minutes. We had about twenty cops escorting us.’
There was a knock at the door. Kevin opened up and Suzie strolled down towards Lauren.
‘The bodyguards say there’s no way we can go out until dinner this evening,’ Suzie explained. ‘So how about we get down to the spa and have ourselves massaged by a couple of hunks?’
‘Oooh, I like the sound of that,’ Lauren agreed.
*
While the protestors chased June Ling and her family across London, the elderly journalist Hugh Verhoeven held court in the church vestry. James, Bruce, Helena Bayliss and a hastily assembled volunteer camera crew hung on every word as Verhoeven told stories from fifty years as a reporter.
He’d gone undercover to join the Ku Klux Klan in the sixties and narrowly escaped death when his identity as a British TV journalist was unearthed. He’d been in Dallas when JFK was shot, interviewed Clint Eastwood and Marilyn Monroe, seen the Berlin Wall come down and been in Baghdad at the beginning of both Gulf Wars.
Verhoeven had led a remarkable life and James was disappointed when Helena handed over fifty quid and told him to go and buy lunch for everyone at the nearest Prêt à Manger.
Kyle arrived back at the church as James was distributing chicken wraps, fruit smoothies and boxed salads.
‘All good,’ Kyle announced, before taking James aside and warning him about the situation with Lauren.
The final piece of Verhoeven’s plan to bring down Tan Abdullah arrived a few minutes later. He was a fat man, who wore a beautifully cut navy suit and rimless glasses that gave him the air of a professor. He had an expensive briefcase and a Financial Times tucked under his arm.
‘This is Dion Frei,’ Verhoeven announced. ‘For twenty years a leading salesman for a Franco-Swiss turbine and missile manufacturer, recently made redundant. He helped a friend of mine in Geneva write a terrific whistle-blower piece on the Swiss armaments industry and now he’s going to help us nail Tan Abdullah.’
‘Twenty-six years,’ Dion corrected, with a hint of bitterness. ‘A lot of men got rich off deals I made. I got redundancy and a letter saying that the company pension was a crock.’
Verhoeven laughed, and looked at Bruce, who’d been wrapped up in all his stories and was conspicuously the youngest person in the room. ‘You see, young man, some of us are motivated by the greater good and others by the sting of a meagre redundancy cheque.’
Bruce nodded. ‘So how does it work exactly?’
Verhoeven opened up into a smile that made it look like he’d been waiting his whole life to unveil his clever scheme.
*
Tan Abdullah and David Secombe arrived at the Leith to find the women in the spa, the bodyguards playing poker for matchsticks and the two boys charging around Tan’s suite, battling with cushions and hurling Minstrels and M&Ms taken from the mini bar.
TJ gave his father a quick hug as Tan’s assistant, Max, came across the room holding the envelope that had been attached to the flowers.
‘I thought you’d want to see this straight away,’ Max explained. ‘I couldn’t risk it on the phone.’
Tan opened the envelope. His eyebrows shot up as he pulled out an aerial photograph of an island in the Pacific.
Tan looked around at David Secombe, who’d decided to act fatherly by grabbing a bag of Minstrels from Kevin and eating them.
‘You’re scoffing all my ammo!’ Kevin protested.
‘David, I have family business to attend to,’ Tan said smoothly. ‘Would you excuse me for a few moments?’
Tan followed Max into his luxuriously appointed bedroom and closed the door.
‘Is this genuine?’ Tan asked.
Max nodded. ‘The envelope is from the French embassy. The number given for Dion Frei is a genuine French embassy number. What’s the significance of the island?’
Tan grabbed the remote for a large plasma TV. He switched it on, turned up the sound and then stood near the speakers.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ Tan explained. ‘The British government have had weeks to bug this place if they’d wanted to.’
‘I swept thoroughly,’ Max said, sounding a little offended.
‘You can’t detect the really good ones,’ Tan said, before lowering his voice even further. ‘The island is in the Pacific. It’s part of a chain on the edge of the zone where the French used to test their nuclear weapons. Quite unspoiled, beautiful wildlife and ideal for diving and island hopping. If you developed it the right way for tourism you could generate sixty to eighty million dollars per year.’
‘So what’s the significance to you?’
Tan raised an eyebrow, indicating that he thought Max was being thick. ‘I tried to develop this island years back, but the French government won’t sell. Now, the day before I sign a deal to buy turbines for our new frigates from the Brits, they’re dangling it under my nose.’
‘They’re offering a bribe?’ Max asked.
‘Never use that word!’ Tan said urgently, then jumped as the door swung open.
TJ burst in as Kevin lobbed a cushion after him.
‘Out!’ Tan roared furiously. ‘You want a smack up the side of the head?’
TJ froze in shock before grabbing the cushion and bolting back out.
‘Do you trust Dion Frei?’ Max asked after a moment.
‘He’s rock solid. A company man,’ Tan said. ‘First met him fifteen years ago, when we were buying marine engines for boats to service an island resort. His company tendered for the frigate engine contract, but they couldn’t meet our delivery schedule.’
‘So what do we do?’ Max asked. ‘Set up a meeting?’
‘Yes,’ Tan nodded. ‘David Secombe can’t know I’m meeting with a rival and there are cops everywhere.’
‘The embassy?’ Max suggested.
‘Too many people sticking their noses in there. Speak discr
eetly to the hotel concierge. See if they have a room, or a meeting space on one of the lower floors where I can sneak off for an hour. Then call Dion Frei. Tell him that I’m very interested in his photograph, but I’ll only meet him face-to-face and just him. I want nobody else in the room.’
‘When?’
‘Soon as possible,’ Tan said. ‘I’m supposed to be signing a deal tomorrow so if this has legs we need to move fast. You call Dion now. I’d better go back outside before Secombe thinks we’re talking about him.’
*
Over the years, Dion Frei had done billions of euros’ worth of business at the London arms fair and as a result knew everyone who mattered at the French embassy. Getting an embassy telephone number re-routed to his mobile phone hadn’t been a problem.
He shushed the crowd in the vestry as his mobile phone rang.
‘Max?’ Dion said curiously. ‘Oh you must be new, what happened to Lucy? Oh that’s a pity, she was a lovely girl… Of course I’d be happy to meet Mr Abdullah today. I’ve got a short meeting right now, but I can be with you in about an hour and a half… OK … OK, I’ll see you there, Max. Good talking to you.’
‘And?’ Verhoeven asked, the instant Dion shut his telephone.
‘He’s organised a private dining-room on the sixth floor,’ Dion said.
Across the room, Helena grabbed a floor plan of the Leith Hotel and unfurled it on the table. There were several private rooms, but they were all close together.
Verhoeven tapped on the hotel floor plan and traced a line out of the sixth-floor restaurant. ‘He could go this way, down in the lift, through the front of the restaurant. But it’ll be half past two and it’s a popular spot so he’d get seen. It’s much more likely that Tan will come out of his suite, go down the back stairs and enter the dining-room through the kitchen.’
‘Agreed,’ Kyle nodded. ‘Especially as they’re glass-sided lifts.’
‘How do we know that Dion won’t be padded down and searched for a wire?’ James asked.
‘We don’t know,’ Verhoeven said. ‘This kind of thing is a calculated risk. There’s a chance that Dion will be padded down. There’s also a chance that at some point between now and two-thirty, Tan Abdullah will discover that Dion is no longer a hard-working and loyal salesman for a Franco-Swiss jet turbine manufacturer.’
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