I knew where Hayes would be holed up. Avoiding his main residence in the capital, he’d be lying low at his penthouse apartment in Kingston upon Thames. With its glass balconies and river views, it was a grand place to lose yourself and still be connected to the action thirty minutes away.
Security was tight, and a couple of his men did a thorough search before allowing me in to see the main man. When China prised himself away from his laptop, he did not look surprised to see me – anxious, perhaps, but there was no ‘tell’ in his expression that suggested he’d believed me dead.
He told me to take a seat. I did. The room resembled a goldfish bowl. Floor to ceiling bulletproof glass, smoked-glass coffee table, glass dining table, glass doors, all soundproof. Thanks to my lip-reading skills, I knew that the goons on the other side were chatting about football.
While China clicked out of whatever window he was looking at, I stared idly ahead at a couple of modern arts prints, the patterning resembling China’s shirt. Having had more than a couple of hours to work out what needed to be said, I felt confident. Screw the goons with their guns.
China turned his slow gaze upon me. I didn’t wait for him to speak. I got in first.
‘Job’s done.’
China is not a man to show emotion. Smiling is not part of his repertoire. He smiled. His face looked like a piece of pottery with a crack in it. He also let out a deep sigh, one of unusual relief.
‘What I don’t understand,’ I said, ‘is why you sent one of your men to kill me.’
The smile vanished. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Which man?’
‘The Russian.’
‘Konstantin?’
‘I have no idea how many Russians you have on your payroll. You tell me.’
China’s eyes thinned. ‘I don’t like your tone.’
‘I don’t like being shot at in my own home.’ I slid my hand inside my jacket and let him think for a second that I had a weapon tucked away. China knew he stood no chance if I was armed. He might manage a shout before I shot him but that would be all.
He put up both palms, defensive. ‘Konstantin disappeared.’
‘When?’
‘After your visit.’
‘And you didn’t think to question it?’
‘I might have done, but I saw no connection to you.’
I threw him a spectacularly cold look.
‘A man like you can more than take care of yourself,’ China shrugged. I remembered that McCallen had said the same thing. ‘I have no reason to kill you, Hex. We are in this together, remember?’
I stifled a snort. In common with all the other bosses I’d ever worked for, China was never ‘in’ anything with anyone.
‘What happened?’ he said.
I gave him the headlines.
‘And you’ve taken care of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can only apologise. I’ll see you’re reimbursed for your trouble.’
Did I believe him? Yes. I made to get up to go. China returned to his laptop. ‘One other thing,’ I said, ‘Simone Fabron.’
‘What of her?’ Almost imperceptibly, his right eyelid flickered, and I didn’t think it was due to eyestrain.
‘A drug dealer, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure.’ I wasn’t treading on thin ice. I was about to plunge through an ever-widening crack.
‘What’s your point?’
‘My information doesn’t tally.’
‘Your information?’ he snorted. ‘Since when have you researched your targets?’ All the time, as it happened, but China didn’t need to know this. Fact was, he had me. I was showing too much interest and it was bound to raise suspicion. ‘Word on the wire.’
China broke into another big smile. ‘Are you going soft? And in any case, what do you care? She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘And buried.’
‘That’s my man. You know, I could always do with someone like you permanently on the team. What do you say?’
‘I’m flattered.’
Just then, his phone gave a bleep and he glanced once more at his laptop. It took him five seconds to change from Mr Congeniality to Mr I’m Coming to Get You – not that it was obvious.
He beamed, stood up, stuck out his hand, clasping mine in his.
‘You’ll give it serious thought, Hex? I could make it an attractive package.’
‘I will.’
‘We’ll talk in a few days, yes?’
‘Fine.’
‘You’re going to be in the city for a while?’
‘I am.’
As I left, China called to one of the guys on guard duty, a nondescript, bland-featured man who I took to be another Russian, his name Leonid. The door closed, effectively soundproofing the living room and sealing off all conversation. Picking up my coat, I looked through the glass, caught sight of China deep in conversation and lip-read his instructions. Four words glanced across his lips: ‘Follow and kill him.’