I checked up on Simone before I hit the sack.
‘I’m freezing,’ she complained.
‘I said cheap, not bargain basement.’ My joke fell flat. She had no idea what I meant and by the time I explained, it had lost impact. ‘Where are you exactly?’
‘In a boarding house between Hackney and Lower Clapton.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I bought food and ate it here. I’m so bored.’
‘Watch TV or surf the net.’
‘No Wi-Fi.’ She sounded miserable as hell.
‘I’m sure you can amuse yourself for a day or so. Read a book, catch up on your beauty sleep.’
‘No fun without you.’
I smiled, flattered.
‘I could as easily book into a cheap hotel in Cheltenham.’
‘It’s not safe.’
‘You can protect me.’
‘Stay where you are – please.’
‘As you wish.’ She sounded put out. I imagined her exhaling a big petulant sigh and regretting the day she’d met me.
‘It’s not as I wish. It’s how it is. I’m not prepared to jeopardise your safety. Stay calm and I’ll be with you before you know it.’ The thought that I might not succeed, that I might fail both the women in my life didn’t bear thinking about. I wished her good night and fell asleep. Three hours later, I was wide awake. Unable to settle, I ventured downstairs, padded about, restless. I asked myself why the security services weren’t knocking on my door. Answer: they had no knowledge that I was back in the picture. McCallen had stayed true to her word; Titus’s involvement was based on what he’d seen over twelve months before and whatever he’d got himself into before he died. Feeling reasonably secure, in spite of having GCHQ on my doorstep, I reckoned I could take a calculated risk. My false identity, backed up by false credit cards, together with my false digital footprint ensured my anonymity, if only in the short term.
Pouring myself two fingers of whisky, I fired up the laptop and checked out the latest news. The dead Russian in the quarry remained unidentified although, according to the news report, a tattoo on his back suggested links with Russian organised crime. Good luck with that, I thought. There were so many gangs it would take the police several months to track and identify him. Apparently the cause of death was regarded as unexplained rather than suspicious, the break in his neck pre-fall not yet established. It was simply a matter of time.
The body in the crypt was more revealing. Initially hitting the news in glorious colour – bondage gone wrong the favoured theory – it had dropped from the headlines as though Titus had never existed. As for the ‘missing civil servant’, the trail hadn’t gone cold – it was in the freezer. I didn’t know whether the lack of coverage was smart or stupid. It seemed to be the way the services operated. It didn’t mean they weren’t chasing leads, only that they were chasing them in secret. Gritty-eyed, I went back to bed and, against the odds, fell into the deep.
I resurfaced around ten. First up, I phoned Jat.
‘Nothing doing,’ he said. ‘It’s like trying to hack into the Pentagon.’
‘Are you saying you can’t crack it?’
‘No,’ he said, chippy. ‘There’s no such thing as an unbreakable code.’
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘I need more time.’
Something I didn’t have. ‘What are you like at tracing phone calls?’
He let out a groan. ‘Is this extra?’
‘It is.’
‘Not my field. I could maybe have a go but I’m not GCHQ.’
And I was hardly going to take a trip down the road to the doughnut, as it was known, to ask them to do me a favour.
‘No, forget it. Just crack on with the computer.’
‘I will, but phoning me constantly isn’t helping.’
I got the message, apologised and backed off. Next, I phoned Simone. It went straight to voicemail. I glanced at my watch. Maybe she was taking a bath. I made coffee, showered, shaved. I dressed from head to toe in black, then phoned her again. Still no reply. A little concerned, I sent an email to the contact on her website: ‘Checking in. Can you answer your phone?’
Examining the car and finding it clean of any hidden devices, incendiary or otherwise, I drove it down to the nearest garage, filled the tank and drove back. All through breakfast I had the gnawing sensation that Simone might disregard my orders, that, headstrong as she was, she’d turn up without warning, expecting my undivided attention when it was already divided. I didn’t know her well, but I was familiar with the reckless, risk-taking side of her nature. If she wanted to do her own thing, she’d cut off, cut loose and to hell with the consequences. There was invincibility about her that I found as worrying as it was intoxicating.
The afternoon plodded along in a fog of silence and frustration. I covered around six miles on foot in sleety rain, checking warehouse locations, rented lock-ups, places where a person could be held. The lock-up situation in Cheltenham is peculiar to the area. They rarely come up for sale because it’s more lucrative to rent, the perennial parking problem and lack of garages creating a ready supply of clientele. It was like looking for a coin in the Treasury.
On my return, I left a ‘tell’ on the front step close to the front door, a delicately placed potato crisp that anyone entering the house would crunch if they broke inside. I did the same with the back door then spent most of my time at the window, watching people slipping by, waiting for the phone call, wondering if China, enjoying domination, would send me halfway across the country, or, changing his mind, leave me and McCallen to fester for another twenty-four hours for no other reason than that he could.
Light faded. Workers came home. Darkness fell. This used to be my time and my terrain. No more.
Patience runs through my DNA but I needed the patience of angels. Every time I checked my watch, it seemed that only a minute had passed. A grim thought struck me that this was only a single instalment on the price I had to pay for all the acts of violence I’d committed.
Wired with coffee, I nearly dropped the phone when it finally rang.
‘Hello, it’s me.’
‘Fuck’s sake, why didn’t you answer my call?’
‘Because I knew you would be angry with me.’
I closed my eyes in an agony of frustration. Simone had broken loose, as predicted, and now she was blocking the line. ‘Where are you?’
‘Somewhere more comfortable, the Chapter.’
Crazy woman. ‘Were you followed?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Think’ wasn’t good enough. ‘Stay there. Don’t answer the door to anyone.’
‘Apart from you.’
She sounded immensely pleased with herself.
‘I have to go.’
‘À bientôt.’
See you soon. Maybe, maybe not.
An hour later the call I’d waited all day for came through. Same electronic voice, same anonymity. It didn’t bother with niceties, for which I was grateful. I muted my surprise when told the address.
‘And Hex,’ the voice said. ‘Remember – no cops, no backup. One stupid move and she’s dead.’