‘And she said,’ Anna instantly deduced, ‘that’s her, Miss Fitzjohn. And James said . . .?’
‘Well, ma’am, he said, Miss Fitzjohn comes in here often. I mean, ma’am, you’re our favourite guest.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’ Anna wondered how many hotels the woman had tried before reaching here. Or had she begun with the banks? Her bank certainly knew where she stayed when she was in Nassau, and would have suggested she try here. But they also might have let slip her name. A woman!
‘Did we do the wrong thing, ma’am?’ Charles was anxious.
‘No, no. This woman . . . can you tell me what she looked like?’
‘Hi, you, James,’ Charles commanded. ‘Come over here.’
The clerk emerged from behind the reception desk. ‘Tell Miss Fitzjohn about this woman who said she was to meet her here.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Charles.’
‘That’s what she said, was it?’ Anna asked. ‘That she was to meet me here.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘So describe her to me.’
‘Well, ma’am, she was a white lady. But . . . well . . . not like you.’
‘You mean she had dark hair.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Black hair.’
‘Was she tall, or short?’
‘Well, ma’am . . .’ James was a little man. ‘She was kind of tall. Not so tall as you, mind.’
‘Did she have a good figure?’
‘It looked good to me, ma’am.’ He gave his superior an anxious glance to make sure he wasn’t stepping out of line. ‘But not so good as yours, mind.’
‘You are a true gentleman, James. How was she dressed?’
‘Well, she was wearing a blouse, loose like, and a pair of them . . . ah . . .’ he looked at Anna’s hips. ‘What they call . . . ah . . .’
‘I think he means stretch pants,’ Charles suggested.
‘That is the very thing. They fit kind of . . . well—’
‘Tight.’ It was Anna’s turn to interpret. ‘That was how you were able to tell she had a good figure, right? Did she also have a pretty face?’
‘Well . . .’
Anna realized that his idea of what might be pretty was almost certainly different to hers. ‘I mean, did she have any striking features? Her eyes.’
‘Well, I ain’t knowing that, ma’am. She was wearing them, ah . . .’ He looked at Anna’s dark glasses, which were dangling from her fingers.
‘Of course. Now this hair, was it long or short?’
‘I think it must be long, ma’am.’
‘You think?’
‘Well, she was wearing one of them kerchief things on her head, but some hair did escape down she neck.’
‘Very good. Now James, how did she speak?’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Her voice. Her accent. Was she a Bahamian?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘You mean she was foreign? Or English?’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am. I think she was an American.’
Anna wasn’t immediately sure whether that was better or worse than she had feared. With the pound sterling pegged at just over four dollars the Bahamas was far too expensive for the average American pocket, at least when compared with Florida, thus the possible implications of who this woman was or was working for had suddenly doubled.
‘Thank you for your help, James.’ She slipped a ten-pound note into his hand and he gave a brief bow and hurried off.
‘You don’t know this woman,’ Charles suggested, more anxious than ever.
‘No, Charles, I’m afraid I do not know this woman.’
‘Then we have done the wrong thing.’ Now he was obviously worried.
‘Of course you have not done the wrong thing. James was asked a perfectly innocent question, which he answered. There can be nothing wrong with that. Now, can you squeeze me in for lunch?’
He exuded relief; clearly he had supposed he was about to lose her as a customer. ‘Of course, ma’am. You will always be accommodated here.’
‘Thank you, Charles.’ She considered, but her stomach was no longer in the mood for her favourite fillet steak. ‘I will just have a conch salad.’
‘Of course, ma’am. And a bottle of . . . ah . . . Montrachet?’
‘Not today, thank you, Charles. Just a glass of house white, medium dry. I’m meeting a plane at two o’clock.’
‘Of course, ma’am.’
He waved away the waiters and served her himself, clearly thinking while doing so. ‘If you do not know this woman, ma’am,’ he ventured. ‘Then obviously you were not intending to meet her here.’
‘Obviously.’
‘What would you like me to do when she comes back?’
If she comes back, Anna thought. Here. If she had begun her search equipped with only a photograph and a possibility that her target might be living in the Bahamas, she now had a name and a certainty. With those, she would be able to discover that there was a woman named Anna Fitzjohn who owned an island named Fair Cay, and also exactly where the cay was to be found. She would be doing that now.
Suddenly she had an urgent desire to be back on the cay as rapidly as possible. But she didn’t suppose that an extra couple of hours would make a lot of difference; it was already half past twelve.
‘If she comes back,’ she said. ‘I think you will be entitled to ask for her name, and an address where she can be contacted. Tell her that I was indeed expecting her, and would so like to see her.’ Those were her two stocks in trade, at once confusing the enemy and suggesting a picture of total naivety.
Now Charles was also confused. ‘I will do that, Miss Fitzjohn. Enjoy your meal.’
He had to be joking. It was a long time since she had been so agitated. If she was quite prepared to accept the risks of her profession, when engaged in that profession, and even perhaps enjoyed them, she had, over the past few years, increasingly looked forward to, and appreciated, those periods of quiescence, and more important, absolute safety, which she had been promised and had so desperately sought. Even the year she had been required to spend in the bleakness of the Scottish Highlands at the end of the war had been, in retrospect, a momentary paradise.
Of course a great deal had been wrong. She had been separated from her parents, except for rare visits, and separated from Clive, also except for rare visits. Her only continuous company had been Mrs Bridie, her housekeeper-cum-minder-cum-, as the poor woman had supposed, bodyguard. Yet for all her discontent, compounded by the uncertainty as to her future, as with the shooting stopped the British Government had clearly not been able to make up their minds what to do with an agent for whom shooting had become a way of life, she had been safe. The Government had guaranteed that.
Until the day that first Joe Andrews and then four MGB agents had come knocking on her door . . . and the shooting had started all over again. She had made sure Joe had survived, for all their considerable past differences: he had once been commanded to have her eliminated when his American bosses had felt she was too hot to handle any longer. But he had also once saved her life, and he had promised to take care of her future . . . if she would put her trust in the CIA.
That promise had come with a price tag, but as MI6 had proved quite incapable of protecting her, she had not felt that she had a choice. And her three years working for the Americans had not only enabled her to regain the fortune she had been forced to abandon in Germany, but had brought her to this paradise, with the family for whom she had fought throughout the war and the pets she had always wanted, and a lifestyle of which she had always dreamed . . . and absolute security. Until today.
She chewed, slowly and thoughtfully, taking an occasional sip of wine. What had she done wrong in escaping from Mexico City? She went over it again, step by step, and could not fault it. She had always known that after that telephone call the police would be able to trace her as far as Miami International. But with no guaranteed name to go on, and no name at all after she had left
the hotel, and with only several conflicting descriptions – she was well aware of the difference she could make to her age and appearance by wearing her hair up or down, by switching her various distinctive sunglasses, and most of all, of being to most men a charismatic dreamlike memory rather than a distinctive human being – she had not seen how they could proceed. Without something indisputable to present to potential witnesses. Such as a photograph!
Where, in the name of God or the Devil, had this woman got hold of a photograph? And why? From what Charles and James had told her, she did not sound like a Mexican plainclothes policewoman. But whoever she was, wherever she had come from, she was a threat to paradise. Anna finished her meal, got up and went to the desk, summoning Charles to join her. ‘Lovely meal, Charles.’ She wrote a cheque to cover it and the tip.
‘We will see you again, Miss Fitzjohn?’ He was still anxious.
‘Of course you will. When I am hoping you may have some information for me. But until then, will you send another wire for me?’
‘But of course, madam.’ He pulled the block towards him. ‘To the gentleman in Virginia?’
‘What a good memory you have. Yes. Just three words: help, urgent. Anna.’
Charles wrote, and raised his head. ‘It’s not on account of that woman, is it?’
Anna slipped two ten pound notes across the counter. ‘That woman, Charles, is a secret between you and me. And James, to be sure. Let’s keep it that way. See you soon.’ She put on her glasses.
THE PROPOSITION
Anna took a taxi to the airport, arriving just before two. ‘Presuming the flight is on time,’ she told the driver, ‘I’d like you to wait.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I going do that, sure,’ he agreed.
She went upstairs to the bar, which had a balcony overlooking the runway. As always when a London flight was due in, the bar was crowded, and as always when Anna entered a room, taking off her hat and glasses as she did so, her hair floating past her shoulders, all conversation stopped and heads turned. ‘I’ll have a Planters’ Punch,’ she told the eager barman, and as there was no unoccupied table remained at the counter, sipping through her straw.
‘I’m sure we’ve met before,’ a man suggested, standing beside her.
Anna regarded him. ‘There’s an oldie.’
He had sleek black hair, wore a small moustache, and clearly fancied himself. Thus he decided to ignore her snub. ‘I would take it as an honour if you would let me buy you another drink.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Anna agreed. ‘Consider that it was an honour. Unfortunately, I would not, and I do not wish another drink.’
She left him looking dumbfounded and went on to the balcony, replacing her glasses; the huge Britannia was just landing. A few minutes later the passengers were filing down the steps. Heart beating pleasantly quickly, she studied them. Clive, taller than most, was easily discernible, but then she frowned at the man immediately in front of him. What in the name of God was Baxter doing here?
She made her way through the throng and down the stairs to wait outside the door to the Customs area. They were out fairly quickly; both had only a single suitcase, although Baxter also carried an attaché case.
‘Anna!’ Clive took her in his arms for a hug and a kiss. ‘Life begins again.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’ Anna released him. ‘Why Mr Baxter, what a pleasant surprise. Don’t tell me you’ve come to see me?’
‘Ah . . .’ Billy looked at Clive, somewhat anxiously.
Both men had known Anna long enough to remember that her phrase, ‘You say the sweetest things,’ was double-edged and quite often used when she was about to dispose of the speaker. ‘Well, he needs a holiday,’ Clive explained. ‘And when I told him what a lovely place you have here . . .’ He also paused, anxiously: she was not looking the least mollified.
‘Well, that is absolutely charming of you,’ Anna said. ‘And of course you are welcome. But where is Mrs Baxter? Doesn’t she need a holiday too?’
‘Mildred doesn’t like flying,’ Billy explained.
‘Do you know, I didn’t either, once. But I hope you like boating.’
‘Ah . . .’
She studied him. In contrast to Clive’s lightweight suit and open collar, he was wearing a business suit and tie, the material far too heavy for the sub-tropical heat, and a bowler hat. At least he had discarded his usual ever-present sweater, and was not actually carrying an umbrella. ‘I’m afraid that if you don’t, you will have to swim, and it’s forty miles, with lots of unfriendly fish. I have a taxi waiting.’ She led them to the car. ‘I assume they fed you on the plane?’
‘Several times,’ Clive said. ‘It was a nine-hour flight.’
‘And of course it’s now seven o’clock, stomach time, for you. I’m afraid it’s a three-hour trip to the cay.’
‘Three hours?’ Baxter muttered.
‘But you’re welcome to sleep all the way.’
‘Sleep on what?’
‘My dear Billy,’ Clive said, ‘you will be travelling on a luxury cabin cruiser.’
‘You mean this boat has a cabin?’
‘A few,’ Anna acknowledged. ‘I think you should sit in front, Mr Baxter.’
He obeyed. She got into the back and Clive sat beside her.
‘Rawson Square Dock,’ Anna said.
‘No problem, ma’am.’
The car moved off, and Clive squeezed Anna’s glove. She turned her head. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he mouthed, ‘what was I to do?’
She looked at him for several seconds, then squeezed his hand back.
*
Ten minutes later they were at the Square.
‘My God, but it’s hot,’ Baxter remarked as he got out of the car.
‘What did you expect in the middle of the afternoon?’ Anna asked. ‘I would take off your jacket, if I were you.’ She paid the driver, and led the two men down to the dock, Clive carrying both suitcases, although Baxter, his jacket folded over his arm, but retaining his tie, carried the attaché case. Now he peered at Fair Girl. ‘Good heavens! Is this yours?’
‘Every inch. You remember Tommy, Clive.’
‘I do indeed.’ Clive shook hands with the big black man, waiting at the foot of the steps.
‘And this is Mr Baxter.’
‘Welcome, Mr Baxter.’
Billy hesitated and then shook hands. ‘And you are Miss Fitzjohn’s boatman?’
Tommy looked at Anna.
‘Tommy,’ she said, ‘is my right-hand man. And my friend. Now, gentlemen, will you please take off your shoes.’ She stood on one leg to remove her own high heels. ‘Would you put these cases in the saloon, Tommy?’
‘You got it, ma’am.’ Tommy stepped on board, a case in each hand.
‘You want me to take off my shoes, here?’ Billy asked. There were the usual spectators to watch Anna departing.
Anna regarded his black city shoes with disfavour. ‘My decks don’t take kindly to clodhoppers. I’ll bet those heels are steel rimmed.’
‘Well, of course.’
‘So, please.’
Billy looked at Clive, but he had already removed his shoes.
‘But what am I to wear?’
‘You can take off your socks as well, if you wish. Don’t you have any soft shoes?’
‘I don’t use them.’
‘Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to find you a pair of flip-flops on the cay. Now, we really should get on.’
Billy sighed, and stooped to unlace his shoes.
‘You’d better give me that case.’
‘That case does not leave my side.’
‘Good lord! You mean you’ve brought the Crown Jewels with you? I can hardly wait to see them. You’d better help him on board, Clive. If he goes into the drink he’ll lose the lot. You can use the fore cabin for anything you wish, Mr Baxter.’
‘Fore cabin,’ he muttered, still busy unlacing.
‘It’s the one at the narrow end. It has two bunk
s and its own heads.’
‘Heads?’
‘Toilet,’ Clive explained.
Anna left them to it, carried her shoes on board, regarded with satisfaction the four large drums of chlorine, the smell tingling her nostrils, and went down to the aft cabin to change her clothes, put on her deck shoes and tie her hair in a bandanna. She heard a sound and turned; Clive was standing in the doorway. ‘As I said, I am most terribly sorry.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me what he’s doing here?’
‘I wish I knew. He suddenly announced that he was coming. I believe he wants to have a serious discussion with you.’
‘And he’s still your boss.’ Anna stood against him, put her arms round his neck for a long, slow kiss.
Clive continued to hold her close. ‘I think it’s something to do with Mexico City.’
Anna pulled her head back. ‘What has Mexico City got to do with him? Or with me?’
‘My dearest girl, anyone reading even the sketchy report that we received, and has ever had the slightest acquaintance with you, would know that you were involved. Five men, five shots to the head, no trace of anyone’s presence, apart from the corpses? You may as well have written, Anna Fehrbach was here, in blood on the wall.’
Anna gazed at him for several seconds, then released him. ‘You think I should change my technique and start shooting them in the body? That is seldom immediately fatal, and far more painful for the target.’
‘I know, you’re all heart.’
‘I try to be as efficient as possible.’
‘And this business . . . well, the report describes you as a prostitute.’
‘Anyone who knows my methods, darling, should also know that I do whatever I have to do, to get the job done. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?’
‘Well Roberto Capillano?’
‘Relax. He never touched me. He never had the time. Clive, what happened in Mexico City was a job of work, and has nothing to do with Britain, or the British Government.’
‘It could have, if it were traced back to you.’
‘That’s not possible.’ But it could be happening, she thought.
Clive had worked with her for ten years, and caught the quick flicker of expression. ‘I think you have something to tell me.’
Angel of Destruction Page 11