Quiller's Run

by Adam Hall

  You have exactly twenty-four hours. I want his head, do you understand that?

  Shoda.

  Bitch!

  Do you know what she’s come here for, to Singapore? For my bloody head, you know that?

  .The impudence of the bitch!

  I think that was what had made up my mind. But the nerves were rioting in this small quiet room at midnight because I couldn’t be sure whether I was going to do what I was doing to do on the impetus of sheer rage or the dictates of a sound mind. Pepperidge would have said no, if I’d put it to him; he’d have finished with me, walked out of the mission, I knew that. It is not secure behaviour on the part of a shadow executive in a red sector to break out of his briefing and commit himself to an act that his own director in the field would forbid. But that was what I was going to do and the thought of it was firing the nerves and costing me the sleep I needed, costing me the strength.

  Did she know what my contacts were, Shoda, what my communications were, did she know that as soon as she landed in Singapore I’d be informed? Probably. And that was probably why she’d come, to visit me in the dark of night, to creep under my skin with the stealth of a succubus and there spread her venom in the veins as I lay with a dry mouth and my hands cold, freezing in the heat of the room, my breath quickened and urgent as if each were to be the last as she came close to me now, her head turned on her slender neck as she looked at me, stopping a few yards away in the cavernous silence of the temple, until I was staring into the eyes of the angel of death, the luminous night-deep eyes of the creature that was to be my executioner, cup of tea, yes, would you like a nice cup of tea?

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea.’

  Thanked her, yes, bright morning light, they looked after you well in this place, cleared up the mess when you cut your wrists, so forth, brought you a nice cup of tea.

  And a different view of things, of course, much more confident, not a mistake, no, it hadn’t been a mistake to make up my mind to do it, because the thing was, it would have to be done before we could move on to the objective. Needed a shower, stank like a polecat, shave, a slow and careful shave with only one bright bead of blood from the right cheek because I’d held the blade a degree or two from a right-angle, drawing blood before the day’s had a chance to get into gear, now don’t start that.

  At 08:17 I left my room and talked to the girl at the nurses’ station on B Block, Jasmine, Jasmine Yee, with quick eyes and the knack that most of them had of looking into your head and deciding what condition you were in while they were saying yes, but it’ll rain before the afternoon, smiling, having to be observant because they might be asked later to report precisely how this patient appeared to them, had he shown any signs of depression, so forth.

  Pepperidge would worry if he phoned here for me during the next hour and they told him I couldn’t be located, but Jasmine would at least assure him that I’d been in B Block at 08:17 and had looked perfectly normal.

  The doors weren’t locked during daylight hours, only at curfew, and I used the one at the end of the corridor near the kitchens and walked into the street and blew the safe-house from under me.

  ‘British High Commission.’

  A twenty-minute run, and at the halfway point I went through the whole thing again and tested the logic. The street had been absolutely clear when I’d left the clinic and I could still ask the driver to turn back and put me down where we’d started - it was like paying out a lifeline and it was getting the nerves on edge because I knew that when we reached the High Commission the line would break. But that was all it was, nerves, and I sat watching the street, noting the people.

  At 08:45 the cab pulled in to the kerb and I got out and paid the man through the window and turned and crossed the pavement and walked into the building, one of them, yes, at least one of them on the other side of the street, and I could almost hear the whip of the lifeline as it broke.

  At the main desk I didn’t do more than ask if they had an airline timetable; the girl pulled one out of a cubby-hole and gave it to me; a new girl, one I hadn’t seen before, fair head bent over her nail-varnish while I flipped through the pages of the timetable, a couple of minutes were enough, and gave it back to her.

  Counted five of them while I waited for the taxi; three women in European clothes, two men, one of them blond but not Gunther: he’d been outside the Red Orchid.

  I don’t like this.

  Like dropping into ice-cold water, isn’t it, I know what you mean, but you can shut up all the same. · This is a hell of a faking risk.

  Not really, no, not in daylight.

  But what about tonight? Jesus Christ, you’re Bloody well shut up.

  There was, of course, the very reasonable thought that it was her influence that was making me do this, pushing me to the brink. Voodoo can turn a man’s head. But it was impossible to get any perspective: yes, it could be her influence, and yes, there was a calculated chance that tonight I could push the mission into its final phase and reach the objective and destroy it. But there was this to be said: I knew how to do what I hoped to do; there wasn’t going to be any luck thrown in, except conceivably the slip of a foot on damp ground or an instant’s loss of balance.

  Ignore the effects of luck and concentrate on the demand for excellence in application.

  Another taxi had stopped at the corner as we pulled in, and a blue Toyota cruised past and then accelerated. I went into the clinic by the side door and got to my room without seeing anyone I knew, two Chinese in white coats, a woman walking with one hand sliding along the wall, a man talking to her, carrying her bag.

  I phoned the number Pepperidge had given me but it was someone else who answered and I asked him for the parole and got it and responded and said: ‘Tell him that I’m not absolutely sure, but there might be some surveillance on this place. Tell him to keep away.’

  ‘You want any action?’ A thin voice, rather quiet, unsurprisable.

  ‘No. I’ll keep you posted.’

  Over and out.

  Then the waiting began.

  ‘I killed him,’ she said.

  ‘I see.’

  They’d been wrong: it hadn’t rained this afternoon; the lawn where we sat had lost the glow we’d seen last night under the lamps, Dr. Israel and I. If the rain kept off, the grass would be almost dry tonight, and not slippery underfoot.

  ‘I got off,’ she said, Thelma Someone, I hadn’t caught her last name, ‘but I’ve got to undergo treatment for six months.’ Not a big woman, and not aggressive; just withdrawn, until I’d shown I was ready to listen. In her thirties.

  ‘Why?’ I asked her.

  ‘I told you, because I killed him.’

  The lawn was a hundred and twenty feet square; I’d paced it. There was a bird-bath in the centre, cast out of concrete and leaning slightly. The shallow basin on top of the pedestal didn’t move if you tried to lift it; I suppose it was bolted down.

  ‘But you told me he’d been beating you up for seven years.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Drunk every night, and violent.’

  ‘Yes.’ No particular tone in her voice; it was as if she were talking about a play she’d seen, not a good one.

  ‘So you shot him.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She needs to talk about it, one of the Indian nurses had said, if you don’t mind listening.

  ‘Well, for God’s sake, Thelma, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘They call it pathological loss of control.’

  It was just gone five o’clock; it would be dark in two hours, and the night would come down suddenly. I missed the English twilights out here.

  ‘Pathological bullshit,’ I said, ‘if you’ll excuse my French. You kept control for seven years, didn’t you? That wasn’t enough?’

  She was watching me, her eyes puffy, her hair a mess, not unattractive, though, just unkempt, undone by life, unwanted, and do you take this woman, not bloody
likely, she shot the last one dead, didn’t she?

  ‘You’re doing me good,’ she said, and as her pasty face cleared there came a certain beauty. ‘Not many men would agree with you.’

  ‘That’s their problem.’

  The last of the daylight was leaving the gardens and the lawn, well, not gardens quite, a few bushes and flowering plants, a glorious magnolia tree with blooms like water-lilies, and as the light lost its brightness the shadows softened, the shadows of the trees and the shrubs and the bird-bath in the centre.

  ‘Where were you?’ Pepperidge had asked. He’d phoned while I was at the British High Commission this morning.

  ‘Working out in the physical therapy room.’

  ‘Tell me about the surveillance.’

  ‘I’m still not sure. I thought I saw one of the hit team that was round the hotel. Touch of paranoia, possibly, but all the same I’d be rather careful.’

  His silence meant worry. God knew what he’d have said if I’d told him where I’d been.

  ‘Let me know,” he’d said, ‘if you see them again.”

  Said I would. He’d taken a lot of care finding me the safe-house and couldn’t really believe it had attracted ticks so soon. I felt for him.

  ‘Keep away,’ I told him, ‘just in case. I mean that.’ It wasn’t a safe-house anymore because I’d blown it across the street but that was going to work itself out. I didn’t want Pepperidge walking into a surveillance net the first day he’d taken over the mission in the field. If I ever left here with vital signs I’d need him again. ‘By the way,’ I told him, ‘Shoda’s in Singapore.’

  ‘Sayako told you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hadn’t sounded surprised, so I said, ‘Did the bug stop producing?’

  ‘Yes. But it told us that much - I think it might be on her private jet.’ As lightly as he could, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I knew now that he hadn’t been going to tell me she was here. I liked that: it was good handling of the ferret, protecting him from unnecessary worry.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Thelma asked me.

  ‘I’m paranoid.’

  The light grew less, and sharp edges softened. People had started filling the verandahs on their way to the cafeteria for the evening meal.

  ‘What form does it take?’ she asked me.

  ‘I think someone’s stalking me. But only when it’s dark.’

  Had some Pork Pad Kee Mao, but didn’t eat the meat, just the vegetables. The protein I’d eaten mid-day was into the sinews by now, and all I needed was something light, with the chili paste as a stimulant for the blood.

  David Thomas sat next to me in the cafeteria, call me Dave, all right, but don’t you dare call me Marty, I can’t stand that, made him laugh a bit, he was the man who’d lost his wife and children, shut himself in the garage with the engine running.

  ‘Boy,’ he said, ‘this stuff’s red hot.’

  ‘Good for the circulation.’

  According to the pathologist’s report, the contents of the stomach were corn, bamboo shoots, green beans, onion and chili. Pork Pad Kee Mao.

  Oh, balls.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He said his name was Singh.’

  A couple of the doctors had been talking in the hall, earlier today, when I’d gone through there.

  ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘He’s new here. Calcutta University.’

  ‘They should have told us at Admin.’

  Coconut ice-cream.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asked me, Dave.

  ‘Can’t complain. What about yours?’

  ‘Okay.’ He held his fork still. ‘There’s a chap here whose wife jumped out of a window, because they’d been rowing. How about that?’

  ‘You can make a start with that, Dave. Find someone worse off even than you, and you can take another look.’

  ‘That’s what Israel said.’

  ‘Terrific. You’re on your way.’

  Then I went along to the games room and played some snooker, or made an attempt, hitting the balls all over the place regardless, taking the tension down a degree. There wasn’t anything worth looking at on the box, so I worked out again, this time with the weights to tune up the red muscle; I’d worked on the white muscle earlier with some speed punching at the bag.

  Watching the time, of course, watching the people, the doctors in their white coats, most of them English because the place was run by them, but quite a few Chinese and Malaysian and one or two Indians.

  ‘Going to bed?’

  Thelma. We were in one of the corridors and it was a few minutes to nine, curfew time.

  ‘On my way,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you. It’s all in the mind.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I went out through the swing-door and crossed the verandah onto the lawn, the scent of the frangipani blossom sweet on the air, and sat on one of the wrought iron seats, where Thelma and I had been sitting earlier, and now it was nine o’clock and the main lights went off, leaving only the pilot lamps burning and the lawn dark, so that from here I couldn’t even make out the bird-bath.

  CHAPTER 25

  SILENCE

  There was no moon: it hadn’t risen yet above the east wing. But Sirius was bright, its colours changing like a prism in the heatwaves over the city.

  People went along the verandahs now and then, a door swinging shut behind them, their footsteps quiet, rubber soles on the wood planking. Silhouettes passed across my line of sight, becoming fleshed out as they neared a pilot lamp. They couldn’t see me here at the edge of the darkness.

  Wrong.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  White coat.

  I got up, not quickly, but resting my right hand on the back of the iron seat: it would make a good pivoting point, or I could push back from it, gaining speed.

  ‘Jordan.’

  He came closer. Stethoscope, clipboard, one of the meds, as distinct from one of the psychs; clinic patois.

  ‘Oh, hello. Taking the air?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He knew about me, that I didn’t have to be in my room at curfew.

  ‘Wonderful scent, isn’t it?’ He looked up at the trees; he was half in silhouette against a lit window beyond, and half illumined by the nearest pilot lamp. He was all right, name was Hawkins, I was just taking the opportunity of using him as a model. ‘Trouble is, the pollen’s giving a lot of people hay fever. Let me know if it bothers you - we’ve got plenty of antihistamine.’

  He wandered off, and I noted that his shoes made only the slightest sound on the grass.

  Peggy was working the evening shift, Peggy Mitchell, at Reception; I could see her through the window on the west side of the building, and the less distinct figure of the security guard by the doors. In fact security wasn’t all that strict; I’d been in the front lobby a couple of times when there was no one at the desk, and the doors weren’t locked in the daytime. And anyone could use the little door by the kitchens, as I’d done myself. I suppose it wasn’t surprising - all the patients here had come in on voluntary admission.

  Sirius had neared the roof of the psychiatric block in the east wing, changing from blue to green to ruby as I watched, listening with my head turned to the right so that sounds coming from the verandah in that direction would reach the right ear full on, for analysis by the left hemisphere; it had been a voice, that was all, a long way off or half-muted by the walls. The doors on that side had all been shut a minute ago and there’d been nobody on the verandah, and what I wanted the left brain to work out as fast as it could was the oddness of the voice; it wouldn’t be audible through the closed doors or the walls or windows: I’d been aware of that since I’d come out here; but it had been audible just now, and no one had opened a door, unless they’d done it very quietly for some reason.

  Tidal breathing, the better to listen.

  There was a sound from behind me, distant, from the verandah, a shoe, I thought, catching on something, a
nyway it was enough, and I looked away from Sirius and began walking, tired of standing still, needing a little exercise. I walked towards the centre of the lawn, and my shadow thrown by the lamp behind me soon faded out, because here the dark began. I believe Analyse fast - close, was it close, feet, bare feet?

  Went on walking, dark now intense, walking, not hurrying, the nape creeping. Bang of a door, unmistakable, Jesus Christ can’t you relax, you know what it was now, went on walking, lifting my feet to quieten them so that I could hear other things.

  ‘Caroline? Are you out here?’

  Shut the door again. Putting the whole thing together, she’d opened a door quietly, not for any particular reason, and the voice in the corridor had been audible until she’d let the door bang shut: it was the swing-door. Then she’d gone in again, did that work, make sense?

  God, it was dark here, it was enveloping, like a shroud, and as I walked. Watch it!

  Bumped the right thigh, the bird-bath, I’d thought it was further to the left. Went on walking because there was still a chance I’d been wrong and from behind me I’d now be silhouetted against that lamp over there, the moths spiralling round it, gold in the glow.

  Reached the iron seat on the far side and turned and looked back, nothing but dark between the distant lamps, my God the adrenalin, I could have jumped clean over the roof, strength of ten men, so forth; well, that’s the idea, that’s what the stuff is for.

  Have a seat, take it easy, the whole thing felt like a firework show, my body, I mean, the nerves flaring and the blood on fire, well, no harm really, we just have to be patient.

  Because this was the only way.

  It was the only way for several good reasons and I’d given it a great deal of thought and I knew I was right. You don’t take major action unbriefed by your director in the field and blow your safe-house and put the mission in gross hazard unless you can justify it later, assuming you survive.

  There was, of course, an added factor, not a reason but the necessary impetus: that bitch had become too bloody impudent, coming here to claim my head.