by Oliver Tidy
‘Where is Smith?’ It was the man’s first hesitation. Sansom brought the butt of the pistol down hard on the man’s ear, splitting it. Susan gave a yelp from the front. The man made a low moaning noise. ‘Where is Smith?’
‘St John’s Wood. A private address. It’s a safe-house.’
‘Is he alone?’
‘He didn’t say.’
There was a satellite navigation system on the dashboard. Sansom nodded towards it. Susan turned it on, the horror of her situation and what she had witnessed etched in her features.
‘I want the full address.’
‘The man reeled it off.’
‘We’re not going to be wasting our time, are we? I’m not in the mood.’
‘No.’
A phone began to ring in one of the man’s pockets. They all listened to it until it stopped.
‘Susan, can you see that plastic strapping hanging out of the skip?’ She looked towards the bright yellow builders’ skip and nodded. ‘Go and get it for me, quickly. As much as you can find.’
She did as he asked.
Awkwardly in the confined space, he secured the man’s hands behind his back, tied his legs together and trussed him so that he couldn’t extend his legs without strangling himself. He then tucked him down on the floor and put his feet on him.
‘Time to go, Susan.’
‘Go where?’
‘To get your story, of course.’ The adrenalin continued to course freely through the soldier’s system. It was like a drug, giving him a feeling of invincibility, an unshakeable belief in himself and his abilities. He caught her looking at him in the rear-view mirror and smiled back. It was not returned.
*
They made their way across London, the calm computerised voice issuing instructions, guiding them in on the fount of all knowledge – Smith. Sansom wondered who the caller had been. It might have been Smith. He toyed with the idea of having Smith’s agent call him so that he could be sure of Smith’s whereabouts, but decided against presenting the man with a clear opportunity to forewarn his boss. If Smith was there then Sansom couldn’t thank his lucky stars enough. He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
A few short hours before he’d been standing impotent outside something as ordinary as a locked front door. Now he was homing in one of the two men who could prove his innocence in everything. He was armed again and he was in control.
‘What are you going to do?’ said Susan.
‘Talk to him.’
‘You’re not going to kill him?’
‘He might be the only man who can prove my innocence in all this. No, I’m not going there to kill him.’
‘And me? What am I supposed to do?’ The shock of all that had happened was beginning to wear off for her. Sansom detected a rising hysteria that if it remained unchecked could jeopardise the drive.
‘Try to remain calm, Susan.’
‘Stop talking to me like I’m a fucking child!’
They were quiet for a hundred yards.
She said, ‘I’m sorry. What would they have done to me?’
‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t want to scare her into something stupid by voicing his fears and pandering to hers. ‘Probably nothing. It depends on how they got your name. What they wanted with you.’ They could both guess Smith’s reasons for wanting her taken.
‘Then why did you come after us? Why did you risk your life chasing the car across London in broad daylight if they were probably not going to hurt me?’
He had no answer for her. Or none that he could give her honestly. But she knew why. She couldn’t help but believe that they might have ‘disappeared’ her once they’d extracted any information they wanted from her. She remembered her ex-husband, a fellow journalist, and what they’d done to him.
She said, ‘Ask him who killed Phillip Hatcher.’
Sansom understood that she was talking about the body under his feet. He was at least pleased that she was focussing on something other than what might have happened to her.
‘You heard her,’ he said, giving him a nudge with his heel.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You want me to shoot him in the knee?’ said Sansom. ‘He’ll tell us anything then.’
Their eyes met in the mirror again. She didn’t answer him. He got the sense that she was disgusted by the violence and the casual threat of it. Perhaps she was disgusted by him. That was good too. A preoccupation with being disgusted would be something else to keep her mind off breaking down.
They were getting close.
‘Susan?’
‘What?’
‘Find somewhere good to stop. I need to talk to you.’
She brought the vehicle to a halt in the shade of a mature, leafy tree. Sansom indicated that they should get out and speak privately. He threw his jacket over the man on the floor, patted him and said, ‘Won’t be long now. Just keep thinking about your kids.’
They moved away from the vehicle.
‘I’ve got an idea but we haven’t got long. Have you got any photographer colleagues with a good video camera?’
*
Five minutes later they were back in the vehicle. While she drove, Sansom searched the man and relieved him of his mobile phone. He dug in his pocket for the number that Susan had scrawled for him that morning and dialled it. It rang. He checked the battery. Plenty.
‘What’s Smith’s number under?’
‘Speed dial one.’
She found the road. They slowed at its mouth.
‘You’re sure about the number of the house?’ Sansom said, nudging the man.
‘Yes.’
‘Anything I should know about it? Any nasty surprises? Never mind. You’ll probably lie.’
‘What are you going to do to me?’ said the man.
‘Susan has persuaded me to let you live. Lucky for you, she’s not like us. What car does Smith drive?’
‘Black Jag.’
‘Registration?’
He gave it.
‘Wait for me here,’ he said to her.
‘You’re breaking the law,’ said Smith’s agent when Sansom had gone. ‘You are knowingly aiding and abetting a wanted criminal, a murderer. You’ll go to prison for this.’
‘Shut up. You make me sick. He’s the victim in all this. You lot are supposed to be protecting us, not violating our trust.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He almost sounded convincing.
Sansom was on his way back.
He put his head through the open window. ‘It’s there.’ His expression was changed. He was made grave, perhaps, by the close proximity of Smith and what he stood for, what he promised for him. ‘Show time,’ he said. ‘You clear on everything?’ She nodded. ‘Off you go then. I’ll be in touch.’
She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but wanting to prolong the moment so that she might save him from walking into something awful. But he’d already turned and left. All she could do now was not let him down.
*
As Sansom made his way up the quiet street of large detached houses the adrenalin surged once more. He needed it. He got himself between a wall and a panel van with a good view of the property and Smith’s car. He took the phone out of his pocket and one of the two pistols from his belt. He looked up and down the street and pressed speed dial one.
After one ring Smith said, ‘Where the hell are you?’
‘Hello, Smith.’ Sansom felt it only fair to give Smith a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘How does it go? “Long time, no hear?” ’ he continued, using a phrase that Smith had taunted him with several days previously.
‘Sansom? How the hell...?’
Sansom cut across him. ‘You must be running low on men. That’s another two to me. I want to meet, Smith. Just you and me. I’ll be in touch.’
He terminated the call and waited, his eyes fixed on the front door of the address the agent had given him. In less than a minute it was thrown open. Smith was alone. H
e shut it firmly behind him and began striding across the front lawn. Sansom waited until he was at the driver’s door with his back to him before he left his position. He covered the few yards quickly, if not noiselessly. Even so, he was upon Smith before the man could appreciate fully what was happening. The pistol in Sansom’s grip ensured that the intelligence man would be compliant. Just in case, Sansom hit him above the ear and, with no small sense of satisfaction, watched him crumple to the floor. He took the car key from the unconscious man’s hand, unlocked the boot and bundled him in. He’d see how he liked an hour or two in there, what it would do for his feelings of cooperation. He rifled Smith’s pockets, removing his mobile phone. There was no firearm.
The Jag had tinted windows and the air conditioning unit was highly effective. A full bottle of sparkling mineral water sat unopened in a specially-designed plastic holder. It was a little tepid, but, all things considered, Sansom believed himself fortunate. After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
***
20
Sansom eased the car out into the London traffic. There was time to kill but he didn’t want to spend it anywhere near where Smith might be looked for – if there was anyone left to do the looking. Satellite navigation systems appeared to be standard equipment in whichever department Smith worked for. Sansom pulled into a kerb and turned it on. He got up a map of London and its surrounds. He fancied a drive. Maybe a bit of country air. The quickest and most direct route out of London was to run up the A41 and join the M1. He could find a nice quiet spot off there to take care of Smith.
Sansom changed his mind when a sign for Brent Reservoir hove in view. The idea of looking out over an expanse of water – even fresh – suddenly appealed to him. He would also expect to be able to find a bit of seclusion for what he must do.
The Jag was a dream to drive and the soldier was almost sorry when the turn-off for the lake showed itself. He drove until he found a secluded peaceful location with uninterrupted panoramic views and brought the vehicle to a gentle stop. He sat enjoying the outlook, the tranquillity and the cool breeze that came off the water and for several minutes listened to see if Smith was conscious. Satisfied that he was still out of it, he stirred himself into action.
Getting out and looking about himself, he was glad to see no other signs of human life. He stretched his tired and aching limbs. The exertions of the day were telling on his body. He went to the boot and released the manual catch. Smith was still. Cautiously, Sansom reached in and felt his neck. At least he was alive. Blood had dried, matting his thinning hair. Sansom retrieved the bottle of mineral water and drained it. No point in wasting it. He walked the short distance to the bank of the reservoir and knelt down to re-fill the bottle. Back at the boot of the car he went to upend it over the unconscious form sprawled before him but changed his mind. He removed Smith’s tie and bound his hands tightly behind him. Then he removed his shoes and socks. Respecting the Country Code, he put the shoes on the back seat. Next, he removed Smith’s belt and used it to bind his ankles tightly together. Now he could kick all he liked but it wouldn’t be very effective and any contact he made with the interior of the boot would come at a painful price. Sansom forced a sock into Smith’s mouth. Looking down, he was pleased with his labours.
He poured water over Smith’s head. It took the whole of the bottle before he showed signs of coming round. A groan, a twitch, a moan, a fluttering of the eyelids. Sansom waited patiently, totally devoid of any sympathy for the pathetic inert form. Eventually, Smith’s eyes came fully open. He stared straight ahead at the boot wall, gathering his wits and comprehending his situation. With time now on his side, Sansom didn’t hurry him. Smith worked the sock out of his mouth with his tongue and spat. He was aware that Sansom was standing over him.
‘I’ve got to hand it to you, I suppose – you are resilient.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘You should. It’s all you’re going to get. Is all this binding really necessary?’
‘I think so.’
Smith let out a long deep sigh. ‘Any chance of some water? There’s some in the car.’
‘Not any more there isn’t. It was a bit warm, by the way, but still managed to hit the spot.’
Smith scrunched up his face a couple of times. ‘It’s not been personal, you know. Just business.’ Absurdly, given the circumstances, he even managed to sound businesslike.
‘Maybe for you. It’s become very personal for me.’
Whatever his reasons, Smith didn’t like that. It showed on his pale, grey face. With resignation he said, ‘Couldn’t you have just done whatever you’re going to do while I was out?’ There was also a hint of bitterness in his tone.
‘Kill you, do you mean?’ Sansom let out a sour little laugh. ‘If only it were that easy. Besides, where would be my satisfaction? Tell me something, would you really rather die here, now, or live to face some British justice?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sorry to hear that. You see, I still need you alive. You are probably the only person who can tempt Bishop to slip his security and get out on his own. And I want Bishop. Believe it or not I don’t really care what happens to you.’ Sansom perched on the open lip of the boot.
‘You’re lying, of course, but I’ll humour you. Why do you want Bishop so badly?’ Sansom was reminded that no man could pass up the opportunity, no matter how remote, to prolong his life, even in the face of such dim reality. And he was comforted to see that Smith was no exception.
‘He’s the one who got me into this, remember? He can get me out.’
Smith snorted derisively. ‘Don’t be naive. How the hell could he do that without implicating himself up to his dirty neck in your trail of death and destruction?’
‘But it’s not my trail, is it? It’s yours.’
‘Forget it. You’re screwed and that means I’m screwed. If Bishop would agree to speak up for you, he’d be screwed. What could possibly induce him to do such a thing? You’re just showing your brainless side. It’s disappointing, to realise I’ve been bested by an idiot.’
Sansom remained affable. ‘I’ll find a way to get him to talk. You just have to get him to me, alone.’
‘And what if I do?’
‘Maybe you will not have to die.’
‘And what if I don’t?’
‘Don’t talk like that. Of course you will. You won’t want Bishop to miss out on all this. Why should you? He’s as guilty as you, if not more so. Besides, if you flat-refuse to make a simple phone call, I shall have no option but to try to encourage you to change your mind.’
Smith turned his head to look up at Sansom and it clearly caused him some discomfort. ‘And how would you propose to do that?’
Sansom picked up the empty water bottle and went once again to the bank of the reservoir. He filled it and held it up to the light to inspect the contents. He made a face and walked back to the open boot.
‘I hope you’ve had your jabs. It’s a bit murky. But on the bright-side – at least we’re going to quench that thirst of yours.’
He violently twisted Smith’s head around, pinched his nose shut and began to pour the water into his open mouth. Smith gagged, choked, spluttered, heaved it back, tried to swallow, couldn’t, vomited, and the bottle was empty. Sansom stood back and waited for Smith to puke his guts up. He made a lot of noise.
‘How long do you want to keep this up? That’s what you should be asking yourself. Me, I’ve got all the time in the world, or at least until you drown in your own sick.’
‘You bastard.’
Sansom liked that from the restrained Smith. He felt that it was definitely a step in the right direction. He wandered back to re-fill his bottle. He was whistling. His mood was improving by the minute. Behind him, Smith continued to vomit loudly, a noise so at odds with the general serenity of the place.
‘Wouldn’t you like Bishop to be part of this?’ said Sansom on his return. ‘D
on’t you think you’re being a bit selfish? A bit greedy? Look, I caught you a tadpole.’ Sansom lifted the bottle and tapped the side.
If Smith was thinking that Sansom had lost part of his reason, his mind even, then Sansom was playing his part well. He wasn’t enjoying it as much as he was striving to appear but in his thinking it was all necessary. He took hold of the older man’s head again. ‘Say ahh.’
‘Stop,’ said Smith. ‘I’ll make the call.’
Sansom pouted. ‘I’m just beginning to enjoy myself. Oh, well. One syllable out of place and Terry the tadpole is going to have a new home. Not that you’ll live long enough to feel like a proper mother to him.’
‘You crazy bastard.’
‘Whose fault is that?’
‘If I call him, arrange it, what’s to stop you killing me then?’
‘I’ll still need you.’ He didn’t say what for.
They paused while Smith, unable to stop himself, vomited again.
‘Where do you want him?’
Sansom gave his best impression of indecision. ‘There’s a question. To be honest, I’m a bit short of places to choose from. But you’ll understand if we stay away from anywhere you might have a connection with. I know, how about my late father-in-law’s home? Should still be empty. You know, the place where you had those two police officers shot dead. Why, by the way?’
‘Not my decision. One of my operatives using too much initiative.’ Smith didn’t sound too happy about it.
‘But you had me blamed anyway.’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, under the circumstances.’
Sansom checked the time. He had parted company with Susan two hours previously. It was time to get things moving.
‘You are going to tell Bishop to make himself available to meet you at short notice.’
‘What if he’s busy?’
‘I don’t care if he’s dining at Fuckingham Palace. You are going to be your most persuasive. You will tell him that you will be in touch regarding where. Don’t mention the address yet. Simple, really.’