by Chris Ryan
There was a knock at the door. Will cursed. He'd put the do not disturb sign on the handle when he first arrived, but the cleaners seemed to ignore it. 'No thanks!' he shouted grumpily.
A pause, then another knock. Firmer this time. 'Will Jackson?' an American voice called.
Will's heart stopped. His fingers instinctively felt for a gun, but he didn't have one. He glanced towards the window, but the room was five flights up. There was only one way out and that was through the door. He pulled himself to his feet. 'Who is it?' he called, warily.
Another knock. Three solid, determined raps. Then the voice again. 'Open the door, Jackson. We don't want to break it down.'
His eyes flickered around the room. There was almost nothing he could use as a weapon. The lamps were fastened to the surfaces and there was nothing else of any weight that would serve as a bludgeon. But on the floor there was a dressing gown. Will picked it up and pulled the cord from out of the loops, then pulled it tight from each end. It was strong enough, should it come to that. Will held it firmly in his right hand, then gingerly opened the door, keeping the dressing-gown cord out of sight.
There were two men there, about Will's age, maybe a little younger. They were dressed in casual clothes - jeans, trainers and warm padded overcoats. One of them had his hands in his pockets, and Will's practised eye immediately noticed that there was more of a bulge in one of them than there should have been. He was being held at gunpoint.
There were no introductions, no pleasantries. 'We'd like you to come with us,' the man with the gun said, almost politely.
Will sniffed. 'How did you find me?' he asked.
The man inclined his head slightly, but didn't answer. 'There's two ways to do this,' he said. 'Our way or the other way. Our way is easier and will hurt less.'
'I bet it will,' Will murmured. 'I need to get my things together.'
The American nodded, then they both followed him into the room. 'Drop the cord,' the man said as soon as he saw it in Will's hand and Will had no option but to do as he said. When he was ready, he turned back to the Americans.
'This is what we're going to do,' he was told. 'We walk on either side of you. I don't need to tell you what will happen if you do anything that makes us even slightly nervous. Don't try and check out - your room bill has already been paid. There's a red Laguna waiting outside.
You get straight in it, using the back door on the sidewalk side. We've got men in the lobby and men outside. We know who you are and we're aware of your training. I hope you'll believe us when we say that we've got every exit covered.'
'Yeah,' Will said flatly. 'I believe you.' Inside he was cursing.
How the hell had they caught up with him? Nobody knew he was here. Nobody. If he missed his meet, everything would go tits up. But these guys were clearly CIA, they weren't going to let him get away and he was in no fit state for heroics.
'Good. Let's go.'
It seemed to take forever as they walked silently down the deserted hotel corridor to the lift and no one said a word as they descended to the ground floor. Once they were in the lobby, Will couldn't help his eyes glancing around to see if he could spot the plain-clothes agents. He couldn't. They were good.
His mind turned somersaults, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. The clock was ticking and he couldn't risk being late, but the CIA guys flanked him tightly and there was no getting away. As soon as they were all in the Laguna, the central-locking system shut down and the car slipped into the traffic.
'Where are we going?'Will asked.
No answer.
They headed up towards the West End.
It took them ten minutes to reach their destination - plush, gentrified Brook Street in Mayfair. They stopped and Will was hustled out of the car. The building to which he was led looked just the same as all the other houses, giving no indication as to what went on there. Will did notice, however, two guys hanging around in plain clothes, one a few metres from the door, the other on the opposite side of the road. No doubt there would be others. They approached the door and one of the men pressed a buzzer by a small entry camera; a few moments later they were buzzed in.
The inside of the building was a lot less gentrified than the outside. A bland, empty corridor gave on to a number of closed doors and there was the antiseptic smell of whatever bleach had been used to clean the shiny, vinyl floor. 'Care to tell me who I'm meeting with?'Will asked as they crossed the threshold.
Neither man spoke, but one of them knocked on the nearest door. It was swiftly opened and Will's two guards stepped aside to let him in.
The man waiting for him was a good deal older than Will - mid-sixties, perhaps. He had a thick head of greying hair and a ruddy complexion. There was a broad, friendly smile on his face. 'Good morning,' he greeted Will as the door was closed behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the room.
Will nodded. 'Who are you?'
'Zack Levinson.' The man held out his hand. 'Don Priestley's successor. I hope our boys weren't too rough with you. It's the way they're trained, but I guess you know all about that.'
Will felt his eyes narrowing and cautiously shook Levinson's hand. 'Take a seat, please,' the American smiled at him.
He sat in the armchair that Levinson indicated.
'Damn shame about Priestley,' the American said. 'He was a good guy. I came up through the ranks with him. Damn good guy. 'Will noticed that Levinson stared straight at him as he spoke, as if gauging his minutest reaction.
'I didn't know him that well,' he replied.
'No,' Levinson muttered. 'No, of course. Look, I'm sorry about the two heavies bringing you in like that. Langley are pretty keen for me to speak to you, find out exactly what happened. Five are being a bit shifty about the whole thing. Not that I blame them - always a bit of an embarrassment to have a foreign agent killed on your own turf.'
'Faisal Ahmed was CIA trained,' Will reminded him.
Levinson held up his hands. 'Sure,' he said, mollifyingly. 'Sure. Don't get me wrong, Will. We're grateful to you for bringing Ahmed down. When a guy like that goes haywire there's no telling how it'll end. But it's always difficult to lose one of your own.'
You don't have to tell me that, Will thought.
'There was just one thing, Will, that I wanted to ask you. Our sources say that there were two guns at the scene - one that killed Priestley, the other that shot you. 'Levinson smiled, blandly. 'I'm sure there's an obvious explanation for that - why Ahmed felt the need to put one of his guns down, I mean.' His eyes remained locked on Will's.
Inside, Will's stomach was doing somersaults, but he did his best to maintain a calm exterior. 'I disarmed him and tried to take him alive,' he said. 'But he pulled another pistol on me.'
'I see,' he replied. His smile grew a little broader. 'Forgive me,' he said, 'but our reports from Don Priestley suggest that your intention was always to shoot to kill.'
'I don't kill people when I don't have to,' Will replied, quietly.
'No,' Levinson shook his head. 'No, of course not. What I'm wondering, Will, is if you can throw any light on why Ahmed targeted Priestley.'
'I'm afraid we didn't really get a chance to chat, Zack. Awkward social situation and all that.'
Levinson nodded his head, slowly. He stood up and walked to the window. 'Let me level with you, Will. We're worried about Ahmed's sister. From what we've heard she was roughed up pretty bad by the Taliban. The American government would like to offer her sanctuary - a place to live, a small pension. My superiors feel it's the least we can do.' He turned to look at Will again. 'But we've no idea where she is. Tell me, Will, do you think it's likely that she might get in contact with you?'
'Not really.'
'We think otherwise, Will. You've done a lot for the woman. Saved her life on more than one occasion. As far as we can tell, she doesn't know anyone else in the country. If I were a betting man, Will, I'd put a few dollars on you hearing from her sometime pretty soon.'
'I
killed her brother,' Will said, flatly.
'She doesn't know that,' the CIA man retorted. 'She doesn't even know he's dead. This has all been kept on the q.t.'
Will shrugged.
'So if she gets in contact with you, Will, you'll let us know. Bring her to us. It'll be in her own best interest.'
'Sure,' Will replied. 'Anything else?'
Levinson shook his head. 'No. Not for now. You're free to go.'
Will stood up.
'Oh, and Will?'
'Yeah?'
'Thank you. You did a brave thing going after Faisal Ahmed. The world's a far better place without him.'
Will nodded curtly and left the room.
*
Zack Levinson watched Jackson leave. The moment the door was shut he picked up the phone and dialled through to Langley. 'It's Zack Levinson in London,' he told the switchboard. 'The DCIA's expecting my call.'
'Hold please,' a polite American voice told him.
Bradley Heller came on to the line immediately. 'You get him?'
'We got him.'
'And?'
'He's a pretty cold fish.'
'Did you get the impression he knew why Ahmed was after Priestley?'
'I asked him outright. Says he has no idea. Of course, it would help, sir, if I knew what was going on.'
'That's a headache above your pay grade, Zack,' the DCIA replied, evasively. 'Is Jackson being trailed?'
Levinson's eyes flickered through the window. 'Yeah, he's being trailed.'
'Good. Give him forty-eight hours. If he makes contact with the woman, bring them both in. If not, apprehend him and we'll deal with her later. Then I want Jackson on the first US military transport out of the country.'
'Am I allowed to know where to, sir?'
A pause. 'You have your instructions, Zack. This is a big gig for you. Don't let me down.'
Levinson's jaw clenched momentarily. 'I won't let you down, sir. You have my word.'
*
Alarm bells had started to sound in Will's head the moment Zack Levinson had started to question him. They knew Priestley's killing didn't stack up. They couldn't prove anything, but they knew. And what was that bullshit about offering Latifa Ahmed sanctuary? Days ago they had been waterboarding her, now they wanted to set her up in a cosy little condo with an income for life. He didn't think so. Zack Levinson had been perfectly transparent: Will knew that he and Latifa were in danger. Immediate danger.
He stepped out into the street. The guys he had clocked on each side of the road were still standing around nonchalantly, but as he continued walking he kept one eye on the side mirrors of the cars parked at the edge of the road. Sure enough there they were, following him at a distance. Two trails, and they were just the ones he could see. No doubt there would be more. As casually as possible he looked over his shoulder. A black cab was edging slowly up the street, its FOR HIRE light extinguished. He looked ahead again - suddenly everyone he saw was a potential trail. Guys on bikes, mums with prams. He knew he was being followed and any of them could be involved.
He had to lose his trail. He had to lose them quickly.
Will looked at his watch: 10.45. He had three quarters of an hour and he couldn't afford to be late. It took a supreme effort for him not to keep looking around - if he alerted them to the fact he knew they were there, it would make losing them all the more difficult. So he slowed his pace and headed to the centre of town.
It took him ten minutes to reach Selfridges. He strode in confidently, fully aware of the fact that while he was in there all the main exits were likely to be watched. He headed across the ground floor, breathing in the heady smell of the perfume department, until he reached a line of elevators. He pressed the up button, then waited. It took a minute or so for the lift to come and in that time maybe seven or eight other customers congregated around him. The lift doors hissed open and they all politely entered. Just as the doors were starting to close, however, Will twisted his body sideways on and slipped out. To his relief, no one was quick enough to follow him. He rushed to the escalator and made his way up to menswear.
Once there, he found himself a large heavy overcoat and a brightly coloured woollen hat. He took them into a changing cubicle and, having checked that there was no CCTV, he ripped the security tabs off the items, then put on the overcoat and shoved the hat in his pocket. He walked brashly out, knowing that confidence alone was likely to avoid any harassed shop assistants from stopping him - they were too busy with the swarms of last-minute Christmas shoppers in any case.
A change of clothes, he thought to himself as he left the department store by a different exit, won't be enough to fool the best surveillance teams, but if he threw every trick he knew at them, then he had a chance. And Will had plenty more tricks up his sleeve.
His next destination was Hamleys on Regent Street. As Will had calculated, it was full of parents and their excited children. Will pushed his way in and negotiated his way through the crowds until he reached the far side of the ground floor. It took him a short while to find what he was looking for - a small, red fire alarm on the wall. He shuffled up against it, his back to the wall, then jabbed it sharply with an elbow. The glass shattered and immediately a high-pitched wail filled the air.
For a brief moment everyone stopped. And then, as one, the crowd dissolved into a state of blind panic. Everyone headed for the exit doors, which became blocked with a scrambling sea of people.
Will joined the throng. As he did so, he took the woollen hat from his pocket and put it firmly on, then bowed his head towards the floor. If he kept in the middle of the crowd, he would be unrecognisable.
It took several minutes to leave the shop, but that suited Will just fine. Once he was out in the cold air, the pavement was still crowded. He headed south down Regent Street towards Piccadilly Circus, quickly ducking down into the underground station.
The Tube concourse was circular, exits heading off at regular intervals, and Will decided to use this to his advantage. If anyone was still following him, they would expect him to get on a train to try and shake them off; he was going to do something different. If he walked quickly enough and put sufficient distance between himself and any trails, the circular concourse would mean that he could get out of their line of sight and take one of the exits before they noticed he had gone.
Like everywhere else, the station was crowded and Will thanked his luck as he hurried down the south-eastern exit and into Lower Regent Street. As soon as he was above ground again, he hailed a black cab. 'St Pancras!' he hollered at the driver as he climbed in and moments later he was heading north again. From the windows of the cab he kept track of any car coming up behind them. By the time they were in Cambridge Circus, Will was convinced that he had lost his trail.
He looked at his watch: 11.20. Ten minutes to go. He was going to make it.
Will asked the cab driver to stop just short of the station. He paid him, then stood on the pavement for a couple of minutes looking out for any other possible surveillance. There was none, so he headed up into the station.
It was only a couple of days until Christmas, but the station was still busy. That suited Will as he walked speedily but unobtrusively through St Pancras. Up ahead he saw what he was looking for: the huge black statue of a couple embracing. The most romantic meeting place in Europe, he seemed to remember someone calling it and in another life maybe it would have been. But romance was a long way from Will's mind. He realised his heart was thumping nervously. This morning had underlined that he was right to be doing this; but he just hoped there weren't any more surprises.