by Mark Arundel
‘Will you tell me why?’
‘For our purpose the reason why is not significant. I would rather it remained unknown to you.’ Meriwether paused while he waited for Xing’s response. Without altering her expression, she inclined her head.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘My current information is that the threat will come from a single operative, most probably male, with instructions to inject me with a drug that induces cardiac arrest. The injection is usually made either between the toes, in the armpit or above the hairline at the base of the skull.’
‘What’s the procedure?’
‘The recommended procedure is to isolate the target, ideally in a familiar environment and then to administer the injection without inflicting any injuries.’
‘Is there a cure?’
‘No. Once the drug is inside the body, it immediately begins to lower the blood pressure and shutdown the respiratory system. Depending on weight and dosage death occurs within one to two minutes.’
‘What are the other official methods of sanction?’
‘There are many,’ Meriwether said and then smiled. ‘How many ways are there to kill somebody?’
‘A bullet through the brain is one of the most effective,’ Xing said without returning the smile.
‘Yes, indeed, my dear, quite so,’ Meriwether said letting the smile fall from his face. ‘However, with almost all sanctioned terminations there is the political element to consider, and within a liberal system watched over by an inquisitive press, one cannot stress enough the importance of subterfuge. Killing someone is relatively easy, but killing someone so that nobody suspects is a game requiring professional deception. I’m sure you are familiar with such clandestine activities.’ Xing remained silent, but Meriwether knew she had knowledge and experience of such matters. Although her career had begun inside the criminal world in recent years, nation states had engaged her special talents for their own special needs. However, not every nation state was as particular about subterfuge as the British.
‘London has to be the hardest capital city in the world in which to buy a gun,’ Xing said.
‘No, “the freedom to bear arms” is not one of our most favoured of liberties,’ Meriwether said. ‘When there are many guns in circulation people have an awful tendency to shoot one another and it’s so disagreeable, don’t you think?’
‘Did you get me the Glock I asked for?’ Xing said. Meriwether lifted the briefcase onto his lap.
‘I would much prefer you not to use it,’ he said. ‘As I explained it’s important we capture the assailant alive.’
‘Yes, I know, but what if you’re wrong. What happens if they don’t send a single man armed only with a hypodermic needle but instead send two or three men armed with automatic weapons? If all I have is a Taser or a baton, then there’s a very good chance we’ll both die.’ Uncertainty as to why she had agreed to do this still remained in Xing’s mind. Following the successful conclusion of her previous business arrangement with this urbane and cultured Englishman, he had asked her to remain in London. He had something coming up he said. It was something personal and he very much needed her assistance. It had intrigued her, but that was not the reason for her staying. There was something about London and the English that held her like a tight choker of natural pearls. They were elegant and desirable and at the same time conventional and unspectacular. It was a strange emotion, and then, of course, there was him. Meriwether had not mentioned him. She had expected him to take part. She was experiencing a second strange emotion: disappointment. ‘When is he coming back from his holiday?’ she asked. Meriwether looked up from his briefcase and then passed her the package.
‘I’m not absolutely sure,’ he said. ‘It could be any day now.’
‘...but he’s only just gone,’ she said.
‘Yes. Well, you know what these foreign trips are like.’
Xing opened the package. It contained a brand new Glock pistol. She had requested a specific model and Meriwether had fulfilled that request. Her hand closed around the weapon and it felt familiar. It was comfortable like an old pair of jeans. Her finger touched the trigger and then her arm outstretched automatically. Meriwether was watching her. She twisted her wrist and felt the weight and the balance. As well as the pistol, the package also contained a suppressor, a spare magazine and bullets. Rapidly she went through her routine. Her hands were fast and the gun became an object under the control of an experienced professional.
‘As we discussed,’ Meriwether said, ‘I also have for you pepper spray, an expandable baton and a Taser.’
‘Why do you want me to keep the man alive?’
‘I intend calling the police.’
‘...the police,’ Xing repeated.
‘Don’t worry. Your identity is bulletproof, so-to-speak. I’ve also had you registered as a licensed close protection operative with the official UK association body.’
‘Do you want me to teach you some basic self-defence?’ Xing asked. Meriwether looked aghast. ‘It might keep the hypodermic needle out of your neck and save your life.’
‘Thank you, no. That won’t be necessary. From now until the attempt is made you and I won’t leave each other’s side.’ It was Xing’s turn to look aghast.
‘When will they make the attempt?’ she asked. Meriwether shrugged.
‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘It could come in the next five minutes or in a week’s time.’
‘You’ve deliberately put yourself in this position,’ she said. ‘You’ve planned it so they will make an attempt on your life. What reward is so great that you take such a risk?’ Xing waited for an answer. Meriwether smiled.
‘To me,’ he said, ‘it’s the greatest reward of all. Now then where shall we have dinner?’ Xing remained silent. ‘What do you fancy to eat?’
‘Anything,’ she said, ‘as long as it’s not steak and kidney pudding.’
21
THURSDAY, 22:01—22:59
During the few hours in which I had known Snowy I could not remember him once smiling and he was not smiling now. He was beaming. He reminded me of an extremely bright lighthouse on a very dark night. ‘London,’ he exclaimed, in the same way a small boy might say “Christmas”. ‘Is it true? Are you really taking me to London?’ I sat down.
‘You are running,’ Bruno said.
‘We’re escaping,’ I said.
‘...escaping,’ repeated Snowy. ‘What does that mean?’ His colourless eyebrows and white eyes gave him an unimpressive frown.
‘If you stay here in Brazil, even if you hide well, eventually they will find you and depending on who finds you first, they will either arrest you or just kill you.’ I had to tell him the facts. Not that they were facts he did not already know. Bruno nodded.
‘He is right,’ he said. Snowy looked at the taxi driver with the frown lifting and sadness taking its place.
‘Will I ever come home again?’ he asked. I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him “yes”.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you will, someday.’
‘Who can know the future?’ said Bruno wisely like a philosophy professor sharing a deep thought. I thought I could, but I kept it to myself.
‘Do you have any family?’ I asked. A wedding ring was absent from Snowy’s finger. Perhaps he had close relatives. He shook his head.
‘No, I am alone.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Nobody will miss you.’
‘Confucius will miss me,’ he replied.
‘...Confucius?’
‘...my cat.’ He was worried about his cat.
‘Where’s your cat now?’ I asked.
‘Confucius is with my neighbour, Beatriz.’ Snowy’s sadness seemed to deepen.
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Beatriz can look after Confucius. Don’t worry. Cats aren’t fussy about things like that.’
‘Confucius is,’ he assured me. His head dropped. ‘I want to go home.’ He closed his eyes. I suppose everyone wants to go home a
t some point when the fear grows too strong. For Snowy, that point was now, but it was a bad idea. Bruno turned and his eyes told me that he thought so too.
‘You don’t have to decide now,’ I said. ‘We still have to wait for confirmation from London that we can do it.’ Silence fell upon us. Snowy’s eyes opened and he stared at his coffee cup. Bruno’s eyes went between the two us. ‘I suggest we leave here and head towards the airport. Bruno can drive us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bruno. ‘The airport is a good place to go. I will drive us there. It is not far.’ Snowy lifted his head and nodded.
‘Yes, okay,’ he said. ‘You are right. I should escape if I can. I know that.’
Outside, the dead air hung over our heads like a hot towel and the distant growling of the big city breathed unseen like a monster in the dark.
Bruno drove us north along the main route towards Galeão-Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport. When I arrived, my taxi had brought me in on the same road. At night, it looked like any other. There were the sounds, the lights and the blackness beyond. I sat in the back with Snowy. He stared through the window into the night shadows as if what he saw he was seeing for the last time. I wondered if he was regretting his decision to spy for Grace and the British. Is it better that one regrets the things done than the things not done?
The airport was farther than the words “not far” implied. I suspected Bruno used the same description for every journey. It matched his waving cigar and untroubled, obliging expression. He was quiet now, watching the road and maybe thinking about what he would buy with the money. Inside the taxi, a sudden noise from the K106 broke the soothing hum that a moving vehicle makes. It was Charlotte calling me.
‘I’ve made the arrangements,’ she said. Her voice was calm now as if she had labelled all the trouble and put it away inside a deep vault to which only she knew the combination. ‘I’ve chartered a Gulfstream jet. It’s over five thousand nautical miles between Rio and London,’ she said. ‘I’ll send all the details to the K106. They’ll fly you into London City Airport and I’ll meet you with a car. I haven’t heard from Meriwether, have you?’ I told her that Meriwether was as silent as the grave, but she didn’t think it was funny. ‘If they kill him,’ she said, ‘you and I might have to get real jobs.’
‘We could open a guesthouse on the shore overlooking Ballycastle beach,’ I suggested encouragingly.
‘Do you know anything about running a guesthouse?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I replied.
‘No, me neither,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, we better keep Meriwether alive then.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Charlotte, ‘we better.’ Her voice was straightforward and it contained that English approach in which difficulties receive short shrift. ‘I’ve spoken to the consulate-general in Rio and someone will meet you at the airport with a British passport for Snowy.’
‘You have to find him,’ I said. ‘If we don’t find him we can’t help him.’ I hoped Meriwether had contacted Xing and that she was now with him or at least on her way to him.
‘Call me when you’re in the air,’ Charlotte said and then ended the connection.
Snowy was watching me. His monochrome face was stark as though an alien had snatched his body. I nodded. ‘London is all arranged,’ I said. He smiled. Human life re-entered and it made his body relax. ‘Bruno, how close are we?’ I asked. He responded over his shoulder with a flash of stained teeth.
‘It’s not far,’ he said.
We slowed and then turned. Ahead, the white airport lights sent out spikes of glare that rose and then faded and died in the black, lifeless sky. Red brake lights glowed brightly and for a second coloured Snowy’s face in a crimson blush.
Bruno sounded his horn with displeasure at the indecision of another driver ahead. ‘Hire cars,’ he said and then swore with disapproval. ‘I will take you to the entrance.’ His voice lightened as he pronounced one of the benefits of taxi service the world over.
Alongside the “departures” entrance Bruno pulled over and stopped. ‘We are safely here,’ he proclaimed.
Outside, the air was cleaner away from the built-up city. I breathed deeply and so did Snowy. Bruno pulled out my bag from the boot and then passed it to me. He smiled broadly from around his cigar. ‘Do you want to check your plane before I leave?’ he asked.
‘No, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘Everything is arranged.’ I pulled the remainder of the cash from my pocket and gave it to him. ‘Here, you can have the rest of the money. I won’t need it now.’ He took it.
‘Thank you, senhor,’ he said. ‘Will you never come back?’
‘If I ever do I’ll bring some more with me,’ I said. Bruno laughed.
‘Senhor,’ he said, ‘I do not know your name.’ Then Snowy joined in.
‘I do not know your name either. Grace never told it to me.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘It’s better that way. It’s better that neither of you knows my name.’ They were quiet while they both considered whether that was true. ‘As soon as I can I’ll make sure Grace hears that we’ve left. You look tired. I recommend a long holiday away from the city and away from your taxi. Use the money and treat yourself. Go somewhere far away and don’t tell anyone where you’ve gone. Do you understand?’ Bruno nodded and smiled.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I will take a holiday.’ He shook my hand and then embraced Snowy. ‘Good-bye my friends,’ he said. Bruno drove away with his arm out the window waving at us with his cigar.
We entered the airport terminal. Inside, I stopped and checked the K106 and read the travel details Charlotte had sent.
We found the private jet company tucked away behind the rows of commercial check-in desks. The woman smiled at us and hid well her reaction to the way we looked. I’m sure private jet companies get all sorts. The woman must have seen other paying customers like us before. How rare was a man with a freshly battered face accompanied by another man who looked like he had just pulled his head out of a bag of flour? It was impressive the way she maintained her smile throughout the preliminaries.
‘We’re waiting for the other passport,’ I explained. ‘Someone from the British consulate is on their way here.’ Unfazed by this news and with her smile outlasting what seemed to me to be the limit of human endurance the smartly dressed woman showed us into a tidy departure lounge.
A second woman with an equally impressive smile offered us refreshments. We sat in comfortable chairs, eating Brazilian tapas, drinking carbonated water from a green bottle and waited. I swallowed three more painkillers, closed my eyes and thought about Charlotte Miller and Bartholomew Meriwether. My thought process was still fuzzy so I gave up. I resolved to sleep on the plane and think about it again when I woke up.
One of the smiley women was talking to me. I opened my eyes. ‘The passport has arrived,’ she said. I followed her out through the lounge door and back into the office. I was surprised. Perhaps I should not have been, but I was. Standing alone by the desk with her cool, cerulean eyes aimed directly at me was Grace. She must have read the expression on my face or simply reacted to my body movement because she raised her open palms submissively and said, ‘I come in peace.’
I hurried to her, held her arms and checked outside for anyone else that she might have brought with her. ‘I came on my own,’ she said. Still holding her arms, I looked into her face. ‘I’ve spoken to Charlotte,’ she said by way of explanation. Her eyes contained the word “reconciliation” written clearly in bright blue. I released her.
‘Why did you come?’ I asked.
‘I brought the passport,’ she said. I remained silent. ‘I had to make sure you left; that you both left.’
‘What did Charlotte tell you?’
‘...not much. She told me what you were doing and made me a promise that she would personally sort out things in London.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked. Grace shrugged.
‘Snowy can never come
back,’ she said. ‘You know that. He has to disappear.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the woman as she politely approached. With the smile dialled down her face was longer and more open. I took the passport from her extended hand. ‘All the formalities are now complete. We can board the plane whenever you’re ready, sir.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘We’re ready now.’ I turned to leave. Grace pulled at my arm.
‘Tell Snowy...’
I waited. Grace shrugged and then she smiled. ‘I enjoyed meeting you,’ she said.
‘We must do it again someday,’ I said. Grace nodded and I got my final hit from those eyes. They were eyes that could turn a man into a killer. Of that, I was certain. Fortunately, for me, I was a killer already. ‘Good-bye,’ I said. In return, she held up her hand and her face turned reflective. I walked away.
Back inside the departure lounge, I passed Snowy his new British passport. ‘We can leave now,’ I said.
‘Do you know what name this is?’ he asked while looking down at the open passport.
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Jonathan Frost,’ he said.
‘This way, gentlemen,’ said the woman throwing us her best smile. We followed her out onto the tarmac. She lit our way through the rope cordon with a torch like an old-fashioned usherette. As we climbed the aircraft steps, they wobbled. For one brief moment, I imagined a sniper shooting and killing Snowy and then I reasoned that even Grace with her criminal contacts could not possibly arrange such a thing in the time available or in the airport location. ‘I think the name Jack Frost suits you,’ I said. Snowy turned his head and looked back down at me without comment. Someone had a playful side. Unfortunately, Snowy was not in the mood for jokes.
The Gulfstream was a much bigger jet than just the two of us needed but as Charlotte had said, it was a long way from Rio to London and only a big jet could manage the range.
Sitting comfortably in the generous, padded seats we buckled up, taxied out and were soon in the air. The second smiley woman who had looked after us in the departure lounge whose name I had now found out was Luana suggested a meal. We both nodded enthusiastically.