by Mark Arundel
She checked the time, collected her SIS-issue device from the bed and went through into the living room. She would wait awhile before she went home.
After further database searches that failed to locate Meriwether, she mixed herself a martini and drank it while reading her internal messages. Time passed. She became absorbed in departmental correspondence. The incoming call made her start. The number was not one she recognised.
‘Hello,’ she answered.
‘Charlotte, my dear, I’m so sorry I haven’t been available to take your calls,’ Meriwether said in his best apologetic voice.’
‘Where have you been?’ Charlotte replied crossly.
‘That doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘Can you come to my house?’
‘Yes, of course, I’ll come right away. I’ve lost...’
‘Don’t worry, he’s here with me.’
‘Oh, he just vanished...I see. I’m on my way.’
‘Charlotte, thank you for all your help and for everything you’ve done.’
‘Whatever do you mean? Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’ Charlotte ended the call and smiled. Everything was going to be all right.
26
ROBERT TREADWELL
Robert Treadwell deserved his promotion. He had worked hard and he was capable with a proficiency that others admired often jealously. When the opportunity unexpectedly arose, his expectation was strong. Fortunately, his standing within the office and bureau were enough to secure him the position. He was pleased. He told himself he deserved it and he was probably right. He was now the boss, the boss of the sanctioned termination office and it felt good.
He had thought the previous incumbent, Stephen Bradshaw, was safe in the position for many more years. That was a lesson. One must never presume to know the future. Things can always change.
Stephen Bradshaw’s misfortune had been Robert Treadwell’s smile from the Lady. It often happened like that. Some people thought it was to do with balance. The cosmos was an uncertain place.
However, only a day into the job and Treadwell was already experiencing the stress that came with the title. Previously that stress had belonged to Bradshaw, but now as boss, the stress was all his.
A worse first assignment there could not be. It was horrendous. Not only was the sanction internal, which was the harshest kind, but also the head of SIS was overseeing everything and appeared personally involved. It was hard to find an adjective that did justice to way Treadwell felt. He filled his lungs and then breathed out loudly through his nose. He found it lessened the anger if only for a moment. The interference from Monty Claymore infuriated Treadwell. If subsequent assignments proved as difficult and Treadwell found he was not his own man, then he would have to think of something to improve his lot.
An amendment to the assignment, an unexpected and unusual addition was against protocol and only permitted because Claymore had wanted it. Calling him Monty was not something Robert Treadwell liked. He did it only when he absolutely had to.
The real problem had come from the leak. Meriwether’s knowledge made him an impracticable target. Vanishing as he had was typical. Ironically, the assignment addition that Monty had insisted upon had turned events Treadwell’s way. It had opened a door. Successful completion may yet be his.
He looked at the framed photographs on his desk. Did any man deserve such a family? His good fortune as a husband and father was not a blessing he took lightly. His loving wife smiled happily from the picture and Treadwell smiled inside.
He knew the targets. One of them he had even met once briefly when he had stood in for Bradshaw at a simple information exchange in St. James’s Park. Of course, Treadwell fully appreciated that the function of the sanctioned termination office was one of calculated, professional killing. Distancing himself from the act, he found easy. He saw his role as that of a facilitator. Now, as the boss, his aptitude as a manager would shine. Each assignment was like a project and Treadwell knew that project management was a skill at which he excelled.
He looked at his wristwatch and then at the phone held tightly in his hand. He realised his palm was wet and that his heart rate had risen.
In finalising execution of the assignment, he had held with standard procedure and made sure Monty had given his agreement. Treadwell did not want his first assignment as the boss to become his last.
He thought about the targets. Given who they were, it was hard to imagine a more difficult sanction. He looked at the phone again and wished it would ring.
27
FRIDAY, 17:44—17:59
Following Meriwether, we left the garden, walked along the pavement and were immediately at his front door. It was a big door with glossy paintwork and bronze furniture.
He rang the bell although he must have had a key. The heavy door swung inwards. ‘Good evening, sir,’ Parsons said and stood to one side. Xing and I had met Parsons once before when he had collected us from the airport in Meriwether’s Bentley after we had arrived back from Hong Kong. We entered and Parsons closed the door. Meriwether handed him his hat, coat and scarf. Xing kept her hooded coat and I kept my jacket. The indoor lighting allowed me a proper inspection of Meriwether’s fake beard. I resisted making a joke and instead asked from where it had come.
‘I believe Parsons purchased it from a costumier on Shaftesbury Avenue,’ Meriwether said. ‘Shall we go through to the drawing room?’
Inside the big room, a recently lit fire crackled in the hearth and a chandelier sparkled above our heads suspended high from an elegant ceiling rose.
‘Can I bring some refreshments, sir?’ asked Parsons.
‘No, no, Parsons, that’s all right,’ replied Meriwether. ‘Are all the preparations complete?’
‘Yes, sir, just as you requested. Mrs. Cookson and Deborah have just left, sir.’
‘Good, good, well, you may as well leave now too, Parsons,’ Meriwether said.
‘Very good, sir,’ Parsons replied and silently withdrew.
‘So, where have you been?’ I asked. ‘Charlotte’s been trying to find you.’
‘We’ve been staying in a nearby hotel,’ Meriwether said. ‘I was using an alias. It’s not one of which Charlotte is aware.’ Billy Bradshaw had been right.
Meriwether poured a drink from a glass decanter. It looked like whisky. He took a sip. ‘Shall we sit down,’ he said.
‘So, now that you’ve come home, I take it you’ve been successful in getting the sanctioned termination cancelled,’ I said.
‘No, not exactly,’ Meriwether replied. I had a bad feeling. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ he said.
‘...a plan,’ I repeated. ‘You’ve got a plan.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
I turned to Xing. ‘Do you know about this plan?’ I asked. Xing shrugged. I had seen that shrug before.
‘Mossie, rather Mosquito, has very kindly agreed to help me,’ Meriwether said.
‘Has she, why?’ I asked.
‘I wanted to stay longer in London,’ she said and then shrugged again.
‘What’s the plan?’ I asked.
‘It’s very simple,’ Meriwether said. ‘When the operative sent by the sanctioned termination office comes here to kill me you and Mosquito will apprehend him. I will then deal with matters from there.’
‘When’s this operative coming?’ I asked.
‘He should be here soon,’ Meriwether said.
‘How do you know?’
Meriwether took another sip from his whisky glass. ‘When Mosquito saw you enter the garden just now I telephoned Charlotte and asked her to meet me here,’ he said.
At the mention of Charlotte, I remembered that I still had the K106 set to “silent” mode. I pulled the phone from my pocket and checked the screen. It showed two missed calls. They were both from Charlotte. ‘How does bringing Charlotte here influence the timing of the sanctioned termination?’ I asked.
‘They are watching and following Charlotte in the hope she will lead them to me,’ Meriwet
her said. ‘Et voilà,’ he added. For someone whose life was in danger, he seemed remarkably calm. Perhaps he saw himself as the puppet master and that everyone would dance to his tune. I hoped he knew what he was doing. Although a glance at Xing, who was practising her aim with a Taser by pointing it at me made me remember he was safe or as safe as he probably could be without employing an army.
‘What did she say when you spoke to her?’ I asked.
‘She wanted to know if I knew where you were. She said that you had vanished.’
‘Did you tell her?’
‘Yes, of course. She said she would come right away. Hence, I’m expecting an attempt on my life imminently. I trust you’re ready to protect me.’ For a second, Meriwether had rendered me speechless. I turned to Xing and the sight of her watching me patiently and playing with the Taser brought back my voice.
‘What weapons do you have?’ I said. She held up the Taser and an extendable baton. Then she showed me the wrist ties and finally with an expression I had seen many times before pulled from her waistband her favourite model of Glock pistol.
‘We have to take him alive,’ she said with a hint of disapproval.
‘How do you know there’s only one?’
‘I don’t.’
‘The protocol for a sanction such as this is very clear,’ Meriwether said. ‘The office has undertaken enough of them. A single male operative will come to the house, gain unforced entry and then administer the toxin by injection. Well, try to administer the toxin, hopefully without success.’ If he anticipated a laugh, he was disappointed.
‘Have you ever used a Taser before?’ I said. Xing shook her head.
‘No, have you?’
‘One of us must use the Taser and the baton while the other covers with the Glock in case anything goes wrong,’ I said. Xing smiled.
‘Which of us is the best shot with a Glock pistol?’ she asked. I considered the question. Xing and Meriwether watched me in silence. The harder of the two roles was the one apprehending the assailant and it was the most dangerous. Covering with the pistol was undoubtedly the easiest and safest. My only comfort came from the thought that if Xing fired she was unlikely to miss her target even if I was in the way.
‘I’ll take the Taser,’ I said. ‘You can cover with the pistol.’ The only visible response from Xing was a narrow shading of her charcoal eyes. Meriwether watched us and sipped his whisky.
‘Do you know how much that private jet from Rio cost me?’ he said.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘No, well, it was a considerable sum.’
‘Charlotte didn’t think you would mind,’ I said. Xing passed me the Taser and I held it up to feel the weight and balance. ‘Did this thing come with a manual?’
I sat on the luxurious sofa and read the instructions. Xing sat beside me with her legs up and fidgeted. ‘More waiting,’ she said.
Meriwether poured himself another whisky. ‘I’m sure our wait will soon be over,’ he said. ‘I imagine certain parties are extremely anxious to have this business concluded.’
The instruction booklet for the Taser was reasonably clear and easy to understand. Its operation was simple. All I had to do was fit the cartridge, point and fire. The range was limited to fifteen feet so I needed to be close. The literature promised “neuromuscular incapacitation”. Neuromuscular was not a word I knew, but I was happy with the promise of incapacitation.
‘You can’t open the door,’ I said. ‘It’s too risky. He could just stick it in your neck and then run.’
‘Well, I’ve sent all the servants away,’ Meriwether said.
‘Then either Xing or I will have to open the door.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Xing said and sat up. ‘I’ll show him in here, which will put me behind him. We can seat Meriwether by the fireside so he immediately takes the man’s attention. If you stand behind the door, you can hit him straight away with the Taser and I can hit him from behind if it’s necessary.’ It was a simple plan.
‘What if there are two of them?’
‘There won’t be,’ Meriwether said. ‘For this kind of sanction, they will send only one man.’ He sounded certain. I admired his confidence. Meriwether must have known that if whoever came to his house managed somehow to get past Xing and me his chance of seeing another sunrise was nil.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘It’s straightforward. Straightforward plans are often the most likely to succeed.’ I have never described myself as overly optimistic and with good reason. I caught Meriwether’s eye. ‘What did you mean when you said that once we had apprehended the man you would take care of matters from there?’
‘Did you know that the business of politics is simply a game?’ Meriwether said. ‘The only thing politicians actually do is pass laws and almost all of them are either out of date, plain bad or just unhelpful. Many of them are all three. The reason is that all governing parties are scared of the electorate so they avoid making what they fear may be unpopular decisions. Everything else that happens within the political arena is a game played out to see who can get the most for themselves and their ilk. It’s all to do with mutual back scratching.’
‘That’s all very interesting,’ I said, ‘but what does it mean?’ Meriwether smiled like a pirate who knew where to find buried treasure.
‘It means, my boy, that politicians can be very useful people to know, especially when their needs coincide with your own.’
‘What do you know about Santiago?’ I asked. Xing sat up and her head moved like a predator sensing prey. Her instincts were solid like a granite rock face. Sharp eyes went to me and then finished on Meriwether’s face. My own eyes remained on Meriwether’s face the whole time.
‘Santiago?’ he repeated. ‘It’s the capital city of Chile.’
‘Isn’t the English translation Saint James?’ I said. ‘Isn’t your house on St. James’s Square and your club as well?’ Meriwether smiled.
‘Yes, I believe your right,’ he said.
‘Does your plan involve giving back the money?’ I asked. Meriwether smiled again. This time, it was less like a pirate and more like a king.
‘What is Santiago?’ Xing asked. ‘What money?’ Now she was perched on the edge of the sofa fully alert and intuitive to the importance of my question. Enquiring of the reason for her employment as Meriwether’s protector was quite reasonable.
‘Under the codename: Santiago, Meriwether has used sensitive financial information obtained by the British intelligence service from international spying to make huge sums of money on the foreign exchange markets. That’s the reason for the officially sanctioned termination and why someone is on their way here to kill him.’ I turned from Xing back to Meriwether. ‘Am I right?’
The king maintained his regal countenance. ‘The first thing assured by beginning is the end,’ he said. What that meant was anyone’s guess. ‘You have begun but not yet reached the end,’ he added. He had started to sound like a Zen master. I turned to Xing.
‘Meriwether means that not all the facts are known to you. Your conclusions are too early,’ she explained without the slightest hint of boastfulness. I had thought before that she might know about those sorts of things.
Before I had a chance to respond, the doorbell rang.
28
CHARLOTTE MILLER
Charlotte Miller was still feeling a sense of relief that Meriwether had resurfaced and made contact. She collected her things and left the riverside apartment in Pimlico.
In the quiet, empty hallway, Charlotte considered whether to drive herself or take a cab. She pressed the lift button and the door slid open. She stepped inside and selected the basement. Her mind was full of thoughts. What had Meriwether decided to do? Did he have a plan? What would she say to him when they met? Actions, ill-judged, were hardly Meriwether’s raison d’être. What was she missing?
The lift stopped and the door opened. Ceiling strip lights gave out a sharpness that diffused quickly in the corners and behind the column
s. The cars rested uniformly between white painted lines, low on the flat, level surface and made bigger under the illusion of the low roof.
Driving herself would be quicker than taking a cab and she wanted to be with Meriwether immediately. Why had he not called her earlier? What was he up to? If it was a play then why had he kept it from her?
She walked briskly to the saloon with her clacking heels sounding distinctly in the echoic underground car park. The vehicle unlocked remotely and Charlotte settled behind the steering wheel. The big engine fired loudly and in the subterranean confines sounded like a choir of well-rehearsed lions singing for their supper.
The exit barrier lifted robotically allowing the saloon to pass up the ramp leaving behind the stark electric light and enter the city after dark.
A gap in the traffic offered access into the nearside lane and then braking as vehicles ahead bunched together. Charlotte felt a twinge of frustration with the red stop signal. She wanted to get there.
Steering left onto Chelsea Embankment the engine note lifted with the pressure increase from the toe of Charlotte’s expensive boot. The machine barked obediently and then wailed through the roundabout with an urgent retort.
The traffic was heavy and slow moving, but at least it was moving. Charlotte reined back the powerful saloon and sat patiently inside the procession. Manoeuvring a slight left, she entered Parliament Street and accelerated along the straight band of smooth tarmac with a controlled blast. Trafalgar Square was getting nearer and from there it was less than half-a-mile to St. James’s Square and Meriwether’s house.
The distinctive white clock face high on the clock tower came into view. Illuminated brightly against the black sky it rose serenely and pointed heavenward with authoritative candour. Big Ben, the massive bell inside the clock tower, chimed the hour and sent out its unmistakable bong vibrating across Whitehall and beyond. For a moment, Charlotte shivered and then thought of the saying her father had sometimes said to her when she shivered as a girl: “someone walked over your grave.” Big Ben bonged again and then a piercing blue light from behind caught Charlotte’s eye in the rear-view mirror. The neon-sharp illumination stabbed, stabbed and stabbed again as it rotated inside its roof mounted casing. The police car was approaching fast overtaking the line of vehicles in one stretch. Charlotte eased the accelerator pedal and moved over to let it pass, but it slowed beside her, sounded a short siren blast and then pulled across her front wing. She braked to a stop tight against the kerb.