by Mark Arundel
Leaving Xing with Meriwether I located the kitchen and found a strong, sharp knife. Back inside the drawing room, Xing and Meriwether were talking together quietly. I went to the two men just inside the door against the wall and cut their ankle restraints but left their wrists secured. I helped them up and then searched their pockets. Neither of them had any weapons besides the Glocks that I already had. All I found were keys, wallets containing only cash, the fake police identifications and a K106 apiece.
Meriwether beckoned us over, so we walked towards him. Xing watched us carefully.
‘The sanctioned termination office will cancel your assignment and officially rescind the order,’ Meriwether said. Gazing up at the men from his chair beside the fire with a whisky glass in his hand and with Xing standing guard beside him he looked exactly as one might imagine the head of the British secret intelligence agency to look. That was urbane, resolute and well informed. His blood pressure had obviously returned to normal. Neither of the two men spoke. They were unlikely to disagree given the situation. ‘The assignment was an internal mistake, which we have now identified. We shall rectify the error and ensure the problem does not reoccur.’ Meriwether projected confidence and control. It was hard not to admire his professional manner. Only a few minutes earlier one of the men he now spoke calmly to had had a tight hold on his throat and come within a whisker of ending his life.
‘If our assignment was a mistake then maybe the other one is to,’ the man said. His northern accent sounded strange after Meriwether’s clipped English. It was the second man who had spoken. It was the one who had defeated Xing and whose face displayed the sacrifice, which that had required. We all looked at him in silent pause. Meriwether spoke first. His voice betrayed the urgency of his question.
‘What other assignment?’ he asked.
‘There’s a second one,’ the man said. ‘The office arranged two assignments. They wanted them carried out at the same time.’ When Meriwether spoke the concern in his voice was very real.
‘Who is the target of the other assignment?’ he asked. He spoke quickly but clearly. The man shook his head.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied.
‘I know something about it,’ said the other man looking at us through one eye. The swelling to his face had closed the other and turned it a painful looking deep aubergine.
‘What do you know?’ Meriwether asked in his fast, clear voice.
‘It’s a two-man job like this one,’ the man replied. ‘I know one of the men. He said that it was another internal job and that the office had described it as “cleaning house”.’ Meriwether turned to me in real alarm.
‘It’s Charlotte,’ he said.
31
CHARLOTTE MILLER
The police officer drove carefully in the early evening London traffic. He checked the rear-view mirror regularly and never once failed to use the indicators.
Charlotte looked back, but in the darkness and with all the headlights she was unsure whether it was her car that she saw following directly behind. She glanced at the police officer and wondered whether making conversation was a good idea.
‘Have you always been a Metropolitan policeman?’ she asked. His eyes left the road for a second. Charlotte thought he might not answer and then he nodded. A conversation was clearly not a good idea. The journey continued in silence.
After a minute or two, Charlotte searched inside her handbag and found her phone. ‘I’m going to make a call,’ she said. The speed of the man’s reaction surprised her. He was quick and decisive. With only a brief sideways glance, his hand left the steering wheel, grasped the top of the phone and pulled it from Charlotte’s grip. He then slotted the phone inside his tunic pocket without hesitation. The man’s actions left Charlotte staring in shock.
‘You can’t make a phone call until after we’ve charged you,’ he said. His voice was gruff. Charlotte studied his face in the gloom. ‘Please be patient, madam, we’re almost there.’ She wondered if what he said was true. She considered whether to argue, whether to demand he gave her back the phone and let her make the call. She was still deliberating the situation when the police officer took a call himself. His finger activated a button somewhere near his chest and then he spoke into the small earpiece.
‘Sierra Tango Oscar Zero Four Five, go-ahead, over,’ he said and then listened for a few seconds. ‘Roger that, control, ETA five minutes, on my way, over.’ His finger worked the button by his chest and then he spoke again. ‘The station has just called. They want us to attend a 999 at a hotel on Park Lane.’ The man stayed silent while his partner spoke. Charlotte watched him closely and listened. ‘It’s the Grosvenor House,’ he said. ‘It’s some kind of disturbance. Yes, yes, all right. They’ve probably run out of champagne in the bar.’ His laugh was deep and strong. ‘I’ll put the lights on.’ The man’s finger clicked the button to end the call and then he glanced at Charlotte. ‘We’ve got to make a stop on the way,’ he said without apology. Charlotte saw the flashing blue light come on but realised he had left off the siren. The police car accelerated and overtook a row of vehicles before cutting back into the left-hand lane.
‘I live very near to Grosvenor House on Upper Grosvenor Street,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s just around the corner.’ The police officer slowed and then checked his rear-view mirror.
‘I thought you lived in Pimlico,’ he said.
‘No, Pimlico was where I was coming from. I’d been visiting a friend. I live on Upper Grosvenor Street, which joins Park Lane. The hotel is almost next door.’ He met her words with silence. The seconds passed. She saw that he was concentrating on his fast driving. ‘Surely there’s no rush if all they’ve done is run out of champagne.’ Her attempt at humorous bonding went unheeded. Charlotte looked away from the man’s profile and realised they were already driving along Park Lane.
He slowed the police car, turned in and then stopped. He hit a switch and the blue flashing disappeared. Then he killed the engine.
The hotel lights seeped through the windscreen and for Charlotte somehow accentuated the feeling of coming to a stop after the fast driving.
The police officer pulled on the handbrake and then unbuckled his seatbelt. ‘Please stay in the vehicle, madam,’ he said. He opened the door and got out.
Charlotte turned her head and saw her own car parked directly behind them. The two police officers walked to the hotel entrance together. Charlotte looked at her wristwatch. The time was fourteen minutes after six o’clock.
Charlotte’s phone rang from inside the man’s tunic pocket. He glanced back at the car and then turned his back before pulling out the phone and looking at the screen. Immediately, he rejected the call and a second later the phone was off and back in his pocket.
The distance was too great for Charlotte to hear. Through the windscreen, she saw the second police officer enter the hotel. The police officer with whom she was travelling walked back, stood beside the car and waited. Charlotte waited too. She thought about Meriwether and wondered about the future. Despite the warmth of the police car, she unexpectedly shivered. She wanted this foolhardiness over with, so she could get to Meriwether’s house. The man’s insistence on the rules concerning telephone calls annoyed her. She took a deep breath. ‘Patience is a virtue,’ she told herself.
The other police officer reappeared from the hotel. He had only been inside for a short while. The two men walked over to the cars and spoke together again briefly. Charlotte tried to hear what they said, but the muffled words eluded her.
Then the driver’s door opened and the police officer ducked back inside. Charlotte thought his mood seemed to have brightened a little. ‘It was just an affray in the bar. The hotel security is dealing with it. They don’t want us involved. I suppose they’re thinking about their reputation.’ The man started the engine and then glanced at Charlotte. ‘Did you say you lived near here?’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I live on Upper Grosvenor Stre
et. It’s just around the corner.’ The man considered for a second.
‘Perhaps we can let you off with just a warning,’ he said in measured words. ‘After all, your reading was only just over and anyway, I’m pretty sure that once we get you back to the station the officer in charge won’t decide to prosecute.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Charlotte said. ‘I appreciate that.’ The man nodded briskly. ‘I’ve learnt my lesson, officer.’
The man’s finger went to the button near his chest and he spoke into his earpiece. ‘You’re right, taking this one back to the station is a waste of time. She lives just around the corner on Upper Grosvenor Street. I’ve given her a warning, so we may as well take her home.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlotte said again. The police officer remained silent.
He turned the police car away from the hotel and pulled back onto the road. Charlotte looked back and saw that the other police officer was following in her car.
‘It’s left, here,’ she said. They were already driving along Charlotte’s street. ‘I have a garage at the back of the building. Turn down here and then turn again. It’s that one, there. That’s the garage.’
The police officer let the car roll to a stop on the backstreet against the narrow pavement and the other police officer pulled up alongside. Both windows lowered at the same time. ‘That’s her garage,’ the man said and pointed at the painted garage door. The other man nodded. His small, black eyes were almost lost in the grey shadows and dark corners behind the imposing building.
Charlotte found the remote control in her handbag. She pointed it at the door and pushed the button. The motor whirred into life and the door steadily opened. She watched her car drive into the dark opening and then the motion sensor triggered and the spotlight came on. The white illumination flooded out and lit Charlotte’s face. She shaded her eyes from the sudden brightness.
All she wanted to do now was get away from the police officers, so she could get to Meriwether’s house. She opened the police car door and holding her bag over her shoulder stepped out.
The other police officer reappeared from the garage and Charlotte used the remote control again to close the door. He walked straight up to her and handed her the car key. ‘That’s a great car you have,’ he said.
‘Yes, thanks, I like it,’ she replied and took the key fob from his outstretched hand. ‘Well, goodnight,’ she said lightly and then spun away before moving smartly towards the rear entrance.
The small, grey cat that Charlotte often saw ran lightly across her path like a ballerina and then stopped and watched her through pearlescent eyes. In the shadows, the cat looked black.
Through the glass, Charlotte could see the yellow hallway lights glowing warm and welcoming. The desk in reception appeared unmanned. She found the rear door unlocked at went straight inside. John never locked the rear door until later in the evening.
Charlotte often took the back staircase instead of the lift, which was at the front of the building. She thought that running up the steps was good exercise. The stairwell door opened silently and her entry triggered the motion sensor lighting. The staircase, rising above her was cosseted and still. She ran up each carpeted tread, turning on each floor until she reached the top.
Walking the short distance on the thick carpet in the empty, soundless hallway towards her apartment, she searched her bag for the key and then she remembered something. It made her curse under her breath. She slotted the key into the lock and was about to turn the door handle when a man’s voice made her jump and look up.
It was the police officer. He must have followed her up. He was walking towards her. ‘Miss Miller, you forgot this,’ he said and held up his hand. Now he was only a couple of steps away. In his hand, he held Charlotte’s phone.
‘Oh, yes, I just remembered that too, thanks,’ she said. He was very close, too close. Charlotte took the phone from his hand. The key turned in the lock. She wondered why he was still standing so close. Why had he not started to step away and leave? Charlotte turned the handle and the door fell inwards. She forced an unconvincing smile. ‘Goodbye,’ she said politely.
The swiftness was an unreal surprise. Even as it was happening, Charlotte was still surprised as if it was happening in a film or in a dream.
He was strong. His hands felt big on her body. They were hands controlled by arms with the strength of hydraulic pistons. Charlotte was powerless to stop the momentum. Once inside, the man released one hand and used it to retrieve the key from the lock and then close the door. Charlotte felt panic. It was a sexual attack. Her mind froze with the thought. It was a terrifying thought. His two big hands held her arms down and he loomed above her. The phone fell from her fingers and thudded onto the rug. He backed her up against the wall and pressed his heavy body against her.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ Charlotte said rapidly through strained lips and bared teeth. ‘Please don’t do this. You’ll never get away with it. I work at a very senior level for MI6.’ Charlotte was near to panic. Her breathing was heavy. The man, in contrast, was calm and relaxed. Although he was holding her, so she could not escape, his grip was rather delicate as if he wanted to avoid any bruising. Charlotte stared into his face. His features were placid. It was not what Charlotte expected to see. It was not the face of a rapist.
Charlotte heard an electronic beeping and realised it was the apartment’s security alarm. Without the code, the alarm would very soon sound and then the concierge, John, would investigate. Without hurry or concern, the man leant over and Charlotte heard the individual beeps as he entered the numbers on the keypad. The alarm reset and then fell silent. He knew Charlotte’s code.
‘I know you work for MI6,’ he said matter-of-factly. His eyes were emotionless. The fear came like a hammer blow. It filled Charlotte’s body in an explosive rush. The man was not a rapist. He was not a police officer. The man was a killer. She breathed deeply in an attempt to calm the fear. She willed herself to think.
The instinct to fight or flee took control of her actions. Her leg flew. Its speed and strength shocked her. The heel of her expensive boot stabbed deeply into the man’s shin. He grunted and loosened his grip. At the same time, the door opened. It was the other man. His small, dark eyes like two chocolate buttons appeared for a second in the hallway light. Charlotte pushed the man back and prised herself free. She turned into her apartment and ran.
The door to her bedroom was ajar. She pushed it with her outstretched fingers and ran past. She forced herself to think. She had to find an escape.
A dim glow framed the living room door. It came from the twin lamps beside the fireplace. They had an automatic timer switch. The terrifying weight of her unstoppable fear had made Charlotte’s legs feel heavy. The men could only be a second or two behind.
The dining room door was open. Inside, the darkness of sanctuary beckoned its hope. She ran to it and hid behind the door. She pressed her back against the wall and the terror clawed at her body.
Desperately fighting the dread that filled her mind, she searched her bag and found the pistol. Then she heard movement. She froze like a child playing Statues and listened. One of the men was approaching. She gripped the Walther PPK with both hands and searched for the safety button. Where was it? In the dark, it was impossible to see. She heard another footstep and froze again. One of the men was standing in the doorway. Finally, her thumb found the button and she pushed it down.
Her breathing was too loud. He was going to hear her. She held her breath and raised the gun against her chest. She had to shoot him. She had to shoot them both. They were going to kill her. She had to shoot them.
The man stepped slowly into the room. Charlotte pushed the gun forward and aimed it at his body. She must squeeze the trigger. She must do it just how the instructor had taught her. She had never shot anyone before.
It was the man with the chocolate button eyes. Charlotte began to squeeze back her finger. He turned his head. He had the strike of a rattlesnake. Cha
rlotte had never before seen reaction time so fast. He threw out his hand and clasped the pistol. His steely fingers twisted and then yanked the weapon from her grasp.
She cried out. It was a desperate wail. It was the wail of forlorn agony like the hopelessness of hunted prey. She tried to run, but this time, she was cornered.
Before she could take a step, he pressed his body hard against her. She struggled, but his arms were too strong. He held her in a lover’s embrace. One from which he never wanted to let her go. It was not the emotion of love for Charlotte. Her emotion was desperate panic.
The man turned her away from the wall and into the room with all the balance and care of a professional dancer. Displaying the same care, he took her down with a simple fall and pinned her softly to the floor.
The other man came into the room. ‘Good, you’ve got her,’ he said. ‘I’ll wrap her and then we can make a start.’ From his pocket, he took a pair of black gloves. They were tight to pull on. Then he pulled out two strips of material.
Charlotte tried to struggle, but the man’s weight and strength were too great. Together they restrained her easily while they wrapped one length of the material around her legs. The material fastened easily using Velcro. Then one of the men pulled off her boots. The kick to his shin still throbbed.
‘Please, don’t do this,’ Charlotte pleaded. Her voice was tense and afraid. Neither man responded. Together they pulled away her bag, then removed her coat, and then fastened the second strip of material around her chest and upper arms. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, talk to me. I have money.’ Neither man seemed to hear. ‘Please...’ It was Charlotte’s last word before one of the men pushed a piece of cloth into her mouth and poked it deeper with his finger. She moaned in desperation and began to cry.