“I’m not sure,” said Romano. He got off the couch, went to the window, and stared at the storm. “I’ve just got a bad feeling about him.”
“What? You think he’s dangerous?”
Romano shook his head. “No, not at all. I think he might be in trouble, or at least heading for it. I keep dreaming about him. I dream that he’s scared and running from something. That he’s isolated.”
“How long have you been having these dreams for?” asked Grady.
“For the last week or so.”
“Well I’ve heard from him in the last few days, so nothing’s happened to him yet.”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” said Romano.
Grady finished his brandy. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
They stubbed out the cigars and went back to join the party. Before he sat down Grady kissed Brooke on the brow.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m great,” said Grady. But he wasn’t. Suddenly he was on edge. If there was one thing you took seriously about Grant Romano, it was his dreams.
Chapter 29
Annie slipped out of her bed quietly. Kamal’s snoring indicated that he was fast asleep. She felt around on the floor for her shoes, picked them up, and tiptoed towards the door. For a moment the snoring stopped, and she froze, holding her breath. But then it continued in the same smooth rhythm and she crept onwards. Turning the handle softly she edged open the door. Then she stopped dead.
Kamal’s voice was harsh. “Where are you going?” he said.
Annie wavered. The light of the hallway beckoned her on, willing her to run and not look back. But a feeling inside, be it fear or some other emotion, told her to stay still.
“Turn on the light and close the door,” Kamal commanded.
Annie did as he asked, and stood facing him like a naughty child.
He sat up in his bed, his eyes bored through her head. “What is wrong?” he said calmly. “What are you doing?”
For a moment Annie stared at him blankly, and then remembered what had set her off. “I was just going for some fresh air. I needed to think.”
“Think about what?” he asked.
“Just stuff.”
“Well, I suggest you think in here. I am not comfortable with you wandering around on your own at night. Perhaps I ought to tie you up again.”
“No,” said Annie. “There’s no need to do that. I’ll get back into bed.”
“Yes,” said Kamal. “But first you must tell me what is bothering you.”
Annie sat down. “You, Kamal. You’re what’s bothering me. I know who you are now. I know what you’ve done.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was you at the racecourse wasn’t it? You tried to assassinate the Prime Minister.”
Kamal was noncommittal. “Why do you think that?”
“I recognized your eyes on the TV report.”
“You are very observant – the picture was hardly clear.”
“So, you don’t deny it then.”
Kamal shrugged. “What is the point?” he said. “It makes no difference to our situation, does it? What exactly did you think I was – a travelling salesman?”
“No, I just thought—”
“You just thought what?”
“I don’t know what I thought,” said Annie. “It was just a shock to find out you were the most wanted man in Britain, that’s all.”
“Well,” said Kamal. “That is what I am. I am a hitman, an assassin, a killer.”
“And you were paid to assassinate the Prime Minister?”
Kamal stood up and paced. “Not exactly,” he said. “I was paid to shoot at him. Not to kill him.”
Annie’s brow furrowed. “But why? Why would anyone pay you to do that?”
“I have no idea. I just get my instructions and I carry them out. If the money’s good enough, then I do it. It’s as simple as that.”
“Don’t you know who pays you?”
“No. My work is discreet. I do not know them, and they do not know me. There is a long global chain before anything gets to me. I am just a codename. If someone wants a job done, they will get in touch with someone at the lowest level. Then through a system of anonymous emails and drop points, the request finally gets to me. I name my price and that goes back through the same channels to the customer. If they agree to my terms then the job gets done.”
“But if nobody knows who you are, how did those men find you?”
“I have been asking myself exactly the same question for the last few days. I cannot think of any explanation. I have been so careful, so circumspect, that I cannot imagine how anybody has traced me. It would take a multinational operation with a huge amount of manpower to even get close.”
Annie went to the bathroom sink and splashed her face with cold water. “I was right. It must have been the police then,” she shouted through.
“No,” said Kamal. “Certainly not. If the authorities had found me then they would have mounted a big operation and stormed the hotel and bedroom. They would have sent in the SAS. They would not have bothered with a honey trap.”
“So, basically, what you’re saying is that somebody’s paid you to shoot at the Prime Minister and now they want you dead. Why?”
“They have only paid me half the money.”
Annie returned from the bathroom looking puzzled. “But surely with all the trouble they’ve gone to, it would have been cheaper and easier to just give you the money.”
“I agree,” said Kamal. “But I cannot think of any other reason.”
“Is there really no way of knowing who hired you?”
“Well, I do have provisions for a non-payment scenario, but I have never had to use them. I would have to go right back down the chain. It would take a lot of time and effort, but theoretically it could be done.”
“Then that’s the reason they want you dead. They want any trace of this wiped clean away.”
Kamal poured himself a drink. The girl could be right, he thought. As fantastical as it seemed, someone might be going to extraordinary lengths to protect their anonymity. But why? Who could possibly have so much to lose?
Chapter 30
Without opening his eyes Jennings reached lazily for his mobile phone. The alarm was getting louder and starting to grate. He pressed what he knew to be the snooze button, and turned away and drifted. There was plenty of time to get up and dressed, he just needed ten more minutes.
Forty minutes and four alarms later he shut off the phone and opened his eyes. The world lay heavily on him. He knew that he’d feel better once he was up and about, but the ‘black dog’ was weighing him down. What was it all about? What was the point in it all? Why couldn’t he just sleep forever? Or at least until the world was a better place.
After a five minute battle with gloom he finally managed to drag himself out of bed. It was 6.30am and the half hour that he’d allowed himself for breakfast had disappeared with his inertia. A shower and a shave would have to suffice. At five to seven he was washed and dressed and ready for his shift. He took one last look in the mirror, straightened his tie, and headed downstairs to report in.
Allenby was already on duty and had dismissed the night shift. “Cutting it a bit fine aren’t we?” he said.
“Yeah, sorry Tim. I just hit the snooze button one too many times.”
Allenby laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry mate, we all do it. Let’s do a quick sweep and then we can get some breakfast.”
“Great,” said Jennings. “I thought I’d missed my chance.”
“No mate, we’ve got plenty of time.”
They ate breakfast quietly in the ground-floor room that passed as a staff canteen. Jennings found that he wasn’t really that hungry and ended up pushing food around the plate.
“Lost your appetite?” said Allenby.
“I guess so,” said Jennings. “A fry-up seems like a bit too much this morning. Perhaps I should have had a bowl of cereal
or a slice of grapefruit.”
“Girls’ food,” sneered Allenby. “You can’t survive on that shit. We’ve got a big day ahead as well.”
“I know,” sighed Jennings.
The Prime Minister was scheduled for visits to a number of secondary schools. It was part of his recent ‘inner city’ initiative to improve education in impoverished areas. He wanted to show that nobody in the country would be forgotten under his government. ‘A bold and booming Britain for all’ was what he’d promised before the election, and he was sticking to his word. Of course, it was all show and Jennings knew it, but the public appeared to have swallowed it, and anything that gave people hope had to be good, didn’t it?
At ten o’clock the black limousine pulled up outside 10 Downing Street, and Jennings and Appleby escorted the Prime Minister and his wife to their transport under an umbrella. Appleby sat in the front next to the driver and Jennings in the back with the Ayres’. He would gladly have swapped places with Appleby.
The car drove off slowly, the middle of a cortege of three.
“How have you been finding it?” Ayres asked Jennings. “I haven’t really seen you since Sunday. I hope you haven’t been too bored on the night shift.”
“No sir, not at all,” he lied. “But it’s nice to be getting out and going somewhere.”
“Well, you should be happy for the next week or so then – I’ve got a busy schedule. We’ll be travelling all over the country.”
Jennings nodded. “I know sir, I’ve seen the itinerary. You seem to be taking education very seriously.”
“Absolutely,” said Ayres. “After all – children are the future.” Jennings stifled a snigger at Ayres’ hackneyed soundbite. Were politicians really that out of touch that they thought people were buying into their populist crap? Surely society had become too sophisticated for playground politics? He looked out of the window, saw a gang of teenagers smoking and drinking next to a bus stop, and decided that maybe it hadn’t.
“That’s what we need to cut out Jennings,” said Ayres, pointing to the group. “Those children can’t be any older than fourteen. They should be at school.”
“I agree sir. But how do you get them there? They don’t see the need for education any more. They probably want to be footballers or WAGS. You don’t need to go to school for that. We’ve created a society of effortless success.”
“You’re absolutely right Jennings. But with my new initiatives I’m sure that…”
Ayres carried on talking, but Jennings switched himself off. He had heard the speech many times before. He gazed out of the window and watched the city streets roll by. Once again Stratton entered his head. He wondered what it meant. Stratton was long since dead, and although Jennings had liked him, they had only known each other briefly and were hardly best mates. His presence in Jennings psyche was disturbing. Unless he was trying to get in contact from the spirit world, which seemed unlikely, there was only one feasible explanation: and that was fear and jealousy. Perhaps Stella’s inability to move on was affecting him as well, he thought. Maybe Stratton was just a manifestation of his inner torment. But whatever the reason, Stratton had lodged himself inside Jennings’ brain and he couldn’t get rid of him.
The Prime Minister brought him back to earth. “…So you see Jennings,” he concluded. “I believe that in ten years’ time my education model will have proved itself revolutionary. We will have the best-educated school leavers in the world.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jennings, pretending to have listened intently. “It’s a bold initiative. One the country’s been needing for a long while. I’m sure it will be a great success.”
Ayres gave a smile of satisfaction. “I’m glad you think so.”
At half past ten they arrived at Peckham High. With grades way below the national average, it was a typical example of the type of school being targeted by the government’s reforms. At the school gates a large congregation of children and parents formed a welcoming party. Banners hailed the Prime Minister’s arrival. The rain hadn’t kerbed their excitement.
As they drove through the gates Jennings checked out the crowd. It was easier to pinpoint the people who didn’t look suspicious. If someone was going to have another shot at the PM then this was the day to do it.
They parked up and Jennings got out of the car. He held the door for Ayres and his wife. A massive cheer erupted as they stepped out. They waved and walked over to shake a few hands. Jennings followed close behind, holding an umbrella over them. His eyes darted up and down the throng but nothing caught his eye.
Five minutes later they were inside the school. The head teacher led them through the corridors, stopping at intervals to enter classrooms.
“They all seem very well-behaved,” said Mrs Ayres.
“Yes, they’re a good bunch of kids really,” said the head teacher.
Jennings gave Appleby a sly look and they both grinned, knowing full well that if it were not for the PM’s visit then the place would be carnage. As they walked around Jennings spotted at least thirty kids who he knew from experience to be carrying knives. He wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the little ‘gangstas’ had guns hidden in their lockers too. Gang culture was taking over rapidly and, Jennings reflected, the PM was kidding himself if he thought a few empty bits of legislation and several bleeding-heart proposals were going to halt the degeneration.
Jennings was glad when the visit drew to a close. He wasn’t so much concerned about terrorists as psychopathic kids going on a rogue shooting spree, a la Columbine.
“Well that was better than I thought,” said Ayres, once they were back in the safety of the car. “What a nice bunch of kids.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jennings drily. “I can’t see why people are so disparaging of the younger generation.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Ayres.
Jennings sat back and switched off again. He felt as if there was a cartoon cloud hovering above him. He wouldn’t have described it as depression though, more like an emptiness, a vacuum of emotion. He wondered what the hell he was doing with his life.
Chapter 31
The rain continued to spatter the windows. Annie looked out onto the hotel lawn with an increasing sense of hopelessness. They had moved from the outskirts of London to a little town in the Cotswolds called Chipping Norton. But that was just geographical. The hollowness in her heart remained.
Although still in turmoil, she did at least have some fresh clothes. They had stopped off in Oxford on the way up and Kamal had bought her a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts and sweaters, a pair of shoes, and a pair of trainers. She had also managed to get a few essential cosmetics out of him.
The bedside clock indicated that it was 1.30pm. Kamal had been gone for an hour. Before leaving he had suggested that she order something to eat from room service. But Annie was going ‘stir crazy’. She had been staring at four walls, and keeping her own company, for the last three days. She needed to get out and talk to someone other than Kamal just to keep her sanity. She decided to go downstairs and have lunch in the hotel restaurant.
The dining area was large and, although busy, there were plenty of free tables. Annie took one next to the side window so that she could wave Kamal if he returned. She ordered a Bacardi and Coke to drink while she looked at the menu. After her enforced isolation it felt good to be in a room full of people.
She was about to grab the waiter to take her order when she saw the Subaru pull into the car park. A stony-faced Kamal got out. Annie waved to get his attention. He saw her and frowned even more.
By the time he reached the restaurant his countenance had mellowed slightly. He took a seat. “What are you doing?” he said. “I thought I told you to order room service.”
“I was going to,” she replied. “But I needed to get out. I’ve been cooped up for too long. I don’t like being enclosed – I get claustrophobic.”
“That maybe,” said Kamal. “But we must be very careful. We do not know who
is watching. It is silly to expose yourself.”
Annie’s face dropped. “But you don’t understand, I really don’t like being enclosed. It makes me…It just drives me mad, that’s all.”
Kamal saw the genuine distress in her eyes and softened his tone. “Okay. I do not suppose there is any real harm done. Let us order something to eat.”
He waved the waiter and ordered them both starters and main courses, and a bottle of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon.
Annie finished her Bacardi. “What about you?” she said. “You don’t seem to be bothered about people seeing you.”
“That is because nobody knows what I look like.”
“What do you mean? How did they find you then?”
The waiter brought the wine. Kamal took a sip and nodded his approval. When they were alone again he said, “They found me through my credit card. I do not know how, but they found out the alias I was travelling under.”
“But they would have a description of you from the hotel by now. You would have been caught on the CCTV.”
“I was in disguise when I checked in, one of many I use. I never left the room without it. You are the only person who knows what I look like. You are the only person who can put a face to the name.”
Annie tried to gauge whether this was a threat or a statement. She hoped it was the latter.
The starters arrived, both were having prawns with chorizo. They ate and talked.
“So anyway. What happened with your phone call? Did you find anything out?” Annie asked.
Kamal’s face briefly winced. “Yes, I did. It is extremely bad. I believe that everyone in the chain is dead.”
Annie dropped her fork into the bowl. “What? Everyone?” she said, a little too loudly.
Kamal put a finger to his lips and shushed her. “Yes, everyone,” he said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I phoned the man below me, a good friend of mine called Rashid. His wife answered. He was killed five days ago, whilst they were out at dinner in Mumbai. A single shot to the back of the head. The gunman was in and out of the restaurant before anyone knew what was happening. It was cold and professional.”
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