I recognize him. But it’s not Hexter.
‘It’s Roger Lam,’ I whisper. He’s wearing a dark suit and tie. He looks slim and smooth and very much at home, as if this is something he’s done before.
The car draws up right by the foot of the steps. There’s a chauffeur, I guess. A man gets out of one of the rear doors, while Lam opens the other rear door. A second, bigger man emerges. There are handshakes and greetings. The faces of the three men are tinted red by the glow of the brake lights. Then the car draws away and they turn towards the steps.
‘I know who the guests are,’ I whisper, hardly able to believe my own words.
Forrester says nothing. He waits for me to continue.
There they go. Up the steps. The front door open ahead of them. A figure standing just inside, his face obscured by the porch, who might or might not be – but probably is – Clive Hexter. He’s waiting for them. No doubt he’s smiling. No doubt his guests are smiling too.
I’m not.
Billy Swarther, founder and chairman of Venstrom Computers, accompanied by Bruno Feltz, head of technical operations, are having dinner with Clive Hexter and Roger Lam and lord-knows-who-else at Morecote, while Forrester and I face each other across a corner table in a village pub some miles north. The conversation’s no doubt flowing with the wine at Hexter’s house. Forrester and I, on the other hand, seem unable to find much to say.
We’re both thinking. Though our thoughts are probably not the same. I’m wondering what would have happened if I’d let Bernice persuade me to go into the Ritz with her yesterday morning. Would Billy and Bruno have mentioned their dinner date with Hexter? No. Of course they wouldn’t. They’d have sold me some story designed to keep me quiet and reasonably content until …
‘You’re asking yourself where this leaves you,’ Forrester says suddenly in a quiet voice, looking at me intently over his pint of beer.
‘Indeed,’ I respond.
‘Better off than you were. You’ve seen now. With your own eyes.’
‘But what have I seen, Duncan? What does it mean?’
‘It means Hexter’s buying Venstrom’s silence – and their cooperation. What he’s offering them I can’t say, but it’ll be enough to ensure they don’t cause him a problem.’
‘And what about me?’
‘They’ve cut you loose, I’m afraid.’ After a moment, he adds, ‘I did tell you they would.’
Yes. He did. And I thought I believed him. But I didn’t. Not really. I went on hoping Venstrom would somehow come to my rescue. But all that’s changed now.
‘Working for this company is much more than just doing a job. When we hire you we take you into our family.’ That’s Billy’s videoed pitch to every new employee. That’s the pledge the company makes to the likes of me. And I swallowed it. Whole.
It’s quite something to realize all that warm, fuzzy, West Coast touchy-feely togetherness is a big fat lie. But sitting here, gazing past Forrester towards the night-filled window, I do realize that. For the first time, I understand just how completely I’ve been cast adrift.
‘Not a nice feeling, is it?’ asks Forrester.
‘No. It’s not nice at all.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He sounds as if he means it.
‘What can we do, Duncan?’
‘Get Joe away from Hexter.’
‘And then?’
‘Then? The best we can, Nicole. And before you ask me if that’ll be good enough …’
‘You don’t know.’
‘No.’ He smiles grimly. ‘I don’t.’
Friday October 18
I haven’t phoned Mum or Evie, though I really want to. But I can’t risk any contact with anyone. Everything’s riding on what happens this afternoon.
I look at myself in the mirror of the tiny bathroom at the Belmont Hotel. The bruise over my nose is a darkening yellow. It’s still tender as I pat foundation over it. Could it be broken? I don’t think so. My nail varnish is chipped, but I can’t summon the energy to remove it. There’s a fugitive look in my eyes. I wonder if it’s as obvious to others as it is to me.
Forrester set out our plan last night.
I keep watch on the coffee shop, waiting for Martinek and Joe to arrive. Joe’s unlikely to notice me, dressed as I am now – I hardly recognize myself – and I’ll be doing my best to melt into the background anyway. I let the game get started, then I go in, sit down at their table and basically ask Joe to come with us. I assure him Forrester has a plan to unhook him from the Intelligence Service, then, as soon as he’s got his head round the idea, I text Ready to Forrester on the second phone he’s given me and he drives up to the loading bay behind the coffee shop, which we can reach in a few seconds as soon as we clock his car.
What if Joe doesn’t come alone? What if he has minders with him to ensure the rendezvous is solely for the purposes of Go? Then I text Company to Forrester. He assures me he can deal with this contingency, but reckons it’s best I don’t know how.
Then there’s Martinek. He’s expecting a full-length game of Go and a further payment of £500 win, lose or draw – although I’m not sure you can draw at Go. He could become a problem if we just walk out on him. So, I’ve got his money to hand over if I have to. But will that satisfy him? I’m not sure.
And finally there’s Joe himself. I don’t know and neither does Forrester how he’s been treated this past week, what assurances he’s been given or what threats he’s operating under. What will he do when it comes to the point? Maybe he won’t want to come with us. We certainly can’t force him to.
‘He’ll want to see me,’ Forrester insists. I think he’s counting on that. It’s his principal reason for sending me in to talk to Joe. So that, to talk to Forrester, Joe has to leave the coffee shop and get into the car. Then we can explain everything to him he doesn’t already know. And then … who knows?
We don’t book out of the Belmont, but whether we actually return there this evening depends on what happens later. The course of events just can’t be predicted.
The empty morning and early afternoon slide past me in a blur. I’m apprehensive and impatient all at the same time. This has to work. This has to lead to something. If not …
Forrester drives to a car park behind the Regent Arcade shopping centre. He stays there to wait for my text. I walk through the shopping centre and out into the Promenade, keeping an eye out for Joe. I don’t see him anywhere. I cross the road and drift slowly towards Costa Coffee, hugging the shopfronts that I pass, head down, eyes scanning ahead from beneath the brim of my baseball cap. It’s six minutes to three.
I reach a furniture shop more or less opposite Costa. I glance across and wonder if I should go in to see if Joe’s already there. But I don’t have to decide, because, at that moment, Joe bounces into view on the opposite pavement.
He looks just as I remember him from the first time I saw him in St Mawes, which is comforting somehow. It was only last week, though it feels more like months ago. Jeans, T-shirt, corduroy jacket, shoulder-bag. His curly hair is blown back by the breeze. He’s moving almost jauntily, like he’s relaxed and under no pressure at all, although he is smoking a cigarette.
I turn and gaze into the shop window in front of me. I see a reflection of Costa in the glass. And of Joe as he takes a last puff on his cigarette before tossing it away and swinging in through the door. He doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. And, as far as I can tell, he’s alone. No one swings in after him. No one follows him close behind at all. It looks like I’m never going to know what Forrester’s contingency plan for Company is.
I turn round cautiously. I see Joe queuing at the counter. I cross the road and walk casually past the coffee shop, monitoring Joe out of the corner of my eye. He has his back to me. With a more decided glance I spot Martinek, sitting at a table close to the rear door. He’s got a full-size Go board in front of him, along with two bowls of stones and a clock, plus a giant cup of coffee. He’s wearing a dark blue suit toda
y. He’s also wearing his white cotton gloves, for reasons known only to him. I don’t think he notices me, but it would be like him not to show it even if he did. He’s noticed Joe, though. The direction of his gaze makes that clear.
I browse in the furniture shop opposite Costa for ten minutes or so. Nothing changes at Costa Coffee. People are wandering in and out. Trade’s trickling on through the afternoon.
Back out on the street, I glance around, wondering if I can see anyone who might be watching the place. There’s no sign of anyone, though I suppose there shouldn’t be if they’re any good. Good or bad, though, they’re not close by. That much seems certain.
I let someone else walk into Costa ahead of me and tag along behind them. They’re big enough to give me plenty of natural cover as I stand in the queue. While they’re waiting to order, I glance at Joe and Martinek.
The game’s already under way. Martinek’s stooped over the board, apparently pondering a move. The movement of his lips suggests he’s muttering to himself. No surprise there. Joe’s leaning back in his chair, gazing past Martinek’s left shoulder.
I buy a cappuccino and sit down near the side door. Joe has his back to me. But Martinek could see me if he looked up. Except he doesn’t look up. He goes on studying the board. Then he lays a black stone on one of the intersections. He presses his button on the clock and takes a slurp from a bottle of water stationed by his elbow.
Joe responds almost immediately, barely glancing at the board, presses his button on the clock and sits back again. Martinek stoops forward and resumes thinking. It looks like he’s needing to do a lot more of that than Joe.
They attract a few curious glances from other customers, especially from children, but they seem to be playing in a bubble of their own concentration. It’s as if their surroundings don’t exist for them.
Looking around, I feel increasingly certain Joe really did come alone. Whether he told anyone where he was going or simply slipped away I don’t know. But amongst the harassed mums with their children and the people whiling away an idle hour, only one person is watching him. Me.
Martinek makes another move. It’s the same routine. Button-press on the clock. Slurp of water. And Joe responds as swiftly as before.
I can’t wait any longer. I walk over to their table and swing a chair round from the empty table next to them. Martinek doesn’t appear even to notice, staring fixedly at the board as he is. But Joe notices. He glances up at me. There’s a split-second during which his expression changes from puzzlement to recognition.
‘Nicole?’ He frowns in disbelief.
‘Hi, Joe.’ I sit down.
I’ve got Martinek’s attention now as well. He looks at me in obvious astonishment. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks in a petulant tone.
‘Sorry for the interruption,’ I say.
‘You two know each other?’ asks Joe. The thought makes him only more disbelieving.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ I reply, aware I have to vault over a lot of explaining to get to what’s really important. ‘You did come alone, didn’t you, Joe?’
‘Why shouldn’t he have?’ demands Martinek.
‘I came alone, yes,’ says Joe.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ says Martinek. He sounds genuinely aggrieved.
‘Listen to me, Joe.’ I face him directly, ignoring Martinek. ‘Duncan and I are here to help you. We can get you out of Hexter’s clutches. Now. This afternoon.’
‘Duncan’s with you?’
‘He’s waiting in his car. Just round the corner. Say the word and we can take you somewhere to talk all this through.’
‘I don’t get what’s going on. Why have you and Duncan got together? And, like, what are you doing here?’ Joe spreads his hands in bemusement.
‘Who’s Hexter?’ Martinek cuts in.
‘Would you mind staying out of this?’ I instantly regret the sharpness of my tone.
‘Well, pardon me for breathing.’
‘I don’t know what Hexter’s told you, Joe.’ I try to cut Martinek out of the conversation. ‘But I’m lucky to be alive. And you’re no better than his prisoner, are you?’
‘Do I look like a prisoner? Where are the bars? Where are the jailers?’
‘Did you tell anyone you were coming here?’
‘No. But only because there might’ve been an objection to me giving up an afternoon to play Martinek here. But that’s all it would’ve been. An objection. And what d’you mean about being lucky to be alive?’
‘They tried to kill me, Joe.’
‘What? Who tried?’
‘Roger Lam.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Let me call Duncan. He can explain everything. Wouldn’t you like to speak to him?’
‘Well, I …’
‘Do you know this bloke she says tried to kill her?’ Martinek cuts in again.
‘Joe?’ I press, ignoring Martinek.
‘OK.’ Joe pushes back his hair with his long fingers and gazes at me in what appears to be exasperation. ‘Call him. Let’s sort this out.’
I take out the phone and press Send on the Ready message.
‘Are you feeling OK, Nicole?’ asks Joe. ‘I mean, Roger Lam tried to kill you? That’s seriously nuts.’
‘Talk to Duncan.’
‘I will.’
‘What about our game?’ demands Martinek.
‘I won’t be gone long,’ Joe replies. ‘Have another coffee. And some strategizing time on me.’
‘How do I know you’ll be back?’
‘You’ve got my word.’
‘And what about my—’ Martinek breaks off. The money isn’t something he wants to mention in front of Joe.
‘What about your what?’ Joe frowns suspiciously.
‘Forget it.’ Martinek’s expression suggests he isn’t going to forget it. ‘You’d better be back, that’s all. Because there’s no way you can win from here.’
Joe smiles. ‘P-l-e-a-s-e.’
Martinek turns on me. ‘Are you bringing him back, Miss Nicholson?’
I catch Joe frowning at me as he realizes I’ve given Martinek a false name. ‘That’ll be up to him,’ I say levelly.
‘Really? Not you and Mr Foster?’
Another false name clinches it for Joe. ‘Did you set this game up, Nicole?’ he asks.
‘Just listen to Duncan, Joe. That’s all I ask.’ And, to my relief, the Land Rover comes into view at that moment. ‘Here he is.’
Joe picks up his phone and takes a picture of the Go board. Martinek grimaces. ‘Nice,’ he mutters. ‘Very nice.’
‘Don’t want any arguments when I get back.’
‘Let’s go,’ I say, standing up.
We hurry out through the rear door. Forrester’s turned the Land Rover round by the time we reach it. Joe gets in the front. I climb into the back.
‘Good to see you again, Joe,’ says Forrester.
‘You too, Duncan. Though there was no need for you to come all this way.’
‘I’m not sure you understand the situation you’re in.’
‘Tell me what I’m missing.’
Forrester puts the car in gear and we start away. ‘You agreed to help GCHQ with research into artificial intelligence in return for the police dropping you from their inquiries into Conrad Vogler’s affairs, right?’
‘Basically, yeah. But it was a good deal in the circumstances. And they’re an interesting bunch over there. They reckon I might have a particular aptitude for cryptography. I’ve enjoyed what they’ve had me doing these past few days. Maybe I’ve finally found the career I’m suited to. I reckon Mum’ll be pleased in the long run. Zip too. There’s no reason she can’t join me here once I’ve settled in.’
‘What about Vogler?’
‘Well, I guess I may have to give evidence against him at some point. But—’
‘He’s dead, Joe.’
‘What?’
We turn into Regent Street and head south. ‘Hexter didn’t
tell you that, did he?’
‘No …’
‘Carl Hinkley’s dead too,’ I cut in.
Joe glances over his shoulder at me. Suddenly, he looks very confused. I don’t blame him. ‘How did they … I mean, what happened?’
‘It looks like Marianne decided Conrad had to go to prevent him cooperating with the authorities,’ Forrester replies. ‘Carl just got in the way.’
‘Nobody’s told me anything about this. And why hasn’t it been in the news? Mum obviously knows nothing about it. Otherwise she’d have—’
‘They’ve hushed it up because it didn’t go according to plan. The idea was to kill Nicole and tie me into the murders. But I stopped that happening. Something else I’m sure Roger Lam hasn’t got around to mentioning to you.’
‘That can’t be right. Roger promised me my cooperation meant everyone I knew would be left in peace.’
We turn left, then right, still aiming south through the back streets. ‘You can’t trust Roger. He’s Hexter’s poodle.’
‘But, Duncan, Hexter’s only interested in intelligence applications for my particular abilities. Why would he want to frame you for murder? And why would he want to have Nicole killed?’
‘Because his first loyalty isn’t to British Intelligence. It’s to China.’
‘China?’
‘I was in the Service myself, before I moved to Falmouth, before you were born. I’ve known Hexter’s working for the Chinese for the past thirty years. And he knows I know. Which makes me a threat. Nicole too. And he deals with threats by neutralizing them.’
‘Are you serious?’
Forrester glances round at him. ‘I’ve never been more so.’
‘You must’ve got it wrong, Duncan. The Chinese have no control over what happens at GCHQ. I’m working for the British government. I’m not exactly over the moon about that, but I’m willing to live with it if it means the police won’t come after me on account of working for Vogler.’
‘No. You have it wrong, Joe. Hexter has plans for you and you can be certain they won’t serve the best interests of the British government. We know he’s made some kind of deal with Marianne Vogler. Maybe with the Clearing House through her. I don’t know what his exact intentions are, but you have to get away from him. A long way away. We all do.’
One False Move Page 23