One False Move

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘You and me, Nicole. I want to hear you say what you’ve just said to me to his face. And then I want to hear what he has to say. After that, it’ll be time to tell him what my terms are for letting him off lightly. And don’t worry. Those terms will include Joe and your pal Forrester walking free. We’ll take McKenzie with us to watch our backs. I suggest you stay in London, Mr Norrback. I’ll leave Bruno here too. He’ll be fully briefed by me, though. I’ll make sure Hexter understands exactly how limited his options are.’

  ‘You will be putting your heads in the white tiger’s jaws,’ says Norrback solemnly.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that. Thing is, I don’t like being played for a sucker. And I have enough corporate heft behind me to make Hexter think twice about trying to push me around.’ Billy looks directly at me. ‘That’s been your problem all along, Nicole. Yours and this guy Forrester’s. Lack of fire power. Well, I’m not lacking in that department. So, are you up for this?’

  He’s as angry with Hexter now as I am. And anger drives out caution. In this mood, Billy Swarther is a force of nature. Norrback’s right, of course. Confronting Hexter on his home turf carries risks. But what else can we do? If we catch him off guard, we can get the better of him. I believe that. I have to.

  I wanted Billy to act. Now I’ve got my wish. It’s as simple – and as dangerous – as that.

  ‘Nicole?’ He’s still looking at me.

  I nod. ‘Yes, Billy, I’m up for it. One hundred per cent.’

  Norrback’s staying in a flat in Pimlico normally occupied by a member of the Finnish embassy staff, who’s gone home on leave. He offers me a bed there and I accept gladly. We take a taxi straight there from the Ritz.

  We barely speak during the journey. But once we’re inside the flat, Norrback pours us both some vodka and asks me if I really understand the risks I’ll be running by going to see Hexter tomorrow.

  ‘He’s ruthless, Nicole,’ he says to me as we sit in the sparsely but stylishly furnished lounge of the absent diplomat. ‘I thought he might have softened with age. But that wasn’t my impression when he came to speak to me during my detention. He won’t give in easily.’

  ‘Picking off individuals like you, me and Duncan is one thing, Tahvo. Neutralizing Venstrom Computers, with its massive worldwide resources, is quite another.’

  ‘I agree. But still …’

  ‘We have to try this. There’s nothing else we can try.’

  ‘Again, I agree. But that doesn’t mean I think your chances of success are high.’

  ‘Are you going to give me odds?’

  ‘No. I’m not. I’m going to give you some advice. Put yourself first. Let Mr Swarther do his best to get what you want. But if it looks as if it’s going wrong …’

  ‘Make a run for it?’

  Norrback sighs and sits back in his chair. ‘This isn’t much help, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Because you have the original tape, safely locked away in Helsinki. That is true, isn’t it?’

  He nods. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, with that and the pressure Swarther can threaten to bring to bear, I think we have him.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Me too, Tahvo.’

  ‘Of course.’ He leans forward and clinks his glass against mine. ‘We drink to that.’

  Norrback cooks us some food. After our meal, I try to watch television, but I can’t seem to take anything in. The outside world’s become a strange, unreal place to me.

  One day, I may be able to rejoin it.

  That day could be tomorrow.

  Or not.

  Sunday October 20

  I leave the flat at dawn. Norrback doesn’t say anything as he sees me off. I don’t look back as I head along the street, though I’m sure he’s watching me from the window. He has a lot riding on what happens today. But I have more.

  Billy’s idea was that they’d drive me to Morecote. I didn’t go for that. I said I’d drive myself. I’m not exactly sure why. I just want to control as much as I can.

  I take a taxi down to Brixton and get to the car park while the night shift minder’s still on duty. The morning’s grey and quiet. London’s Sunday-morning empty. I drive west, through Wimbledon and Staines. One way or another, this has to be the last of these furtive cross-country journeys.

  I join the M4 at Junction 17, just east of Leigh Delamere services, where we agreed to meet. But I have to sit around nervously in the car park there for nearly twenty minutes before Billy shows up. McKenzie’s driving him in a big, anonymous 4WD. They don’t stop, just cruise slowly past.

  McKenzie’s bleak, grey-eyed glance rakes over me. He has that weary but capable look that seems to go with his line of work. Rumour’s always ascribed a dark side to him. Maybe I’ll see that today.

  I follow them across the motorway on the service road and back to Junction 17, then north to Malmesbury and out into the open Cotswold countryside, destination Morecote – destination Hexter.

  A car’s emerging from the driveway that leads to the house as we approach. The driver’s a woman. I catch no more than a glimpse of her. Set grey hair, pale face, narrow mouth. Hexter’s wife, maybe? Forrester mentioned her. Marjorie. That was the name.

  Well, Marjorie or not, she isn’t who we’ve come to see. We head slowly up the drive. I’m sure Hexter already knows who’s on their way to his door.

  We pull up in front of the house. There are three other cars there, two 4WDs, one mud-spattered, the other bigger and sleeker, and a grey Mercedes.

  Silence greets me as I climb out of my car. Billy casts a glance in my direction. He looks less angry than yesterday and marginally less confident. He also looks as if he hasn’t slept well. As I walk over to him, he says in an undertone, ‘I’ll do the talking.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Just as long as you say the right things.’

  Gordon McKenzie gives me a narrow look. I have the strange feeling I’m impressing him. But it’s hard to tell. Venstrom’s security chief could be called ruggedly handsome. But his essential wariness saps any charm out of his expression. ‘How are you, Nicole?’ he asks gruffly, in that voice of his I remember now as always sounding like it didn’t get enough use.

  ‘As you see me, Gordon.’

  He nods. ‘OK.’

  The front door opens and a short, thin, grey-haired Asian man looks out at us. He has an impassive expression and is wearing dark trousers and a waistcoat over a white shirt and tie. Is this, I wonder, the Chinese fixer, Feng Jianjun?

  No, it isn’t. ‘That’s Zhang,’ murmurs Billy. ‘He and his wife run the house, far as I can tell.’

  ‘And they’re Chinese?’

  ‘Yuh.’

  ‘So, Hexter has Chinese servants as well as Chinese masters.’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Billy smiles and raises a hand as he leads the way up the steps. ‘Hi, Zhang,’ he calls ahead.

  ‘Mr Hexter did not say he was expecting you, Mr Swarther,’ Zhang responds, in a tone that just manages to stay the friendly side of cautious.

  ‘Sorry. Kind of an emergency. Not a bad time, is it?’

  ‘I am sure he will be pleased to see you. Who are your … friends?’

  ‘Two staff members I’ve brought along to help us … sort out a small problem. It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Please come in. I will tell Mr Hexter you are here.’

  We enter the house. There’s a lot of wood, oak maybe: beams, pillars and floors. The paleness of the wood and the height of most of the windows gives the place an airy, spacious feel, though the windows are mullioned, in a nod to tradition. There are a lot of rugs as well, with intricate patterns of writhing dragons, which takes us back to China again.

  Zhang shows us into a big drawing room, looking out over the rear garden towards the wooded slope behind the house. There are sofas and armchairs, a vast coffee-table, a huge ceiling-suspended wood burner and loads of newspapers and magazines.

  As soon
as Zhang’s left, saying he’ll let Hexter know we’re here, Billy stalks over to the window and stares out at the scenery. His hands are thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. He’s switched back into his cowboy casuals since I saw him at the Ritz. ‘This is Hexter’s stage,’ he growls. ‘He doesn’t reckon anyone can out-act him on it.’

  ‘This isn’t about acting, Billy. This is about dealing with reality.’

  ‘Yuh.’ He doesn’t sound completely convinced.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got the better of more formidable opponents than Hexter in the past.’

  ‘Sure I have. But I generally enjoyed doing it. We’re here to engage in damage limitation, not pull off a famous victory. I won’t ever be able to brag about this day’s work, will I?’

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘You won’t.’

  He turns away from the window and looks at me. ‘And then there’s the question of what your future in the company’s going to be, Nicole. We’re going to have to talk about that at some point.’

  ‘I look forward to the conversation.’

  ‘Y’know, if I’d realized how … resourceful … you were, I’d have made sure you were better treated.’

  Like hell he would. But I just smile and let him believe I believe him.

  ‘So …’ He puffs out his chest. ‘We lay it on the line and, once Hexter’s understood—’

  ‘Understood what, Billy?’

  The voice is soft and cut-glass accented, with a wispy hint of breathlessness. Clive Hexter walks into the room, a tall, lean, white-haired presence. He’s wearing a roll-necked sweater under a cardigan. His trousers have knife-edge creases. He looks like a man who concerns himself a lot with appearances. But I’m aware, given what he is – a spy, a traitor, an actor of a part – that his appearance is only one of many things about him I can’t trust.

  ‘Clive,’ says Billy. ‘Good to see you again.’ They shake hands.

  ‘You too,’ says Hexter. ‘And surprising, so soon after our last meeting.’

  ‘Well, you said if I had any questions …’

  ‘You shouldn’t hesitate to get in touch. Very true. Though I imagined a telephone call rather than an unannounced visit in that event.’ He sounds cool and unworried. He sounds as if he expects to be able to control whatever transpires.

  Billy spreads his hands. ‘I reckoned this had to be handled face to face.’

  ‘Yet you brought with you two people who weren’t party to our original discussions. That strikes me as odd. Where’s Bruno, may I ask?’

  ‘I left him in London. As for my associates here, Gordon McKenzie is the company’s head of security.’

  ‘Mr McKenzie.’ Hexter nods in his direction. ‘You anticipate some … security-related concern, Billy?’

  ‘My concern will be clear to you soon enough, Clive. Nicole Nevinson—’

  ‘He knows who I am,’ I cut in. ‘And he can guess why I’m here. Can’t you, Mr Hexter?’

  Hexter gazes at me for a moment with what looks like no more than mild curiosity, then looks back at Billy. ‘Miss Nevinson is wanted for questioning by the police, Billy. Are you aware of that?’

  ‘She’s made me aware of quite a few things since Bruno and I dined here on Thursday, Clive. Is Feng still here?’

  ‘Yes. You want to speak to him?’

  ‘I guess not. What I have to say is just for you to hear. And maybe Roger Lam. Is he here too?’

  ‘No. He’s … unwell.’

  ‘Just you and us, then.’

  ‘As you say.’

  ‘I’m here because of what’s happened to Joe Roberts.’

  ‘You should ask Miss Nevinson to clear that up. The police want to question her in connection with his suspected kidnapping.’

  ‘You’ve no idea where Joe is?’

  ‘I’m never short of ideas, Billy. I need to have them in my line of work.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have told me he’d gone missing? It’s kinda material to our understanding, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I was hoping he’d be returned to our care before there was any need to alert you. The man responsible for his disappearance is a renegade former intelligence officer named Alan Travers, alias Duncan Forrester. Miss Nevinson has been helping him. What she hopes to gain by misleading you, as clearly she has, I really can’t imagine.’ Hexter looks at me. ‘Are you intending to give yourself up, Miss Nevinson? Do you want me to phone the police and ask them to come and collect you?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be asking me where Joe is?’ I throw back at him.

  ‘Can you tell me?’

  ‘No. But you can tell me. Us, in fact.’

  ‘I have it on good authority you orchestrated the kidnap, Clive,’ says Billy. He’s sounding stronger now. He’s hitting his stride. ‘On behalf of the Chinese security service.’

  ‘By good authority you mean Miss Nevinson here? Putting your trust in her would be extremely foolish.’

  ‘It’d be extremely foolish to let you lead me by the nose, Clive. I can’t put my company’s name to a scheme that involves maltreating a young man and putting him to work for the Chinese government against his will.’

  ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

  ‘Yuh. It is. You’ve been a Chinese double agent for more than thirty years. That’s what I hear. Which explains why you’re in a position to offer my company unprecedented access to the Chinese market.’

  ‘I arranged for you to meet Feng, who may be able to negotiate with the Chinese regulators to your advantage, as compensation for your company’s loss of Joe’s direct services. That’s all there is to it. The idea that I’m a Chinese double agent is ludicrous.’

  ‘Not when I hear your voice, Clive, on a thirty-year-old tape, triggering an assassination in pitch-perfect Mandarin. It’s very far from ludicrous then.’

  ‘I know nothing about any tape. I’ve never denied being fluent in Mandarin. I’ve needed to be, as a matter of professional necessity. It sounds to me as if Miss Nevinson has taken you for a ride, Billy. You should stop this charade now. In your own and your company’s best interests.’

  ‘What’s the plan for Joe?’ I cut in. ‘Is he going to be sent to China now he’s so conveniently been kidnapped?’

  ‘Ask your friend Forrester. Maybe he’s a Chinese agent.’

  ‘And then what?’ I’m not going to be knocked off course now. I want to lay this on the line. ‘Are Venstrom going to be blamed for Joe ending up in China working on a government-backed AI project that promises to outstrip the Americans? Is that how you see it panning out? Venstrom as public enemy number one? Maybe accused of hiring the Clearing House to kidnap Joe when in fact it’s you who’s hired them for exactly that purpose? Leaving you as … what? An unacknowledged but richly rewarded servant of the People’s Republic of China? Do they have an honours system? If they do, I guess you’ll be in line for a top gong.’

  ‘Is that how you see it panning out, Clive?’ asks Billy, glaring at Hexter accusingly.

  ‘She’s talking nonsense,’ snaps Hexter. The sharpness of his tone is the first sign we might be getting under his skin.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Billy, with a shake of the head. ‘I think she’s right on the money. But I’m here to tell you, Clive, it isn’t going to happen. The deal’s off. And what I know about you only stays out of the public domain if Joe Roberts and this guy Forrester are freed right now and we—’

  ‘There’s something you and I need to discuss in private, Billy.’ Hexter raises his chin slightly as he meets and returns Billy’s glare. ‘We can go to my study. It won’t take long. Miss Nevinson and Mr McKenzie can wait here.’

  ‘Whatever you’ve got to say you can say to me here.’ I’m relieved by how adamant Billy sounds on the point.

  ‘You don’t want me to do that. This needs to stay between the two of us.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘You have a tape. I have a tape.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’


  ‘It means what I suspect you’re very much afraid it means.’

  There’s a long moment of silence. Is that a sheen of sweat I can see on Billy’s forehead? What’s Hexter getting at? I haven’t a clue. But Billy has. I can see it in his eyes.

  ‘You’ll need to be satisfied I have it, Billy, which is why I suggest you come with me now.’

  ‘What’s this about, Billy?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replies, without looking at me. ‘I guess … it’s simpler if I just go and find out.’

  But he knows, of course. He knows exactly what this is about.

  ‘Whatever it is, you have to stick with what we agreed.’

  ‘Sure.’ But he doesn’t sound sure. ‘You two stay here.’

  Billy actually makes it to the door before Hexter. Then they’re both gone, Hexter closing the door softly behind him.

  I turn to McKenzie. ‘What’s happening?’

  He lets out a slow, thoughtful breath. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We can’t let this be turned round on us.’

  ‘I’m not in control of the situation, Nicole. I’m here to protect Billy. And to follow his orders.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You don’t pay my salary.’ He glances past me, out through the window. ‘There’s a guy in the garden, watching us.’

  I follow the direction of McKenzie’s gaze. Sure enough, there’s a man out there, walking slowly along a path bordering the lawn. And he’s looking straight in at us.

  He’s wearing jeans, a leather jacket and a baseball cap. He’s like a hundred other men. But there’s a muscular set to his shoulders and a jut to his chin that suggests a seriousness of purpose.

  ‘He’s no gardener,’ says McKenzie in an undertone. ‘I saw him speak into a wrist mike a few minutes ago. Which suggests he’s not alone. You mentioned the Clearing House, didn’t you? Well, I’ve heard of them. And I’ve got to tell you, Nicole, that guy out there is just the sort of guy you get when you hire people like them.’

  I can’t stop myself shuddering. ‘Christ, Gordon, Billy better not roll over on this.’

  ‘He’ll likely negotiate a favourable turn-out for you even if he doesn’t get everything you and he hoped he would.’