‘I wish I could believe that.’
‘You must’ve weighed up the risks before you came here. You must have thought they were worth taking.’
‘I had no choice.’
McKenzie nods dolefully. ‘Then I’d recommend you leave with us, however it turns out.’
I’m frightened now. McKenzie can probably see that. The man in the garden. The mysterious tape. And why do I get the feeling Hexter knew we were coming? ‘Do you know who Hexter’s informant is, Gordon? Someone in the company fed him information about our interest in Joe Roberts. Billy must have asked you to find out who that was.’
‘He has. But I can’t get properly on to it until I’m back at HQ.’
‘You think that’s where the leak was?’
‘Seems likely.’
‘What if the leaker came to London with Billy?’
‘You mean Bruno?’ McKenzie mulls the idea over. ‘That’d be …’ His eyes narrow thoughtfully. ‘That’d be seriously bad news.’ Something like sorrow, or at any rate regret, seems to drift across his face. ‘There’s nothing I can do for you, Nicole. I serve the company. So …’
‘I’m on my own?’
The door opens. Zhang looks in at us.
‘Mr Hexter and Mr Swarther would like you to join them in the study, Mr McKenzie,’ he says quietly.
‘What about me?’ I ask, before McKenzie has a chance to respond.
‘You can wait here, Miss Nevinson.’
‘Like hell I will.’ The prospect of being left alone in the drawing room while the three of them stitch something up in the study is deeply scary.
‘Seems we’re both coming,’ says McKenzie.
‘Very well,’ says Zhang. ‘Please follow me.’
We move at a stately pace down a narrow passage off the main hallway. The beams are lower here, the light thinner. I can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the background. I can hear my heart beating too, drumming in my chest.
The study’s a big room, with a curving window that gives it the feel of a captain’s cabin on some old sailing ship.
Hexter’s sitting behind a broad desk scattered with documents. With the light behind him, it’s hard to make out the expression on his face.
There’s no sign of Billy.
‘What’s going on?’ I hear myself ask.
Hexter ignores me. ‘Billy’s waiting for you in the car, Mr McKenzie,’ he says softly. ‘He’s decided to leave.’
‘We’ll go join him, then,’ says McKenzie.
‘Just you, Mr McKenzie. Miss Nevinson is staying here.’
‘Says who?’ I demand.
‘Billy.’ I think Hexter’s smiling. ‘And me, of course. We’ve reached an agreement. Your remaining here is part of that agreement. Don’t let me detain you, Mr McKenzie. Your employer wants to be back in London as soon as possible. I believe he’s planning to fly back to San Francisco tonight.’
‘I can’t see any good reason for us not to give Nicole a lift, even so,’ says McKenzie, with slow deliberation. ‘Wherever she wants to go.’
‘The good reason is that your employer and I have settled on a different course of action. Which I mean to ensure is followed.’ Hexter picks up a phone from his desk, presses a button and says quietly, ‘Come to the study, please.’
I look at McKenzie. ‘You can’t leave me here.’ I’m imploring him with my eyes to say he won’t. What happens if he leaves me with Hexter … I don’t like to think.
But he’ll leave me if he feels he has to. I can see that in his eyes.
‘We all have to make judgements,’ Hexter remarks, almost philosophically. ‘Generally, in the end, they tend to be what we think will be to our personal advantage. Isn’t that right?’ He looks at McKenzie.
Who says nothing. And doesn’t look at me.
Then I hear footsteps in the passage. Two men, tall and solidly built, appear in the doorway. They’re slab-faced and every bit as dead-eyed as I might have feared.
‘Billy’s waiting,’ Hexter says, still looking at McKenzie.
I hear the tremor in my voice as I speak. ‘Don’t leave me here, Gordon.’
He hesitates. Not for long, though. It only takes him a few moments to decide. Then he says, ‘Sorry, Nicole,’ and walks straight out of the room. The two men step apart to let him pass, then move back together.
They won’t step aside for me, of course. I know that. My breathing’s shallow now. I suspect I’m visibly shaking.
‘Sit down, Miss Nevinson,’ says Hexter.
I lower myself slowly into a chair, facing him.
‘It’s disappointing, isn’t it, to realize how unreliable most people are?’
‘What do you want with me?’ I manage to say. I look directly at him. I clench the muscles of my jaw.
‘We have to arrive at a conclusion. You’ve made that unavoidable.’
‘How did you get rid of Billy?’
‘I showed him a possible future even less appetizing than having to fend off the scandal-mongering media should his company be accused of collusion with the Chinese government. I played him a videotape that came into my possession some time ago. Footage of an alcohol- and drug-fuelled sex party in a hotel suite in Malibu back in 1996. It happens to show, by accident, the death, due to a drugs overdose, of a young woman – a very young woman. Billy’s on the video as well. The girl’s never been officially pronounced dead. As far as her parents know to this day, she disappeared on her way home from that party. How her body was disposed of I don’t know. I’m not sure Billy knows. It was arranged … on behalf of all those who attended the party, Billy included. He paid a lot of money a long time ago for what he thought was the only surviving copy of the tape. But there’s never only one copy of such things, is there? As I happen to know from my own experience.’ He sighs again. ‘I’m afraid it was disastrously naïve of you to put your faith in Billy Swarther, Miss Nevinson.’
At that moment, his phone rings. He picks it up, listens for a moment, then nods in evident satisfaction.
‘They’ve gone,’ he announces after few moments’ thought. ‘In a proverbial cloud of dust. Leaving you … here.’
‘You should think about the Norrback tape, Hexter,’ I declare in as assertive a tone as I can summon. ‘It won’t stay hidden if I come to any harm. Nor will another recording I made, of Roger Lam shooting his mouth off.’
‘Perhaps not. But Billy’s already told me about the Lam recording. I think I can arrange to suppress that. What we’re left with isn’t quite damning enough for your purposes. Though I don’t deny it could cause me a good deal of … difficulty.’
‘Then let me go.’
‘Maybe I will. If you convince me it would be safe to do so. Sadly, I doubt you can. You’ve already shown yourself to be much less tractable than the likes of Billy Swarther. You share some of Alan Travers’ stubbornness, I’m afraid. Which severely limits our room for negotiation.’
‘Where is Forrester?’
‘Forget him. He’s really not important.’
‘Isn’t he? Aren’t you using his supposed link with the Chinese thirty years ago to claim he’s kidnapped Joe in order to send him to Beijing when in fact it’s you who’s sending him?’
Hexter looks pained. ‘You are right in so far as this is all about Joe. He is important. And I think it’s time I took you to see him.’
‘He’s here?’
‘No. Nearby. In a cottage I own.’
‘But you are planning to send him to China, aren’t you? That’s what these men are here to arrange, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve no intention of discussing my plans with you, Miss Nevinson. All you need to know for the moment is that Joe’s safe and well – and I’m taking you to see him.’
‘Why?’ I can hardly believe he wants to reassure me about Joe’s welfare.
‘It’s time we were going. I’d like to have you off the premises before Marjorie returns from church, if you don’t mind.’
Marjorie. The wife. Co
uld she be a lifeline? ‘What if I do mind?’
‘Then these gentlemen will convey you forcibly to the car. I’d urge you to spare yourself that indignity. Shall we go?’
We return to the hall, where Zhang is holding the front door open for us. One of Hexter’s two goons walks a step ahead of me, the other a step behind. The way they hold themselves and the way they look at me suggests they’d easily and gladly carry me out like a piece of luggage if Hexter gave the word.
Or I gave them an excuse.
I’m boxed in as we descend the steps and move towards one of the 4WDs. My thoughts are whirling. I’m not sure I’m being taken to see Joe at all. Hexter may just have told me that to get me out of the house more easily. And why does he want me out of the house? Because it’s neater – cleaner – to kill me somewhere else. He doesn’t want to have to explain anything to Marjorie.
We stand by the car. Hexter gets into the driving seat and starts the engine.
‘Get in,’ one of the goons rasps in my ear. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me towards the open door. His grip is tight and heavy. He’s bruising me just by holding me.
He pushes me more violently. I half fall, half climb into the car. He gets in after me and the other goon jumps in on the other side. I’m sandwiched between them on the bench seat. The doors slam. The car starts moving.
As we head down the drive, I catch Hexter glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
‘Let me go, Hexter,’ I say. My voice is hoarse and uneven. ‘You don’t need the trouble Norrback’s tape can cause you. And I won’t cause you any trouble at all if you let me go now.’
‘In case you’re interested, Miss Nevinson, Roger Lam’s in hospital. Concussion and serious facial injuries. Is that the sort of thing you mean when you say you won’t cause any trouble?’
‘I did what I had to do to get away from him.’
‘And no doubt you’ll say what you feel you have to in order to get away from me.’
‘I’m no threat to you.’
‘If only that were true.’
We reach the end of the drive. Hexter turns out into the lane and accelerates, even as the lane narrows.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘I told you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your prerogative.’
‘Why did you sell out to the Chinese?’
‘You imply a financial motive which has never existed. I’ve simply acted in accordance with my assessment of the balance of historical destiny.’
‘Most people would call that treason.’
‘Some people, maybe. But China has existed for thousands of years. It’s the summation of organized human society. The past and the future. What is Britain or any other Western state compared with that?’
‘It’s still treason.’
‘You sound like Alan Travers.’
‘What have you done with him?’
‘Nothing. I left that to others.’
‘Is he with Joe?’
‘No. He’s not with anyone. Any more.’
My God. He’s saying Forrester is dead. Killed. On his orders.
‘Alan had his chance thirty years ago,’ Hexter goes on, as if reading my thoughts. ‘He didn’t deserve it. He certainly didn’t deserve a second chance. He never had the breadth of vision to understand the logic of what I’ve worked for.’ Never had. Past tense. Oh, Christ.
‘The tape, Hexter. Remember the tape. Let me go and I promise it’ll stay in that bank vault in Helsinki.’
‘That isn’t your promise to make, Miss Nevinson. And I don’t believe you mean it anyway. Not that it matters. What matters is Joe. He’s the prize. He has unique mental gifts: the potential to transform our whole approach to artificial intelligence. It seems he truly can out-compute a computer. Except that his brain doesn’t use computational methods. He uses … Well, that’s the infinitely significant question. How does he do what he does? We need to find out.’
‘You mean the Chinese need to find out.’
‘The best researchers in the field are all Chinese, whether they’re actually working in China or not. It makes perfect sense to put Joe where he can be of most use. Not here. And certainly not in the United States. But in the country which is clearly going to dominate the world, economically, socially, scientifically and eventually militarily, in the century ahead.’
He slows as he finishes the sentence, then turns in off the lane through a gateway on to a rough track.
A short distance ahead, obscured by a heavily overgrown garden, stands a thatch-roofed cottage. The thatch and the timbered brick walls are both patched with moss. There’s a tumbledown garage to one side. The place looks neglected, forgotten.
A big mud-spattered SUV and a dented black Transit van that looks like the one that crashed into Forrester’s Land Rover in Cheltenham are parked in front of the garage. Hexter pulls up some way short of them and turns off the engine.
He turns and frowns at me. ‘You shouldn’t have come to Morecote this morning, Miss Nevinson. That was a grievous error. I always had the measure of Billy Swarther. And, actually, time was on your side. Delay would have served you better. You didn’t know that, of course. How could you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I might have decided I had to live with the damage you could cause. As it is, you’ve given me the chance to put my affairs in good order. Not for the first time, I find circumstances conspiring in my favour. Norrback’s tape will soon be irrelevant. You will be regarded as no more than Alan Travers’ hapless dupe in his plot to spirit Joe out of this country. I didn’t lie to you when we left Morecote, you see. Joe really is here. But I’m not sending him to China. I’m taking him.’
‘What?’
‘Delivering Joe is the perfect climax to my career. I’m retiring. And my retirement isn’t going to be spent in Gloucestershire, but somewhere where my achievements will be better appreciated.’
‘China.’
He smiles faintly. ‘Exactly.’
A moment passes. I can’t find anything to say. Why has he told me so much? The answer comes to me at the same time as the question. He wanted to tell someone. And he knew he could tell me … because he knew I wasn’t going to be able to tell anyone else.
I can’t find any way out of the trap I’m in. The end Hexter has prepared for me is closing in. I can sense it. I can feel it.
‘Let’s go inside,’ he says quietly.
The goon on my right opens his door and starts to climb out.
Then he stops. A figure’s emerged from the cottage and is striding towards us.
It’s Marianne Vogler.
How different she looks now compared with the pushed-aside wine-tippling wife of Conrad Vogler I was first introduced to. But that wasn’t the real her, of course. This is Marianne Vogler.
She’s wearing a black tracksuit and trainers. Her hair’s tied back. Her expression is sober – and deadly serious.
Hexter seems surprised to see her. He lowers his window and says to her as she approaches, ‘I thought you were leaving this to Scaddan.’
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ she announces, casting a fleeting glance at me.
‘Not as far as I’m concerned.’ Hexter sounds snappish. It’s clear he doesn’t like changes of plan. Unless he’s the one doing the changing, I imagine.
‘Sorry, Clive.’ Marianne gives him a brief, tight little smile. ‘I have new instructions.’
‘And we have an agreement.’ Hexter pushes his door open and steps out. He grasps the frame as he glares at her. ‘I expect it to be honoured. In full.’
‘No can do.’
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s out of my hands. I’m sure you understand.’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘It’s been decided Joe’s services are so valuable to the Clearing House that you can’t be allowed to take him to China with you.’
‘Naturally, the rest of the agreement stands. Forrester’s been disposed of and the plane’s waiting at the field for the hop over the Channel. The pilot’s a trusted operative. Every leg of the onward route to Beijing is secure, although I guess most of the precautions are actually unnecessary now Joe isn’t going with you.’
‘Are you mad? I’ve no intention of accepting this. I want to speak to Kremer.’
‘Andreas won’t take your call, Clive, I guarantee. Here’s the thing.’ She isn’t smiling. But I get the distinct impression she’d like to. ‘We’re keeping Joe. And, since you contracted this whole operation to us, we’re in charge. Leave now and we’ll cover your tracks. Stay and your whole treasonable story, complete with the Norrback tape, the whereabouts of Forrester’s body and an edited version of events we’ll persuade Nicole to put her name to will be released to the media. I don’t think you’ll be able to weather that storm, do you? How long before Roger Lam does a deal to save his own skin? And how long after that before you become persona non grata in the intelligence community? Twenty-four hours? Or do you give yourself forty-eight?’
Hexter has no answer. He stands, supporting himself on the door-frame, breathing heavily. I can see his chest heaving. He’s not as young as he was. He doesn’t have the strength he once had. And, however quickly he thinks, I sense he can’t think his way out of this.
In the end, he just murmurs, ‘Bitch.’
‘It wasn’t my decision, Clive. But I have to live with it. So do you.’
Hexter pulls out his phone and stabs in some numbers. Marianne watches him with thin-lipped disdain. She glances in at me as Hexter holds the phone to his ear and, to my astonishment, she winks.
Then Hexter drops the phone back into his pocket. He hasn’t spoken. Now he sighs audibly.
‘Voicemail?’ asks Marianne.
He says nothing. His thunderous expression is an answer in itself.
‘We have to be moving if we’re to keep to the schedule. The plane’s waiting. We’ll take the van. You and Nicole will have to travel in the back, I’m afraid. This journey needs to be as discreet as possible.’
‘Where’s Joe?’
‘Inside.’ Marianne nods back towards the cottage. ‘And he’s staying there until I’ve seen you off. Which is why Nicole will be coming with us. We can’t have her and Joe cooking up some scheme together while I’m away, can we?’
One False Move Page 29