‘I want to see him before we go.’
‘I don’t think that would serve any purpose.’
‘Well, I’m not leaving until I have seen him. How do I know you’re not covering up for letting him get away?’
‘We don’t make slip-ups like that, Clive.’
‘Then bring him out here.’
Marianne ponders his demand for a moment, then seems to decide she can’t be bothered to argue. ‘All right,’ she says resignedly.
She turns and signals to someone I can’t see inside the cottage. A moment later, Joe appears in the doorway with Scaddan at his shoulder. He looks rumpled and grey-faced. His mouth is fixed in a sullen line.
‘I want to speak to him,’ says Hexter.
‘Joe’s got nothing to contribute to this. It’s a Clearing House decision.’
‘I want to speak to him.’
‘Why?’
‘Bring him down here and you’ll find out. The sooner you do that, the sooner we’ll be done.’
Marianne gives a heavy, impatient sigh. She beckons to Scaddan. The meaning’s clear. Bring him here.
The pair leave the doorway and start walking towards us. I notice they’re handcuffed together, Joe’s right hand to Scaddan’s left. The short chain dangles between their wrists. Joe’s ever-present shoulder-bag is hanging at his side.
‘As you can see, Clive,’ says Marianne, ‘we’re not taking any risks.’
Hexter waits until Joe’s a few feet from him. Then he walks round to the back of his car, opens the rear door and lifts out a small suitcase. His going-away luggage, I assume. He’s evidently not taking much with him. A spy travels light, I suppose. ‘There’s something I want to show you, Joe,’ he says. ‘In case we never meet again.’
‘This is a waste of valuable time,’ says Marianne.
‘Humour me. It won’t take long. Come over here, Joe.’
Scaddan and Joe move to where Hexter’s standing with the case. Hexter slides the zip open and reaches in.
‘This’ll help you—’ Faster than I’d ever have expected him to move, Hexter pulls a gun out of the case and jams the short barrel against Joe’s temple. ‘Don’t move, Joe. Nor you, Scaddan. I’ll pull the trigger if you take one step away from me.’
Suddenly, there’s commotion. The goon on my left scrambles out of the car. The other one makes to follow him. But Marianne holds up a hand, first to them, then back towards the cottage, where there must be at least one other man.
‘OK, Clive,’ she says, raising both her hands as she looks at him. ‘Let’s not do anything stupid.’
Joe’s gone white. He can feel the hard steel of the barrel pressing into the side of his head. Scaddan has a gun wedged in the waistband of his jeans. He was reaching back for it, but stopped at a glance from Marianne. No one’s moving. There’s utter stillness.
‘If I can’t take Joe with me,’ says Hexter, coolly and calmly, ‘I don’t think it’s in my interests to leave him in your hands, Marianne. So, I’ll kill him, here and now, and his “valuable services” will be lost to your organization as well as to the Chinese government. Don’t think I won’t do it. I haven’t led a double life for forty years without being able to shoot a man in the head when I need to.’
‘This isn’t my fault, Mr Hexter,’ gasps Joe. ‘You can’t—’
‘Be quiet, Joe,’ snaps Hexter. ‘I’m talking about you, not to you. You have a choice to make, Marianne. Let me take Joe with me or I kill him some time in the next few seconds. Your choice.’
‘Clive—’
‘Just make the choice. Now.’
I see Marianne bite her lip. No doubt she’s as angry with herself for giving Hexter this chance as she is with him for taking it. Maybe she thought he was too old to pull such a stunt. If so, she was wrong.
‘Time’s up.’
‘All right, all right.’ Her hands are still raised. ‘You can take him.’
‘Thank you. Please tell Scaddan to transfer his cuff to my wrist.’
Hexter stretches his left hand towards Scaddan while keeping the gun pressed against Joe’s temple. Joe’s breathing through his mouth now, taking shallow gulps of air. Marianne nods to Scaddan, who unlocks the cuff on his wrist and locks it round Hexter’s. He hands Hexter the key.
‘Good,’ says Hexter. ‘You’ve got your passport on you, Joe?’
Joe nods.
‘Show it to me.’
Joe lifts the flap of his shoulder-bag and pulls out his passport.
‘All right. Put it back. Now, we’re all going to move very slowly. Miss Nevinson will get into the driving seat of my car.’ Me? Why is he involving me? ‘Joe and I will get into the rear seat. Scaddan will load my case in the back. Then the three of us will leave.’
Marianne frowns at him. ‘You’re taking Nicole?’
‘Someone has to drive us. I’m certainly not entrusting that to one of your people. I’ll direct her. I know the way. Don’t even think about following us. And when we get to the airfield, I expect the pilot to have been told to cooperate fully. Anything else … and Joe dies.’
‘You won’t kill him.’
‘If I can’t take him with me, Marianne, I arrive in China empty-handed. That’s not what I’ve led my handlers in the Ministry of State Security to expect. Disappointing them wouldn’t be a good start to my Chinese retirement. But they’d be even more disappointed if they knew I’d left him in the hands of a criminal cartel such as the Clearing House. So, you see, there are only two options. Either he goes with me. Or …’
I believe every word Hexter’s said. And I can see Marianne believes it too. ‘OK,’ she says quietly. ‘Have it your way.’
‘Thank you. I believe I will.’
We all follow Hexter’s orders. I get in the driver’s seat. Scaddan stows Hexter’s case in the back. Joe and Hexter get in behind me.
‘Let’s go,’ says Hexter. ‘Reverse out left into the lane.’
I start the car, engage reverse and immediately stall. ‘Sorry,’ I hear myself say in a panicky tone. ‘I’m not … used to this.’
‘Try again,’ says Hexter, sounding remarkably tolerant of my mistake. He glances out of the car towards Marianne and Scaddan and the other two as I start up again and begin edging back, then swing out into the lane.
I look back at the cottage. Four stationary figures stand watching us. I can hear Joe’s breathing. He can probably hear mine.
‘Drive on,’ says Hexter. ‘Not too fast. Not too slow. And no sudden braking. It’ll take us about twenty minutes to reach our destination. There’s no hurry. It’s going to be an uneventful drive.’
My hands are gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. I try to relax as I shift the stick and move forwards, accelerating steadily.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, then Joe says, in a cracked voice, ‘This is … crazy, Mr Hexter. Even if you get across the Channel, you can’t take me all the way to China … in handcuffs … with a gun … held to my head.’
‘You don’t understand, Joe. By the time we reach France, there’ll be no need for a gun or handcuffs. You’ll be going with me willingly.’
‘I … don’t think so.’
‘Yes, you will. Because by then you’ll have come to appreciate that the continuing good health of your mother – and your girlfriend – depends on your cooperation. I’m actually doing you a favour. You’ll be treated much better in China than you would be by the Clearing House.’
‘But … I don’t …’
‘Have a say in this, I’m afraid. It’s force majeure. Left at the T-junction ahead, Miss Nevinson.’
‘Are you sure you should be going to China, Hexter?’ My heart’s in my mouth as I find myself stumbling into an attempt to dent his composure. ‘What about the relatives of all those people you betrayed? Aren’t they likely to catch up with you over there?’
I see him eyeing me in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘
Do you ever think about them? All those people who died because of you. Do you actually know how many there have been?’ I remember the estimate Forrester came up with and add: ‘A hundred? Two hundred?’
‘I’ve dedicated my life to objectives of which you can have no conception. And I shall continue to do so. I can’t be judged by the likes of you. You’re not intellectually equipped to grasp why I’ve done what I’ve done.’
‘Who is?’
‘Joe, once he’s had a chance to see the … historical importance of my work.’
‘I’m never going to give you my … approval, Mr Hexter,’ says Joe. He sounds calmer now. And quietly determined.
‘Never’s a long time. You’ll see things differently once we’re in Beijing. Meanwhile, remember what happens to people who try to obstruct me. Were you there when they killed Travers?’
‘Yes.’ The word comes almost as a whisper.
‘If you want to avoid that happening to you – or Miss Nevinson – you’ll do as I say. And that’s all there is to it.’
Occasional, terse directions are all I get from Hexter for the rest of the journey. He lowers the gun from Joe’s head as we reach busier roads and holds it at waist level. But the handcuffs ensure Joe couldn’t run away from him even if we weren’t in the car. And I’m not much better off myself. I’ve been frightened for so long the fear’s become a leaden weight bearing down on me. It’s so heavy I can’t even think. Our destination. What does that mean for me? What is waiting for us at the end of this drive?
The airfield, when we reach it, looks at first sight deserted. Several hangars have been converted to light industrial use. But it’s Sunday, so there’s no one working in any of them. A sign advertises a local gliding club that doesn’t appear to exist any longer. The boundary fence is in poor repair. The runway looks overdue for resurfacing. The grass around it is pocked with weeds and thistles.
But there’s a plane, just one, standing at the end of the runway: red, single-engined, with the wings mounted above the fuselage.
‘Get as close as you can in the car,’ Hexter instructs me.
I obey, driving along a potholed service road towards the plane.
There’s no sign of the pilot, but, suddenly, the engine of the plane kicks into life and I realize there’s a figure at the controls. He’s seen us and he doesn’t mean to waste any time.
I stop where the service road ends in a turning-head. We’re about thirty metres from the plane. The noise of the engine is muffled inside the car. Hexter’s silence seems to make the air thicker.
Then he speaks. ‘Take the key out of the ignition, Miss Nevinson. Toss it out of the window.’
What does he think I might do? I can’t read his thoughts. I can’t even read my own. I do as I’m told. As I lower the window, the noise from the plane invades the space inside the car. Out goes the key.
‘Now,’ Hexter continues, ‘Joe and I are going to get out. Then you’re going to get out and fetch my case. And then we’re all going to walk over to the plane.’
‘I’ll go with you, Mr Hexter,’ says Joe. ‘As long as you don’t harm Nicole.’
‘How gallant. What are you afraid I might do to her?’
‘You know what.’
‘Individuals don’t matter, Joe. The great sweeping longevity of Chinese history has taught me that. And it’ll teach you that too, I promise.’
‘We leave Nicole here, alive and well. Or you’ll have to kill me.’
‘Don’t say that, Joe.’ I look at him over my shoulder. ‘Just do what you have to do to stay alive.’
He smiles faintly at me, as if reflecting on the irony of our situation. I went to Cornwall to root him out of his old life. And I succeeded. In ways neither of us could have imagined.
‘I only need Miss Nevinson to carry my bag, Joe,’ says Hexter gently, as if he’s asking little from either of us beyond a few small favours. ‘Don’t worry. She can wave us off.’
But Joe’s counting on nothing. ‘I meant what I said.’
‘Duly noted. Can we go now? I don’t want the pilot to become impatient.’
They clamber out of the car together and stand waiting while I get out and unload Hexter’s case. Hexter nods for me to go first. I set off towards the plane, dragging the case behind me, its wheels snagging in the grass we have to cross to reach the runway.
I glance back and see Joe and Hexter following me. Hexter’s walking in Joe’s shadow, judging, I guess, how to position himself so the pilot can’t see the gun in his hand. If the pilot’s looking. But maybe he already knows about the gun and has been told to do whatever Hexter says. There’s a whole swarm of maybes around us. More than I can count.
We reach the plane. The pilot’s clearly visible now, though I can’t see much of his face beneath the brim of a baseball cap. He looks expectantly in our direction.
‘Put the case inside,’ shouts Hexter from behind me. The noise of the engine and the vortex of air thrown off by the propellers make it difficult to hear. My hair’s blowing in my eyes as I reach for the handle to open the door.
In that instant my eyes catch a movement by the tailplane. A figure emerges suddenly into view. And I look. Straight at him.
For a frozen fraction of a second, I think he’s an hallucination. I can’t really be seeing who I’m seeing. But I am.
Forrester has a gun in his hand. He raises it as he takes a stride forward and shouts Hexter’s name. I look round and see Hexter raising his gun too, swinging it up and away from Joe.
There’s a sharp crack of sound, then another, the first from Forrester’s gun, the second from Hexter’s.
Hexter jolts back, staggers and slowly topples to the ground, pulling Joe with him.
Only one of the bullets fired has hit its target. Forrester marches past me and kicks Hexter’s gun further away from his hand. He stoops over his old enemy.
‘Where’s the key to the handcuffs?’ I hear him ask, though who he’s asking isn’t clear.
Joe fumbles in Hexter’s trouser pocket and pulls out the key. He tries to fit it into the lock, but his hands are shaking too much for him to manage it at first. Then it clicks in. A turn of the key and the handcuff falls open.
‘Move away, Joe,’ says Forrester.
Joe rises unsteadily to his feet and steps towards me. His gaze meets mine, a mirror of my own astonishment. But not my disbelief. Not quite. Somehow, I realize, Forrester’s appearance wasn’t as unexpected to him as it was incredible to me.
I don’t have time to think about what this realization means, though. Forrester is standing over Hexter, who’s gurgling and weakly flapping one hand at his throat, where I think the bullet hit him.
Forrester says something I don’t catch, something directed only at Hexter. I guess they’re looking at one another now. I guess their pasts are compressed into his words and the look that passes between them. Then Forrester points the gun at Hexter’s head and fires again. And Hexter stops moving altogether.
The door of the plane’s been pushed open. The pilot’s standing on the sill, staring out, wide-eyed in dismay.
Forrester unloads the magazine from his gun and throws it down next to Hexter’s body. Then he turns towards us.
‘How …’ I begin. It’s all happened so quickly I can’t adjust to the reality of it. I feel weak and shaky with shock.
‘Joe did a deal with Marianne,’ says Forrester, as if that’s a complete answer to everything.
‘I thought … I was going to have to go with Hexter,’ says Joe. ‘How did you get here ahead of us?’
‘I took a different route. The story of my life. As for Hexter, I should have done what I’ve just done a long time ago.’
‘I still don’t …’ I try to begin again.
‘Joe can explain. I can’t stay. Not after this.’ Forrester gestures towards Hexter’s body, from which blood is now seeping in a dark, spreading pool. ‘Get Norrback to hand over the tape. I’ll tell Colin to head back to London. With your evide
nce, his own researches and what the tape reveals, the powers that be will have to acknowledge Hexter’s treachery. As soon as I’ve gone, call the police. Tell them everything. Except the identity of our kidnappers. Leave the Clearing House out of it. Marianne and Scaddan and the other two will have left the cottage by now anyway, along with all trace they were ever there. Say nothing that could identify this plane or the pilot. That’s crucial if you want a clean exit from all this. And one for me too. OK?’
‘OK,’ says Joe. ‘But …’
‘There are no buts, son.’ Forrester smiles at Joe. ‘There’s only whatever you want to do with the rest of your life.’ Then he looks at me. ‘You’ll be all right now, Nicole. It’s over.’
‘Where are you going?’ I manage to ask.
‘France. To start with. Then … I’m not sure.’ He glances up at the pilot. ‘Are we still set?’
‘Yeah,’ comes the bellowed answer. ‘But we need to get the hell out of here right now.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
Forrester actually looks as if he’s going to shake Joe’s hand. But Joe gives him a big hug instead. There’s not much for me to do after that but hug him myself.
‘Do you really need to go, Duncan?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes.’ He nods. ‘I really do.’
‘Get in,’ shouts the pilot.
Forrester gives farewell glances to both of us then and climbs into the plane, pulling the door shut behind him.
The plane begins to taxi forward.
A few moments later, the engine roars as it accelerates down the runway.
Then lift-off. And Forrester is on his way, up into the clear blue sky.
Joe and I stand together, watching the plane bank as it climbs, the drone of the engine growing fainter with every passing second. Neither of us speaks.
Hexter’s dead. But Forrester’s alive. So’s Joe. And so am I.
And for the moment – this moment – nothing else seems to matter.
***
Joe used Hexter’s phone to establish exactly where we were, then he rang 999. He didn’t tell the operator much, except there’d been a fatal shooting and the gunman was no longer on the scene. He never even mentioned me, which I guessed was just in case I wanted to clear out before the police arrived.
One False Move Page 30