Honour Among Thieves Part 3

'Not today!' he screamed, banging the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. He tried a couple more times and then jumped out and ran back to the house. He didn't take his thumb off the bell until Joni opened the door with a questioning look on her face.

'My battery's flat. I need your car, quickly, quickly!'

'It's being serviced. You've been telling me for weeks to have it attended to.' T. Hamilton McKenzie didn't wait to offer an opinion. He turned his back on his wife, ran down the drive into the road and began searching the tree-lined avenue for the familiar yellow colour with a sign reading 444 4444 attached to the roof. But he realised there was a hundred to one chance of finding a cab driving around looking for a fare that early in the morning. All he could see was a bus heading towards him. He knew the stop was a hundred yards away, so he began running in the same direction as the bus.

Although he was still a good twenty or thirty yards short of the stop when it pa.s.sed him, the bus pulled in and waited.

McKenzie climbed up the steps, panting. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Does this bus go to Olentangy River Road?'

'Gets real close, man.'

'Then let's get going,' said T. Hamilton McKenzie. He checked his watch. It was 8.17 a.m. With a bit of luck he might still make the meeting on time. He began to look for a seat.

'That'll be a dollar,' said the driver, staring at his retreating back.

T. Hamilton McKenzie rummaged in his Sunday suit.'Oh, my G.o.d,' he said. 'I've left...'

'Don't try that one, man,' said the driver. 'No cash, no dash.'

McKenzie turned to face him once again. 'You don't understand, I have an important appointment. A matter of life and death.'

'So is keeping my job, man. I gotta stick by the book. If you can't pay, you've gotta debus 'cause that's what the regulations say.'

'But -' spluttered McKenzie.

'I'll give you a dollar for that watch,' said a young man seated in the second row who'd been enjoying the confrontation.

T. Hamilton McKenzie looked at the gold Rolex that had been presented to him for twenty-five years' service to the Ohio State University Hospital. He whipped it off his wrist and handed it over to the young man.

'It must be a matter of life and death,' said the young man as he exchanged the prize for a dollar. He slipped the watch onto his wrist. T. Hamilton McKenzie handed the dollar on to the driver.

'You didn't strike a good bargain there, man,' he said, shaking his head. 'You could have had a week in a stretch limo for a Rolex.'

'Come on, let's get going!' shouted McKenzie.

'It's not me who's been holding us up, man,' said the driver as he moved slowly away from the kerb.

T. Hamilton McKenzie sat in the front seat wis.h.i.+ng it were he who was driving. He looked at his watch. It wasn't there.

He turned round and asked the youth, 'What's the time?' The young man looked proudly at his new acquisition, which he hadn't taken his eyes off for one moment.

'Twenty-six minutes after eight and twenty seconds.'

McKenzie stared out of the window, willing the bus to go faster. It stopped seven times to drop and pick up pa.s.sengers before they finally reached the corner of Independence, by which time the driver feared the watchless man was about to have a heart attack. As T. Hamilton McKenzie jumped off the steps of the bus, he heard the clock on the town hall strike 8.45 a.m.

'Oh G.o.d, let them still be there,' he said as he ran towards the Olentangy Inn, hoping no one would recognise him. He stopped running only when he had reached the path that led up to reception. He tried to compose himself, awarethat he was badly out of breath and sweating from head to toe.

He pushed through the swing door of the coffee shop and peered around the room, having no idea who or what he was looking for. He imagined that everyone was staring back at him.

The coffee shop had about sixty cafe tables in twos and fours, and he would have guessed it was about half full. Two of the corner tables were already taken, so McKenzie headed to the one that gave him the best view of the door.

He sat and waited, praying that they hadn't given up on him.

It was when Hannah arrived back at the crossing on the corner of Thurloe Place that she first had the feeling someone was following her. By the time she had reached the pavement on the South Kensington side, she was convinced of it.

A tall man, young, evidently not very experienced at shadowing, bobbed rather obviously in and out of doorways.

Perhaps he thought she wasn't the type who would ever be suspicious. Hannah had about a quarter of a mile in which to plan her next move. By the time the Norfolk came in sight, she knew exactly what needed to be done. If she could get into the building well ahead of him, she estimated she only needed about thirty, perhaps forty-five, seconds at most, unless the porters were both fully occupied. She paused at the front window of a chemist's shop and stared at the array of beauty products that filled the shelves. She turned to look towards the lipsticks in the corner and saw his reflection in the brightly polished window. He was standing by a newspaper stand at the entrance to South Kensington tube station. He picked up a copy of the Daily Mail - amateur, she thought -which gave her the chance to cross the road before he could collect his change. She had reached the front door of the hotel by the time he had pa.s.sed the chemist. Hannah didn't run up the steps, as it would have acknowledged his existence, but mistakenly pushed the revolving door so sharply that she sent an unsuspecting old lady tumbling onto the pavement much sooner than she'd intended.

The two porters were chatting as she shot across the lobby. The red ticket and another pound were already in her hand before she reached the porters' desk. Hannah slammed the coin down on the counter, which immediately attracted theolder man's attention. When he spotted the pound, he quickly took the ticket, retrieved Hannah's little case and returned it to her just as her pursuer was coming through the revolving doors. She headed in the direction of the staircase at the end of the corridor, clutching the little case close to her stomach so the man following her would be unaware that she was carrying anything. When she reached the second step of the staircase she did run, as there was no one else in sight. Once down the staircase she bolted across the corridor and into the comparative safety of the ladies' room.

This time she was not alone. A middle-aged woman was leaning over a washbasin to check her lipstick. She didn't give Hannah so much as a glance when she disappeared into one of the cubicles. Hannah sat on the top of the lavatory, her knees tucked under her chin as she waited for the woman to finish her handiwork. It was two or three minutes before she finally left. Once Hannah heard the door close, she lowered her feet onto the cold marble floor, opened the battered suitcase to check everything was there and, satisfied that it was, changed back into her T-s.h.i.+rt, baggy sweater and jeans as quickly as she could.

She'd just managed to get her sneakers on when the door opened again, and she watched the lower part of two stockinged legs cross the floor and enter the cubicle next to hers. Hannah shot out, and b.u.t.toned up her jeans, before checking herself quickly in the mirror. She ruffled her hair a little and then began checking round the room. There was a large receptacle in the corner for depositing dirty towels.

Hannah removed the plastic lid, took out all the towels that were there and forced her little case to the bottom, then quickly covered it with the towels and put the lid back in place. She tried to forget she had carried the bag from Leningrad to Tel Aviv to London - halfway across the world.

She cursed in her native tongue before checking her hair in the mirror again. Then she strolled out of the ladies' room, attempting to appear calm, even casual.

The first thing Hannah saw when she stepped into the corridor was the young man sitting at the far end reading the Daily Mail. With luck, he wouldn't even give her a second thought. She had reached the bottom of the stairs when he glanced up. Rather good-looking, she thought, staring back at him for a second too long. She turned and began to climb thestaircase. She was away; she'd made it.

'Excuse me, miss,' said a voice from behind her. Don't panic, don't run, act normally. She turned and smiled. He smiled back, almost flirting with her, and then blushed.

'Did you by any chance see an Arab lady when you were in the rest room?'

'Yes, I did,' replied Hannah. 'But why do you ask?' she demanded. Always put the enemy on the defensive whenever possible was the standard rule.

'Oh, it's not important. Sorry to have bothered you,' he said, and disappeared back around the corner.

Hannah climbed the stairs, returned to the lobby and headed straight for the revolving doors.

Pity, she thought once she was back on the pavement. He looked rather s.e.xy. She wondered how long he would sit there, who he was working for, and to whom he would eventually be reporting.

Hannah began to retrace her steps home, regretting that she couldn't drop into Dino's for a quick spaghetti bolognese and then take in Frank Marshall's latest film, which was showing at the Cannon. There were still times when she yearned to be just a young woman in London. And then she thought of her mother, her brother, her sister, and once again told herself all of that would have to wait.

She sat alone for the first part of the tube journey, and was beginning to believe that if they sent her to Baghdad - as long as no one wanted to go to bed with her - she could surely now pa.s.s herself off as an Iraqi.

When the train pulled in to Green Park two youths hopped on. Hannah ignored them. But as the doors clamped shut she became aware that there was no one else in the carriage.

After a few moments, one of them sauntered over towards her and grinned vacantly. He was dressed in a black bomber jacket with the collar covered in studs, and his jeans were so tight they made him look like a ballet dancer. His spiky black hair stood up so straight that it looked as if he had just received convulsive shock therapy. Hannah thought he was probably in his early twenties. She glanced down at his feet to see that he was wearing heavy-duty army boots. Although he was a little overweight, she suspected from his movements that he was quite fit. His friend stood a few paces away, leaning against the railing by the door.

'So what do you say to my mate's suggestion of a quick strip?' he asked, removing a flick-knife from his pocket.'Get lost,' Hannah replied evenly.

'Oh, a member of the upper cla.s.ses, eh?' he said, offering the same vacant grin. 'Fancy a gang bang, do we?'

'Fancy a thick lip, do you?' she countered.

'Don't get clever with me, lady,' he said as the train pulled in to Piccadilly Circus.

His friend stood in the doorway so that anyone who might have considered entering the end carriage thought better of it.

Never seek attention, never cause a scene: the accepted rule if you work for any branch of the secret service, especially when you're stationed abroad. Only break the rules in extreme circ.u.mstances.

'My friend Marv fancies you. Did you know that, Sloane?'

Hannah smiled at him as she began planning the route she would have to take out of the carriage once the train pulled in to the next station.

'Quite like you myself,' he said. 'But I prefer black birds. It's their big b.u.ms, you know. They turn me on.'

'Then you'll like your friend,' said Hannah, regretting her words the moment she had said them. Never provoke.

She heard the click as a long thin blade shot out and flashed in the brightly lit carriage.

'Now there are two ways we can go about this, Sloane - quietly or noisily. It's your choice. But if you don't feel like co-operating, I might have to make a few etchings in that pretty face of yours.' The youth by the door began laughing. Hannah rose and faced her tormentor. She paused before slowly undoing the top b.u.t.ton of her jeans.

'She's all yours, Marv,' said the young man as he turned to face his friend. He never saw the foot fly through the air as Hannah swivelled 180 degrees. The knife went flying out of his hand and shot across the floor to the far end of the carriage. A flat arm came down across his neck and he slumped to the ground in a heap, looking like a sack of potatoes. She stepped over his body and headed towards Marv.

'No, no, miss. Not me. Owen's always been the troublemaker. I wouldn't have done nothin', not me, nothin'.'

'Take off your jeans, Marvin.'

'What?'

She straightened the fingers of her right hand.

'Anything you say, miss.' Marvin quickly undid his zip and pulled off his jeans to reveal a grubby pair of navy Y-fronts and a tattoo on his thigh that read 'Mum'.'I do hope your mother doesn't have to see you like that too often, Marvin,' Hannah said as she picked up his jeans.

'Now the pants.'

'What?'

'You heard me, Marvin.'

Marvin slowly pulled off his Y-fronts.

'How disappointing,' said Hannah as the train pulled in to Leicester Square.

As the doors squelched closed behind her Hannah thought she heard, 'You filthy b.i.t.c.h, I'll...'

As she walked down the pa.s.sage to the Northern line, Hannah couldn't find a litter bin in which to dispose of Marvin's grubby clothing. They had all been removed some time before after a sudden outbreak of IRA bombs in the London Underground. She had to carry the jeans and pants all the way to Chalk Farm, where she finally deposited them in a skip on the corner of Adelaide Road, then strolled quietly back home.

As she opened the front door, a cheery voice called from the kitchen, 'Lunch is on the table, my dear.' Mrs Rubin walked through to join Hannah and declared, 'I've had the most fascinating morning. You wouldn't believe what happened to me at Sainsbury's.'

'What will it be, honey?' asked a waitress who wore a red skirt and a black ap.r.o.n and held a pad in her hand.

'Just black coffee, please,' said T. Hamilton McKenzie.

'Coming right up,' she said cheerfully.

He was about to check the time when he was reminded once again that his watch was on the wrist of a young man who was now probably miles away. McKenzie looked up at the clock above the counter. Eight fifty-six. He began to check everyone as they came through the door.

A tall, well-dressed man was the first to walk in, and as he scanned the room McKenzie became quite hopeful and willed him to look in his direction. But the man walked towards the counter and took a seat on a stool, with his back to the restaurant. The waitress returned and poured the nervous doctor a steaming black coffee.

Next to enter the room was a young woman, carrying a shopping bag with a long rope handle. She was followed a moment later by another smartly-dressed man who also searched the room with his eyes. Once again, T. Hamilton McKenzie's hopes were raised, only to be dashed when a smile of recognition flickered across the man's face. He too headed for the counter and took the stool next to the man who hadcome in a few moments earlier.

The girl with the shopping bag slipped into the place opposite him. 'That seat's taken,' said T. Hamilton McKenzie, his voice rising with every word.

'I know, Dr McKenzie,' said the girl. 'It's been taken by me.'

T. Hamilton McKenzie began to perspire.

'Coffee, honey?' asked the waitress who appeared by their side.

'Yes, black,' was all she said, not glancing up.

McKenzie looked at the young woman more carefully. She must have been around thirty - still at an age when she didn't require his professional services. From her accent, she was undoubtedly a native of New York, though with her dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin her family must surely have emigrated from southern Europe. She was slight, almost frail, and her neatly-patterned Laura Ashley dress of autumn browns, which could have been purchased in any one of a thousand stores across the country, made certain she would be forgettable in any crowd. She didn't touch the coffee that was placed in front of her.

McKenzie decided to go on the attack. 'I want to know how Sally is.'

'She's fine, just fine,' said the woman calmly. She reached down and with a gloved hand removed a single sheet of paper from her bag. She pa.s.sed it over to him. He unfolded the anonymous-looking sheet: It was her writing, no question of that, but she would never have signed herself 'Sal'. The coded message only made him more anxious.

The woman leaned across and s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter back.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. You won't get away with it,' he said, staring across at her.

'Calm down, Dr McKenzie. No amount of threats or rhetoric is going to influence us. It's not the first time we've carried out this sort of operation. So, if you hope to see your daughter again. ..'

'What do you expect me to do?'

The waitress returned to the table with a fresh pot of coffee, but when she saw that neither party had taken a sip she said, 'Coffee's getting cold, folks,' and moved on.

'I've only got about $200,000 to my name. You must have made some mistake.'

'It's not your money we're after, Dr McKenzie.''Then what do you want? I'll do anything to get my daughter back safely.'

'The company I represent specialises in gathering skills, and one of our clients is in need of your particular expertise.'

'But you could have called and made an appointment like anyone else,' he said in disbelief.

'Not for what we have in mind, I suspect. And, in any case, we have a time problem, and we felt Sally might help us get to the front of the queue.'

'I don't understand.'

'That's why I'm here,' said the woman. Twenty minutes later, when both cups of coffee were stone cold, T. Hamilton McKenzie understood exactly what was expected of him. He was silent for some time before he said, 'I'm not sure if I can do it. To begin with, it's professionally unethical. And do you realise just how hard -'

The woman leaned down and removed something else from her bag. She tossed a small gold earring over to his side of the table. 'Perhaps this will make it a little easier for you.'

T. Hamilton McKenzie picked up his daughter's earring.