Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

She took her key card from her tracksuit pocket as she reached her door. “I know I’m right about this, Mike.”

“No, you’re not right about it. You’ve obviously latched on to what C.W. told us last night about Melissa Scoby being a bit of a flirt back home and now you’re reading all sorts of nonsense into it. I suggest you put your personal feelings to one side and get on with the job.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mike Graham,” she snapped angrily as she pushed the key card into the lock and shoved open the door.

He waited until the door had closed behind her then shook his head sadly to himself and made his way to his room.

“Can we talk, Jack?” Tillman asked once Scoby had seen off Graham and Sabrina.

“Sure,” Scoby replied. “What about?”

Tillman glanced at Melissa Scoby. She got the message and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“So talk,” Scoby said, extending a hand toward Tillman.

“You were dealt a friendly card this morning, Jack. Next time you might not be so lucky. I want to make sure that you get back home in one piece. And that means your security team will have to be a lot more vigilant than it was today.”

“Why don’t you just come out and say what you really mean, Ray?” Scoby said icily. “That if I die, you’ll suddenly be caught between the Colombians and the Mafia. Am I right?”

“That’s not true, Jack,” Tillman replied sharply. “I’ve always had your best interests at heart. You know that.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever taken you for an altruist, Ray,” Scoby said scornfully. “You’re in this for yourself just as much as I’m in it for myself. So let’s not kid each other, shall we? And if it’s any consolation to you, I’d also like to get back to New York in one piece.”

Tillman ran his fingers through his hair. “Just listen to us. We’re squabbling like a couple of school-kids over a date.”

“And if I remember correctly, I was always the one who won those arguments,” Scoby said with a satisfied smile.

“Yeah you did, didn’t you?” Tillman said between clenched teeth. “But then you’ve always had the looks and I’ve always had the brains.”

“Well, if you’re so brainy, why didn’t you sort out the security arrangements properly last night?” Scoby demanded. “You had every opportunity to do so.”-

“I’m not a security consultant,” Tillman shot back. “I assumed Whitlock knew what he was doing.”

“Then I suggest you check again. It’s for your protection just as much as it is for mine. Remember that. Because without me, there is no deal between either the Colombians or the Mafia. And that would leave you very isolated indeed, wouldn’t it?”

Tillman wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’ll talk to Whitlock when he gets back to the hotel.”

“You do that, Ray. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a bath before I go downstairs for breakfast.”

“What time are you having breakfast?”

Scoby patted Tillman on the arm. “Don’t worry, Ray, I’ll make sure I call you this time and let you know.”

Tillman bit back his anger and strode from the room.

Fiona and Mullen abandoned the stolen car near Claridges then took the tube back to the safe house in Finsbury Park. Once there she opened the wall safe, hidden behind a Van Gogh print in the lounge, and removed the envelope marked “B,” the plans for the hit on Scoby on the pleasure-boat trip that afternoon. She sat down and tore open the envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper and a single key on a plastic key ring. She put the key ring on the table beside her and unfolded the sheet of paper. She read through the details of the operation then used the remote control to switch on the television set in time to watch the early morning news.

Mullen appeared with two mugs of tea. He put them on the table beside her and gestured to the screen. “Anything about us?”

She shook her head then held out the sheet of paper to him. “Read this.”

Mullen sat down on the sofa and read through the text carefully. “Brady’s gone to a lot of trouble to set this one up for us.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she replied. “So we’ve got to make sure we don’t screw up again.”

Mullen took a sip of tea and smiled to himself. “We won’t. We’ve got him this time, Fiona. We’ve really got him.”

“I’ll believe it when he’s dead,” Fiona replied, then indicated the mug in his hand. “Drink up, we’ve still got a lot to do this morning.”

Whitlock phoned Graham and Sabrina once he returned to the hotel and told them to come to his room. Graham arrived first. Eastman and Paluzzi were already there.

“There’s food there if you’re hungry,” Whitlock said, gesturing to the trolley by the bed.

Graham helped himself to three rashers of bacon which he layered between two slices of toast. He then poured himself a coffee and sat down on the bed.

When Sabrina arrived Whitlock again indicated toward the trolley.

“I’ll just have a coffee, thanks,” she replied.

“Mike, pour Sabrina a coffee,” Whitlock said.

“I’ll get it myself,” she retorted brusquely, crossing to the trolley.

“OK, what’s going on?” Whitlock demanded.

“Nothing,” Sabrina replied innocently.

Whitlock’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked from Sabrina to Graham. “Mike?”

“I’ve got no beef with Sabrina,” Graham replied truthfully.

“You’d better sort out your differences smartish. Both of you. Because if you can’t work together, I’ll bring in a team that can. Do I make myself understood?”

Sabrina gave Whitlock her best winning smile as she sat down beside Paluzzi. “There’s no problem, C.W.”

“This is me you’re talking to, Sabrina. I know when the two of you are squabbling. I saw enough of it when I worked with you. Just see that it’s sorted out by this afternoon.” Whitlock held up his hand before she could say anything. “That’s all I have to say. Now, can we get down to the briefing? Keith’s just received word from Scotland Yard that the getaway car’s been found.”

Eastman nodded. “It was abandoned in Brook Street, about fifty yards from Claridges. The area’s been sealed off in case there were any booby trap devices left in the car. There’s a team of ATOs, a bomb-disposal unit, at the scene now.”

“How far’s Brook Street from where we lost the car?” Sabrina asked.

“A mile, if that,” Eastman replied. “The car was obviously abandoned in a hurry. The doors were unlocked and the keys were still in the ignition.”

“They must have known it would only be a matter of time before they were spotted from the air,” Paluzzi deduced.

“Did anyone see them fleeing the car?” Sabrina asked.

“The car was left outside a shop. The owner said they went up Binney Street in the direction of Oxford Street. Binney Street is also a couple of blocks away from Bond Street tube station. We’ve got uniformed officers there now with pictures of Mullen, hoping someone may have seen them entering the station. The tube seems to be the most logical escape route.”

“And they could have gone anywhere once they reached the tube station,” Paluzzi said.

“We can only keep asking, hoping to jog someone’s memory,” Eastman replied with a shrug. “We’re concentrating mostly on the London Underground staff.”

“Yeah, that red hair of hers was pretty distinctive,” Graham said thoughtfully. “Guys would notice something like that.”

“You saw her?” Eastman said in surprise.

“I caught a glimpse of her hair, that’s all.”

“And her face?” Eastman asked.

Graham shook his head. “It all happened too quickly.”