Quintin Jardine - For The Death Of Me

The terminal building at Trenton Mercer Airport is very small, they told me, but they did have a VIP room which they’d be happy to prepare for the private use of my party and me prior to our flight.

The charter company wanted passenger names in advance: a TSA requirement, they said. I gave them mine, Prim’s and Benny’s, and they didn’t quibble over the fourth member of the group, Doe, Jane, Ms.

When all that was done, I left Mike guarding our charge and took my ex-wife for a walk, a tour of the State Capitol building, an impressive pile, which is, they say, the second oldest in the US. Neither of us was really interested, though: there were things, I sensed, that we wanted, no, needed, to say to each other, but they’d take more time than we had available.

That’s the trouble with the really important things, and time. Too often, there isn’t enough of it; too often, it’s the wrong moment. That, of course, just ain’t true. For matters important enough, there’s always enough time; there’s never a wrong moment.

But, as it was, we whiled away a couple of hours, looking at old stones in silence, until it was time to gather the team and get the show on the road.

I drove us the short distance to the airport in the rental car. I’d arranged for Hertz to collect it. It was five forty when we arrived, were greeted by the airport manager and shown into our private room. As he left us, Madeleine stepped up to me. She kissed my cheek, and slipped a small square envelope into the breast pocket of my shirt. ‘Just a little card,’ she whispered, ‘to say sorry and thanks for everything.’

We sat on our hands for the next twenty minutes. I’d set the alarm on my watch for six exactly. Everybody jumped when it went off.

Two more minutes went by, before we heard a soft knock on the door. I went across, opened it, and almost cried out in my surprise. Standing there in a silk dress with a slit up the side, a bag over her shoulder and her letter of introduction clutched in her hand was Marie Lin. ‘What the hell?’ I gasped.

‘My father sent me,’ she said. ‘He trusts nobody in the world more than me.’

When I stood aside to allow her into the room, I could see the flash of astonishment in Mike’s eyes, but he controlled it well, and didn’t let it transfer to his mouth.

She insisted that I read her letter of introduction, and I went along with it. The notepaper bore the embossed crest of the Government of Singapore.

Dear Oz [it began],

Allow me to introduce formally my daughter, Tan May Wee, who is my emissary in this matter. I apologise if this has come as a surprise to you, but I ask you to accept that when one’s father is head of the security police it is wise to pursue one’s profession under an assumed name.

Marie is indeed an aspiring actress, and she was very honoured to make your acquaintance in Singapore, although she was unaware, until I told her of the incident in the Next Page, that you had made mine.

She is a good, brave woman, and you may trust her to complete our mission properly and to return the material safely to me, so that use may be made of it. Yours truly Jimmy

When I’d finished, I passed it to Mike; he read it in turn, unsmiling, then put it back into its envelope and handed it back to me.

‘Okay,’ I said to Maddy. ‘This is Marie, the agent of the Singapore security service, and she’s here to take charge of your pictures. So, hand them over and let’s get the hell out of here.’

She looked at me, almost gratefully, then reached into her bag, removed an HP personal organiser, a state-of-the-art model, and handed it over. ‘Go to “Home” then “Pictures” if you want to see them,’ she offered.

‘My father said I must not look at them,’ Marie told her, ‘for my own safety.’ She switched off the palmtop and removed the memory card from its slot. ‘They are stored here?’ Maddy nodded. ‘Then that will be sufficient.’ She handed back the wee silver computer.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, come on. Let’s board the jet.’

A second door in the VIP room led directly on to the tarmac. I opened it, and found the co-pilot waiting outside. ‘If you’ll come with me,’ he said. He was a big, beefy lad with a blond crew-cut. His ID said he was called Scott, and he looked as if, at some point in his college career, he could have been a pretty effective nose tackle.

Mike took each of the girls by the elbow and steered them after the officer towards the Gulfstream, which was parked only thirty yards away. They wheeled their luggage and his was slung over his shoulder. I waited in the doorway with Marie. ‘I want to thank you for this,’ I told her, ‘and your father. You’ve saved a woman’s life here.’

She looked at me as she had as she disappeared down the escalator at the Clarke Quay MRT station, the last time I’d seen her. ‘Then thank me,’ she whispered. ‘Stay behind with me for a while. I know you well enough now.’

I felt a tiny shudder run through me. I almost turned and walked away, as I bloody well should have done. Instead I looked at her, or maybe the devil in me looked at her. Again, I almost turned away, and then I heard inside my head a voice, crystal clear, a voice I’d known all my life: Jan’s voice, my sister’s voice, my soul-mate’s voice.

‘You can trust this girl,’ it said. ‘You can trust her with your life.’

I turned and looked towards the plane. The other three were on board, and Scott was standing at the top of the steps. ‘Go on without me,’ I shouted to him. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll drive the hire car back to New York.’

‘Very good, sir,’ he called back, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

A few seconds later the plane began its taxi. As it pulled away, the last thing I saw was Prim’s face, framed in a small round window. I could see mischief in her eyes; I could almost hear her chuckle.

I drove us back to the hotel and checked in again. If the desk clerk was surprised, he didn’t say so, even when I checked in under a different false name than the one I’d used before. I suppose that in Trenton, New Jersey, they see many things.

Marie began to undress as soon as I closed the door. I watched her as she slipped her shoulders out of the silk dress and let it fall to the floor. I watched her as she slipped off her thong with her thumbs.

And then it was my turn.

I made love to her slowly, very gently, taking my time, as I sensed she wanted. She winced a little when I entered her, and I realised she was a virgin, only the second I’d ever been with. I held nothing back; I gave her the best I could. Maybe here I should lie to you, and say that it was magical: yes, maybe I should, but it wasn’t. It was just all right, for me at least, although she wouldn’t have known if it had been cannon-fire, she’d nothing to set me against.

I told her it had been wonderful, though; well, you do, don’t you, if there’s anything of the gentleman about you? After a while, we did it again, and this time, Marie contributed more, although I could tell that she was making it up as she went along, trying to please me as best she could.

About ten minutes before ten, she got up. ‘I have to go downstairs,’ she said, as she headed for the bathroom. ‘I need things for morning. There’s a pharmacy across the street.’

‘I’ll go,’ I volunteered. ‘You stay here.’

She smiled at me. ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t shop for what woman needs.’

I watched her again, as she dressed this time. It didn’t take long. When she was ready she picked up her bag and stepped through the door, closing it behind her.