Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“I know Roger’s right.” Will rose to his full height and moved away from the map. He looked at Patrick. “Lana will call me to arrange a meeting. She knows it’s what I want, and I know it’s what Megiddo wants. We have to hold our nerve.”

Patrick sighed. “We don’t have time to hold our nerve. The other twenty-five men have entered the country.”

It was night now, and Will was alone. He stared at his cell phone. He desperately needed to hear it ring.

He wrapped his arms around his body. He wanted to believe his own words. He wanted to hold his nerve. But he felt helpless and hopeless.

He felt three bullets in his stomach, and he smelled New York grass. He saw Lana open the door of her tiny Parisian home and frown at him. He saw Ewan shake his head and fall down dead onto Bosnian snow. He saw a man who could have been Will or Megiddo holding a knife to Harry’s throat. He stood close but not close enough to a young Lana as she curled into a ball in a Balkan forest while surrounded by rapists, and he saw her look of fear and defiance. He looked over his father as the man he did not know stood on a lonely road near Bandar-e ’Abbas. He watched an old man no longer wish to be haunted by his past. And he witnessed a bomb rip through unknown lives somewhere in the United States.

Everything now seemed pointless, unreal, or inevitable.

He stood and walked across his hotel room and back again and did not know what to do. He heard noises. He looked at his phone. He stopped breathing. He stopped thinking.

Lana was calling him.

Will stepped out of his hotel shower and regarded his reflection in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. He saw scars, welts, bruising, puncture wounds, and burns. He stood for a moment and then reached for a towel. Then he turned and walked through to the bedroom. He looked at the clothes he had laid out over the bed, and for the third time this evening he checked every pocket and fold of every item. Once he was satisfied that there was nothing compromising within them, he dressed in an Ede amp; Ravenscroft white French-cuff shirt, silver cuff links, a Chester Barrie navy tie, a bespoke Huntsman blue suit, and a pair of Crockett amp; Jones black shoes. He examined himself again in a different mirror. With the exception of the darkened bullet groove on the side of his head, he was satisfied that he looked respectable.

He pulled on an overcoat and gloves and walked over to a side table where his wallet, cell phone, and passport waited. He removed cash from the wallet and stuffed it into a pocket, leaving everything else untouched. He glanced at a bedside clock, waited for a few moments, and then left the room.

He walked through the lobby of the five-star Mandarin Oriental hotel before exiting the place to face Washington, D.C. A doorman came to him and asked if he would like a limousine. Will rejected the offer and answered that despite the heavy snowfall over the city, he preferred to walk to his destination. The man politely told Will that he was crazy and then left him alone. Will pulled up his overcoat collar and walked.

He knew that Roger, Laith, Ben, and Julian would be close to him, but he didn’t bother looking for them. He knew that they would be talking to one another, but he had no communications equipment to hear them. He knew that they would be sufficiently armed to compensate for the fact that he carried no weapons.

He walked through the barely populated Seaton Park, past the park’s Smithsonian Institution and National Gallery of Art before heading north on Seventh Street N.W. He arrived at his destination.

He looked at the luxury Hotel Monaco and smiled. To anyone else the elegant, marbled, tastefully illuminated place would no doubt appear welcoming and inviting. But Will knew that the hotel held men who would try to kill him. He stood still for a moment and then walked through the building’s entrance. He approached the concierge, gave his name, and said that he was a guest of Miss Lana Beseisu.

Will rode up four floors until he reached the area containing the hotel’s Majestic Suites. He paused by the room he needed to enter. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. After he opened them, he pressed the bell.

Lana stood before him. She looked stunning and showed no signs of being hurt. But her eyes were wet, and her expression clearly showed that she was under strain. She stared down at the floor and muttered, “Nicholas. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Will wanted to step forward and hold her. But he knew he could not. He wanted to ask if she was okay. But he knew that the question had to remain unspoken.

Lana turned and walked back into the suite, which Will knew would contain two bedrooms and be of sufficient size to accommodate up to twenty guests. He followed her along the interior corridor and past a bathroom and a series of closets. He heard a noise behind him.

The blow struck him on the side of his neck and sent him straight down to the floor. Pain shot along his back and arms before settling on the wounds he’d received during the preceding few weeks. He shut his eyes and groaned loudly. He felt someone bind his wrists in plastic handcuffs. He felt arms lift him partially to his feet and walk him quickly forward. He opened his eyes and saw men and the weeping Lana. He heard voices, one of which was shouting, but not at him. He watched as if from outside himself as he was pushed onto a dining chair set in the middle of the lounge area. He looked around quickly and saw four men. One of them walked up to him and punched him on the side of the face. The impact caused both his body and the chair to fall backward. Men moved him upright and then proceeded to wind a rope around his torso so that he was tied tightly to the chair. They checked his pockets and other places but found only the cash he was carrying. They moved away from him. The man who was shouting was looking at Lana. He walked up to her and ushered her into an adjacent bedroom. When he returned, he pulled out a hunting knife and approached Will. He turned and grabbed another dining chair, which he positioned in front of Will before sitting down to face him.

The man looked to be in his midfifties. His black hair was meticulously creamed and styled in place, he was clean-shaven, and he wore an expensive-looking jacket and slacks. He smelled of tobacco and Chanel men’s cologne.

The man’s face had no expression. Will calculated that he spent one minute just looking at his captive. When the man spoke, his voice sounded polished and barely accented. “You can live if you deal with this situation in an intelligent way.”

Will looked at the knife, then back at its wielder. “What is this situation?”

The man smiled a little. “I would have thought a member of MI6 would be able to make a very rapid assessment of what has happened here.”

Will exhaled loudly. “Well, it’s obvious that I’ve been betrayed.”

“Why do you think that has happened?”

Will looked around. The other three men were looking at him but remained mute. Will recognized two of them as members of the Iranian surveillance team. They had silenced pistols resting on their laps. Will looked back at the man who was clearly their superior. “Go to hell.”

The man moved his knife into his other hand. “Misplaced defiance has no purpose here.” He leaned forward and stroked the tip of the knife along Will’s face. “I understand that you are looking for a man.”

Will smiled. “Are you going to help me with my task?”

The man pressed the knife harder so that it cut a path into Will’s face. He moved back to watch a thin thread of blood bloom. “Do you think I am the man you seek?”

“I don’t know.”