Adrian Magson - No Kiss For The Devil

‘I’m sure you would,’ she told him, her voice level. ‘But I didn’t come here for that.’

Behind her, the door opened and Koenig stepped up alongside her.

Al-Bashir didn’t take his eyes off Riley. ‘So why did you come?’

‘For the truth.’

‘Ah. The truth.’ Al-Bashir looked sour. ‘Not exactly what one looks for in your business, I think.’

Except when it suits you, Riley wanted to say. ‘Maybe. What would be the effects if such reports came out?’

He didn’t reply. Riley took it as answer enough, and wondered just how fragile this man’s position really was. She was beginning to see how clever his enemies might have been.

Koenig leaned forward and placed a folded sheet of paper in front of his boss. Al-Bashir opened it. Inside was a photo. He read the note, then swept it to the floor with a sharp flick of his hand. It was the first clear sign of irritation.

‘It seems you were followed here today,’ said Al-Bashir. He pushed the photo across the table so that Riley could see it. It appeared to have been taken from high up near the ceiling, and showed the area around the information desk downstairs. A man was standing nearby. He was short and heavily built, like a weight-lifter. ‘This man entered the building thirty seconds after you. He is waiting downstairs, pretending to study the floor plan, but not very convincingly. His name is Pechov.’

Riley tried to remain casual. Followed? By whom? ‘Pechov? I don’t know anyone called Pechov.’

‘Of course not. But he seems to know you. He was watching you all the way to the desk and only turned away when Mr Koenig went out to meet you.’ He nodded at the security man. ‘Mr Koenig is a very experienced security consultant. He can identify a bad tail at a hundred metres.’

Riley began to feel queasy. In spite of the brief flash of temper just now, this man was far too calm. And now she appeared to have collected a follower.

‘I still don’t know who he is,’ she insisted.

‘Then it’s just as well we do, isn’t it?’ Al-Bashir smiled triumphantly. He nodded at Koenig, who cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since she had met him downstairs.

‘Piotr Pechov is a former Russian military intelligence officer,’ he said calmly. ‘He’s employed by an organisation affiliated to a network of organised crime across Eastern Europe. The current head of that organisation is believed to be a man named Fedorov. But he uses many other names.’

‘I’ve never met him, either.’

‘You should count yourself lucky.’

‘There still remains the question, Miss Gavin,’ put in Al-Bashir, ‘of how you heard of this…plan to discredit me through my wife. You didn’t read about it on a London bus, did you? It was not something you picked up on YouTube.’ When Riley didn’t reply, he pulled a mock-sad face. ‘Oh, don’t tell me: you can’t reveal your sources.’

Riley said nothing. Either Al-Bashir was a master of control or he was superb at playing the part. But at least she now knew that he was aware of his enemies. And knowing that, she knew a lot more about the seriousness of the game he was engaged in.

‘Never mind.’ Al-Bashir stood up. He was barely five feet six but his lack of inches clearly didn’t bother him. ‘Thank you for your visit, Miss Gavin. I will take it from here.’

‘What about this Pechov person?’ she asked.

Al-Bashir raised his eyebrows. ‘What about him? He was following you, not me.’ His smile was cold. ‘Perhaps you should ask him when you go back downstairs.’ With that, he left the room.

Riley followed Koenig back along the deserted corridor to the lift. He said nothing on the way down, but as the lift door opened, he held a powerful arm in front of her, blocking her way.

‘Don’t stop to shop,’ he advised her. ‘And don’t come back. The boss was being polite. You won’t be welcome here.’

Riley felt her face flush. ‘I’m being banned? Why? That’s unfair!’

He gave a faint sneer. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Don’t worry — I’m sure the boss will cope with the drop in revenue.’

‘You know, don’t you?’ She decided to risk asking the question, although she doubted she would get an answer. ‘About his wife. What would happen if it came out. What would he do to prevent it?’

Koenig leaned closer, until she could see right into the depths of his eyes. He was so close, she could see individual hairs which he’d missed when shaving. ‘Drop it, Miss Gavin. Whatever you do, drop it.’ The menace in his voice was clear, and Riley felt a sudden desperation to get out of this place.

Before she could say anything else, he dropped his arm and allowed her to pass.

‘More worrying for you,’ he said, ‘is that you’ve been in contact with Fedorov. He may have used another name.’ He held up a hand to stop her speaking. ‘Frankly, I couldn’t care less. But you’re lucky it didn’t come to anything bad.’ He led the way over to the lobby door and held it open. ‘Stay well, Miss Gavin. It’s a dangerous world out there.’

Riley stepped through the door and walked out into the street.

The man they had called Pechov was nowhere to be seen.

It was mid-morning when Riley arrived back home and found Frank Palmer waiting for her on the front step. He was looking sombre.

She led the way inside and poured a glass of wine.

‘Don’t,’ she said, waving at his raised eyebrows. ‘I’ve had a trying morning.’ She told him about her visit to Al-Bashir’s office.

‘Sounds like a fun meeting,’ said Palmer, taking a seat. ‘What else?’

‘You mean, apart from being followed by a former Russian spook named Pechov.’

He sat up. ‘Who told you he was a former spook?’

‘Al-Bashir’s security chief, a man named Koenig. He reminded me of you. He advised me to stay away from Pechov. He also banned me from ever going back to the store.’ She scowled in irritation. ‘Bloody nerve of the man — I should sue him for discrimination.’

Palmer laughed and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah. I can see that must have added to your bad hair day.’

‘What about you?’ Riley ignored the dig. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door. Riley put down her glass and went to see who it was. She found DI Craig Pell on the landing.

‘How did you get past the front door?’ she queried.

He flashed his card. ‘The old chap downstairs let me in. He was trying to lure a large cat indoors with what looked like giant meatballs.’

‘That’s Mr Grobowski. And the community cat. Couldn’t you have rung first?’

‘I would have, but I thought you might not be in.’ His smile faltered at the way that sounded, and he pressed on. ‘Anyway, I was in the area.’ He shuffled his feet uncertainly. ‘And I wanted to say sorry about the other night. I might have been a bit… abrupt.’

‘Were you? I didn’t notice.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Palmer, who was giving her a snide smile, and felt her face flush. She didn’t mean to give Pell a hard time; it was just coming out that way. ‘What can I do for you, Detective Inspector?’

‘Um… right.’ He cleared his throat and said quickly, ‘Actually, I need to speak to Mr Palmer.’

Riley threw the door open and let him in.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir,’ said Pell, advancing into the room. ‘But I couldn’t get you on your office number. Chief Superintendent Weller suggested Miss Gavin, here, might know where you were.’ His voice had lost the tentative air and was all business.

Palmer digested that titbit in silence. For Weller to have suggested such a thing meant the senior policeman was in touch with Pell on a regular basis. He wondered if the lines had become slightly blurred between the murder investigation and Weller’s role in SOCA. Unless, he thought, noting the way Pell carried himself in front of Riley, there was another reason for him being here.