Tom Cain - Carver

‘Come in, gentlemen, come in!’ he insisted. ‘Have you been offered drinks? Some snacks, perhaps? We have excellent chocolate biscuits.’ He patted his paunch. ‘Too excellent, perhaps, for my good. Now what can I do for you?’

The officers explained that this was purely a routine check. Their dog panted happily, far more interested in the chocolate biscuits that its nose had detected the moment it walked in the conference room, than in any explosives. It hadn’t had the faintest whiff of those. A couple of minutes later, the officers and their dog were gone, escorted out by the hall staffer.

‘Well done,’ said Ahmad Razzaq to the semi-retired Bollywood actor playing the part of Ashok Bandekar. ‘You’re doing well.’

‘Maybe I should stay as Mr Bandekar,’ the actor replied. ‘I’ve spent so long talking about his business I actually think I could run it now.’

Razzaq laughed politely. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. Just another day, and then you’ll be done.’

He left the office and approached the receptionist at her desk. ‘You may show in the next candidate now.’

On the way out he could not resist making a detour to the room where the flight-cases were stored. At the very back of the room was a case that had a false bottom. In the secret compartment beneath it were two packages, covered and sealed in heavy-duty plastic wrap. The wrap had been washed in antiseptic bleach, as had the airtight boxes beneath it. The wrapping and washing of each layer had been done by different individuals, neither of whom had touched the contents of either box. And if the sniffer dog had ever smelled those contents, it would have been very interested indeed.

Ahmad Razzaq took the tube from the City to Waterloo, changing trains twice along the way. He was reasonably certain that he was not being followed, but he wanted to make absolutely sure. At Waterloo he caught a train to Sunningdale, losing himself among the commuters crammed into his carriage. From there he made his way to the modest house on the edge of Windsor Great Park where Malachi Zorn was staying. ‘It’s just me,’ he’d said when Razzaq had questioned why his boss had chosen such humble quarters. ‘Why the hell do I need anywhere bigger?’

The door was opened by a man with almost shoulder-length black hair and a heavy black moustache. ‘I go see if Mr Zorn he can see you,’ the man said in a strong Polish accent.

Razzaq kept a straight face as he came through the door and closed it behind him. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Very good!’ he said. ‘You’d have had me fooled if I hadn’t seen the look before.’

‘Yeah, it’s not bad at all,’ Zorn agreed. ‘And you got me a job at the catering company for tomorrow night?’

‘Well, I practically had to buy the company, but yes, you will be reporting for duty, complete with all the paperwork and proofs of identity you need. But still, I must ask you, are you sure this is a good idea?’

‘Yeah, I am, absolutely.’

‘But the risk of discovery is so great.’

‘Sure, but that just makes the challenge even better. Look, I have to know who’s turned up at the launch. It makes a big, big difference to my financial calculations. Plus, I’ve got to admit, I really want to see how close I can get to Drinkwater. I mean, serving booze to myself: how insane is that?’

‘It is, indeed, quite crazy,’ said Razzaq. ‘But if you must attend the reception, can I not persuade you at least to get well away once you leave?’

‘No. I want to see it happen. I want to see those bastards go down. I’ve spent years on this. God, all the time, the planning, the money… I admit, all right, it’s obsessed me. And I’m not going to sit on my arse a thousand miles away, watching it all play out on TV. I want to be there, in person, front row centre, for the start of the show.’

‘Well, you will do it without me. I am leaving in the morning. By the time the first shot is fired I will be safe and sound in Karachi.’

‘It’s OK,’ Zorn assured him. ‘I understand. And you’ve already contributed more than enough. But before you go, will you do one thing for me? Just run through the getaway one more time.’

‘Of course, that would be my pleasure.’

Razzaq pulled an iPad from his briefcase and called up a map of the City of London. ‘So, the key to the whole plan is the abandoned underground railway tunnel that runs under the Thames from here, at King William Street, to London Bridge Station. The entrance to the tunnel is in an office building called Regis House. It is a little over one kilometre from where you will be, right here. So…’

Zorn listened intently. He asked questions, all the time, never being afraid to show his ignorance or go over something more than once; that way, he made sure that nothing was missed. By the time Razzaq left the house, almost two hours later, Zorn was absolutely confident that he could take on the security establishment, just as he had taken in the financial one — and outwit them just as comprehensively.

Lambeth

Carver had spent the day at the dismal MI6 apartment. Officially, security for the Zorn Global reception was being handled by the proper authorities, and he would have no part in it. Unofficially, he was still tasked with the job of disposing of Zorn if the chance should ever arise. For all the efforts that were being made to keep tomorrow night’s partygoers safe, there remained a strong chance that Zorn would try something. Carver would therefore be there to stop him — terminally if at all possible. So he spent another day reading reports from all the teams carrying out background checks and site visits. He was kept updated on plans for barriers, ID-checks, body-scans and bag-searches. He was given the locations of three spotter-sniper teams who would be watching from high rooftops, ready to take out any hostile threat. And he was reassured that a combination of blocked roads and the City’s excellent security camera system would make it impossible for Zorn to create a repeat of the Rosconway attack.

He was just wondering where to go out to find a decent drink and a bite of supper when he got a call from Alix. ‘I left Azarov,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t take a another minute of it. So I just packed a bag and left. I’ll get someone to collect the rest of my things tomorrow.’

‘Do you need somewhere to stay the night?’ Carver asked. ‘I happen to have a magnificent luxury apartment handy.’

‘Hmm… well, that’s certainly very tempting,’ Alix replied. ‘Your apartment is very magnificent and so elegantly decorated… But I think I’m going to rough it at the Mandarin Oriental on Hyde Park. I’m sorry, Carver, but as sexy as you are, I’m a girl, and the thought of being two minutes from Harvey Nicks is even sexier.’

‘You mean you’d prefer a shop to me?’

‘Of course…’

Carver knew she was teasing, but two could play at that game. ‘Well, I’m a boy,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got to work. So if there’s nothing else you want to discuss, I’d better get back to it.’

‘Oh, don’t be cross. The only reason I want to go shopping is to get something really great for the party tomorrow. Please tell me you’re going…’

‘To the Zorn Global launch?’

‘What other party is there?’

‘Yes, I’m going. But I don’t think you should.’

Carver could feel the atmosphere change as Alix realized he meant it. ‘Why not? Don’t you want to be with me?’

‘I always want to be with you,’ he reassured her. ‘But maybe not tomorrow night. I’ll be busy and… Look, it’s just going to be difficult.’

Carver’s words were followed by a silence whose deep Siberian chill was enough to freeze the line. But Alix must have decided on a change of strategy, because she suddenly brightened. ‘Well, never mind about the party. We can sort it out tomorrow. Heston Blumenthal has a restaurant at my hotel. I booked a table for two tonight. Interested?’