Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

He took out his mobile and called Zahir again.

An agonising pause followed. Then Zahir's terse voice asking: 'What is it?'

'Pull the plug.'

'What?'

'It's off. Cancelled. We've been shopped. Tell Rhadi, will you?'

'We can't do that.'

'Why?'

'He doesn't have a phone.'

'Christ.'

Harry switched off. Then he collected the flowers from the bedroom and replaced them on the table.

His old friend Rhadi was going to walk into the trap. Surely those bastards could stop him.

No, he thought. They'll save their own skins and to hell with everyone else. Thick as thieves, the saying went. Thick as thieves, my arse.

Think of a way out of this, Harry, he told himself. You're a con man, the very best. You can save Rhadi and yourself.

But it wouldn't be easy, up here on the top floor with armed men outside and every exit covered.

He made a rapid check of the rooms, looking for the ventilation shaft or the loft space he could use as an escape route. No such luck.

Determined not to be downed, he told himself he wasn't a goddamn escapologist anyway. He was a con artist. He'd do this his way. Sweet-talk his way to freedom.

He sat on the sofa, removed his gloves and gave the matter some thought.

Rhadi was going to arrive any minute with a Hatton Garden diamond merchant expecting to do business with a Kuwaiti prince. Or – far more likely – with a policeman posing as a Hatton Garden diamond merchant. The fuzz had obviously got advance information, so they would have planned this. They would send in one of their SO 19 people, armed and ready for combat. At a signal from him, police gunmen would burst in from all sides.

Harry let out a long, nervous breath. He'd only agreed to do this because it didn't involve violence.

Every instinct urged him to get out now and plead ignorance and hope for leniency. Only his brain told him there was a better way.

The buzzer on the door sounded.

He got up and looked through the little spyhole and saw Rhadi in the corridor with two men, one carrying a briefcase.

He opened the door a fraction and peered out. Rhadi saw him and looked horrified. It should have been Ibrahim or Zahir who opened the door. Harry should have been out of the hotel and on his way to the airport.

Harry said in the elegant accent he'd used when he was registering, 'A slight hitch in the arrangement, gentlemen. The Prince isn't here.'

'Not here?' Rhadi said in disbelief.

'We had an appointment for three o'clock,' the man with the briefcase said.

'Yes. His Royal Highness went for a massage and isn't back yet. You're welcome to come in and wait.'

'Who are you?' the man with the briefcase asked.

'Er – his secretary,' Harry said. 'Smith – Henry Smith.

He's only at the fitness centre. He shouldn't be long.'

Rhadi stared at him. This wasn't in the script.

'Won't you all come in?'

The man with the briefcase exchanged a glance with his bodyguard companion, who gave the matter some thought and then nodded. The bodyguard stepped ahead and did a rapid check of the other rooms.

'Care for a drink?' Harry offered.

They shook their heads.

'Why don't we all sit down?'

Harry's mind was racing. He was certain these were policemen, and he was pretty sure the briefcase contained a video camera. There was an eyelet at one end that could easily be a hidden lens, and it was pointing at him. He said to Rhadi, 'We'd better remind the Prince about this. He's due at the Embassy at four. Why don't you go to the fitness centre and speak to him?'

'Can't you phone?' the bodyguard said.

'You don't phone a member of the royal family,' Harry said with scorn. 'Not when he's in the same building.'

'I'll go and speak to him,' Rhadi said, catching on at last.

The police were as undecided as anyone. Their game plan was in disarray and they had no way of getting fresh instructions without blowing their cover.

Rhadi was allowed to leave. If he had his wits about him, he'd bluff his way past the waiting policemen and go straight to the fitness centre and make his escape from there by a back exit. He was off Harry's conscience.

Alone with the heavy mob, Harry marked time for a bit. He noticed how twitchy they appeared. It made him feel more confident. He crossed the room to the drinks cabinet and was amused to see the briefcase being turned to follow his movement.

'Whisky, anyone? No? I think I will.'

He poured himself a generous measure. The next few minutes were to be a formidable test of the con man's art.

'How long have you worked for the Prince?' the cop with the briefcase asked.

Harry smiled, took a deep breath and answered in a West Coast American accent that amazed everyone.

'Matter of fact, my friends, I don't work for him at all.

I'm on your side. I'm Roscoe Hammerstein, CIA.'

'Say that again.'

'CIA.' Harry put out his hand. 'Put it there, officer.'

The officer just gaped. His companion was frowning.

'Face it, guys,' Harry said, twisting the hand outwards and upwards in a gesture of candour. 'This is one gigantic cock-up. Don't know if my people are responsible, or yours. I spend fifteen months tracking these jerks, getting their confidence. Finally I make it. I'm on the team, and what happens? You guys pull the plug.'

'Are you saying you infiltrated the gang?'

'Saying? Why do you think I'm here? It sure isn't for my health.'

'You work for the CIA?'

'Didn't I say that?'

'What's the CIA's interest in these men?'

'Come on,' Harry said, almost convincing himself, it sounded so plausible. 'You know where they come from.'

'The Middle East.'

'Right on – and where do the world's most dangerous terrorists have their base?' He spread his hands. 'How do they finance their operations? From heists like this. A multi-million-dollar diamond job.'

'Can you prove any of this?'

'You mean do I have my ID with me? You think I'm crazy? There's no more certain way to guarantee a quick death.'

'You must have a control – someone we can call to verify this.'

'Sure,' he said smoothly. 'I can give you a number to call. But shall we decide what happens next? They could be back for a showdown any time now.'

'What was your plan, Mr Hammerstein?'

'To play along with them.'

'In robbery with violence?'

'I'm undercover. As an organisation we're not interested in how they raise their funds. We have a greater objective – the defeat of terrorism.'

'Are British security aware of your involvement?'

'I couldn't tell you. Listen, pal, I'm just an agent putting my life on the line. The top dogs decide who they tell.'

The other man asked exactly the question Harry had been waiting for. 'You say these are terrorists. What sort of terrorism are they involved in?'

'Bombings.'

He waited for it to sink in.

They weren't as impressed as he'd hoped. It seemed they still needed convincing that he was genuinely CIA. 'How did you know we were police?'

'It stands out a mile. There's the bug in the flowers. The marksmen outside. The camera you're pointing at me.' He stared into it and said, 'Hi, guys.'

'Do you think the other man sussed us?'

'Which other…? You mean Abdul, the guy who brought you up here? How would I know if he spotted you?'

'He looked nervous when you opened the door.'

'Maybe he smelt a rat.'

'He could abort the job.'

'Sure.' Harry was content to let them find their own rambling route to the point of panic.

'We'll know if they don't come back.'

'You bet.'

'They've been gone some time already. Which floor is the fitness centre?'

'Couldn't tell you.'

The man with the briefcase said, 'We could be sitting here like dummies while they make their escape.'