Stella Rimington: Dead Line

‘Young Felix is playing games with us,’ McCash announced in his soft Highland voice. ‘But we’ll soon have him back. All our birds are electronically tagged, so we can find them when they go AWOL.’

Liz could see that McCash was making the best of an embarrassing situation by pretending that nothing had gone wrong. But something had gone wrong, she knew, only she couldn’t make out what. Alert as she was for something unexpected to happen, the disappearance of the bird made her uneasy. Why had it flown so swiftly off into the wood? What was it doing there? Could Jana have tampered with it in some way during her afternoon stroll? Liz knew that the homing device couldn’t call the falcon – it could merely locate it – but she would only relax when Felix returned.

As McCash’s assistant moved closer to the trees, Liz could hear a distinct beep-beep-beep from his tracker. She had to act. ‘I want a man ready to shoot down that bird,’ she said to Hamish Alexander.

He was amazed. ‘Shoot it down?’ he said. ‘Whatever for? It’s only a bird.’

‘Yes, but it may be doing something dangerous. We can’t take the risk,’ she said without hesitation. She looked around – Jamieson was nowhere to be seen, doubtless having his photo taken with the American President, and she saw no other senior officer in the immediate vicinity. There was no time to worry about her authority to order shots to be fired.

Alexander hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. He beckoned to one of the armed policemen standing near the door of the school.

McCash’s assistant had reached the wood now and he went in among the trees with his hand held high, holding the tracking device. Its beeps were louder; the bird must be very close. What was it doing there? Liz wondered again tensely.

Suddenly there was a rustling and the sound of beating wings and the assistant ducked as the falcon came shooting out of the copse, flying just above his head and aiming straight for the delegations. Then it turned, going straight up like an arrow. As it reached the top of its climb and slowed, Liz could see something metallic dangling from its beak.

The armed officer was standing beside Hamish Alexander waiting for orders. Liz said sharply, ‘Get ready.’

The bird sank slowly on the faintest hint of thermal and moved in a wide descending curve towards them. It passed over the heads of the spectators, all of whom were looking up into the sky, staring at it in fascination. Now the hawk was heading directly towards the Syrian President. The policeman gripped his weapon tightly and swung its barrel up, pointing at the sky. Liz was on the brink of ordering him to fire when the bird suddenly cut sharply back on its own trail, flying at what looked an impossible angle, losing speed until it was directly above McCash. Then out of its beak it dropped the silver package, which tumbled down through the air in a blur until it landed with a soft plop on the grass.

Before anyone could move, McCash bent down casually and picked up the shiny package. He held it aloft and said drily, ‘Felix has still to learn that this is a no-smoking zone.’ In his hand was an empty packet of cigarettes, its silver packaging the flash that had glinted in the sun. The audience laughed appreciatively.

Liz, who had been unconsciously holding her breath, let it out in a deep sigh. Her legs were shaking with tension. ‘That was a close one,’ said Dave. ‘I thought for a minute you were going to shoot the President. But well done anyway.’

After this false alarm, Felix and the two other birds brought out to join him all behaved in an exemplary fashion. The Syrian President flew Felix briefly, looking uncomfortable, then the Israeli President had a go; finally, McCash showed off a falcon that snatched food on the wing from the handler’s bare fingers.

As the display finished, Liz left Dave to retrieve the buggy and walked briskly towards the small lake at the end of the grounds, where the gun dog demonstration would take place. She was tempted to skip it and head straight for the clubhouse, to make sure nothing had turned up in the distant hills, and that the extra security was in place for the dinner.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Hannah’s voice excitedly saying, ‘Liz, I’ve heard from him.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He didn’t ring. It was a text. I can’t make any sense of it. I’ve forwarded it to you just now.’

Without breaking her stride, Liz looked intently at her mobile’s tiny screen. The message was short: Tell your British friends they should be looking where Kings play – and beyond. The hills are alive…

Balls, thought Liz angrily. He’s late. He doesn’t know we’ve caught the Spanish boy. He’s trying to distract us, as he has been all along. More than ever, Liz was determined not to play Kollek’s game. For far too long she’d allowed this rogue agent to run the operation. Rapidly she got on to Peggy to have Kollek’s call traced. But it would take too long. Something was going to happen soon. She was sure of it now. Why else would Kollek have sent the text to Hannah? But what was going to happen and where? Was he here now? She had no answers and her only hope was to keep alert and trust her instincts.

Where was Sammy? All afternoon she had waited for him in her room. She’d followed his instructions and put the jam jar of flowers on the window sill the previous evening, in full view of anyone outside, just as he had told her. But he still hadn’t come.

It was time to move to what he’d called Plan B. He’d said that if she didn’t hear from him within twelve hours of putting out the flowers, she should go back to the group of pine trees behind the equestrian centre at exactly five o’clock and wait there, hidden in the trees, until he showed up.

She’d left her room once that afternoon to see if she was being watched. She couldn’t tell for sure: there’d been a young woman in the distance, wearing blue trousers and a black jumper, who seemed to be hanging around by the tennis courts; when Jana had come back from her short stroll, the same woman had been standing outside the staff dining room.

Jana looked at her watch. It was ten to five; by the time she’d walked through the grounds she would be right on time. That was unless someone tried to stop her. The thought increased her anxious need to see Sammy. He would tell her what to do; he would know what she should say if the English security woman questioned her again.

She looked round the room for a weapon – she would do whatever it took to get to her meeting with Sammy. Spying a paperweight on the side table, she picked it up, feeling its weight in her hand. It was roughly the size and shape of a tennis ball that had been cut in half and was made of thick glass, with a snow-covered forest scene painted inside. She remembered how she had once seen Karl, the tavern owner back in Moravia, knock an obstreperous drunk unconscious with a cue ball from the pool table. The paperweight would do; she put it in the pocket of her jacket.

Locking her room behind her, she looked up and down the hall – empty. The other staff were already preparing for the dinner service. It was as she stepped out into the small courtyard that she saw the same young woman from the tennis courts watching her from a back doorway to the hotel. She was wearing a coat now, but Jana knew it was the same person.

Maybe it’s just coincidence that she’s there, thought Jana, as she set off quickly towards the back of the hotel. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before a voice behind her called out. ‘Jana. Stop, please.’

She turned around to find the young woman coming towards her. How did she know Jana’s name?