Stella Rimington: Dead Line

‘Yes?’ she said, trying to sound more sure of herself than she felt. The woman was approaching her, holding out her ID card. ‘I’m from security. I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside.’

‘What on earth for?’ Jana demanded, trying to sound confident, the way people spoke in the television dramas she’d seen. She wanted to look at her watch, suddenly fearful that if she were even slightly late, Sammy wouldn’t wait.

‘I know it’s a nuisance,’ said the young woman sympathetically. ‘You see, the American President’s helicopter is about to arrive, and there’s a no-go zone until he’s safely inside the hotel.’

‘But I am going the other way,’ said Jana, pointing.

The young woman was shaking her head. She still had a half-smile on her face, but her voice was unyielding. ‘Doesn’t matter. The no-go zone extends all round. Sorry.’

Jana was thinking fast. There was no other exit from the staff quarters. If she went back to her room she’d be trapped there and would miss her meeting with Sammy. ‘All right,’ she said, and turned as if to go back. Then suddenly she pivoted and started to run towards the road behind the hotel. But to her surprise the young woman proved faster than she was, and with three strides she’d grabbed onto Jana’s left arm.

‘Stop!’ the woman commanded.

Jana tried to yank her left arm free, while her right hand reached into her pocket for the glass paperweight. Letting herself be pulled towards the woman, she suddenly swung her right hand in a vicious arc. The other woman tried to duck but was too late, and the paperweight struck her a smashing blow above her eye, then fell to the ground where it broke into pieces. Blood poured down one side of her face.

Unbelievably, she still refused to let go of Jana’s arm. Turning to face her adversary, Jana clawed out with her right hand, grabbing the woman’s cheek with her fingers and pinching as hard as she could. As she felt the woman let go of her left arm, she lashed out with that hand as well. The other woman fought back, blocking most of the blows and landing one of her own on Jana’s chin. But Jana was taller and heavier, and slowly the woman gave way under the ferocity of the assault. The fight was moving them towards one end of the courtyard, and when the woman’s back touched the wall of the hotel Jana suddenly lunged forward, planting both hands on her throat, choking her. She needed to get her out of the way so she could see Sammy, and she squeezed her hands tighter and tighter as the woman struggled to breathe. Yet just as Jana thought the woman must pass out, she seemed to summon a final burst of energy. Rearing her head back she thrust herself forward, and her forehead landed with a sickening crunch on the bridge of Jana’s nose.

The pain was agonising. Jana dropped both hands from the woman’s throat and stumbled backwards, then fell down onto the floor of the courtyard, completely dazed. She struggled to get up, but a pair of arms was holding her down – a man’s arms, strong enough to turn her round until she was pinned face-down on the paving.

Jana could hear but not see the other woman gasping for air. ‘Thanks, Dave,’ the woman wheezed.

‘You were doing all right without me, Peggy,’ said the man as he tightened his grip on Jana’s arms. ‘Who the hell taught you how to give a Glasgow kiss?’

Ahead of her the water in the lake lay like a dark smear. The banks were low and grassy, and at the end nearest the clubhouse where the dinner would later be held was a large square of closely mown lawn – on every other day it was one of the tees of the pitch and putt course. It was here that the delegations would stand to watch the gun dog display. Two trestle tables had been set up, covered by white tablecloths. Bottles of soft drinks, fruit juice, and sparkling water sat next to a small army of glasses; discreetly in one corner stood half a dozen bottles of white wine.

When Liz arrived the dog handler was already there, holding two slim black Labradors on leads, with the German pointer sitting motionless next to her. The President of Syria was talking on his mobile phone as he walked towards the tee, accompanied by his London ambassador and surrounded by bodyguards. As the Israelis arrived, he snapped his phone shut and turned towards the Israeli Prime Minister, grinning broadly. At least that’s going well, thought Liz.

‘Tell me,’ said Liz to the dog handler, ‘are you the only person who’s been with these dogs today?’

‘That’s right. They get far too excited if I let strangers near them on a show day.’

Her reply was firm, but Liz wasn’t satisfied and she asked again, ‘So you are absolutely the only person to have been in contact with the dogs?’

‘Yes. I said so,’ she replied, with a flash of irritation. But then she paused. ‘Well, except for one of the foreign girls in the hotel. Her mother’s got a German pointer back home and she misses him, so she likes to come and see Kreuzer. I let her help me feed him. Why, is something wrong?’

‘I hope not,’ said Liz frowning. ‘What’s the girl’s name?’

‘I don’t know,’ the woman replied. ‘I’ve never asked her.’

I can guess, thought Liz, as she moved back through the people now crowding round the tables, though I hope I’m wrong. She took up a position on a slight incline just below the road and as the delegates moved closer to the lake, Dave joined her. They stood together, watching intently.

The handler clapped her hands and the visitors grew silent. She explained in a loud, cheerful voice that the two Labradors she held on their leads were going to demonstrate their prowess at literally pulling the water off a duck’s back. Liz noticed the Syrian President laughing appreciatively, showing his command of English – or Scottish, she thought, for the woman had the musical accent of Scotland’s west coast.

In the middle of the lake, some ten yards from its small island, a young man sat in a small rowing boat. At the handler’s signal, he threw two life-sized mallard duck decoys into the water. They landed with a splash, then turned upright and bobbed on the surface.

Unleashing both dogs, the handler blew her whistle in a short soprano burst, and the pair sprang forward, entering the water without hesitation, swimming like happy kids at a summer camp. As they neared the rowing boat, they suddenly altered their course, homing in on the pair of plastic ducks. Each dog seized one by the tail, then together they turned and began the trip back to shore, the rowing boat following them in. As they reached shallow water they slowed down, and, back on dry land, they ran to the handler, placing the decoys gently at her feet. On the green tee the audience clapped politely. The Syrian President seemed pleased; the Israeli Prime Minister, anxious until then, now looked pleased as well.

When the applause died down, the handler faced the crowd again. ‘The next display is something different – it’s to demonstrate how the nose can be more important than the eyes for dogs. I’ve hidden another decoy on that island.’ She pointed to the lake. ‘It’s completely invisible. But Kreuzer here is going to find it.’

She snapped her fingers at the brown and white pointer. At once he trotted to the water’s edge and waded straight in.

Suddenly Liz’s anxiety increased. Something about the trainer’s remarks was bothering her. What exactly was it that Kreuzer was trying to find? She made her way quickly through the spectators until she stood next to the handler. Kreuzer was moving smoothly through the ruffled water of the little lake – not even really a lake, thought Liz; not much more than a pond.

‘So Kreuzer will find your decoy purely by smell.’