Jeffrey Archer - False Impression

The man she had watched from the check-in counter as he ran up to Sergei’s taxi and tapped on the window wasn’t hoping for a ride, although Sergei had clearly taken him for one. Anna wondered if it had been her phone calls to Tina that had given her away. She felt confident her close friend would never have betrayed her, so she must have become an unwitting accomplice. Leapman was well capable of tapping her phone and far worse.

Anna had purposely dropped clues in her last two conversations to find out if there was an eavesdropper, and they must have been picked up: going home and there will be a lot of people like that where I’m going . Next time she would plant a clue that would send Fenston’s man in completely the wrong direction.

Jack sat in business class sipping a Diet Coke and trying to make some sense of the past two days. If you’re out there on your own, always prepare for the worst-case scenario , his SSA used to repeat ad nauseam to each new recruit.

He tried to think logically. He was pursuing a woman who had stolen a sixty-million-dollar painting, but had she left the picture in Bucharest, or had it been transferred into the new crate, with the intention of selling the painting to someone in Hong Kong? Then he turned his thoughts to the other person who was pursuing Anna. That was easier to explain. If Petrescu had stolen the painting, the woman was clearly employed by Fenston to follow her until she found out where the picture was. But how did she always know where Anna would be, and did she now realize that he was also following her? And what were her instructions once she’d caught up with the Van Gogh? Jack felt the only way he could redeem himself was to get a step ahead of both of them and somehow stay there.

He found himself falling into a trap that he regularly warned his junior officers to be wary of. Don’t be lulled into believing that the suspect is innocent. A jury will make that decision for you. You must always assume they are guilty, and occasionally, very occasionally, be surprised. He didn’t remember his instructor saying anything about what to do if you found the suspect attractive. Although there was a directive in the FBI training manual that stated: “Under no circumstances must an agent enter into a personal relationship with any person under investigation.” In 1999 the guide had been updated following a congressional directive, when the words “male or female” had been added before “person.”

But it still puzzled Jack what Anna intended to do with the Van Gogh. If she was about to try and sell the picture in Hong Kong, where would she deposit such a huge sum of money, and how could she hope to benefit from the spoils of her crime? Jack couldn’t believe she was willing to live in Bucharest for the rest of her life.

And then he remembered that she had visited Wentworth Hall.

Krantz sat alone in first class. She always flew first class, because it allowed her to be the last on, and first off, any flight, especially when she knew exactly where her victim was traveling.

But now she was aware someone else was following Petrescu, she would have to be even more cautious. After all, she couldn’t afford to kill Petrescu with an audience watching, even if it was an audience of one.

Krantz was puzzled by who the tall, dark-haired man could be and who he was reporting back to. Had Fenston sent someone else to check up on her or was the man working for a foreign government? If so, which one? It had to be Romanian or American. He was certainly a professional because she hadn’t spotted him before, or after, his crass mistake with the yellow taxis. She assumed he must be an American. She hoped so, because if she had to kill him, that would be a bonus.

Krantz didn’t relax on the long flight to Hong Kong. Her instructor in Moscow was fond of repeating that concentration usually lapsed on the fourth day. Tomorrow.

“Those passengers traveling to onward destinations...”

“That’s all I need,” muttered Jack.

“What do you need, sir?” asked an attentive stewardess.

“Transit.”

“Where is your final destination, sir?”

“I have no idea,” said Jack. “What’s the choice?”

The stewardess laughed. “Are you still hoping to travel east?”

“That makes sense.”

“Then it has to be Tokyo, Manila, Sydney, or Auckland.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, thinking, that doesn’t help, but adding out loud, “If I decided to spend the night in Hong Kong, I would have to go through passport control, whereas if I wanted transit...”

The stewardess continued to humor him, “When you disembark, sir, there are clear signs directing you to baggage claim or transit. Is your luggage booked through, sir, or will you be picking it up?”

“I don’t have any luggage,” Jack admitted.

The stewardess nodded, smiled, and left to attend to some of her more sane passengers.

Jack realized that once he disembarked he would have to move quickly if he hoped to locate a concealed vantage point from where he could observe Anna’s next move — and not be observed by her other admirer.

Anna stared distractedly out of the cabin window as the plane descended smoothly into Chek Lap Kok airport.

She would never forget her first experience of flying into Hong Kong some years before. To begin with, it felt like a normal approach, and then at the last moment, without warning, the pilot banked steeply and headed straight for the hills. He then descended between the city high-rises, bringing gasps from first-timers, before finally bumping down the short runway into Kow-loon, as if he were auditioning for a part in a 1944 war movie. When the plane came to a halt, several of the passengers applauded. Anna was glad that the new airport meant she would not have to experience a repeat performance.

She checked her watch. Although the flight was running twenty minutes late, her onward connection wasn’t scheduled for another couple of hours. She would use any spare time to pick up a guide to Tokyo, a city she had never visited before.

Once they’d come to a halt at the terminal gate, Anna progressed slowly down the aisle, waiting for other passengers to rescue their bags from the overhead lockers. She looked around, wondering if Fenston’s man was watching her every move. She tried to remain calm, though in truth her heartbeat must have shot above a hundred every time a man even glanced in her direction. She felt sure he must have already disembarked and would now be lying in wait. Perhaps he even knew her final destination. Anna had already decided on the false piece of information she would drop when she next phoned Tina, one that would send Fenston’s man flying in the wrong direction.

Anna stepped off the aircraft and looked around her for the sign. At the end of a long corridor, an arrow directed transit passengers to the left. She joined a handful of travelers heading for other destinations, while the majority of passengers turned right.

When she walked into the transit area, she was greeted by a neon-lit city, half as old as Swatch, lurking in wait for its imprisoned customers to part with their foreign currency. Anna strolled from shop to shop, admiring the latest fashions, electrical equipment, cell phones, and jewelry. Although she saw several items she would have considered in normal circumstances, because of her pecuniary predicament the only shop she thought about entering was a book store displaying foreign newspapers and all the latest best sellers — in several languages. She strolled across to the travel section, to be faced with row upon row of gazetteers of countries as far afield as Azerbaijan and Zanzibar.

Her eyes settled on the section on Japan, which included a shelf devoted to Tokyo. She picked up the Lonely Planet guide to Japan, along with a Berlitz miniguide to the capital. She began to flick through them.