Jeffrey Archer - False Impression

Jack slipped into an electrical shop on the other side of the mall from where he had a clear sight line of his quarry. All he could make out was that she was standing below a large, multicolored TRAVEL sign. Jack would have liked to get close enough to discover which title was causing her to turn the pages so intently, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He began to count down the shelves in an attempt to pinpoint which country had monopolized her attention.

“Can I assist you, sir?” asked the young lady behind the counter.

“Not unless you have a pair of binoculars,” said Jack, not taking his eyes off Anna.

“Several,” replied the assistant, “and can I recommend this particular model? They are this week’s special offer, reduced from ninety dollars to sixty, while stocks last.”

Jack looked round as the young girl removed a pair of binoculars from the shelf behind her and placed them on the counter.

“Thank you,” said Jack. He picked them up and focused them on Anna.

She was still turning the pages of the same book but Jack couldn’t make out the title.

“I’d like to see your latest model,” he said, placing the special offer back on the counter. “One that could focus on a street sign at a hundred meters.”

The assistant bent down, unlocked the display cabinet, and extracted another pair.

“These are Leica, top-of-the-line, 12 by 50,” she assured him. “You could identify the label on the coffee they’re serving in the café opposite.”

Jack focused on the bookshop. Anna was replacing the book she had been reading, only to pick up the one next to it. He had to agree with the assistant, they were state-of-the-art. He could make out the word Japan and even the letters TOKYO that were displayed above the shelf Anna was taking so much interest in. Anna closed the book, smiled, and headed across to the counter. She also picked up a copy of the Herald Tribune as she waited in the line.

“They are good, yes?” said the assistant.

“Very good,” said Jack, replacing the binoculars on the counter, “but I’m afraid they’re out of my budget. Thank you,” he added, before leaving the shop.

“Strange,” said the girl to her colleague behind the counter. “I never even told him the price.”

Anna had reached the head of the line and was paying for her two purchases when Jack headed off in the opposite direction. He joined another line at the far end of the concourse.

When he reached the front of the line, he asked for a ticket to Tokyo.

“Yes, sir. Which flight — Cathay Pacific or Japan Airlines?”

“When do they leave?” asked Jack.

“Japan Airlines will be boarding shortly, as the flight departs in forty minutes. Cathay’s Flight three-zero-one is due to take off in an hour and a half.”

“Japan Airlines, please,” said Jack, “business class.”

“How many bags will you be checking in?”

“Hand luggage only.”

The sales assistant printed the ticket, checked his passport, and said, “If you proceed to Gate Seventy-one, Mr. Delaney, boarding is about to commence.”

Jack walked back toward the coffee shop. Anna was sitting at the counter, engrossed in the book she had just purchased. He was even more careful to avoid her gaze, as he felt sure she now realized she was being followed. Jack spent the next few minutes purchasing goods from shops he wouldn’t normally have visited, all made necessary by the woman perched on the corner stool in the coffee shop. He ended up with an overnight bag, which would be allowed on board as hand luggage, a pair of jeans, four shirts, four pairs of socks, four pairs of underpants, two ties (special offer), a packet of razors, shaving cream, aftershave, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. He hung around inside the pharmacy, waiting to see if Anna was about to move.

“Last call for passengers on Japan Airways Flight four-one-six to Tokyo. Please proceed immediately to Gate Seventy-one for final boarding.”

Anna turned another page of her book, which convinced Jack that she must be booked onto the Cathay Pacific flight leaving an hour later. This time be would be waiting for her. He tugged at his overnight bag and followed the signs for Gate 71. Jack was among the last to board the aircraft.

Anna checked her watch, ordered another coffee, and turned her attention to the Herald Tribune . The pages were full of stories on the aftermath of 9/11, with a report on the memorial service held in Washington, D.C., attended by the president. Did her family and friends still believe that she was dead, or just missing? Had the news that she’d been seen in London already percolated back to New York? Clearly Fenston still wanted everyone to believe she was dead, at least until he got his hands on the Van Gogh. All that would change in Tokyo, if— Something made her look up, and she spotted a young man with thick, dark hair staring at her. He quickly looked away. She jumped off her stool and walked straight across to him.

“Are you following me, by any chance?” she demanded.

The man gave Anna a startled look. “Non, non, mademoiselle, mais peut-être voulez-vous prendre un verre avec moi?”

“This is the first call for...”

Two more eyes were also watching Anna as she apologized to the Frenchman, settled her bill, and made her way slowly to Gate 71.

Krantz only let her out of her sight after she’d boarded the plane.

Krantz was among the last passengers to board Flight CX 301. On entering the aircraft, she turned left and took her usual window seat in the front row. Krantz knew that Anna was seated at the back of economy, but she had no idea where the American was. Had he missed the flight, or was he roaming around Hong Kong searching for Petrescu?

Jack’s flight touched down at Narita international airport, Tokyo, thirty minutes late, but he wasn’t anxious, because he was an hour ahead of both women, who would still be some thirty thousand feet above the Pacific. Once Jack had cleared customs, his first stop was the inquiry desk, where he asked what time the Cathay flight was due to land. In just over forty minutes.

He turned and faced the arrivals gate, then tried to work out in which direction Petrescu would go once she had cleared customs. What would be her first choice of transport into the city: taxi, rail, or bus? She would have to decide after she’d progressed a mere fifty yards. If she was still in possession of the crate, it would surely have to be a taxi. Having checked out every possible exit, Jack handed over five hundred dollars at a Bank of Tokyo booth in exchange for 53,868 yen. He placed the large-denomination notes in his wallet and returned to the arrivals hall, where he watched people assemble as they waited for the most recent arrivals. He looked up. Above him, to his left, was a mezzanine floor, which overlooked the hall. He walked up the stairs and inspected the space. Although the area was cramped, it was nevertheless ideal. There were two telephone booths fixed to the wall, and if he stood behind the second one, he could look down on any new arrivals without being spotted. Jack checked the board. CX 301 was due to land in twenty minutes. Easily enough time for him to carry out his final task.

He left the airport and stood in the taxi line, which was being organized by a man in a light blue suit and white gloves, who not only controlled the taxis but directed the passengers. When he reached the front, Jack climbed into the back of the distinctive green Toyota and instructed a surprised driver to park on the other side of the road.

“Wait here until I return,” he added, leaving his new bag on the back seat. “I should be about thirty minutes, forty at the most.” He removed a five-thousand-yen note from his wallet. “And you can keep the meter running. The driver nodded, but looked puzzled.