Jeffrey Archer - False Impression

“That still doesn’t prove it’s Krantz,” pressed Macy.

“I’ll get there, sir, just give me time.”

Jack was glad his friend couldn’t see the look of impatience on the boss’s face.

“The copilot,” continued Tom, “reported to his captain, who immediately alerted Aeroflot’s security. It didn’t take them long to discover that Sasha Prestakavich was on a three-day layover, and her passport had been stolen, along with her uniform. That set alarm bells ringing.” Macy began tapping his fingers on the desk. “My contact at the Russian embassy called me in the new entente-cordiale spirit of post-9/11,” said Tom, “having already briefed Interpol.”

“We are going to get there, aren’t we, Tom?”

“Any moment, sir.” He paused. “Where was I?”

“Taking calls from your contact in the Russian embassy,” said Jack.

“Oh, yes,” said Tom. “It was after I’d given him a description of Krantz, about five foot, around a hundred pounds, crew cut, that they asked me to fax over a photograph of her, which I did. He then forwarded a copy of the photograph to the copilot at his London hotel, who confirmed that it was Krantz.”

“Good work, Tom,” said Macy, “thorough as always, but have you come up with any theory as to why Krantz would chance going to England at this particular time?”

“To kill Petrescu would be my bet,” said Tom.

“What do you think?” asked Macy, looking across his desk at Jack.

“I agree with Tom” replied Jack. “Anna has to be the obvious target.” He hesitated. “But what I can’t work out is why Krantz would take such a risk right now.”

“I agree,” said Macy, but I’m not willing to put Petrescu’s life at risk while we try to second-guess Krantz’s motives.” Macy leant forward. “Now listen carefully, Tom, because I’m only going to tell you this once.” He quickly began to turn the pages of his Fenston file. “I need you to get in touch with — just give me a moment,” said Macy, as he turned over even more pages. “Ah, yes, here it is, Chief Superintendent Renton of the Surrey CID. After reading Jack’s report, I got a clear impression that Renton is a man used to making tough decisions, even taking responsibility when one of his subordinates has screwed up. I know you’ve already briefed him on Krantz, but warn him that we think she’s about to strike again, and the target could well be someone else at Wentworth Hall. He won’t want that to happen twice on his watch, and rub in that the last time Krantz was captured, she escaped. That will keep him awake at night. And if he wants to have a word with me at any time, I’m always on the end of a line.”

“And do pass on my best wishes,” added Jack.

“That should settle it,” said Macy. “So, Tom, step it up a notch.”

“Yes, sir,” came back the reply from London.

Macy flicked off the speaker phone. “And, Jack, I want you to take the next flight to London. If Krantz is even thinking about harming Petrescu, let’s make sure we’re waiting for her, because if she were to escape a second time, I’ll be pensioned off and you can forget any thoughts of promotion.”

Jack frowned but didn’t respond.

“You look apprehensive,” said Macy.

“I can’t see why a photo of Fenston shaking hands with the president is all the evidence you need —” he paused “—although I think I’ve worked out why Krantz is willing to risk returning to Wentworth Hall a second time.”

“And why’s that?” asked Macy.

“She’s going to steal the Van Gogh,” said Jack, “then somehow get it to Fenston.”

“So Petrescu isn’t the reason Krantz has returned to England.”

“No, she isn’t,” said Jack, “but once Krantz discovers she’s there, you can assume that she’ll consider killing Anna a bonus.”

Lighting-up time was 7:41 P.M. on September 25th. Krantz didn’t appear on the outskirts of Wentworth until just after eight.

Arabella was at the time accompanying her guests through to the dining room.

Krantz, dressed in a black skintight tracksuit, circled the estate twice before she decided where she would enter the grounds. It certainly wasn’t going to be through the front gates. Although the high stone walls that surrounded the estate had proved impregnable when originally built to keep invaders out, particularly the French and Germans, by the beginning of the twenty-first century wear and tear, and the minimum wage, meant that there were one or two places where entry would have been simple enough for a local lad planning to steal apples.

Once Krantz had selected her point of entry, she easily climbed the weakened perimeter in a matter of seconds, straddled the wall, fell and rolled over, as she had done a thousand times following a bad dismount from the high bar.

Krantz remained still for a moment as she waited for the moon to disappear behind a cloud. She then ran thirty or forty yards to the safety of a little copse of trees down by the river. She waited for the moon to reappear so that she could study the terrain more carefully, aware that she would have to be patient. In her line of work, impatience led to mistakes, and mistakes could not be rectified quite as easily as in some other professions.

Krantz had a clear view of the front of the house, but it was another forty minutes before the vast oak door was opened by a man in a black tailcoat and white tie, allowing the two dogs out for their nightly frolic. They sniffed the air, immediately picking up Krantz’s scent, and began barking loudly as they bounded toward her. But then she had been waiting for them — patiently.

The English, her instructor had once told her, were an animal-loving nation, and you could tell a person’s class by the dogs they chose to share their homes with. The working class liked greyhounds, the middle classes Jack Russells and cocker spaniels, while the nouveau riche preferred a Rottweiler or German shepherd to protect their newly made wealth. The upper classes traditionally chose Labradors, dogs quite unsuited for protection, as they were more likely to lick you than take a chunk out of you. When Krantz was told about these dogs, it was the first time she had come across the word soppy . Only the Queen had Corgis.

Krantz didn’t move as the two dogs bounded toward her, occasionally stopping to sniff the air, now aware of another smell that made their tails wag even faster. Krantz had earlier visited Curnick’s in the Fulham Road and selected the most tender pieces of sirloin steak, which would have been appreciated by those guests now dining at Wentworth Hall. Krantz felt no expense should be spared. After all, it was to be their last supper.

Krantz laid the large juicy morsels around her in a circle and remained motionless in the center, like a dumb waiter. Once Brunswick and Picton came across the meat, they quickly tucked into their first course, not showing a great deal of interest in the human statue in the center of the circle. Krantz crouched slowly down on one knee and began to lay out a second helping, wherever she saw a gap appear in the circle. Occasionally the dogs would pause between mouthfuls, look up at her with doleful eyes, tails wagging if anything more enthusiastically, before they returned to the feast.

Once she had laid before them the final delicacy, Krantz leant forward and began to stroke the silky head of Picton, the younger of the two dogs. He didn’t even look up when she drew the kitchen knife from its sheath. Sheffield steel, also purchased from the Fulham Road that afternoon.

Once again, she gently stroked the head of the chocolate Labrador, and then suddenly, without warning, grabbed Picton by the ears, jerked his head away from the last succulent morsels and, with one slash of the blade, sliced into the animal’s throat. A loud bark was quickly followed by a shrill yelp, and in the darkness Krantz could not see the large black eyes giving her a pained expression. The black Labrador, older but not wiser, looked up and growled, which took him a full second. More than enough time for Krantz to thrust her left forearm under the dog’s jaw, causing Brunswick to raise his head just long enough for Krantz to slash out at his throat, though not with her usual skill and precision. The dog sank to the ground, whimpering in pain. Krantz leant forward, pulled up his silken ears and with one final movement finished off the job.