Henry sat down next to her. ‘Problem?’ he asked.
She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully, came to a decision and said, ‘Yes — actually there are several things not quite right.’
Henry waited.
‘The first thing is that I want to clear the air between you and me. I made a bit of a fool of myself the other night. I mean, all that “come on” I was giving you was just — naff.’
‘I was flattered.’
She snorted a short laugh. ‘Horrified, more like, I shouldn’t wonder. I don’t think Jane Roscoe was very impressed with me, either.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The look in her eyes?’ Makin’s voice rose at the end of the statement, turning it into a rhetorical question.
Henry opened his palms, not getting it.
‘You dummy: the green-eyed monster. She’s got the hots for you, Henry, and I was muscling in on her patch. I’m surprised we didn’t end up fighting over you.’
‘But I’ve only just met her and I know she doesn’t like me very much,’ he protested feebly, knowing the statement was not really true.
‘You’d only just met me,’ Makin pointed out, ‘and I would’ve jumped into bed with you.’ She flashed her eyes.
‘And she’s married.’
Makin leaned towards him. ‘That doesn’t stop her being head over heels, so let’s just hope we find her in one piece and if we do, you’ll see I’m right. Anyway, please don’t get the wrong impression of me. I don’t just jump into bed at the drop of a hat with every gorgeous guy I meet — some I do, but not everyone. The thought of us was quite nice, but it’s a non-starter.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Henry, unwilling to let the embers completely burn out. He always liked to keep a welcome in the hillside.
‘It was just that getting together with you might have helped me solve the problem of Basil “the bastard” Kramer.’
‘How so?’ he asked, intrigued.
Makin’s face dropped. ‘He’s been harassing me for sex ever since I met him last week. Despite his money and position and power — and his looks — he gives me the creeps.’ She shivered as though a snake had slithered down her backbone. The thought of the man was upsetting her. ‘He uses his power to get what he wants. He’s the most unethical git I’ve come across in a long time. Promised me all sorts for a fuck and blow job.’ She folded her arms defensively.
‘Is he bumming FB, then?’
The thought brought a smile to Makin’s face. ‘It would not surprise me.’
‘What a fantastic picture,’ Henry said, imagining the scene. He became serious again. ‘If you want me to speak to him, I will,’ he offered.
‘No.’ She put a hand on Henry’s forearm and squeezed gently. ‘I’ll try and sort him myself — oops!’ Quickly she removed her hand as though struck by electricity. ‘There I go again. You must be irresistible.’
Donaldson came back into the room, singing some obscure country music song.
‘Anyway,’ Makin said, ‘that’s the personal dross over with, the real big problem is that, as you know, I have an officer working undercover with Hellfire Dawn. He should have made contact and hasn’t done. I’m worried. It’s not like him. He’s missed his second fallback call, too.’
‘That is a problem,’ Henry sympathised. ‘But going under cover is not rocket science,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Been there, got the T-shirt.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, her face anxious. ‘There is another fallback at noon. If he doesn’t call by then, I’ll really need to look at it.’
The three of them were about to leave the room and start their enquiries when FB and Basil Kramer entered the room rather like the Blues Brothers, though without the style or the sunglasses.
‘Bloody hell, I’m glad we caught you,’ FB breathed. ‘Come with us now.’
‘Why? Where? We were just about to get cracking,’ Henry complained.
‘Have to wait, have to wait,’ FB blithered, his underpants apparently twisted around his testicles.
‘Why?’ Henry’s question this time was more forceful. He did not want to get sidetracked by any more garbage.
Basil Kramer cut in with a ‘Tch!’ at FB. ‘Because the prime minister wants to see you all now.’
‘Well why didn’t you say so?’ Henry asked.
They all bundled into FB’s police BMW. Donaldson ended up in the front passenger seat where Henry would have expected Kramer to sit. The MP hovered and held back, jockeying subtly for position, and Henry realised what he was doing when he slid in next to Makin on the back seat. Henry sat on the other side of her, boxing her in between them.
Makin crushed herself up against Henry in an effort to keep away from Kramer. It was tight and uncomfortable for Henry, but not altogether unpleasant as he found that Makin had all the right bulges in all the right places.
FB gunned the car out of the police car park, ensuring the people in the rear were continually thrown against each other.
‘What does he want?’ Henry asked casually — as though the prime minister often asked to see him.
‘To see us all,’ said FB unhelpfully.
The car veered round a corner, tyres squealing. Makin got tighter into Henry. She was very warm, he noted. Her mouth turned to his ear, less than an inch away. Her hot breath blew against his ear lobe and he quivered. ‘He’s got his hand on my leg,’ she hissed.
Henry looked down. There it was. Like a nasty, albino spider, right at the top of her thigh, his little finger lost in one of the folds of her jeans by her crotch. The hands squeezed, the little finger moved against the denim above her vagina.
‘Do something.’ She sounded afraid.
Henry leaned across. He lifted Kramer’s fingers up and bent them backwards. Kramer gasped and tried to wriggle free. Henry’s eyes looked into his astonished face. He did not release his grip. Between the two men, Makin tried to push herself out of the way, deep into the seat cushion. Suddenly Henry yanked at Kramer’s hand, pulling the man down so they were face to face, their noses inches apart in front of Makin. Henry said one word, ‘Don’t.’ He let go.
Kramer sat back quickly, anger contorting his features. He rubbed the joints in his fingers and glared at Henry who deliberately held the look with an impassivity designed to inflame Kramer’s temper. Henry did not wilt under an expression which uttered a thousand silent warnings.
Kramer was first to give in. With a sneer of contempt, he looked away.
Henry relaxed. Makin’s lips voiced a silent, ‘Thanks.’ Henry thought bleakly that it did not seem to matter what rank or how high up women go, it seemed they are always liable to be the targets of the power of men.
FB drove into the car park of the Imperial Hotel on North Shore, home of the British Prime Minister for the week.
He had the best suite in the hotel, of course, overlooking the promenade with distant views across the Irish Sea. The plush curtains were drawn at this time of night, blocking a view which was actually slightly distorted anyway. Three-inch-thick toughened glass, capable of withstanding a small rocket, does have a tendency to bend the light somewhat, as well as protecting the prime minister.
Only after two Metropolitan diplomatic protection officers had searched all three of them for a second time (the first being when they entered the hotel and had to submit to an electronic and manual search) were they admitted into the room.
The prime minister was sitting on a large sofa, legs outstretched across a coffee table. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, open at the neck, jeans and sloppy slippers. He looked casual and relaxed. He was leafing through a stack of official-looking papers. On the floor next to him was a tatty-looking red leather briefcase.
‘Ahh, people,’ he said. He tapped his papers straight and dropped them into the briefcase. He jumped up, smiling broadly. ‘Basil.’ He beamed at Kramer. They shook hands and patted each other’s shoulders like old buddies.
‘Prime Minister,’ Kramer said, turning to face the four people he had brought with him, all standing there rather sheepishly. ‘You already know ACC Fanshaw-Bayley from our host force, who is in charge of the conference operation.’