The smell of the man hit Matt hard in the chest: a stale odour of dead fish, cheap spirits and damp cloth. 'Where's your dignity?' Matt said, his eyes suddenly intense and full of anger. 'You were a soldier, man.'
'Fuck off,' spat the tramp.
Christ, thought Matt. I threw away my dignity today.
I'm just inches away.
Maybe I should just get out of the country, he thought. Go to Moscow, Hong Kong, Nigeria — anywhere. Change my name. Change my face, even. Get some security work and become another person. It's not so hard. I've been Matt Browning all my life, and where did it ever get me? Why not try on some other identity. I could hardly make a worse mess of things.
No. That might save me, but it won't save Gill. And if anything happened to her because of me, I couldn't live with it. My dignity would have been stripped from me for ever.
'Pleased to see me?' Alison looked up towards Matt as he walked into his flat, a lipsticked smile spreading across her lips.
Matt looked at her suspiciously, his eyes moving across the slender curves of her body. 'What are you doing in my flat?'
'We need to talk,' said Alison.
Matt laughed. 'Don't tell me — you're pregnant. That's all I need right now.'
Alison stood up, moving away from the sofa. 'I'm here to help you.'
'You're the only person who's said that recently.'
'I know, Matt. I know everything about you.'
Matt stood closer to her, looking directly into her eyes. 'Who are you?'
'Like I said, we should talk.'
'Then start talking,' said Matt. 'I've got all day.'
Alison walked towards the kitchen. She took a glass from the shelf, blew away a thin layer of dust that had settled on its surface, filled it with water and raised it to her lips. 'My name is Alison Hammond,' she said slowly. 'I work for MI5.'
The silence lasted several seconds as her words hung in the air. Matt looked at her closely, wondering if she would suddenly change shape: he had met her as a pickup in the bar, and now, suddenly, she was a spy who had broken into his flat. 'Go on,' he said quietly.
'I have a proposition for you. Whether you choose to accept it or not is up to you. It could solve all your problems.'
'I'm out of that game,' Matt snapped. 'I left the Regiment two years ago. I've done all that misguided shit about risking my life for my country several times already, and I don't need it. These days I'm just interested in chilling out and looking after myself.'
'And making a right screw-up of it too.'
'What do you know about me?' said Matt angrily.
'As I said, everything,' Alison said coldly, swilling the remains of the water into her throat. 'Matt, we know you better than you know yourself.' She paused, looking away from him and walking back towards the window. 'After I left you in Spain, you were visited by a man looking to collect some money. You are half a million pounds in debt, and because the money is owed to Gennady Kazanov, if you don't pay it back soon you're a dead man. I have some pictures of people who didn't keep up with their debts to Gennady. I can show them to you if you like, but you might need a stiff drink first. He usually severs a couple of limbs before he finishes you off. Even the KGB thought he was a bit rough when he used to work for them. We have files on him going back a long time. You're in pretty deep there.' She hesitated, walked back to the kitchen and refilled her glass with water. 'But I think you know that. Two days ago you split up with your fiancee, Gill. Yesterday afternoon you took a Go flight from Malaga to Stansted — budget airlines, Matt. A year ago you were going business class on BA. You spent the night here, ordered in a pizza and two beers. Today you went to see your banker, then your old friend Harry Stroller. You were looking for help. But you were stupid, Matt. The rich only help themselves. That's what makes them rich.'
Alison walked back towards Matt, her lips turned in an engaging smile. 'You see, Matt, we've been watching. We know everything. But most of all we know of a way to help you.'
'Help me?' said Matt. 'I know about Five — you don't help people.'
Alison ran a hand through her hair, messing its neatly brushed appearance. 'We do deals sometimes,' she said, her tone hardening. 'Win-win deals, where both sides come out ahead. That's what we'd like to do with you.' She stretched out an arm and Matt felt her fingers brushing against the skin on the back of his neck. A tingle ran down his spine, a sensation that mixed anticipation and excitement in the same delicate movement. She has class, he reflected. Social class, sure, but also poise and brains — and she's playing me like a cheap guitar.
He felt Alison's breath on his skin as she asked him, 'What more do you have to lose?'
FOUR
The traffic was backing up behind the roundabout that led down to Wandsworth bridge. Thick clouds were lying low over the Thames, shrouding the city in a dark, heavy gloom. A way out of my troubles, Matt was thinking — that's what Alison had said. Right now, I'm not in any position to turn offers down.
There was no choice. He had to see what she had to say. But it wouldn't be a simple way out, of that he felt certain. It wouldn't be safe either.
He pumped the accelerator on his Porsche Boxster and pulled out into the roundabout. He could see Alison's metal-blue Audi TT just ahead. The Holiday Inn sign was plastered against the skyline, sitting next to a B&Q superstore, a BP garage, and a McDonald's. Matt swerved the car around the bend moments before an orange light turned red.
I might as well get some fun out of this car. I won't have it much longer.
He pulled up in the car park of the hotel. Very Five, reflected Matt, taking the Porsche down a gear. The spooks generally met in anonymous, corporate locations, as if they were just computer salesmen. It was part of the routine, a way of throwing their targets off the scent, keeping every operation at a safe distance from the organisation itself. If they invited you to the Thames House headquarters, you knew the conversation didn't matter.
I thought I was through with these kind of games.
When he'd left the Regiment after ten years of active service, Matt had vowed to himself that he would never go back. He'd seen enough violence and risked his life enough times. His appetite for danger was sated. Lots of his mates had become bodyguards or mercenaries, but after a spell working for Stroller, Matt hadn't wanted to do that.
If you were going to kill people it had to be for a cause, not just for money.
'Nice car,' said Alison, suddenly appearing next to him, a playful smile spreading across her lips.
Matt noticed the way the wind caught her hair, blowing it away from her face. Beautiful, he reflected, in the same way a leopard is beautifuclass="underline" sleek and slender and perfectly groomed. 'Thanks,' he muttered.
'Shame it's going to be repossessed by the finance company next week.' Alison turned smartly towards the entrance of the hotel.
Keep swallowing, man.
He followed her into the Holiday Inn. The lobby was nondescript, with pale blue carpets and a standard wooden desk, the kind of space you might see in a thousand different hotels around the world. 'Room 262,' Alison said to the girl at reception. 'They're expecting us.'
They remained silent in the lift. Then Matt followed Alison down a corridor and they stepped into the room without knocking. The bed had been pushed to one side, and the desk had been placed next to the window. The curtains were drawn, and only a desk lamp was illuminating the faces of two men sitting either side of the desk.
Matt looked into their eyes. The first man was about fifty, with greying hair combed across his head to disguise a bald patch. He wore a charcoal grey suit, with a pink silk tie and a checked shirt with silver cufflinks. The second man was maybe forty-five, with brown hair that looked as if it could use a trim and ears that stuck out too far from his head. He wore a blue suit and a striped tie, probably from a school. Neither of them smiled or even looked at him.