The note Melissa had written for me gave an address on the second floor of one of the buildings directly behind the main complex, but finding the correct door took more than a little luck. I finally located it, but when I hit the call button on her intercom I didn’t get a reply.
I waited a moment, then started to work my way through the buttons for the other apartments in the building. I’d only tried three when the main door buzzed open. Civilians and their attitude to security never cease to amaze me, but you can’t say they’re not useful.
I stepped into the hallway. Four people were waiting for someone to emerge from one of the ground floor units, so I skirted round them and made my way up the stairs. I followed the numbers until I found the door to Melissa’s apartment. It was standing open an inch, so I carefully placed the bottles of the champagne on the ground, drew my Beretta, and went inside without knocking.
The main living/dining space in Melissa’s apartment was lined with windows which bathed the old, golden brown exposed brickwork with light. The room was double height, and a ladder led up to a sleeping platform which spanned the entire width at the far end. An archway led to a small kitchen on the right. I heard footsteps from inside it, and then someone appeared.
It was Tim Jones. I’d been surprised to see him when we’d first met in Melissa’s room at St Joseph’s, too. I was glad things didn’t turn out the same way, though, if only for the sake of her furniture.
“David,” he said, bringing his right hand out from behind his back, complete with his Sig Sauer pistol. “Thank goodness it’s you. Is Melissa with you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet her here, at six.”
“I was too. But she brought the meeting forward half an hour. She said she had some new information. Something we needed to talk about.”
I pulled out my phone and saw another text from her on the screen. It said the same thing, and added that in light of what she’d found, she’d asked Leckie not to come. I must have missed it arriving in the noise from the street.
“How did you get in?” I said.
“There was no answer downstairs when I buzzed,” he said. “So I waited till someone else came out, and sneaked through before the main entrance closed behind her. Then I came up here and found Melissa’s door standing open.”
“When was this?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“Is there any sign of her?”
“No. I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Any sign of a struggle?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Have you called the police? Or your office?”
“No. She told me we had to keep this meeting absolutely secret.”
“She was right,” I said, turning back to my phone. “But I have a feeling the ground rules have just changed.”
Before I could key the three nines I heard footsteps outside in the corridor. There were three sets. They were heavy. And coming in our direction. Fast. I paused. They continued to come closer, then stopped right outside the door. I moved to my left – the hinge side – and signaled to Jones to go right. Five seconds passed in silence. Then the door was flung back into the room, arcing around on its hinges, its handle smashing into the wall. Three men followed through the open doorway. The first came straight ahead, stopping in the centre of the room, his head snapping from side to side. The second peeled off, heading towards me. The third went to the other way, straight at Jones. All of them were over six feet tall. They were wearing desert boots, jeans, and army surplus style DPM jackets. They all had shaved heads. And they were all carrying guns.
“You,” said the first guy, with his eye on Jones. “Drop your weapon.”
Jones opened his fingers and let the Sig slip through, landing grip-first on the floor, next to his foot.
“Good,” the guy said. “Now, both of you. On the floor. Right now.”
I started to lean, as if I meant to comply with his instructions, but when my head was low enough I lunged forward, slamming it into the second guy’s solar plexus. The force pushed him back a couple of steps, so I straightened my waist and whipped my neck up as hard as I could. I timed it just right, catching the guy’s chin with the back of my head. His knees buckled and he went over backwards, hitting the floor hard. I followed in, kicking the gun out of his hand and stamping down on his throat before he had the chance to react.
I quickly scanned the room, and saw Jones lying face down on the floor with his arms and legs spread. The third intruder was standing over him, with a Colt Delta Elite aimed at the back of his skull. The first guy - the one who’d spoken - was still in the same spot. His arms were folded across his chest, with his gun in his right hand, and his expression looked almost bored.
“Stop,” he said. “Put your hands behind your head. Then get down on your knees.”
I didn’t move.
“Do it now,” the guy said, taking a step towards me and lowering his hands to his sides. “Because if you don’t, your friend is going to get a bullet between the ears in the next five seconds.”
“I want you to be very clear about something,” I said. “I’d never do anything to hurt a friend, so there’s no need for you to do anything hasty. But there’s something I don’t understand. How will the person holding my friend know whether I’ve done what you told me?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? He can see you.”
“He can? How? Is there a concealed camera in here? Are we under covert surveillance? Have you set up some kind of on-the-fly video conferencing?”
“He’s standing right behind me. He’s not blind. He has a gun in his hand. And it’s pointing at your friend’s head. Do you want me to draw you a diagram?”
“Yes please. I love diagrams. And actually, I think a good diagram could help all of us, right now. Because that guy on the floor? He’s not my friend.”
“Don’t try to bluff me.”
“I’m not. I think he’s a slimy, brown-nosing corporate schemer. The first time I met him I broke a chair over his head. Psychologically, he’s toast.”
“He did,” Jones said. “It’s true. I may never recover.”
“See?” I said, taking a step towards the guy. “His bottle’s gone. He’s useless now. He might as well shoot him. I think you should. In fact, give me your gun, I’ll do it for you.”
“Hold it,” the guy said.
I stopped. I was two yards away from him, and four from the guy standing over Jones.
“Now, get over there,” he said, nodding towards the wall at the far side of the room.
“Over where?” I said.