He had heard that this was the location for many top-level interviews, from the protracted debriefings of KGB defectors from the Cold War, to the ultra-sensitive handling of politicians escaping the despotic regime of modern-day North Korea. Cole knew that only preliminary interviews would be held here, before the individuals concerned were spirited away to more secure, remote locations in the Scottish Highlands or Welsh mountains, in conjunction with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Nevertheless, if such stories were to be believed, then some very influential men would have spent at least the first few days of their new lives here behind the thick stone walls.
He was sure that the safe house would be like a fortress.
32
Sarah knew the location of the binoculars as well as her husband did, and had practised using them on more than one occasion, under his exacting instruction. She now carried them silently through the house, slipping upstairs to the top floor, where she entered a small cloakroom. She pushed her way through to the back, lying down prone on the floor. Reaching forward, Sarah pulled a small wooden slat to one side, leaving a six-inch by three-inch gap.
The opening gave her a view directly out of the wall of the house, and it was just big enough for the lens of the binoculars to fit into. Remembering precisely how Mark had demonstrated their use, she turned on the night-vision device and trained it out to sea. The glow was a strange, eerie green that took her a few moments to get used to. But when she did, it took her only a short while longer to locate the yacht she’d spotted earlier.
So, she thought to herself, I was right. It’s still there. Focussing the binoculars, she zoomed in on the vessel. Even with the impressive night-vision facility, it was still hard to make out details at this distance — Sarah estimated it was at least six kilometres out from shore. But she was patient, and waited. And waited. Until, finally, she saw movement. What looked like a tall blond man came out from below deck and walked to the bow, kneeling down as he got to an indistinct mound on the floor. The man knelt, his hand going down to touch it.
The mound moved under the blond man’s touch. Oh no, thought Sarah as she saw what the mound really was, the reality of the situation dawning. She then focussed her high-powered lenses, first of all on the blond man’s face, and then on that of the other man. Previously hidden under a dark blanket, the second man had been using his own night-vision scope to keep a quiet eye on the Cole household.
This wasn’t just out of the ordinary; this was a direct threat to her and her children.
She breathed deeply. Something would have to be done.
33
Cole arrived at the large, black-painted door at nine o’clock in the morning precisely. He struck the brass doorplate three times with the solid brass knocker, and after a few seconds heard the slow shuffle of feet from inside. This was followed by the sounds of a key being turned in a lock, and then the door was pulled ajar to a width of just three inches, a brass chain halting further progress.
A small old lady looked out curiously from behind the door, her eyes lighting up as they settled upon Cole. ‘Tom!’ she exclaimed, immediately taking the door off the chain and opening it wide, a smile on her face. ‘How lovely you came! Come in, come in!’ she gushed, gesturing for him to enter.
Playing along, Cole smiled back. ‘Hi, Edna,’ he said happily as he gave her a hug on the doorstep. ‘How have you been?’ The house, and maybe the whole street, might be CIA or SIS controlled, but you never knew who else might be watching. And so appearances had to be maintained at all times.
‘Me?’ asked Edna as she turned back into the house. ‘Don’t let’s talk about me when you’ve so much to tell me! It really is lovely you came, I can’t wait to hear about your trip, I’ll bet it was really nice, have you brought pictures? I’d love to see them if you have …’ On and on she droned, until the big front door was shut, at which point she became completely silent. Cole wasn’t surprised. After all, it wasn’t as if they knew each other.
Without another word, she led him down the hallway, past the entrance to an old-fashioned sitting-room, towards a polished oak door at the far end. The hall, he noticed as he trotted along after her, was exactly as one would expect were ‘Edna’ to have really been the owner of such a house — very neat and tidy, with a thickly patterned wool carpet and damask wallpaper, a selection of collectible antique china on the small mahogany hall tables. An expensive residence, but nice and homely all the same; perhaps the dwelling of a rich widow. The multitude of photographs of the same man adorning the walls would certainly indicate the fact.
A sham, of course, but any casual visitor to the house would certainly be satisfied. A more inquisitive caller could even be shown into the small sitting-room off the hall without their suspicions ever being aroused. The house certainly seemed normal enough.
As the frail woman approached the door at the end, Cole thought he detected a brief flash of light — a retina scan perhaps? — and then she put her entire right palm in the centre of the gleaming wooden door, turning the brass knob with her left. Cole was sure that her palm was also being electronically scanned as a further security measure. And then the door was open, and the old lady beckoned him through.
Cole passed her by, nodding his thanks as he went. As he entered the room beyond, his eyes widened involuntarily with surprise. He didn’t even hear the noise of the door clicking shut behind him.
34
After recovering from the initial shock, Cole started to more carefully appraise his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a sprawling, top-class private members club. He was stood in what he took to be the reception area, a large room in and of itself; completely panelled in rich mahogany and swathed in thick wool carpet, it was the epitome of luxury.
He saw quiet reading rooms off to each side of the central lobby, men and women sipping at drinks whilst they studied the morning’s papers. Through the large, arched entrances on either side of the beautiful antique reception desk, Cole could see a vast lounge bar beyond. The lady behind the desk smiled at him as he approached. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said amiably, though without real warmth. ‘If you would just wait there a moment,’ she continued, pressing a button under her desk.
Seconds later, two serious and competent-looking men came out from a side room. ‘We’ll just need to perform a quick search, please, sir,’ explained the first man politely. Cole just nodded his consent. He’d have been surprised had there not been a search. He assumed the only reason he had not been asked for identification was because Hansard had so ordered it.
The search was quick, but professional. After an initial pass with a portable metal detector, the second man performed a manual search — and not the pedestrian pat-down that is so often done, Cole noted, but a proper and thorough job. Cole was not concerned, though. He had nothing on him.
Satisfied, the men thanked him and retreated back into their little room. Cole looked around as they left. He couldn’t see anything visible, but he was sure that every room in the building would be under close surveillance. Probably cameras behind mirrors, or hidden in the light-fittings.