Hansard set his glass down and looked at Cole. ‘There is just one thing,’ he said eventually, as Cole started to cut into the delicate meat in front of him.
Cole stopped what he was doing and looked up at Hansard. ‘Oh?’ he asked in surprise. ‘What?’
‘This bodyguard who saw you at the graveyard.’ Cole knew what was coming. ‘Could he be a problem?’
‘I don’t believe so, sir, no,’ Cole said emphatically. ‘It was fairly dark due to the time of day, I was wearing a hat, and I’d altered my appearance sufficiently. Besides which, Crozier died of a heart attack. Why should anyone ask questions anyway?’
Hansard nodded, inwardly digesting what Cole had said. ‘Yes, but still, given the circumstances, do you not think it may have been prudent to — ’
‘Kill him?’ Cole finished for him. ‘Absolutely not. A middle-aged man dies of a heart attack, nobody bats an eyelid. That same man’s bodyguard dies on the same day — in any way, whether it’s a heart attack, car accident, or a bullet through the head — then alarm bells will start to ring.’
‘You’re right, you’re right,’ Hansard muttered. ‘I suppose I’m just getting paranoid. No, you did the right thing. Well done. A good op.’ Hansard toasted Cole again, and then the both of them got on with the serious business of eating the delicious food in front of them.
37
Hansard dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin before placing it carefully down on the table by the side of his empty plate. ‘Excellent,’ he said happily. ‘Quite excellent.’
Cole had to agree. The meal had been delectable. ‘It certainly was,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thanks? You’re thanking me? My friend, our entire nation should be thanking you. You’ll probably never even know the contribution you’ve made to your country’s future.’ Hansard stood. ‘Now, I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to make a move. I have another meeting to get to.’ Hansard extended his hand, and Cole took it, shaking it firmly. ‘You’re a good man, Mark. Thank you.’
And with that, Hansard turned and walked towards the twin arches, Stern removing himself from his bar stool and coming over to join him.
Cole looked through as the assistant helped Hansard back into his heavy Crombie overcoat, then watched the two men leave. Cole sighed, then finished the last of his wine. Probably the last time I’ll see the old man, he thought. But at least he hadn’t been given another mission; the meeting was, as the message had originally suggested, purely for a post-action debrief. Now he’d be able to get back to his family.
He’d leave it half an hour — he didn’t want to walk out of the front door so soon after Hansard — and maybe treat himself to a glass of the 1977 vintage port he’d seen on the wine list. He’d then go directly to the airport and get the three o’clock flight to Paris, from where he would then transfer to Madrid before getting a connecting flight back to Grand Cayman. He estimated his arrival back at the house on Cayman Brac at no later than eight the next evening. He wondered idly if everything was alright at home, or if Ben and Amy had driven Sarah insane already.
His thoughts wandered back to Hansard, and the strange look he’d had in his eyes when he’d said his farewells. Probably nothing, Cole decided. He was undoubtedly under enormous pressure.
38
After giving Hansard a good head start, Cole finished his drink and wandered over to the reception area, passing once more beneath one of the archways.
The assistant went to get his coat, and helped him on with it upon her return. Cole didn’t feel like he needed the help, but she looked the sort that might take offence at a rejection of the offer. He thanked her and made a move towards the door, but she put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Sir,’ she began, ‘Mr Hansard thought it might be more prudent to use the back door.’
‘He’s probably right at that,’ he said. ‘Would you care to show me the way?’
‘Of course, sir,’ the assistant replied primly, leading him back through the arch and into the lounge.
She weaved a path through the sofas and armchairs, arriving at a buttoned leather door, slotted between two of the booths on the left-hand wall. She opened the door for him and led him through into a long corridor, which by Cole’s estimation must have stretched through at least four more of the street’s town houses. It had the same décor as the rest of the building that he’d seen so far, and had several doors coming off both sides. Cole wondered if they were the interview rooms.
The pretty assistant gestured to the first door on the right. ‘Just through there, sir,’ she said, before turning to leave.
‘You’re not seeing me out?’ Cole asked in surprise. He had expected some sort of security lock on the doors that she would have to open.
She smiled at him, as if explaining something to a slow-witted child. ‘No sir, it’s all electronically monitored from here. The doors will open and close automatically for you. Through that door is a little chamber — it’ll be dark at first, but the lights will be activated by your movement — and the exit is right on the other side. The room’s like an airlock, the door will lock behind you and if I went with you, I wouldn’t be able to get back in.’ She nodded her head at him, still smiling. ‘Goodbye, sir.’
He smiled back. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, then pushed at the door. As she had explained, it opened freely, and he took a couple of tentative steps into the darkness. As he entered the room, he suddenly tensed. The door swung shut behind him, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Something wasn’t right, and he already thought he knew what it was.
He took another pace forwards into the room, and the lights came on, glaring in their intensity. Shit.
He felt the cold press of steel against the back of his head at the same time as he saw the two men in front of him, dressed in plastic coveralls and aiming their own handguns at him.
Cole had no time to think, only to act. He span round in a tight arc to his right, deflecting the gun arm of the man behind him with his own right arm. Continuing the arc even as the other two agents opened fire, Cole’s body snaked behind that of the man who until moments before had been stood behind him, his hand running down the man’s arm to the pistol.
Holding the agent’s body tightly in front of him, Cole felt the jarring impact of the 9mm rounds as they slammed into the makeshift human shield. As the man’s grip loosened, Cole took the pistol smoothly away, aimed instinctively, and loosed off four rounds in quick succession.
Less than two seconds had elapsed since the door had closed and the lights had come on, and Cole surveyed the carnage. He let his human shield drop to the floor, the man’s body ripped apart by his colleagues’ bullets. Those same two colleagues were also now laid spread-eagled on the floor, two neat little holes in each forehead, the backs of their heads blown out.
All three men were quite clearly dead, and Cole took the opportunity to take a look at the small room. The pretty assistant had at least been telling the truth about one thing, Cole thought bitterly. The room was like a chamber. And this particular chamber had been recently decorated with plastic sheeting, not only for the floor and walls, but also for the ceiling. A professional job for a professional execution.
But Cole had no time to consider the whys and wherefores now — he was a target, and needed to get out. He could work out who wanted him dead and why after he’d managed to escape. He was still feeding off the adrenal dump he’d been given when the lights had come on and he’d seen the guns, and he knew he had to use it while he could, before it left him a shivering, quaking wreck. He had to control it, harness it, and get every last bit of hormonal supercharging that his body would give him.