Porter put his head back on the chair, and closed his eyes. He could sense the lights coming in down close to his face, and feel their heat on his skin, but he was feeling so tired, and so drugged up by all the anaesthetics, it was hard to concentrate on anything. He could hear the drill grinding into action, scratching away inside his mouth, but he felt nothing apart from a slight headache. The dentist had put some jazz on in the background — nice, light, relaxing music — to try and soothe him, but it wasn’t going to work. He was too hyped up. Too excited. It was impossible to relax, he reflected, when you’d just made £250,000 and you knew you might well die in the next forty-eight hours.
‘All done,’ said Shaperio, putting down his drill.
He offered Porter a glass of green liquid, which he swilled around his mouth, then spat out.
‘Normally I’d give you a lecture on flossing regularly,’ continued Shaperio. ‘But somehow I don’t think there would be much point.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Porter. ‘Thanks, anyway …’
He started to lift himself out of the chair, but his legs were weak. He was starting to wobble, and it was only with Shaperio’s help that he managed to steady himself. What they’d done to his legs in the operating theatre, he couldn’t be quite certain, but there was a bandage around both his left knee and his right foot. His head was dizzy, and his body felt as if he just come off the worst in a pub brawl. ‘You’ll be OK,’ said Shaperio, helping Porter to steady himself. ‘You just need some rest, that’s all.’
Through the door, Layla was already waiting for him. ‘This way,’ she said sharply.
He followed her down the brightly lit corridor. At the end of it, both Danni and the doctor, Simon, were waiting for him. Danni took hold of his arm, and he could smell the perfume of her neck, and see at least an inch of cleavage through the one opened button on her starched white tunic. Her skin felt good next to his. She was steering him towards a table.
Simon was already looking at him closely. ‘Get some rest,’ he said firmly. ‘The operation went fine, and so did the dental work. I can give you something to help you sleep if you like. A good long rest, and you should be ready for action by the morning.’
‘We’ve got you some food,’ said Layla. ‘You need building up badly.’
Danni put the food down on a tray in front of him: a pasta with some kind of meat and tomato sauce on it, some chips, a green salad, and bowl of steamed spinach. Porter couldn’t even remember the last time he had had such a good meaclass="underline" probably the last Christmas before Diana had kicked him out, although he’d been so drunk already by the time she’d got the turkey cooked he wasn’t sure he’d been able to taste anything when he started eating.
‘Where’s the wine list?’ asked Porter, smiling.
‘Forget it,’ said Layla.
Porter started to tuck in. His mouth felt sore and numb from all the dental work, but so long as he didn’t chew too much, he was able to eat without too much pain. Simon put a row of sixteen different vitamin tablets down in front of him. ‘Pudding,’ he said. ‘We ran a sample of your hair, and you are deficient in just about every major vitamin group.’
‘Except vitamin B, funnily enough,’ said Layla sharply. ‘Maybe it’s because you find that one in vodka.’
Porter ignored the remark, carrying on eating. No one else was having anything but that didn’t bother him. He finished the pasta, and started swallowing the vitamins one by one, washing them down with the pint of orange juice that was on the table. ‘I need to go out,’ he said. ‘Can you get me a car?’
Layla stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
Porter shook his head. He waited until Simon and Danni had left the room, then said, ‘My daughter Sandy has been interviewed for a place at university today. I think she’ll be on the eight o’clock train from St Pancras back to Nottingham. I’d like to say goodbye to her.’
Layla shook her head. From her expression, she wasn’t even going to think about it.
‘You can see her when you get back.’
I’m not coming back, thought Porter. I’m going to try to break Katie out. But the ragheads will probably cut my limbs off one by one and feed me to the dogs.
‘You know how risky this is.’
‘And we’re not going to take a chance on losing you.’
The words were still hanging between them, when the door was pushed open. Perry Collinson had already let himself in. He glanced over at Porter, an attempted smile creasing up his lips. ‘Let him go,’ he said quietly.
Layla glared at him angrily. ‘We’ll need to check with Sir Angus.’
Collinson shook his head. ‘He can take my car, it’s got a permanent police escort.’
‘Who running this operation?’ said Layla.
‘Actually, my dear, I think you’ll find I am,’ said Collinson. ‘The personal appointment of the PM, if I need to remind you.’ He looked towards Porter. ‘I’ve spoken to the PM about you, and he’s bloody pleased you’ve come on board. Only bit of good news he’s had so far on this whole bloody Katie Dartmouth saga.’
‘If it was up to you, I’d be sleeping out on the streets tonight,’ growled Porter.
‘The last time I saw you, you were getting your fingers blown off,’ snapped Collinson. ‘And letting the enemy live because you felt sorry for the little buggers.’
Porter stood up. He could feel his head spinning, and had to put his hand down on the table to steady himself. ‘And the last time I saw you, you were puking up because the sound of gunfire had you rattled.’
For a moment, Collinson stiffened. His face went white, and his lips were pursed together. Then he suddenly relaxed. Another grin creased up his face. ‘Let’s just bury the hatchet, shall we?’ he said. ‘We’re all working together on this one. You wouldn’t have been my first choice, but now you are on the team, I’m bloody glad we’re working together.’
He patted him on the shoulder, but Porter instinctively recoiled from his touch.
‘My car’s outside, so take it and go and say goodbye to your girl,’ he said.
‘Sir Angus will —’ Layla started to say.
‘Will listen to me,’ said Collinson. ‘And if he doesn’t I’ll just have to get the PM on the phone.’
‘Thanks,’ said Porter tersely.
He headed for the door and left the room. As he reached the lift, he could see Layla walking along the corridor behind him. She followed him down to the foyer, then walked out of the building and started talking to the driver in the waiting Jaguar. ‘Don’t be more than an hour,’ she said, looking up sharply at Porter. ‘If you’re not back here by eight thirty, then the police will bring you back. You need your rest. That understood?’
Porter nodded, climbing into the back of the car, and telling the driver to take him straight to St Pancras. ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘I came in and volunteered, remember. I’m not about to bugger off now.’
EIGHT
The cream leather upholstery of the Jaguar felt luxuriously comfortable as Porter sat back into it. He was wearing the charcoal-grey suit they’d left for him in his room, and he was surprised by how well it fitted. The shoes were comfortable, and even the tie wasn’t pinching his neck too badly. Last time I wore one of these, I was being turned down for a nightguard job at a Tesco depot, Porter reflected. Maybe I just didn’t know the right people.