Peggy Kinsolving usually ate lunch in the Thames House canteen, then took a short walk along the Embankment – usually only as far as Tate Britain – to stretch her legs and get some fresh air before starting work again. But today a persistent drizzle made the prospect of a stroll seem uninviting, and besides she had a lot on at the moment, so she was at her desk when the call came in from France. ‘Hello,’ she said tentatively.
‘This is Martin Seurat of the French DGSE. I’m calling from Marseilles.’
Peggy had never actually met him, but they’d spoken on the phone before, since this was the second case that he and Liz had worked on together. And though Liz had never mentioned it, everyone knew that she and Martin Seurat had become an item. ‘Hello, Martin. It’s Peggy. How can I help?’ she asked, slightly puzzled to find him on the phone.
‘Have you heard from Liz?’
‘Not today. I thought she’d be with you. She was catching a flight early this morning to Marseilles.’
‘She was here this morning – we met for coffee. Then we were supposed to meet up at lunchtime, but she hasn’t appeared. She’s almost two hours late.’
‘That’s not like her.’
‘I know, and I’m concerned. Her mobile is switched off – which isn’t like her either.’
‘Could she have got lost?’
‘That was my first thought – the Old Port here is a bit of a rabbit warren. But in that case I’m sure she would have phoned me. I hate to say it,’ he said, then paused before continuing, ‘but I think something may have happened to her. Everyone’s been alerted over here, and we’ve got people looking all over the city for her. But you had better tell your people that Liz is missing. They can call me direct if they need to speak to me. You should also tell them that we’ve brought forward the scheduled raid on the Korean office – instead of waiting until tomorrow, we’re going to go in at four-thirty. Unless Liz shows up before then.’
He gave Peggy his mobile number, then rang off. She sat for a moment, thinking what to do next. There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice; he did not seem to believe that some small misunderstanding could have occurred to account for Liz’s failure to show.
Their boss was on holiday, most of her colleagues were out at lunch or on business, so there was no one for Peggy to consult. There was only one thing for it. She might look silly if ten minutes from now Seurat rang her to say Liz had reappeared, though Peggy would far prefer that – any embarrassment was worth knowing Liz was safe. But in the meantime it would be irresponsible to delay. She picked up her phone and dialled DG’s private office.
She was answered by the near-legendary Private Secretary, Anne Whitestone, who’d seen four Director Generals come and go. ‘This is Peggy Kinsolving in Counter-Espionage. I have an emergency. I’ve just heard that Liz Carlyle is missing in France. Martin Seurat from the DGSE rang me from Marseilles. They are worried that something’s happened to her.’
‘Come up straight away, Peggy,’ said Anne Whiteside calmly. ‘DG is here and he’ll want to talk to you.’
Four o’clock was usually a fairly placid time at the venerable Préfecture in Marseilles. The public desk closed at four and the police shifts changed at five; the DCRI officers were still out in the field; and inside the building the only noises to be heard were of afternoon coffee being brewed.
But now the building seemed to hum with activity as Martin Seurat was waved in by the guard and directed straight upstairs. In the open-plan office, Fézard stood next to a large whiteboard on wheels, a pointer in his hand. Half of the board was covered by a plan of the Korean office building, and he was pointing out the access and exit points on the fifth floor. He looked up questioningly as Martin entered. When he saw the slight shake of his head, Fézard’s expression darkened.
Martin had spent the last hour on the phone. He’d squared the bistro owner by showing him his identity card, then commandeered a table by the front window in case Liz should appear and made his calls from there. First, Isobel Florian after she landed at Marseilles airport – she’d understood his fear for Liz’s safety at once, and agreed that the time of the raid should be moved forward. Then he’d rung his own superiors in Paris and explained the situation.
London had rung soon after, and he’d talked to the Director General, assuring him they were doing everything they could to find his officer. The Englishman had been calm and decisive. He had obviously been well briefed by Peggy and didn’t waste time asking for the background to the operation in Marseilles. He offered to send out an officer to liaise and give any help he could. Martin said that he would certainly accept the offer if it would help, but for now the police and the DCRI were doing all they could to find Liz Carlyle.
Finally there had been another call from England. ‘Seurat,’ said a frosty voice, ‘It’s Geoffrey Fane. What on earth has happened?’
He explained the situation, but it had been an awkward conversation. Each man knew the other had strong personal feelings for Liz, and each of them struggled to sound purely professional. He had discouraged Fane from catching the next flight out or from sending his Station Chief down from Paris. ‘Thanks for the offer, Geoffrey, but we’re doing all we can – we don’t need any more people on the ground. Please just activate any sources you have who might hear anything relevant.’
So he hadn’t had time to draw breath, much less worry, and it was only now, as Fézard wrapped up the briefing, that Martin felt again the extent of his own fear. It was four o’clock; in half an hour they’d know whether Liz had been taken to the office of the South Koreans; in half an hour he’d know whether this uncertain agony was over, or would continue. Who could have kidnapped her? This man Dong had never seen her; neither, as far as he knew, had the Russians. But how exactly had they found out about Sorsky’s treachery? Could they have monitored his meetings with Liz in Geneva?
He wondered if they’d find her inside the building. Part of him fervently hoped so, but part of him was frightened. If they found her, what state would she be in? If she weren’t there, then at least he could hope that she was somewhere else – and alive.
Chapter 53
For a few minutes Liz thought she was lost. She couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile from the bistro where she was supposed to meet Martin for lunch, but so dense and confusing was the geography of the Old Port that she might as well have been in Mexico. Streets were too grand a name for the little lanes and alleyways that twisted like the Minotaur’s maze, and all the sinuous pathways seemed to lie in the shade of tenement buildings that blocked out the sun – Liz couldn’t even locate its position in the sky to establish where south lay.
Then suddenly she emerged into a street she recognised – it ran past the Koreans’ office building. Not wanting to pass that again, she decided to risk a shortcut down a narrow side road that seemed to head in the right direction. The alley was lined on both sides by the backs of old stone houses, and the smells of midday meals cooking wafted out of windows. The street itself was deserted.
She heard a vehicle turn into the alley behind her. When she looked back she saw a battered blue van, driving slowly. She continued walking and as the van drove past her it struck her as odd that it had no name stencilled on its side. Thirty feet or so in front of her the van stopped, the driver’s door opened, and a heavy-set man in a bulky leather jacket and a cloth cap got out, leaving the engine running. Without looking at Liz, he went to the rear and wrenched open the van’s double doors. She noticed that the back of the van was empty and at the same time felt there was something familiar about the driver. As she came level with him, the man turned towards her. ‘Excusez-moi, Madame,’ he said with a smile, and Liz stopped.