“Where are we going? I expect that hotels are in contact with the police.”
“No, most small hotels don’t even require registration, there’s a whole underclass of borderline criminals existing in almost perfect anonymity. I’ve booked us into a small hotel in the Kings Cross area. It is not a very nice part of London, but nobody will ask any questions and I can make easy contact with my people, as can you.”
Hans nodded, looking out of the window of the black cab. London was a very different place to which he’d imagined. He couldn’t quite get over the number of vehicles. It seemed that everyone owned a car and everyone was driving at the same time. The shops too, not only so many, but the variety and quantity of items that appeared to be for sale. The gulf between his world and this one suddenly seemed wider.
Ivan was watching the people, trying to sense anyone who was as he was. He also watched the girls in their short skirts, identifying a longing in his soul. Not only for companionship, but also for a soul mate with whom he could form what he believed was a normal relationship. He had yet to experience a sexual relationship with anyone. His strange nature had meant he experienced a good deal of confusion over his sexuality. A senior party member, a man who was also married, once made a pass at him at an official function. Ivan was so disgusted and repelled that he took his revenge in a rather cruel way.
Using his powers, he arranged matters in such a way that the police found the man in a compromising position with an underage boy, thereby ruining his reputation and future in one move. Thereafter, Ivan believed his orientation was as a male heterosexual, but lacked the confidence to seek out a willing partner.
He had never ‘known’ a woman, and yet was fearful of even trying. Notwithstanding his enormous power, he was insecure and lascked the confidence of who and what he was.
They checked into a small hotel up a side street in Kings Cross. The streets were dirtier in this area, so already Hans could identify the seamier side of life that existed here. Not everything in the west was as wonderful as he had thought.
The hotel, called the Cross Keys Hotel, contained eight double rooms and six small singles in a dilapidated building squashed between two others of a similar nature. The threadbare carpet just muffled the squeaky floorboards, but the rooms were tatty and clean, the beds were sound and there was a bathroom just next to their rooms. Hans was surprised that the immaculate Russian would ever choose such a moth-eaten hotel, when he had the expense account and contacts to stay in far more luxurious establishments.
However, it soon became obvious, as no register was completed and, due to the fact that at least fifteen similar establishments adorned this single street, they had a much greater degree of freedom than more up-market hotels.
Vassily immediately left the hotel, crossed the road and used the public phone box on the street, some fifty metres from the hotel. Ten minutes later a black Mercedes with darkened windows appeared and all three men got in the car, Hans and Vassily in the rear, Ivan in the front next to the driver. The stocky man in an ill-fitting suit and very short hair drove the car away from the kerb and into the swirling London traffic with consummate ease.
“Major Vreiker, meet Major Dimitri Gorsoff. Dimitri, this is the man who not only saw our target but can remember what she looked like.”
“Then here’s hoping we get lucky,” the driver said, narrowly missing a cyclist who shot out from a side street against a red light. “Bastard. I hope your balls shrivel up and drop off!”
Vassily smiled, turning to Hans.
“Dimitri has been here too long. You’ll observe that rarely do the British use their horns, instead they swear and shout a lot, making rude gestures with their fingers.”
“Actually, compared to most European cities, London is a lot better to drive in, except during the rush hour. It’s the Belgians that terrify me the most,” offered Dimitri, as he narrowly missed another suicidal cyclist.
Hans started to relax, finding the Russians’ good humour infectious.
They ended up at the café where their man had been due to meet his contact. The witness was the waiter who had seen the girl walk away with the missing Russian.
Dimitri had managed to backtrack and, claiming to be a Norwegian relative of the missing man, had shown a photograph of Leonid to the waiter. The man claimed that he remembered the man, but also remembered the girl.
“Yeah, I remember him. It was lunchtime and very hot. They both sat outside, she was sitting reading a magazine, and ordered a baked potato with tuna and sweet corn. She had tea, if I remember. Him? He was on his own, reading a book. He just had a coffee and stayed long enough to drink it. I think he left first, but then the girl followed. I saw her talk to him on the corner, and then he went with her to a car.”
“What kind of car?”
“A big dark saloon, I don’t know what make, a Jag possibly.”
“Tell me about the girl, what was she like?”
“Stunning and really friendly. She joked about the size of the potato, telling me she’d never eat it all.”
“Did she?”
“Oh yes, no problem.”
“Can you remember what her voice was like, was she local?”
“Local? You mean English? Yes. But she didn’t have an accent, she was posh, you know, educated.”
“Would you recognise her again?”
“With those eyes, of course!”
“Eyes?”
“They were amazing, almost golden.”
The four men went to the same café, sat down inside, as it started to drizzle, and looked at the menu. Dimitri nodded, drawing the others’ attention to the waiter.
Ivan closed his eyes and concentrated. The waiter approached their table.
“Yes, gents, what can I get you?”
They all ordered coffee and waited for him to return. In the meantime, Ivan had taken one of the rather blurred photographs from the pile.
Dimitri, in his excellent English, opened the conversation.
“My friend, I was here a few days ago, if you remember. You were very kind and helped me with my missing friend and the girl. These men are colleagues of my friend, and we have a photograph of the girl for you to look at.”
Ivan passed the photograph across. The waiter looked at it, nodding.
“Yeah, I think that’s her. Not a very good one, though.”
He passed it back, and Hans was interested to note it was the one he’d believed was most like the girl he’d met in uniform.
“Have you seen her since?” Dimitri asked.
“No, although I’ve been looking, as it’s not everyday you see one that good looking who tips well.”
The men finished their coffees, all convinced that there was a definite link. They walked into a nearby park and walked briskly along the path. Vassily made some decisions.
“Right, clearly we have a positive identification. This is not a coincidence as the likeness if too close to be such. I will keep Ivan with me, you, Dimitri, take Hans and that way we will cover the Whitehall area. Look in coffee shops and shops; use the photograph in boutiques if you have to. She is here somewhere, if we keep our eyes open, we may get lucky,” he said.
Ivan smiled, as he knew that this was his task, to make them lucky.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Amber looked out across the Berkshire Downs from the bedroom window. The recent rain made everything much greener, giving the whole land a lush, rich feel. There was a lovely smell of freshly cut hay emanating from the nearby farm and she could hear the lowing of the dairy herd as the cows were let out into the pasture after morning milking.
Two arms encircled her from behind and an unshaven cheek nuzzled her neck.
She smiled, enjoying his male closeness against her naked body. Turning, she put both arms around his neck and allowed him to draw her close. She didn’t need any special powers to know what he wanted.