Pushing any thoughts of aerobics and karate from her mind, she reluctantly got to her feet and went through to the bathroom.
Cross and Johnstone, the two anti-terrorist squad detectives who had also been assigned to accompany Scoby on his early morning run, were already waiting in the corridor when Graham and Sabrina arrived punctually to meet Scoby at five forty-five outside his suite. Graham, as usual, was wearing his New York Giants tracksuit and a white headband knotted loosely at the back of his head.
“Is he ready?” Graham asked, gesturing to the door.
“Dunno,” Cross replied with a shrug. “We just got here.”
Graham rapped on the door and moments later Scoby answered it, still wearing his dressing gown. He appraised Graham’s shellsuit slowly. “A liberal and a Giants fan?”
“Mike used to play for the Giants,” Sabrina said, coming to Graham’s defense.
Graham shot her a dirty look.
“Really?” Scoby said in surprise. “Why wasn’t there any mention of it in your dossier?”
“It wasn’t relevant to the case,” Graham replied brusquely.
“Graham? I can’t say I remember the name. What position did you play?”
“Quarterback. But I never played at senior level. I was sent to ’Nam a month after I signed for them. I picked up a shoulder injury over there and that was the end of my playing career.”
“Sounds like you had a narrow escape. Let’s face it, there is only one team to play for in New York. And that’s the Jets.”
“The Jets did try to sign me when I got back from ’Nam,’ Graham replied poker-faced. “I was told that even with my screwed-up arm, I was a damn sight better than any of their regular quarterbacks. But, much as I loved the game, I just couldn’t bring myself to sink that low. Not the Jets.”
“That’s very good,” Scoby said with a forced smile then, excusing himself, went to change. He returned a few minutes later wearing a black and red shellsuit and a black peaked cap.
“Do you always wear that when you go running?” Graham asked.
“This, or a black and yellow shellsuit. Why, what’s wrong with it?”
Graham and Sabrina exchanged glances.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Graham asked.
She nodded.
“Can you drop the telepathy act and tell me what’s going on?” Scoby demanded.
They told him.
“Stop that!” Fiona snapped at Mullen.
“What?” Mullen retorted.
“Drumming your fingers on the wheel.”
“Was I?” Mullen replied with a shrug. He folded his arms across his chest then looked across the road at the entrance of the Grosvenor House Hotel. “I thought you said he always went for his run at six. He’s already ten minutes late.”
They were sitting in a light blue Volkswagen Polo which Mullen had stolen from an estate in Notting Hill earlier that morning. By the time the owner reported it missing, they would already have dumped it on the other side of town. They had thought about torching it but decided it would only draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Not that there would be any prints. Both had on gloves. Fiona was also wearing a shoulder-length red wig. A pair of dark sunglasses lay on the dashboard in front of her. Mullen’s long, straggly hair was hidden under her black trilby. He also had a pair of sunglasses which were tucked into the top pocket of his corduroy jacket. Fiona looked at her watch. They had been there for the last forty minutes. So where was Scoby? It wasn’t like him to be late.
“Hey, look,” Mullen suddenly blurted out, pointing to Cross and Sabrina as they emerged from the hotel. “That could be Scoby’s security team.”
“Could be,” Fiona replied absently, without taking her eyes off them.
Cross and Sabrina looked around them slowly then indicated to the third figure in the doorway behind them.
“It’s Scoby,” Mullen hissed, immediately recognizing the distinctive black and red tracksuit which had been mentioned in the directive.
Fiona retrieved the Skorpion machine-pistol from under her seat. Checking it was loaded, she cradled it in her lap, her eyes fixed on the three figures standing in front of the hotel. They crossed the road, heading in the direction of Grosvenor Gate. Fiona tightened her grip on the machine-pistol. She had the perfect shot. Suddenly she cursed under her breath and ducked down out of sight, pushing Mullen down as she did so. As soon as she judged that they had entered Hyde Park, she sat up again.
“Why didn’t you take him out?” Mullen demanded.
“Because it wasn’t Scoby,” she snapped. “It was a decoy.”
“A decoy? That means Scoby’s probably ducked out through another entrance while we’ve been sitting here watching this lot.”
“Exactly.”
“Where to?” Mullen asked, reaching for the key in the ignition.
“Nowhere. I’ve got a feeling they’re all going to meet up somewhere in Hyde Park. We can’t miss them if we stay here.”
Mullen looked at her but said nothing.
Barely a minute had elapsed when Fiona spotted two figures emerging from Upper Grosvenor Street at the side of the hotel. Both were wearing tracksuits.
“We’re in luck,” she murmured, smiling to herself. One of them was Scoby.
Sabrina, Cross and Johnstone, who was wearing Scoby’s shellsuit and black peaked cap, stopped running when they reached the Ring Tea House inside Hyde Park.
Sabrina unclipped the two-way radio attached to her belt. “Come in, Mike.”
“Yeah, Graham here,” came the breathless reply. “Where are you?” she asked.
“We’re at Brook Gate,” he told her. “Did you attract any attention?”
“No, everything’s quiet. Well, as quiet as can be expected around here. But no sign of any trouble.”
“OK, we’re moving on,” Graham said. “We’ll meet you, as arranged, at the Fountains in ten minutes.”
“Right. Over and out.”
Cross rubbed his gloved hands together. “It’s a bit parky out here this morning.”
“Parky?” Johnstone snorted. “It’s bloody freezing. Why would anyone in their right minds want to be out jogging on a morning like this?” He looked at Sabrina. “I know where I’d like to be.”
The insinuation wasn’t lost on her. She gave him a mock innocent smile. “Me too.”
“Yeah?” Johnstone said, grinning knowingly at Cross.
“Sure. The Fountains. Let’s go.”
Cross laughed at Johnstone’s pained expression as Sabrina led the way to their rendezvous.
“They’ve stopped,” Mullen said, reducing speed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Stay in the slow lane,” she told him, activating the electric window. “And put on those sunglasses.”
Mullen snatched the sunglasses off the dashboard and slid them over his eyes. They were less than forty yards away from their target when a white Rover appeared behind them. It passed them and swung into the lane in front of them. Inside were two men, one of whom waved them on as the Rover crawled along, keeping pace with the joggers.
Mullen swore angrily. “It’s got to be part of his security team. Now what?”
“Stay behind them,” Fiona replied, tightening her grip on the machine-pistol. “We’re almost in range.”
“We’ll never outrun that Rover even if you do manage to hit Scoby,” Mullen wailed. “It’s too risky, Fiona. We’ve got to abort.”
“Pull out after the next car,” Fiona said, glancing behind her. It shot past them. “Now!”
Mullen swung out from behind the Rover and Fiona waited until they were almost parallel with Scoby and Graham before raising the machine-pistol to fire.