Another knock. Three solid, determined raps. Then the voice again. 'Open the door, Jackson. We don't want to break it down.'
His eyes flickered around the room. There was almost nothing he could use as a weapon. The lamps were fastened to the surfaces and there was nothing else of any weight that would serve as a bludgeon. But on the floor there was a dressing gown. Will picked it up and pulled the cord from out of the loops, then pulled it tight from each end. It was strong enough, should it come to that. Will held it firmly in his right hand, then gingerly opened the door, keeping the dressing-gown cord out of sight.
There were two men there, about Will's age, maybe a little younger. They were dressed in casual clothes — jeans, trainers and warm padded overcoats. One of them had his hands in his pockets, and Will's practised eye immediately noticed that there was more of a bulge in one of them than there should have been. He was being held at gunpoint.
There were no introductions, no pleasantries. 'We'd like you to come with us,' the man with the gun said, almost politely.
Will sniffed. 'How did you find me?' he asked.
The man inclined his head slightly, but didn't answer. 'There's two ways to do this,' he said. 'Our way or the other way. Our way is easier and will hurt less.'
'I bet it will,' Will murmured. 'I need to get my things together.'
The American nodded, then they both followed him into the room. 'Drop the cord,' the man said as soon as he saw it in Will's hand and Will had no option but to do as he said. When he was ready, he turned back to the Americans.
'This is what we're going to do,' he was told. 'We walk on either side of you. I don't need to tell you what will happen if you do anything that makes us even slightly nervous. Don't try and check out — your room bill has already been paid. There's a red Laguna waiting outside.
You get straight in it, using the back door on the sidewalk side. We've got men in the lobby and men outside. We know who you are and we're aware of your training. I hope you'll believe us when we say that we've got every exit covered.'
'Yeah,' Will said flatly. 'I believe you.' Inside he was cursing.
How the hell had they caught up with him? Nobody knew he was here. Nobody. If he missed his meet, everything would go tits up. But these guys were clearly CIA, they weren't going to let him get away and he was in no fit state for heroics.
'Good. Let's go.'
It seemed to take forever as they walked silently down the deserted hotel corridor to the lift and no one said a word as they descended to the ground floor. Once they were in the lobby, Will couldn't help his eyes glancing around to see if he could spot the plain-clothes agents. He couldn't. They were good.
His mind turned somersaults, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. The clock was ticking and he couldn't risk being late, but the CIA guys flanked him tightly and there was no getting away. As soon as they were all in the Laguna, the central-locking system shut down and the car slipped into the traffic.
'Where are we going?'Will asked.
No answer.
They headed up towards the West End.
It took them ten minutes to reach their destination — plush, gentrified Brook Street in Mayfair. They stopped and Will was hustled out of the car. The building to which he was led looked just the same as all the other houses, giving no indication as to what went on there. Will did notice, however, two guys hanging around in plain clothes, one a few metres from the door, the other on the opposite side of the road. No doubt there would be others. They approached the door and one of the men pressed a buzzer by a small entry camera; a few moments later they were buzzed in.
The inside of the building was a lot less gentrified than the outside. A bland, empty corridor gave on to a number of closed doors and there was the antiseptic smell of whatever bleach had been used to clean the shiny, vinyl floor. 'Care to tell me who I'm meeting with?'Will asked as they crossed the threshold.
Neither man spoke, but one of them knocked on the nearest door. It was swiftly opened and Will's two guards stepped aside to let him in.
The man waiting for him was a good deal older than Will — mid-sixties, perhaps. He had a thick head of greying hair and a ruddy complexion. There was a broad, friendly smile on his face. 'Good morning,' he greeted Will as the door was closed behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the room.
Will nodded. 'Who are you?'
'Zack Levinson.' The man held out his hand. 'Don Priestley's successor. I hope our boys weren't too rough with you. It's the way they're trained, but I guess you know all about that.'
Will felt his eyes narrowing and cautiously shook Levinson's hand. 'Take a seat, please,' the American smiled at him.
He sat in the armchair that Levinson indicated.
'Damn shame about Priestley,' the American said. 'He was a good guy. I came up through the ranks with him. Damn good guy. 'Will noticed that Levinson stared straight at him as he spoke, as if gauging his minutest reaction.
'I didn't know him that well,' he replied.
'No,' Levinson muttered. 'No, of course. Look, I'm sorry about the two heavies bringing you in like that. Langley are pretty keen for me to speak to you, find out exactly what happened. Five are being a bit shifty about the whole thing. Not that I blame them — always a bit of an embarrassment to have a foreign agent killed on your own turf.'
'Faisal Ahmed was CIA trained,' Will reminded him.
Levinson held up his hands. 'Sure,' he said, mollifyingly. 'Sure. Don't get me wrong, Will. We're grateful to you for bringing Ahmed down. When a guy like that goes haywire there's no telling how it'll end. But it's always difficult to lose one of your own.'
You don't have to tell me that, Will thought.
'There was just one thing, Will, that I wanted to ask you. Our sources say that there were two guns at the scene — one that killed Priestley, the other that shot you. 'Levinson smiled, blandly. 'I'm sure there's an obvious explanation for that — why Ahmed felt the need to put one of his guns down, I mean.' His eyes remained locked on Will's.
Inside, Will's stomach was doing somersaults, but he did his best to maintain a calm exterior. 'I disarmed him and tried to take him alive,' he said. 'But he pulled another pistol on me.'
'I see,' he replied. His smile grew a little broader. 'Forgive me,' he said, 'but our reports from Don Priestley suggest that your intention was always to shoot to kill.'
'I don't kill people when I don't have to,' Will replied, quietly.
'No,' Levinson shook his head. 'No, of course not. What I'm wondering, Will, is if you can throw any light on why Ahmed targeted Priestley.'
'I'm afraid we didn't really get a chance to chat, Zack. Awkward social situation and all that.'
Levinson nodded his head, slowly. He stood up and walked to the window. 'Let me level with you, Will. We're worried about Ahmed's sister. From what we've heard she was roughed up pretty bad by the Taliban. The American government would like to offer her sanctuary — a place to live, a small pension. My superiors feel it's the least we can do.' He turned to look at Will again. 'But we've no idea where she is. Tell me, Will, do you think it's likely that she might get in contact with you?'
'Not really.'
'We think otherwise, Will. You've done a lot for the woman. Saved her life on more than one occasion. As far as we can tell, she doesn't know anyone else in the country. If I were a betting man, Will, I'd put a few dollars on you hearing from her sometime pretty soon.'
'I killed her brother,' Will said, flatly.