Riley glanced down at Michael, who was past caring. His eyes were rolling and a livid bruise was beginning to blossom on his forehead where it had made contact with the ground.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ she demanded, rounding on Palmer, then stopping to brush some dirt from his shoulder. There was a small tear in the fabric, and she wondered vaguely if Mr Javad’s skills included clothing repairs. ‘You could have been killed going down like that!’
Palmer sniffed and bent to brush off his trousers. ‘Oh, you mean the on-the-ground bit?’
‘Yes. I thought he’d finished you.’
‘What, you’ve never seen break-dancing before?’ Palmer grinned and brushed his fingers through his hair. ‘It was close,’ he conceded, wincing slightly, ‘but he didn’t get the peanut. Come on, let’s get him out of the public eye.’ He bent and stripped the laces from the unresisting Russian’s shoes, then tied his thumbs and small fingers together. Taking off the shoes and handing them to Riley, he grasped Michael beneath his arms and dragged him towards the doorway in the fence panel.
Riley followed. ‘What are you going to do with him? Shouldn’t we go after Radnor?’
‘Forget him. We’d never catch him now — even if we knew where he was going.’ He dragged Michael across the grass to the rear of the house and dumped him near the door of a brick garage, leaving Riley to close the fence panel and join him.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Riley grated, her frustration showing. Now she knew Palmer was okay, she could vent her anger on the fact that Radnor had got away at the very last minute. ‘We were so close.’
‘Never mind,’ Palmer said cheerfully, although he was studying Michael with a grim look. The Russian was regaining consciousness, and already staring at Palmer with a defiant air. His suit was torn and dirty, and the white shirt was no longer immaculate, and he was a long way from the neat figure they had seen before. ‘I know somebody who can help us.’
Palmer opened a side door to the garage. It revealed an empty space with a workbench against one wall. On the wall itself was an array of tools, dusty and pitted with rust through lack of use. The air smelled dull and oily, and judging by the undisturbed cobwebs, he doubted if Radnor and Michael had ever set foot in here.
Palmer dragged Michael inside, dumping him without great care by the workbench.
Riley stood in the doorway, watching. ‘What are you going to do?’ She looked concerned, eyes darting from the man on the floor to Palmer and back. ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’
‘Not yet.’ Palmer stepped over to the workbench and cast his eyes over the tools. ‘I want to ask him a few questions.’ He reached up to where a large pair of sheet-metal cutters were held in place by two hooks, and took them down. He worked the handles until the jaws opened and closed with satisfactory smoothness. A faint squeak emanating from the unused parts was put right by a squirt of oil from an ancient can with a long spout. He took his time, and when he turned back towards Michael, the man went pale and tried to roll away.
‘Palmer!’ Riley hissed, the horror at what he was proposing to do dawning on her. Then she recognised the faint smile around his mouth, and realised something that the terrified Michael, no doubt judging Palmer’s intentions by his own standards, could not know: that Palmer had no such plans, and had been counting on Riley’s instinctive reaction to add authenticity to the scene. ‘You can’t…!’ she added helpfully, and turned quickly away, stepping outside.
‘Women,’ said Palmer, shaking his head, and closed the jaws of the metal cutters again with a sickening snap. ‘Too soft every time.’
Moments later, Michael began talking.
Chapter 39
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Palmer. ‘They won’t want you there. It’s best you stay out of it.’
He and Riley were standing at the bottom of Trafalgar Square, looking east towards the Strand. To their right was a bookseller and a souvenir shop, with the main entrance to Charing Cross station a few yards away, and next to it, the entrance to a hotel. A clutch of chattering tourists were waiting to cross the road on their left, barely stopping themselves from spilling out into the traffic, while a solid line of cars, bikes and buses waiting to head west and north clogged the air with fumes.
After calling Charlie to tell him where Mikhail Rubinov could be found and, from the plane ticket in Rubinov’s jacket pocket, where Arthur Radnor was heading, they had gone home to wait.
‘Go see a film, visit the seaside and collect shells — anything,’ Charlie had advised them heavily. ‘Leave everything alone now. You’ve done enough. I’ll make sure something gets done.’ With that he had rung off to start the process of stirring into motion the sluggish machine that operated the various arms of the law.
That had been four days ago. Since then there had been nothing in the news, no reports of sudden arrests, no passengers detained at air or sea-ports, and no speculation about former spies or arms smuggling.
Riley had got together with Donald Brask in the hopes of working out a possible story which wouldn’t upset Charlie’s superiors, but her agent had advised her against taking it any further. ‘I know it hurts,’ he had said sympathetically. ‘But there are some enemies you don’t need. Let it go. There will be other stories.’
Palmer, back to his usual self, had disappeared on a job somewhere, stopping by to check there had been no signs of Ragga Pearl’s men showing an interest.
Then Charlie had rung back earlier that morning, to advise them that Palmer’s presence was requested at a location near Whitehall. ‘It’s a de-briefing,’ Charlie had added. ‘You’ve done plenty of those before. Don’t worry, Frank, if they were going to arrest you, they’d have done it by now. But don’t play silly buggers. These people aren’t the kind to mess with.’
Now here they were, with Riley alongside to see that nothing untoward happened to Palmer. But she still felt she should be with him when he went in to face his inquisitors.
‘They must know all about me, Palmer. You don’t have to protect me, you know.’
‘I know. But why show up on their radar when you don’t have to?’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘They merely want to impress on me that I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, so I’d better keep my mouth shut. It’s the way the official mind works. If I’m not out in three hours, send in the massed ranks of the Salvation Army.’ He turned and walked away, leaving her among the crush of people on the pavement.
The hotel foyer was shiny and polished, with a desk on one side and an array of soft chairs on the other. A large star-shape was set into the tiled floor, and a variety of pot plants conspired to give an air of freshness, light and calm. There were few people about, and little noise other than the ringing of a phone in the background.
Palmer started towards the desk but was intercepted by a young man in a plain, grey suit. Palmer knew instantly that he was not a hotel employee.
‘Mr Palmer?’ The young man had clear skin and the kind of tan you only get through regular exercise in the great outdoors.
‘The one and only.’
‘You’re late,’ said the other. He wore a subdued tie and shirt, and Palmer doubted he’d be able to remember his face after five minutes. The eyes, however, were steady and cool, a giveaway to his profession.
‘Take it out of my taxes,’ said Palmer mildly. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
The young man looked mildly surprised, but turned and led Palmer along a corridor and up some wide, curving stairs to a room on the first floor. On the way they passed another man, a near-clone of the first, who turned and wandered along in their wake. Palmer had every reason to suspect there were others nearby, just like them. He almost felt flattered.
‘Who are you two?’ he quipped. ‘Fortnum and Mason?’
The first man — Fortnum — stopped outside a set of double doors. He knocked twice and opened them to reveal a large conference room with a high ceiling. Rows of chairs faced a small stage with a lectern and microphone. Two men were seated at the front, talking softly. They stopped as Palmer stepped inside. Fortnum closed the door and stationed himself in front of it, while Mason stayed outside.