“I fancy a coffee, shall we go down?”
We ended up in the hotel coffee bar, where we were safe to talk. I pulled out my mobile and spent twenty minutes talking to Howard.
“Well, what did you find?” she asked, exasperated, when I finally terminated the call.
“Donaldson has another name of Hansen. Hansen works for Maxim as a computer systems engineer. IT Solutions in Toledo is being taken over by the Maxim Group, but they don’t want it to be released for a while because of US monopoly infringements.”
“Why the false name?”
“Both passports looked real, I hate to say it, but I think Hansen/Donaldson is a player in another game.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I don’t think we’re in the picture as far as Maxim is concerned, but Donaldson may not be a Maxim player.”
“You’ve confused me.”
“I think Donaldson is CIA. Neither name is probably his, but in all probability, he really is a computer specialist. I think he’s been placed into Maxim to infiltrate and get into the IT world so they can locate Standing. He’s using the cover names so Maxim can’t trace him back to the agency.”
“Why?”
“I think the CIA believes that Standing is looking to sell his product to Maxim, which would potentially improve his chances of obtaining the kind of money he’s after, without knowingly side with any particular country. As to how they believe this, Howard has no way of knowing. He thinks that their spooks may have found a link, or through Mrs Standing.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Sixty percent of Maxim is owned by Saudi Arabs.”
“Like Bin Laden?”
“Like Bin Laden.”
“Why was our room bugged?”
“I think Donaldson, or whatever name he’s using, told the agency about meeting us. I think they’re the ones who searched the room and left the bug in the phone. Like me, they don’t believe in coincidences, so when I turned up here, their alarm bells started ringing.”
“But it was a coincidence, wasn’t it?”
I looked at her. “Was it? Who bought the tickets and paid for this hotel, specifically?”
“Oh.”
“Howard is no fool. He knows me, or the old me, and knows that I’m always keen to get a job done. I think that it’s a good bet that the boss is using me as a sacrificial goat to stir the shit. They’ll believe that we know a lot more than we do now.”
“Why?”
“Imagine you are the ops director of this operation for the CIA. Your task is to ascertain the whereabouts of one Hugh Standing and secure or destroy the device in question. The first thing to happen after the disappearance of the good professor is that I turn up in London driving a car that they knew was being driven by someone who is suspected of entering the facility illegally and has since disappeared. They did their best, but got nothing out of me. They’ve done some checking by now, so have probably found I don’t exist. Oh, I exist, but in the absence of any other history, the concocted story was good enough to start, but now they suspect that I am a walking piece of fiction. So, you ask yourself, who the fuck am I, and what do I know? This makes you worried. It’s not often the Americans get worried about being out-manoeuvred by the British Security Services, but this time they believe we know more than they do.
“Then I turn up at the same hotel as one of your undercover operatives. Spooky or what?”
“Not only that, but you tried to pick up their main man. No wonder he got frightened off,” Carlene said.
“Right, so they told him to go touch base with Maxim and see what was going down. That was the visit last evening to the address of ill repute. Today was different. I think some key people from Maxim were here trying to hasten the buy-out of IT Solutions, and Wayne was busy attempting to ingratiate himself into Maxims. The CIA want him in the big company, I think they believe that it is the only way to get to Standing.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t know,” I said, ringing Jon.
“Hi, Jon Standing,” he said.
“Hi, this is Rebecca, sitting down here.” Okay so it was an awful line.
“Rebecca, I thought I didn’t recognise the number. Thanks for calling, I didn’t really expect you would.” He sounded surprised and pleased.
“Well, what about that drink?”
“Oh, right, yes, okay. When and where?”
I suddenly got a wicked thought. “How about my hotel?”
“Okay, where is it?”
I told him.
“I’ll be there in about an hour, or is it too early?”
“No, that’s fine.”
“Um, you said you were with a girl friend, was that true?”
“Yes, but she’s got another date with someone from the Embassy.”
“Oh, I didn’t want to screw up your time with your friend.”
“You aren’t, don’t worry.”
“In an hour then?”
“See you.”
I hung up.
“The Embassy?” she asked.
“Howard says that Caroline Reynolds will meet you here in fifty minutes to drive you there. Have fun!”
I stood up.
“You tart! What are you going to do?”
“Dress the part, care to help me look sexy?”
Grinning, she nodded and we headed for the elevator.
It was a new dress, which we’d bought the previous day. It was royal blue with a slight under-sparkle. Carlene had helped with my make up and selecting the right jewellery. Despite shoes being sexier, I wore my boots because it was bloody cold out. Still, they had decent heels and were very comfortable.
“Sexy, sophisticated and slightly understated. You don’t want to look cheap, but by looking chic with small items of good jewellery, you’ll look far better than loads of gaudy and chunky gold everywhere. You look comfortably rich, but not eager to show it. With those long legs and sexy boots, you’ll blow his mind!”
“If I have to, I’ll blow more than his bloody mind before this evening’s out,” I said.
“Rebecca!” admonished Carlene, a little shocked.
“What? Look, I don’t have the kit I usually do, so I’m left with what I have. Don’t fret, just put it down to therapy, okay?”
She giggled. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“You have to tell me all about it.”
“As a friend or as a shrink?”
“Both.”
“Okay, thanks, Carlene, you’ve been great. You’ve got ten minutes, so you’d better scram. Good luck!”
I was waiting in the bar for him. He was late, for by the time he eventually arrived, six different men had approached me with different levels of subtly, but each wanting to take me to bed. My ego was soaring, as was my libido.
He’d washed and changed into a dark suit with a white collarless shirt. He looked good, slightly gauche, but pretty good all the same.
“Sorry I’m late, Rebecca, I got a little lost from the Metro,” he said, his eyes widening as he looked me up and down.
“Will I do?” I asked.
“Shit, sorry, um, no, I mean yes, shit, you look wonderful, sorry.”
No wonder the French think the British are boring lovers!
“I’ll take that as a compliment. You scrub up okay, I suppose,” I said, my eyes laughing at him. He went red.
“Come on, perch up here next to me,” I said, patting the barstool. He stared at my legs for a moment and took the offered seat.
“Um, can I get you a drink?”
I looked at my beer glass, now half-empty.
“The draught beer is okay, so I’ll have another one, thanks.”
“Beer?” he asked, surprised.
“What’s wrong with that, would you rather buy me champagne?”
“No, I’m just surprised, that’s all. You don’t look like a beer person.”
“What sort of person do I look like?”