After six hours in the unventilated basement, Antun takes a bathroom break, shadowed by Aasif, who’s been briefed to trust no one.
Antun watches the big man as he washes at the sink. It’s clear that the enforcer’s wide shoulders have been rounded from lifting titanic weights and working slow, repetitive curls in a gym. Thin white snakes crawl across his knuckles and jawbone, long scars from years of street brawls. Antun notes where they are. All are right-sided defence wounds except for the mark on the left of his face, no doubt delivered by a right-handed attacker with a knife. He suspects the assailant is no longer around to brag about the encounter.
Aasif rips a wad of green paper towels from a wall dispenser and holds them out in his fist. ‘Here. Hurry up.’
Antun takes them and slowly wipes his hands. ‘What’s your rush? I thought your kind liked restrooms.’
‘My kind? What’s my kind?’
He smiles his way past him. ‘You know what it is.’
Aasif grabs his shoulder. ‘You say that again and I’ll rip a new asshole in your face.’
‘Sure you will.’ He stands eyeball to eyeball. ‘And we both know what you’d like to do with assholes.’
Aasif’s fists ball in anger.
Antun laughs in his face. He’s taken apart bigger and meaner creatures than Aasif. Most importantly he now knows where the ape’s trigger is and how quickly it can be pulled.
The two of them return to their seats in the rancid basement and glare across at each other. Both know their time will come.
Three bangs on the floor above their heads prompt Nabil to break his silence. ‘She’s here.’ He turns to Aasif. ‘Bring the vest.’
40
As well as his diplomatic duties and stewardship of the SSOA, Sir Owain Gwyn is the owner and non-executive chairman of Caledfwlch Ethical Investments, a multi-billion-dollar global investment company, started by his family generations ago. He is also the patron of more than a dozen charities and as a result, much of his first full day back in the UK is spent contacting his various offices.
The knight takes a late lunch with his wife, then returns to the SSOA’s underground control centre for a final briefing with Inner Circle secretary, Lance Beaucoup.
The room is dominated by a long wall of video screens and several rows of staff manning terminals and monitors linked to data, surveillance and satellite systems.
The two men sit in one of four concave areas that contain large desks-cum-conference-tables buffered by slide-across soundproof screens.
‘I’m afraid I have no news on Antun,’ confesses the Frenchman. ‘I just spoke to Gareth and he has been unable to contact him.’
Owain is worried. ‘I thought we had him under surveillance?’
‘We did. The team reported that they saw him meet Nabil, but we lost them both.’
‘How?’
‘We stayed with them for two changes of subway train, then they disappeared.’
‘What about the electronic tracker?’
‘Antun dropped it soon after the meet. Nabil must have gone to frisk him, so he had to.’
Owain is annoyed with himself. ‘We should have pulled him out as soon as the Americans made their raid. If anything goes wrong I will never forgive myself.’
‘Antun Bhatti is one of our best operatives; he can look after himself.’
‘Sometimes being the best is not good enough. Over the centuries we have filled graves with the best of men.’
‘I understand.’ Lance passes over a stack of screen prints.
‘What are these?’
‘Latest satellite surveillance shots from Togo. Mardrid has torched an entire village. Thirty deaths. Most of them burned alive. Fatalities include two coffee farmers shot in the head. I think they were the first to go.’
Owain throws the sheets onto his desk. ‘Damn every bone in his body!’ He rests his forehead on his hands and tries to control the rage. ‘I want him dead, Lance. I don’t care how. I want Mardrid lying beneath six feet of earth before he spreads any more of his cancer around the world.’
‘We can never get near him. His security is better than a Saudi king’s.’
‘Then until you can, stop this!’ He slaps a hand on the prints. ‘We’ve got people in Ghana; move them over. Find the ringleaders and give them to the locals to deal with.’
‘We will need more than a handful of locals to contain Mardrid’s thugs.’
‘I know, but this at least will give them hope.’ He takes a moment to think, then adds, ‘I’ll seek approval from the Inner Circle to raise crusaders and have the action ratified by an extraordinary meeting of the Blood Line.’ Owain’s mood darkens as he imagines what else Mardrid may have brewing. ‘Any news on Marchetti? Is that viperous traitor already in the Spanish devil’s nest?’
‘He flew into Charles de Gaulle yesterday, but we haven’t found out whether he caught a connecting flight or stayed in the city.’
‘He’ll have flown on. Find where Mardrid is and you’ll find Marchetti.’ Owain stands and straightens out the jacket of his navy-blue suit. ‘I’m sorry; I really have to rush. Will you drive Jennifer to Caergwyn in the morning? I’ll join you there when I can.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’
‘Merci.’ Owain leaves to say goodbye to his wife.
He finds her stood by the front door in a short brown tweed skirt and an ochre-coloured jacket. The earthy colours complement her blonde hair and blue eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ He stoops to kiss her. ‘You have no idea how much I want to stay with you and be in your bed tonight.’
‘I think I do.’ And the look in her eyes confirms it. ‘I’ve had your overnight bag with your dinner suit and change of clothes put in the aircraft.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Be careful.’
‘I always am.’
He can still smell her perfume and feel the tingle of her lips as he boards the Bell.
The helicopter blades quickly build noise and speed. With a graceful lunge it leaves the ground, billowing dust and shaking trees.
Owain sees his wife wave and then drift back inside. He looks forward as the craft climbs into the pale evening cloud-base and banks east towards London and Buckingham Palace. In a short while, he’ll take part in a meeting so secret he hasn’t even told Jennifer about it.
41
It’s gone three p.m. when Mitzi leaves Sophie Hudson’s place.
Irish is asleep at the wheel, his seat laid out flat and the car sunk in a pool of shade beneath some elms.
She opens the passenger door quietly, gets in and slams it.
Irish sits up fast. ‘Whadafuck!’
‘Result,’ she says mischievously.
He blinks and rubs blood into his face. ‘What?’
She holds up the silver memory stick Sophie had given her. ‘This is what your store girl was keeping from you.’
He cranks his seat back into an upright position and takes it. ‘What’s on here?’
‘Remains to be seen. Scratch on the side says CODE X. Sophie Hudson said her boss got it as a kind of sample for some deal he was doing. Apparently, it contains only letters and numbers.’
‘Sounds like a scam.’
‘Run me to the hotel so I can dump my stuff, then we can look and maybe get something to eat and drink.’
He starts the engine. ‘Good idea.’
‘Coffee. That’s the drink I have in mind.’
He lets the snipe slide as he swings the Taurus round and out towards Kensington. ‘So the woman-to-woman trick worked, hey?’ He looks pleased with himself. ‘How d’you play it? Momsy or sisterly?’