‘They’re still there,’ said Martin.
Cramer squeezed his arms. He could feel the gun in its holster pressing against his ribs but wasn’t reassured by its presence.
Martin turned onto the road that led to Chelsea Harbour, his eyes flicking between the rear-view mirror and the way ahead. ‘He’s indicating,’ he said. ‘Yeah, here he comes. Still too far away to get the registration.’
They drove by the Conrad Hotel towards the towering apartment block with its blue-framed balconies and pyramid roof. Martin turned left to follow the road around to the car park. ‘False alarm,’ said Allan. ‘They’re pulling up in front of the hotel.’
Cramer tried to relax. He uncrossed his arms, rested his head on the back of the seat and sighed. His heart was racing and his palms were sweating.
‘Okay?’ asked Allan as they drove down into the underground car park and stopped in front of the entrance to the apartment block.
Cramer nodded but didn’t reply. Martin and Allan got out of the Mercedes and walked around to Cramer’s door. The area outside the entrance was clear but the two men still formed a protective barrier as they escorted Cramer inside. The doorman nodded at them.
They took the elevator up to the ground level and walked across the marble-floored foyer. The doorman on duty wasn’t the man who’d been there when they’d left that morning. He was younger, with a thin face and pale blue eyes. Cramer transferred the metal case to his left hand. The doorman waved a greeting to Allan, then reached under the counter. Cramer tensed and flexed the fingers of his right hand. ‘Easy,’ said Allan out of the corner of his mouth, ‘he’s one of ours.’
The doorman brought an envelope out from under the counter and held it out for Su-ming as Allan and Martin walked either side of Cramer to the elevator.
Marie opened the door of the Rover and climbed in, her face flushed with excitement. ‘They went into an apartment block, the tall one,’ she said. ‘The two big guys kept really close to him as they went in.’
‘They’re bodyguards all right,’ said Lynch.
‘Why would Cramer need a bodyguard?’ asked Marie. ‘Do you think they know we’re after him?’
‘I can’t see how,’ said Lynch. ‘Besides, it doesn’t make sense. If they were trying to protect him, they’d make him disappear. The Brits could give him a new identity, a new passport and a ticket to anywhere in the world. They wouldn’t put him on full view like this. Maybe Vander Mayer’s in the apartment. What did they do with the car?’
‘The chauffeur came out after a few minutes and parked it.’
‘So it looks like they’re staying for a while, doesn’t it? And who’s that girl hanging around with them?’
Marie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But the bodyguards definitely aren’t for her. She was following them.’
Lynch made a clicking sound with his tongue. It was a nervous habit, and he didn’t realise he was doing it until Marie started to copy him. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve always done that when I think, ever since I was a kid. Used to annoy the hell out of my teachers during exams.’
‘I bet. What are you thinking about?’
‘I’m working out what to do.’
‘What are our options?’
Lynch put his head on one side as he looked at her. ‘We can keep following him, we can try to find out what Cramer’s up to. Or we can pull back, see if the bodyguards are a permanent feature. Or we can go for the hit now.’
Marie put her hand on Lynch’s shoulder. ‘You know what my choice would be?’
Lynch stared into her eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know what you want.’ He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I’m knackered,’ he said. ‘Whatever we do, we should rest for a while.’
Marie nodded at the hotel. ‘Well, we’re in the right place for that,’ she said.
As soon as they entered the flat, Su-ming disappeared down the corridor towards the bedrooms with the metal briefcase. Cramer heard a door shut and he figured she was probably putting the case into Vander Mayer’s safe.
Martin went off into the kitchen and Cramer and Allan followed him. ‘I’m starving,’ said Martin. He pulled open the door to the refrigerator and peered inside. ‘Jesus H. Christ, there’s enough food in here to feed a regiment,’ he said. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, unclipped his underarm holster, then stripped off his shirt to reveal the dark blue bullet-proof vest he was wearing. He ripped away the Velcro straps, slid the vest off and dropped it onto the table. The table shuddered.
‘Should be enough to keep you going until tomorrow, then,’ said Allan as he switched on the electric kettle.
Martin put his shirt back on, then took a carton of eggs, a plastic-wrapped pack of Danish bacon, a pack of Walls sausages and half a pound of butter from the fridge. ‘You can’t see any bread, can you?’ he asked.
Cramer pointed at a large stainless steel bin with ‘BREAD’ etched into its side. ‘Shot in the dark, but that could be it,’ he said.
Martin piled the foodstuffs onto the work surface by the stove and opened the bin. ‘Perfect,’ he said, taking out a loaf of Hovis. ‘I love a bit of fried bread.’ A large frying pan was hanging from a hook on the wall and Martin took it down. ‘One egg or six?’ he asked Allan.
‘Two. Fried. Black on the bottom, runny on the top, same as you always do them.’
‘Mike?’
Cramer shook his head.
‘Not worried about your cholesterol level, are you?’ asked Martin. ‘That Su-ming’s got you on some sort of health kick, hasn’t she?’
‘Yeah, she’s taking a real interest in you,’ added Allan.
‘Leave it out,’ said Cramer. ‘She’s just doing her job.’
Martin ripped open the pack of bacon with his teeth and laid the slices down on the pan. They started to sizzle and Martin prodded them with a plastic spatula.
‘Either of you guys heard of red mercury?’ Cramer asked, leaning against the kitchen door.
‘It’s a con,’ said Allan. He opened one of the kitchen cupboards, looked inside, and closed it again.
‘What do you mean, a con?’
‘A hoax. There’s no such thing.’ Allan opened another cupboard and took out a jar of coffee. He took off the lid. The paper seal inside was untouched. ‘There’ve been rumours for years, but as far as the Ministry of Defence is concerned, it doesn’t exist.’
Cramer ran a hand through his hair. ‘What’s it supposed to be?’
‘Something to do with nuclear weapons. It’s supposed to make them more effective or something. It’s supposed to be a sort of Russian secret weapon, there were rumours that they came up with it just before the end of the Cold War.’
‘So why do you say it’s a hoax?’
‘Because no one has ever been able to deliver the stuff.’ He spooned coffee into three mugs. ‘Every now and again some middleman will claim to have a supply of the stuff but it always turns out to be something else. The Russian Mafia have been making a fortune duping Arab buyers.’
‘Yeah, ragheads will buy anything,’ agreed Martin, dropping sausages into the frying pan. ‘Except sand, maybe.’
‘So if it’s a hoax, why do they keep buying it?’
‘Because,’ said Allan, ‘there’s always a chance that it does exist and that the powers-that-be are lying.’
‘Why would they lie?’ asked Cramer.
‘Habit,’ said Martin, but Allan and Cramer ignored him.
Allan poured hot water in the mugs and stirred the coffee. ‘The way I heard it, if the stuff does what the Russians claim, they can use it to produce a nuclear bomb the size of grapefruit.’
‘So they’d try to suppress it?’
‘If it exists,’ said Allan. ‘And that’s a huge bloody if. The Russian Government says there’s no such thing.’
‘Yeah, well they would, wouldn’t they?’ said Martin. He used a fork to juggle the sausages and bacon onto two plates and then began cracking eggs one-handed into the hot fat.
‘Yeah, but if there was such a thing and the Russians had it, they’d sell it to the Yanks, or the Yanks would pay to get it off the market,’ said Allan.