Martin was finishing a bacon sandwich when Allan walked into the kitchen. ‘Ready for the off?’ Allan asked, putting his shirt on over the top of his bullet-proof vest.
Martin nodded and washed the sandwich down with several gulps of coffee. ‘I’ll get the Merc,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘How’s he doing?’
Allan shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘He’s quiet, but he’s got a lot on his mind.’
‘It takes balls to be a sitting duck, all right.’ He picked up the car keys. ‘I’ll be outside.’
Martin took the elevator down to the ground floor and walked across the lobby. He couldn’t be bothered with the lift down to the car park and took the stairs instead. The doorman on duty in the lower foyer nodded at Martin. ‘Looks like rain,’ said the doorman. Martin recognised him as Matt Richards, another of the SAS troopers who’d been at the school.
‘Yeah, forecast said it was going to piss down.’ Martin opened the door that led to the car park stairs. His footsteps echoed off the bare concrete walls as he headed downstairs.
The Mercedes was parked at the far end of the car park in the middle of three bays that had been allocated to the Vander Mayer apartment. Before he opened the door, Martin used a small mirror to check underneath the vehicle and peered through the side windows to make sure that nothing was amiss inside. When he was satisfied that the car hadn’t been touched overnight, he opened the door electronically and slid in. His chauffeur’s hat was on the passenger seat and he put it on, then looked at himself in the same mirror he’d used to inspect the underside of the car. He stuck out his tongue at his reflection and then dropped the mirror into his pocket. ‘Hi ho, Silver, away,’ he muttered to himself and started the car. All he could hear through the costly German sound-proofing was a faint purr, and there was barely any vibration. It was a beautiful car, but it wouldn’t have been Martin’s choice, if he’d had the money. The Mercedes was a soft man’s car, built to insulate the occupants from the outside world. And it was a car designed not for driving, but to be driven in. He preferred something more aggressive, something with power, something that roared rather than purred. A Porsche, maybe, or an XJS.
He put the Mercedes in gear and slowly reversed. He didn’t see the grey car until the last minute and he hit it side on, the bumper of the Mercedes crunching into the car’s rear door. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’ he cursed, glaring at the car in his rear-view mirror. He doubted if he’d done much damage to the Mercedes, it was a much heavier car than the one he’d hit. He twisted around in his seat. The driver of the other car climbed out of the far side. Martin smiled when he saw it was a woman, and a pretty one at that.
‘Women drivers,’ sighed Martin, putting the Mercedes into neutral and applying the handbrake. He got a side view of the woman as she walked around to the passenger side of her car. She was a brunette, attractive, with an aerobics figure. Mid to late twenties, and almost certainly out of Martin’s class. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the damage, then kicked the front wheel, hard. Martin smiled at her display of petulance, completely out of character with the designer clothes and Vogue make-up. He opened the door and climbed out. ‘Not too bad, is it?’ he asked.
The girl turned to face him, smiling pleasantly. ‘Just perfect,’ she said.
It was only when Martin felt the gun press into the small of his back that he remembered it was the same car that had been behind the Mercedes when they drove into Chelsea Harbour the previous evening.
Cramer was staring out of the window when Su-ming walked into the sitting room. She was wearing a cream silk suit, the trousers loose and the jacket with a mandarin collar, and she was carrying a black leather handbag. ‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘Hi,’ said Cramer. ‘Did you finish your homework?’ She frowned, not understanding. ‘The paperwork,’ he explained. ‘Did you read it all?’
‘Ah. Yes. Eventually. Are we ready?’ She sounded curt and business-like, and Cramer wondered again if he’d imagined the stolen kiss.
Allan came in from the kitchen. ‘The car should be downstairs,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
They walked together to the elevator. Su-ming stayed two paces behind Cramer as if trying to distance herself from him. Allan pressed the elevator button and smiled at Cramer. ‘Sleep well?’
Cramer made a so-so gesture with his hand. He’d hardly slept at all.
Marie Hennessy wiped her hands on her skirt. They were damp with sweat and she couldn’t afford to have them slipping on the steering wheel. She smiled to herself as she realised how strange it was that her hands were so wet and yet her mouth was bone dry. She swallowed but the muscles in her throat didn’t seem to be working properly. Her hands began to tremble and she gripped the steering wheel tightly to stop the shaking. She was actually going to do it. She was going to go through with it. In a minute or two she was going to help kill the man who’d been responsible for the death of her parents. The anticipation was almost sexual. She’d waited so long for vengeance, and now Dermott Lynch was going to help her get it.
She pressed down on the accelerator, gunning the engine to make sure that the Rover didn’t stall. The engine roared, echoing off the concrete walls of the subterranean car park, and she flinched as she realised that she risked drawing attention to herself. Soon, she thought. Soon it would all be over. All she had to do was to keep her nerve and to do exactly as Dermott had told her. She stared at the entrance to the apartment block, her heart racing. A figure appeared, walking through the double doors. It was the bodyguard, the one with the square jaw and the wide shoulders. Marie put the car in gear. It was time.
The Colonel looked at his wristwatch. It was nine o’clock and according to the schedule they should just be leaving the apartment. On the windowsill stood a transceiver. It was switched on, but only static crackled from the loudspeaker. The Colonel had insisted on radio silence until the moment that the assassin made his move. One of the Colonel’s troopers came up behind him. ‘Coffee, boss?’ he said.
‘Thanks, Blackie,’ said the Colonel, taking the mug of black coffee. ‘Everything ready for New York?’
‘Kit’s all packed.’
The Colonel tapped his stick on the bare floor. ‘Tell the lads to be nice to the Yanks when we get there. No cracks about friendly fire, you know how sensitive they can be.’
The trooper grinned. ‘Sure, boss.’
The Colonel turned back to the window and sipped his steaming coffee.
It was a cold morning but Cramer was sweating in the cashmere overcoat. Su-ming was still following in his footsteps. He stopped and waited for her to catch up. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She jumped as if startled. ‘What?’
‘I asked if you were okay.’
She shivered. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You looked miles away.’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied. This time there was a hard edge to her voice as if she resented his intrusion into her thoughts. ‘Where’s the car?’
Cramer looked around. She was right. The Mercedes wasn’t outside. Allan was standing on the pavement, looking around and stamping his feet impatiently. ‘Stay where you are, Mr Vander Mayer,’ he said. Cramer backed into the foyer with Su-ming. The doorman looked up, then visibly relaxed as he saw who it was. ‘Okay,’ Allan called. ‘Here he comes.’