‘Besides, there are people who are going to want to ask you questions in the next few days,’ she added. She wasn’t going to give in. The danger was real. She had to be alone, not dragging more innocent people along with her.
‘More?’ He moved his hand in irritation more than he should have and let out a moan. ‘I’m sick of answering stupid questions.’
‘Careful. Calm down,’ Sarah replied, going over to him and passing her hand through his sweaty hair. ‘Who’s been here?’ she asked, as if this were only a normal conversation.
‘Scotland Yard, the FBI, also MI6,’ he sighed with annoyance. ‘They were right here at my bed when I woke up. After the doctors, they were the first people I saw.’
‘And what did they want?’
‘To give me instructions, but I think I can tell you. We’re in this together.’
Sarah brought a chair over to the bed and sat down to listen carefully.
‘I’ve been the victim of a gas explosion and that’s what I have to tell anyone who comes here. If they ask me about you, I’m to say I don’t know where you were. I went to the house alone.’
‘And have you complied?’
‘Of course. With others it’s been easy. The hardest has been convincing our editor.’
‘He’s been here?’
‘Yes. And asked about you. Haven’t you gotten his calls on your cell?’
‘Where I was I couldn’t get calls.’
‘I don’t know if he was convinced, but I told him we’d split up. I’d gone to pick up some stuff at your house, while you were buying some clothes you needed. We had agreed to meet at the station. If he asks you, this is the official version. Don’t get me in trouble.’ He offered a timid smile.
‘Don’t worry. You can relax. I’ll call him and confirm the story.’ She carried on in a friendly manner with Simon, although her mind was seething with other matters more pressing than convincing the editor.
‘I never thought I’d be a media star. All because of a gas leak. They even apologized to me.’
‘Who?’
‘The MI6 people.’ Maybe the late hour caused Simon to mix subjects of conversation, perfectly understandable. ‘For giving me instructions, but under the protection of the terrorism law, they didn’t want a different version of the story released to the public, based on conjecture and sensation.’ He pushed himself up a little straighter, remembering not to use his injured hand, which made the movement more difficult. ‘Explosions scare people.’
‘And the others? Were they friendly, too?’
‘Not at all. They were assholes.’ He was truly indignant just thinking about it.
‘What did they want?’
‘To know how everything happened. If I was smoking, carrying some kind of explosive, including something solid, liquid, or gas, or any other substance. They’re arrogant shits and don’t seem to believe what we’re saying.’
I know the feeling well, Sarah thought.
‘In bad moods. Especially the Americans. They think it all has to do with them.’ He continued complaining. ‘It seems we committed a crime to make work for them. Imagine if it had been an Al Qaeda bomb. I’d be a prisoner now.’ He swelled with anger.
‘Shhh. Everything’s fine. Just the fact you can complain is a good sign.’
‘How is it they let you come in at this hour?’ Simon asked.
‘I came with an SIS agent,’ she answered without thinking. ‘They wouldn’t have let me in otherwise.’
‘Yes, it’s true. A secret service agent.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think of that. How has everything gone? Do they think it’s a terrorist act?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ she answered evasively. ‘He’s outside waiting to be introduced. Are you up for that?’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘I’m not here casually. I’m your friend. It’s up to you.’
Simon didn’t take long.
‘Tell him to come in.’
Sarah got up and went to the door. She opened it and looked around the hallway. There was no sign of John Fox. Strange. It didn’t make sense he would leave without letting her know. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom. She went out into the hall for a better look, but she hadn’t been mistaken. She didn’t see him anywhere around. Sarah, worried, went back in the room. Forget it. He’ll show up.
‘He’s not there. He must have gone to the restroom. Have you had other visitors?’ Sarah tried to make conversation.
She decided to wait for John Fox for fifteen minutes. After that, so long.
‘Well, my parents came, all upset, as you can imagine, but they left more relieved. My sister was here also. But that was just the time the FBI men arrived, and she had to go. They’re so rude, arrogant …’
‘Forget it, Simon. It’s over now. It’s not worth being in a bad mood over people like them,’ Sarah advised him.
‘You’re right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’ He smiled, a pleasant thought replacing his bad memory. ‘And my girlfriend visited. That was the best visit, except for my family, of course. She’s shy. She only came after the others left.’
When Simon got going, he didn’t shut up. He would tell his whole life story to whoever was there. Poor listener. Sarah thought about this as she saw her colleague coming to life in front of her eyes. Good. One less thing to worry about.
‘Look at the present she brought me.’ Simon reached over to the table and got something. ‘What do you think of this?’
Sarah gazed, mouth open and astonished, at the bottle of old port, vintage 1976. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.
31
With every step Geoffrey Barnes wore out the blue carpet covering the floor. His imposing figure, the product of the good restaurants that abound in this part of Europe, contributed to this, as well as nervousness about a phone conversation he’d had with the White House not five minutes before. We ought to amend this last information, since the telephone the color of blood, or victory, was linked to the office of the president of the United States of America wherever he was, not just in the White House. This time, the red phone was on board Air Force One.
Barnes was furious with worry, not his usual reaction after speaking with the president in person, instead of his tame lackeys.
Staughton opened the door and felt the bad vibes coming from the chief. His curiosity would have to wait for a calmer time. It didn’t bode well, if the communication had left him in this state. But he needed to give him the message to avoid being called on the carpet.
‘Chief, the guys at Langley want you to call them.’ He braced himself for a scorching blast of words.
‘What do those sons of bitches want?’ This contemptuous reproach was uttered without raising his voice, but still showing irritation.
‘It was Harvey Littel who called. He asked that you call him as soon as the call with the White House was over.’
‘How did they know I was on the telephone with them?’ Barnes raised his eyes to Staughton.
‘He wanted me to pass you the telephone. I had to give him a reason.’
‘You did well. You did well,’ Barnes affirmed, sitting down in the chair and exhaling with relief. ‘I’ll call shortly. Let them wait. Fuck them.’
Theresa came in with the order. Double burger with cheese, pizza, and a cold Carlsberg. Just in time. Drench his disgust in beer and fill his belly with carbohydrates. Thompson came in behind her with a stack of papers in his hand.
‘News?’ Barnes asked, appraising the containers Theresa was putting on the desk.
‘Big.’ Thompson shook the papers.
‘Is it going to ruin my appetite?’ Barnes asked, sounding put out. ‘If so, you can wait outside.’
Thompson paid no attention to his boss’s words. They were typical explosions, nothing to interfere with the work. What he had was important information, and Barnes would thank him for it later. That’s the way it worked.
‘Several hours ago there was an explosion in a house at Redcliff Gardens, near Earl’s Court,’ Thompson began, as enthusiastically as a reporter with an exclusive story.