‘I’m not sure speaking with Major Dreyfuss would be such a wise move,’ he stated. ‘I’d like you both to leave now.’
Hepton hadn’t been expecting this. But he saw that it made sense. He had been brought here to speak to Dreyfuss so that Villiers could ascertain how much he knew about Zephyr. But now Villiers had discovered that Hepton knew about him, making the telephone call hazardous. Indeed, Hepton now saw, it was imperative to Villiers that Hepton and Jilly leave, since their call to Dreyfuss would doubtless include their suspicions of Villiers himself...
‘We’re staying,’ he said. Jilly looked at him, uncomprehending.
‘Not if I want you to leave,’ Villiers said quietly.
‘Nevertheless, we’re staying.’
Villiers stared at him, then smiled, coming back towards the desk. ‘You’re a clever man, Mr Hepton. But you’re also incredibly stupid.’
He reached out a hand to pick up the receiver of the internal telephone, but just at that moment the other telephone started ringing. Hepton leapt from his seat, grabbing Villiers by the shoulders and propelling him away from the desk, pinning him against the wall. Villiers was strong, and he struggled.
‘Jilly,’ Hepton hissed between gritted teeth. ‘Answer the bloody phone!’
She did so. ‘Hello?’
Villiers had stopped struggling. Hepton relaxed a little, then remembered the man’s Marine training. A heel crushed down onto the toes of his left foot, and he gasped. Then two hands chopped into his ribs. Villiers crooked his index fingers and pressed hard against them with his thumbs. He jabbed the second knuckle of each rigid forefinger into Hepton’s neck. Hepton’s grip on him fell away. But when Villiers made to push him aside, Hepton clutched at him again, and the two men fell sprawling to the floor.
Jilly was shouting into the receiver. ‘It’s Villiers! He’s trying to kill Martin! It’s George Villiers!’ She wasn’t calling for help; she was just letting the facts be known.
Villiers, hearing her words, let out a growl. His hands went to Hepton’s throat again. Hepton drew back a fist and punched him deep in his stomach. Villiers had been Royal Marines, yes, but not for some years, years spent behind a desk. His gut was soft, and the blow winded him, giving Hepton time to climb back to his feet. He swung a foot at Villiers’ head, but Villiers’ reactions were still fast. He dodged the swing and grabbed Hepton’s leg, tugging him off balance and down onto the floor again, clambering atop him.
The older, heavier man’s weight was enough to pin Hepton down. A hand scrabbled at the desktop and came away again clutching a paperknife. Too late, Hepton remembered the kitchen knife in his own pocket. He caught Villiers’ wrist, but Villiers had found new strength. The knife pushed downwards against Hepton’s resistance. Villiers was smiling now, a look of tranquillity on his face. Close combat was his true calling; killing was his destiny...
The office door opened and Sanders looked in. His mouth fell open at the sight of his superior kneeling on top of Hepton with a knife poised above his throat.
‘Christ almighty!’ he gasped.
He loped towards the two men, and as Hepton watched, he seemed to turn his body sideways, raising one leg. The leg flexed, shot out, and a well-shod foot slapped into Villiers’ jaw, cracking his head to one side and throwing him off Hepton. Hepton scrambled to his knees, but Villiers was already on his feet. He seemed to take in the whole situation — Hepton, Sanders, Jilly still talking on the telephone — at a single glance, and started for the door.
‘Sir...’ Sanders laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, but Villiers pushed him aside and ran out.
‘Get after him,’ Hepton ordered.
‘What?’
‘You saw him. He was going to cut my fucking head off. Get after him!’
Sanders hesitated, then crossed to the other telephone, dialled two digits and spoke.
‘Security,’ he said. ‘Sanders here. I want George Villiers apprehended. Yes, that’s right. No, it’s not a joke. He’s trying to leave the building. I want him stopped.’ He slammed the receiver down again and looked to Hepton, who nodded at him in thanks.
‘Martin?’ Jilly was saying. She was holding the receiver out towards him. ‘Martin, they want to speak with you...’
The problem with the secure line, a line unlikely to be tapped into by prying ears, was that it made voices sound as though they were trapped somewhere between an anechoic chamber and a sardine tin. There was a flat, dull lifelessness to the sound, with occasional bursts of jangling metallic tone.
Was it any wonder then that Dreyfuss did not sound like the man Hepton had met one day for lunch with Jilly? But Hepton was intrigued by the secure line, too. Did it use a satellite link? And if so, how secure could it ever be? He took several deep breaths as he took the receiver from Jilly. She was shaking, and he placed a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was all right.
‘Is that you, Martin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mike Dreyfuss here. What the hell’s going on?’
‘A man just tried to kill me. Lots of people seem to be trying to kill me of late. This one was a civil servant.’
‘Is Jilly okay?’
‘She’s fine.’ Hepton glanced across towards where Jilly, her arms folded in front of her, leaned against the wall. She nodded and smiled, confirming his opinion.
‘What?’ Dreyfuss seemed to be conferring with someone at his end of the line. ‘Hold on, Martin,’ he said. Then his voice was replaced by another.
‘Mr Hepton?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Parfit. We haven’t spoken before.’
‘Parfit?’ Hepton repeated, his eyes on Sanders.
The young man, who had been pacing the room as though still unable to believe the scene he had just witnessed, drew himself upright at the sound of the name. His eyes turned to Hepton.
‘I work at the embassy here in Washington,’ Parfit was saying. ‘What’s all this about George Villiers?’
‘He wants me dead.’
‘But why, in God’s name?’
‘That’s a good question, Mr Parfit. It has something to do with the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch with Major Dreyfuss.’ There was a knock at the door. A uniformed guard opened it and had a short whispered conversation with Sanders.
‘Oh?’ Parfit sounded intrigued. ‘And what reason is that, Mr Hepton?’
The guard had gone. Sanders looked towards Hepton and shook his head: there was no sign of Villiers. Hepton couldn’t help wondering how hard the guards had tried. He also wasn’t entirely sure that he could trust Sanders himself. Yet here he was, having the conversation he wanted with the people he needed to speak with. He took another breath, his heartbeat slowing a little, the roaring in his ears more of a gentle breeze now.
‘The day the shuttle crashed—’ he began. But Parfit interrupted.
‘Wait one moment, would you, Mr Hepton? I’m going to put you on our conference facility, so that Major Dreyfuss can participate.’
Hepton waited impatiently.
‘Okay, go ahead now.’
He began again. ‘The day the shuttle crashed, about the time Argos was launching a satellite or whatever it was doing up there, our satellite went haywire. A friend of mine had an idea what had happened, but he ended up dead. Before he died, he gave me one word. That word was Argos.’
There was silence at the other end. Hepton glanced towards Sanders, who was listening intently.
‘Martin?’ It was Dreyfuss’ voice. ‘What do you think happened?’