‘Give me your gun,’ he ordered. The man seemed startled. ‘Give it to me.’ He snatched the weapon from the man’s hand and ran out of the room. He headed down the corridor towards the main staircase, and took the steps two at a time. There were guests in the reception area, buying newspapers, talking to the desk clerk, about to walk off breakfast. They stared at Hepton as he made for the glass doors, pushed through them and stood on the top step. The traffic below was snarled, becoming angry. The day was hazy. Still no Harry.
A moment or two later, he heard some foreign words behind him and turned to see the man barking something at the hotel’s doorman. Then he walked towards Hepton, smiling, his hand held out palm upwards.
‘My gun, please.’ Hepton handed the pistol back, and the man slipped it into his pocket.
‘That was Russian you were speaking,’ Hepton said. The man ignored him.
‘We had better be going,’ he said.
‘But a man’s dead,’ Hepton protested.
‘Good reason for us not to be here, my friend.’
‘Who are you?’ Hepton asked.
‘Come on.’ The man gripped his arm. ‘We’ll take a ride.’ He propelled Hepton towards a waiting black cab. Hepton hesitated, but climbed into the back of the taxi, followed by the man, who told the driver to head towards Holborn. Then he turned to Hepton. ‘I’m sorry for Mr Devereux,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing more to be done. My name is Vitalis, and yours is...?’
‘Martin Hepton.’
Vitalis nodded, giving no indication that he recognised the name. ‘Were you a friend of Mr Devereux?’
‘In a way. And you?’
‘Yes. I suppose you could call me a friend.’
‘A friend who carries a gun.’
Vitalis smiled, but said nothing.
‘A friend who carries a gun because he fears danger,’ Hepton continued. ‘Because he knows Devereux’s life is threatened.’
Vitalis shrugged.
‘Who are you?’ Hepton persisted.
Vitalis didn’t respond. ‘The time for questions is past,’ he said. ‘Now is a time for action.’
Hepton found himself agreeing with this.
‘The assassin,’ Vitalis said, ‘you said it was a she.’
‘A woman,’ Hepton said. Vitalis nodded. ‘You were his...’ Hepton sought the correct word and found it. ‘His controller. You were Devereux’s controller, weren’t you?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Vitalis’ tone was amused.
Hepton nodded to himself. ‘Cam told me,’ he said, ‘about some mysterious man at the Argos base. But the only way he could have known about such a person was if he had gone investigating, opening closed doors, that sort of thing. Because the mystery man would have been in a room of his own, with his own computer and everything. But why would Cam be spying? The answer’s simple, isn’t it?’ He fixed Vitalis with his gaze. ‘He was a spy, he was spying for you.’
‘Bravo, Mr Hepton,’ said Vitalis. ‘Yes, well done.’
‘And he had come to London to defect?’ It was an educated guess.
‘He thought his useful time was over. It happens.’
Another question was on Hepton’s lips, but he swallowed it back. If Devereux were about to defect, why would the Russians keep him on so long a leash, and leave him unprotected to boot? His useful time was over. His useful time was over, and so he was expendable... Hepton stared at the driver’s back. Was he too a spy? When would the killing stop?
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Don’t be alarmed. We’re dropping me off near my place of work, and then the driver will take you back to your hotel.’ Vitalis’ eyes twinkled. ‘I presume you are staying in a hotel?’
Hepton made no answer. Vitalis just nodded and smiled. He seemed amused by everything.
‘I think I know you now,’ he said. ‘I think I know Martin Hepton. And I want to help you.’
‘Why?’
Vitalis held out his hands. ‘Because I am a generous man. So Devereux told you about the man he saw at the Argos base, the man in the storeroom that had been fitted with a computer console and a telephone?’
‘Didn’t I just say as much?’ Hepton said, hoping to tease a little more out of this man. The traffic had cleared, and they were nearing Holborn. There wasn’t much time. There were storerooms at Binbrook, too...
‘And he told you about the telephone?’
‘What about it?’
Vitalis paused to consider whether to tell or not. Hepton could feel his fists tightening. He wanted to hit this man very hard, to force something from him other than this casual chatter. To wipe the smile off his face. He looked at the driver again. The driver was looking back at him in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were hard like marbles.
‘The telephone,’ Vitalis began. ‘Devereux was intrigued by the telephone.’
‘A modem?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘It had no dial as such. You couldn’t call out, you see; all anyone could do was pick up the receiver. Devereux picked up the receiver and waited.’
‘And?’
‘And he was connected to somewhere here in England, Mr Hepton. To some kind of listening base. To a man who called himself Fagin.’
Fagin. The line led straight to Binbrook. Hepton tried to look composed but shifted in his seat. Vitalis seemed to know the exact effect his words were having. He glanced out of the window.
‘This will do,’ he called to the driver, who pulled the cab in to the kerb. ‘Now, my friend Mr Hepton, can I offer you breakfast?’
Hepton shook his head. ‘I don’t eat with strangers.’
Vitalis shook his head. ‘I am not a stranger. Well, perhaps I am. But we have a common enemy, it would seem. We have our ideas as to what is going on here. But that is not so important. All my people want to do is to observe, for the sake of our own safety.’ His eyes were arch. ‘Do you know what happened, Mr Hepton?’
‘No,’ Hepton said, shaking his head again.
‘That is a lie,’ Vitalis noted objectively. ‘But I will let it pass. You will have your own reasons for saying nothing. As I say, we wish only to observe and to protect our interests. Now that Mr Devereux has been terminated, I profess I am more worried than I was. It proves... well, something at least.’ He shrugged. ‘It is your affair, Mr Hepton. By which I mean it is the West’s affair. Do you know a Mr Parfit?’
Hepton considered another lie, but paused so long that a lie would have been obvious.
‘Yes,’ he said at last.
Vitalis seemed satisfied. ‘Please give him a message from me. Tell him to remember Warszawa in ’87. Goodbye, Mr Hepton.’
He stepped nimbly from the cab, gave some money to the driver and was gone, walking up High Holborn with the brisk step of a man on his way to work. Hepton thought about following, but the driver was awaiting his orders. Still, he was damned if he’d let him know where he was staying.
‘Green Park,’ he said. He would walk from there.
31
It took Parfit a couple of minutes to come fully awake, and while he washed in the bathroom, he made Hepton relate his story twice more. He seemed unmoved by Devereux’s murder and the near-assassination of Hepton himself, but was interested in Vitalis. He was also interested in the acronym.
‘I wonder if our code-crackers can come up with anything for COFFIN?’ he mused, then shook his head. ‘Tell me about Vitalis again.’