Craig looked through the gap again. Lori was sprinkling chopped parsley over a steaming bowl of potatoes. Suddenly he felt hungry. "Lunch is ready," he said. "I'll show you the other way out."
He went to the end of the attic and opened a large door. A narrow ledge overhung a drop of fifteen feet to the ground. Above the door, on the outside of the building, was a pulley: that was how the sofa and tea chests had been brought up. Sophie said, "I can't jump from here."
"No need." Craig brushed snow off the ledge with his hands, then walked along it to the end and stepped two feet down on to a lean-to roof over the boot lobby. "Easy."
Looking anxious, Sophie followed in his footsteps. When she reached the end of the ledge, he offered her his hand. She took it, gripping unnecessarily hard. He handed her down onto the lean-to roof.
He stepped back up on the ledge to close the big door, then returned to Sophie's side. They went cautiously down the slippery roof. Craig lay on his front and slid over the edge, then dropped the short distance to the ground.
Sophie followed suit. When she was lying on the roof with her legs dangling over the edge, Craig reached up with both hands, held her by the waist, and lifted her down. She was light.
"Thanks," she said. She looked triumphant, as if she had come successfully through a trying experience.
It wasn't that difficult, Craig thought as they went into the house for lunch. Perhaps she's not as confident as she pretends.
3 PM
THE Kremlin looked pretty. Snow clung to its gargoyles and crochets, doorcases and window ledges, outlining the Victorian ornamentation in white. Toni parked and went inside. The place was quiet. Most people had gone home, for fear of getting caught in the snow-not that people needed much of an excuse to leave early on Christmas Eve.
She felt hurt and sensitive. She had been in an emotional car crash. But she had to put thoughts of love firmly out of her mind. Later, perhaps, when she lay alone in bed tonight, she would brood over the things Stanley had said and done; but now she had work to do.
She had scored a triumphant success-that was why Stanley had hugged her-but all the same a worry nagged at her. Stanley's words repeated in her brain: If we lost another rabbit, we'd be right back in trouble. It was true. Another incident of the same kind would bring the story back to life but ten times worse. No amount of public-relations work could keep the lid on it. There will be no more security incidents at the lab, she had told him. I"ll make sure of that. Now she had to make her words come true.
She went to her office. The only threat that she could imagine was from the animal rights activists. The death of Michael Ross might inspire others to attempt to "liberate" laboratory animals. Alternatively, Michael might have been working with activists who had another plan. He might even have given them the kind of inside information that could help them defeat the Kremlin's security.
She dialed regional police headquarters in Inverburn and asked for Detective-Superintendent Frank Hackett, her ex. "Got away with it, didn't you?" he said. "Luck of the devil. You should have been crucified."
"We told the truth, Frank. Honesty is the best policy, you know that."
"You didn't tell me the truth. A hamster called Fluffy! You made me look a fool."
"It was unkind, I admit. But you shouldn't have leaked the story to Carl. Shall we call it quits?"
"What do you want?"
"Do you think anyone else was involved with Michael Ross in stealing the rabbit?"
"No opinion."
"I gave you his address book. I presume you've been checking his contacts. What about the people in Animals Are Free, for example-are they peaceful protestors, or might they do something more dangerous?"
"My investigation is not yet complete."
"Come on, Frank, I'm just looking for a little guidance. How worried should I be about the possibility of another incident?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Frank, we loved one another once. We were partners for eight years. Does it have to be like this?"
"Are you using our past relationship to persuade me to give you confidential information?"
"No. To hell with the information. I can get it elsewhere. I just don't want to be treated as an enemy by someone I used to love. Is there a law that says we can't be nice to one another?"
There was a click, then a dial tone. He had hung up.
She sighed. Would he ever come around? She wished he would get mother girlfriend. That might calm him down.
She dialed Odette Cressy, her friend at Scotland Yard. "I saw you on the news," Odette said.
"How did I look?"
"Authoritative." Odette giggled. "Like you would never go to a nightclub in a see-through dress. But I know better."
"Just don't tell anyone the truth."
"Anyway, your Madoba-2 incident appears to have no connections with… my kind of interest."
She meant terrorism. "Good," Toni said. "But tell me something- speaking purely theoretically."
"Of course."
"Terrorists could get samples of a virus such as Ebola relatively easily by going to a hospital somewhere in central Africa where the only security is a nineteen-year-old cop slouching in the lobby smoking cigarettes. So why would they attempt the extraordinarily difficult task of robbing a high-security laboratory?"
"Two reasons. One, they simply don't know how easy it is to get Ebola in Africa. Two, Madoba-2 is not the same as Ebola. It's worse."
Toni remembered what Stanley had told her, and shuddered. "Zero survival rate."
"Exactly."
"What about Animals Are Free? Did you check them out?"
"Of course. They're harmless. The worst they're likely to do is block a road."
"That's great news. I just want to make sure there's not another incident of the same kind."
"It looks unlikely from my end."
"Thanks, Odette. You're a friend, and that's a rare thing."
"You sound a bit low."
"Oh, my ex is being difficult."
"Is that all? You're used to him. Did something happen with the professor?"
Toni could never fool Odette, even over the phone. "He told me his family is the most important thing in the world to him, and he would never do anything to upset them."
"Bastard."
"When you find a man who isn't a bastard, ask him if he's got a brother."
"What are you doing for Christmas?"
"Going to a spa. Massage, facials, manicures, long walks." On your own?
Toni smiled. "It's nice of you to worry about me, but I'm not that sad."
"Who are you going with?"
"A whole crowd. Bonnie Grant, an old friend-we were at university together, the only two girls in the engineering faculty. She's recently divorced. Charles and Damien, you know them. And two couples you haven't met."
"The gay boys will cheer you up."
"You're right." When Charlie and Damien let their hair down, they could make Toni laugh until she cried. "What about you?"
"Not sure. You know how I hate to plan ahead."
"Well, enjoy spontaneity."
"Happy Christmas."
They hung up, and Toni summoned Steve Tremlett, the guard supervisor.
She had taken a chance with Steve. He had been a pal of Ronnie Sutherland, the former head of security who had conspired with Kit C)xenford. There was no evidence Steve had known about the fraud. But Toni had feared he might resent her for firing his friend. She had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and had made him supervisor. He had rewarded her trust with loyalty and efficiency.
He arrived within a minute. He was a small, neat man of thirty-five with receding fair hair cut in the brutally short style that was fashionable. He carried a cardboard folder. Toni pointed to a chair and he sat down.