The Doll’s House (22 page)

‘A tall, very dark man? He was in the bar the other evening. He's here writing a book, isn't he?'

‘Yes, all about that playwright who was in jail and then elected president – Hungary, wasn't it?'

‘Czechoslovakia,' Rosa corrected gently. She smiled at Jane. ‘You think he's attractive?'

‘He's so romantic looking.' The little blush crept up into her face. ‘I keep hoping he'll ask for me if he wants any secretarial work. His room's full of computers and word processors – so the cleaners tell us. He works up there for hours, then goes off walking. They say writers are solitary.' She sighed. ‘I wouldn't mind taking a walk with him! Well, I shouldn't say things like that, should I? Didn't you think he was dreamy?'

‘I didn't really look,' Rosa admitted. ‘But I will next time. Don't forget to give Mr Oakham my message, will you? I feel like a pot of tea. Bye, Jane.'

‘Bye, Mrs Bennet.'

Rosa went upstairs, and ordered tea. She was hot and tired. She stretched out on the bed and fell asleep. The tea was ice cold when she woke up and there was a rim of darkness at the edge of the sky showing through her window. She'd slept deeply and for almost three hours. She ran a hot bath and lay in it, going over the scraps of information gleaned from the talkative Jane.

Ex-Army odd-job men who were also electricians and carpenters. Nothing sinister in that. Typical resettlement courses run for servicemen leaving the Army. They weren't popular and they didn't mix. A familiar story with élite troops cast into civilian life. They didn't fit in for a long time. The Swiss auditor and his wife and an assistant living on the estate. What was suspicious about that?

The Adventure Trail wasn't even finished, so no wonder they didn't want anyone wandering around …

She chose the bright blue dress she'd bought in the boutique. She painted her lips and sprayed the new Armani scent on her hair.

I'm scared
, she'd confessed to Jim Parker. Scared of a man known to kill without a qualm. She faced her own reflection in the mirror. Now there was another reason, and she had to face it.

She was afraid of the way he made her feel. In exposing him, she might have to expose herself. Already her image had changed. The smart career diplomat, elegantly understated, looked very different from the girl in the vivid dress, with tanned bare shoulders, her hair hanging loose, long, sexy brown legs shown off by a short skirt. She slipped on gold high-heeled sandals. She looked much younger. No proof, just supposition. In the end it all hinged on Harry Oakham himself.

He was waiting for her when she came downstairs.

‘Hello,' he said. ‘I got your message. Do you mind if I say you look absolutely stunning? What a pretty colour—'

‘Thank you,' Rosa looked up at him. He seemed tense, with lines round his eyes. A tiny muscle worked at the side of his jaw.

‘Why should I mind? You pay very nice compliments. I got the dress in Ipswich of all places. It's a bit jazzy for me, but I liked the blue. Can we have a drink after dinner? Jane told me you were very busy.'

‘We're short-staffed at the moment; it'll be easier when my assistant comes back.' Monika and Daniel were waiting for him at Croft Lodge. Bill Stevenson and his thugs were on alert for his call at the cottage, ready to join the other two. ‘Are you going to have a drink at the bar, or go into dinner?'

‘It's rather late. I think I'll go to the restaurant.'

He touched her arm, and it made her jump. When his hand slipped away it was like a caress on her skin. He said, ‘After dinner I'm my own man. I'll meet you in the library around nine thirty. There won't be many people there tonight.'

Monika was excited; she paced the small sitting room, a glass of vodka and tonic in her hand. She looked at Daniel and smiled. She oozed sexual energy. He could hardly keep still himself, watching her. ‘I wish Harry would hurry up. I can't wait to get started!'

‘You're not afraid?' the Israeli asked her.

She laughed at him. ‘I was never afraid. You forget, Danny, I took really big risks in the old days … It wasn't only that old fart Ritterman. He was easy. There was a Swiss arms dealer – he disappeared in Zurich. He liked having women in the back of his car. He had me one afternoon. They found the car in the lake three months later. What was left of him was in the boot. And others, filthy capitalist swine like the one in Italy. We kidnapped him on a holiday. We kept him in a box and left him to die because the family went to the police and tried to set us up with the ransom money. Not that we'd have let him go anyway. One day, someone'll look in that
contadino
's hut and find the box. But they haven't yet.' She laughed again. ‘I've never tried it with an Arab. Is it true they like to sodomize? You'd know, wouldn't you, Danny?'

He was mesmerized by her. She didn't disgust him, she made him frantic with lust. He said, ‘Do you get a climax when you kill, Monika? I've heard of women who do.'

‘And men,' she pointed out. ‘It's a cleansing. You feel power, release, and pleasure too. It's an experience – I can't explain.'

‘You can,' he muttered. ‘You make me feel it too. We'll have to celebrate when it's over. Will you celebrate with me, Monika?'

She smiled and suddenly came to him and ran her hand over the thick curly hair. She made a fist and pulled it.

‘You set it up for me, Danny,' she murmured, ‘and afterwards I'll let you fuck me. Any way you like. I promise. Ah,' she let go of his hair and swung round. ‘That's Harry now.'

He came in, saw the drink at her side and said, ‘None of that. No booze, now or while the job's on. Are you two ready to go?'

‘Yes.' Daniel got up. He rubbed the top of his head.
Any way you like
, she'd promised. He had a few surprises in store for her. ‘What about Stevenson and the others?'

‘They'll meet you up the road outside the entrance. Monika, how many bloody drinks have you had?' Oakham demanded.

‘That was my first,' she snapped back at him. ‘You think I'm a fool to take chances?'

‘OK, then you drive. Jan's booked you into a bed and breakfast; Stevenson and his boys are staying up the road from you. When you get there, register and go round the corner to a pizzeria called Arturo's Pizza Pie. Jan'll be waiting for you. He's got it all mapped out. Then you take over, Daniel. Get Monika into that hotel. Then it's up to her. You can leave the press leak to me. I'll give them a tip off.'

Monika sniggered. ‘Prince found dead after night of orgy. I'll get you some nice pictures to go with it—'

‘Just get yourself out in one piece,' Oakham cut her short. ‘Right, get on your way. And good luck.'

Daniel opened the door for her; they exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Harry didn't follow them out. He stayed in the sitting room till he heard the sound of the car starting up and fading into the darkness.

She was mad, of course. His grandfather used to talk about evil in his sermons; Harry remembered some of them from when he was a child. Possessed by the devil. Modern psychiatry would have an explanation for a phenomenon like Monika. Childhood trauma, lack of parental love, all the trendy crap that put the blame on other people. His grandfather had the right idea. There was nothing crazy about Daniel, sweating with lust for such a woman. He was just rotten. Born without feelings for anyone but himself, with the rat's savage instinct for survival.

The door opened and Hermann Rilke came in.

‘They've gone?'

‘Yes,' Oakham nodded. ‘You didn't come and say goodbye, Hermann. They'll be hurt.'

Rilke regarded him with dislike. He hated the man's sense of humour. He had never enjoyed irony. ‘I shall have the house to myself for a few days,' he remarked. ‘I shall enjoy that. If it goes well, we'll get paid immediately?'

‘The money's held in escrow at our bank,' Oakham answered. ‘I don't give the story to the press till I hear it's been transferred. They want the scandal. They'll pay as soon as I contact Hakim. I could do with a drink. You want anything?'

‘No,' Rilke looked down his nose at an invisible smell. His mother disapproved of drinking and had never encouraged it. He missed her very much. But she was well and happy in her new apartment, receiving monthly pay cheques, and getting his letters through a post restante in Geneva.

She was proud of his new job, and content to wait till he could get back and visit her. She believed he was in Uruguay, which was where he intended to buy a house and settle down with her when he had enough money.

Daniel made the first reconnaissance. He drove with Bill Stevenson from the Conduit Street brothel to the hotel, taking the route charted by Jan when he followed the Saudi driver and his passenger, but unlike the Saudi he didn't cross the traffic in Bond Street. And he studied the street map, with Stevenson looking over his shoulder. Both were silent; Stevenson was not a talker and he was going to have to drive the lead car along the chosen route.

Daniel pondered. He decided on a second test drive just to make sure that he'd picked the right spot. The two ex-soldiers would be in the back-up car with Monika. That was the one Jan had bought from the dealer.

It was a simple plan, because Daniel knew that the more complications the more risk of something going wrong. For three evenings the girl Denise had left for the Prince's hotel at the same time – eleven o'clock in the evening and the route never varied.

Harry unlocked the door into his office. He pressed the scrambler switch and dialled Georg Werner's home number in Berlin. It was time the bastard earned some of that subsidy he was getting paid in Switzerland. It rang for some time until a woman answered. Harry's German was faultless. ‘Herr Werner, please?'

It was Werner's wife who answered. ‘Who is calling him?'

‘It's the Embassy in London,' he answered. There was a pause and he heard voices in the background. Then Werner came on the line.

‘Listen,' Harry spoke rapidly in English, ‘we've got a job on. It's a big one. The number two Saudi … Yes, that's what I said … Just listen, will you? He's in London and we're going to take him out.' He heard Werner suck in his breath. He'd be worried stiff; violence wasn't his line. Harry said brutally, ‘It's time you earned your keep, Werner. Your lot in London have close ties with the Saudi Ambassador. I want you to monitor the official reaction for me. Find out what the cover story's going to be. They'll try to hush it up, and it's our job to blow the lid off. It's part of our brief. And anything else interesting you get hold of.'

Georg Werner's voice was edgy. ‘I'll do my best, but how? What reason would I have for making enquiries?'

‘Think of one,' was the retort. ‘That's what you're drawing money for. It's scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Contact me here. And don't fail, will you?'

‘No,' Werner answered. ‘I won't. I'll think of something.'

He couldn't bring himself to wish them luck, so he hung up. His wife was watching television. She turned down the volume.

‘What was it, darling? Anything important?'

‘Just a little job the Ambassador wants me to do.' He smiled reassuringly at her. ‘It's confidential.'

‘Come and sit down. This is rather amusing.' She restored the sound and the room filled with the orchestrated laughter of the studio audience.

8

Harry Oakham felt better. He'd given Georg Werner a kick up the backside, and it was overdue. He'd been sitting smugly drawing his loot while everyone else did the work and put themselves on the line. It made Harry feel much better.

He drew in a deep breath. It was time to shut off. Time to pull down the shutters on what was going to happen. His part was done; it was in the hands of the professional kidnap expert and the rest of the team.

It was time to think of the lovely woman waiting for him. And she was lovely. She'd shed the cool image; the way she looked that night was an invitation to more than just coffee and brandy after dinner. He walked to the library, saying good-evening to the few guests in the bar and the main lounge.

The library was a long, oak-panelled room with a wall of leather-bound books behind a grille. He'd instructed the staff to light a fire, as the evenings were turning cool. He liked the library. It had a smell he relished, of old leather and wood and the faint must of age. As he expected, there was nobody else there. Just the table by a deep sofa close to the fire, with coffee and two balloons of brandy waiting for them.

‘Hello.' She came up behind him and he turned.

‘Hello,' he said and his voice was low. ‘How was dinner?'

‘Delicious. Are we over there?' She saw the flames licking round the logs in the grate, the table prepared.

He'd thought of everything. Her heart began to beat fast. Once more he touched her arm. ‘You didn't jump this time,' he said. ‘Let's sit down.'

They were close, but not touching. She poured coffee, and he watched her, holding the glass of brandy in both hands.

‘I talked all about myself last time,' he said. ‘Now I'd like to know about you.'

‘Where do you want me to start? I was the bluestocking, I was my father's favourite too. And my mother's I suppose, only we're not a bit alike. I went to university, did well, passed the Foreign Office exams and got married. And divorced.'

He passed her the brandy balloon. ‘Are you still in love with him?'

‘No,' she faced him. ‘No, I'm not. I've tried very hard to see his point of view, and in a way I think it helped.'

‘What was his point of view? What sort of guy was he?'

‘Nice actually. I met him and we lived together for a while before we got married. And it worked. We were very happy together.'