The Doll’s House (25 page)

‘Then let's hope we don't screw up,' Daniel muttered. ‘If he doesn't have your balls, I will!'

Jan sat still for a few minutes. Then he got up, packed his clothes in a small suitcase and made a search of his room. Nothing was left behind. Nothing in the waste-basket, under the bed or slipped down the side of the chair. He knew the routine so well it was automatic: you came, you went and you left no personal imprint that could identify you.

He pulled on a pair of gloves and went over every surface in the room, including the outside door handle and cleaned it of fingerprints. He still wore his gloves when he paid his bill in cash and walked out into the night.

He hailed a taxi and stopped at the long-term car park. His car was on the lower level. He got in, switched on, checked oil, petrol and water. He paid in cash again at the checkout. He should drive back to Suffolk; those were Harry's firm instructions.

His role was finished on the day the plan became operational. He was to leave immediately and be safe at the hotel before it happened.

But that was impossible now. He'd committed himself to stay, to see it through. Otherwise Daniel might have refused to go ahead. He couldn't let that happen. Harry depended upon him. He'd stay till it was over.

The four men were dressed in black tracksuits and trainers; black cotton gloves and nylon stocking masks were in their pockets. They'd settled their bills and paired off. Daniel was in the car with Bill Stevenson.

Monika paid her bill in cash and asked them to order a minicab. She left wearing a long, black, one-piece evening dress, and announced that she was going to a dinner party as she said goodbye at the desk. The car dropped her at a block of flats by Marble Arch. She paid him and went into the entrance. As soon as he had driven off into the traffic, she came out and the Subaru, driven by the surly Bob, drew up by the kerb and she got in. His companion, Ron, was in the back.

They were in position in Conduit Street at ten minutes to eleven. The streets were brightly lit and passers-by strolled along in the warm evening.

Daniel was in the front of the second car beside Stevenson. He checked his watch and sucked at his teeth till Stevenson nearly lost his cool and told him to stop doing it, for Christ's sake … Then he dug Daniel in the ribs. The black Mercedes was turning the corner.

From their parking place, they had a clear view of the agency door. The Mercedes drew up and stopped. The door opened on to the street, showing a bright glass ceiling fitment in the hallway, and a tall blonde girl came out, draped in a sparkling red shawl.

The driver of the Mercedes got out and opened the rear passenger door for her. He was a swarthy Arab in a baggy chauffeur's uniform and a peaked cap. As she approached, the girl drew the veiling, modestly over her head and covered her face. Once inside, she was invisible behind the smoked glass.

As the Mercedes moved off, Stevenson swung out and followed it. In the rear mirror, Daniel searched for Bob and the back-up car. He sucked furiously when he couldn't see them and Stevenson glared at him.

Then he said, ‘There they are – they've come in behind that fucking taxi.' He kept an anxious watch, willing them to overtake and, to his relief, the taxi pulled over to let his fare out and Bob slid in immediately behind them.

The Mercedes purred along in front, not deviating from the route the driver had taken every time they followed him. Right into St George Street. Then round Hanover Square to the short cut, Tenterden Street on the left, saving time at a set of traffic lights leading into Oxford Street, when the driver signalled left and before he had time to make the turn, Stevenson swung out and cut in front of him.

The narrow street was deserted at that time. The buildings were all shops or offices. Everything was shut. Daniel glanced behind at the Mercedes and said, ‘Now!' Stevenson slammed on the brakes and the Subaru slowed to a stop.

They pulled the nylon masks over their faces. The Mercedes had no option. As it halted with a screech of tyres to avoid hitting the Subaru, Bob brought the back-up car to its tail light.

Even before it stopped, Ron was out and wrenching open the rear door of the Mercedes. He was inside as Stevenson leapt into the seat beside the chauffeur and Daniel hurled himself into the back on the other side.

The girl was pinned between them. She saw nothing but a blur of faces, distorted by the masks, and opened her mouth to scream. Daniel slammed a fist into her jaw and she fell sideways. Stevenson had a knife pricking the Arab's throat. The man sat frozen with terror.

Daniel hissed under his breath to Ron, ‘Get her out!' Ron heaved the unconscious girl up and dragged her out on to the road, supporting her. One quick glance showed him there was nobody about. Her bundled her roughly into the back of the Subaru and Monika helped to pull her inside. She felt for a pulse in her neck. Then expertly, she rolled up one of the painted eyelids.

‘She's out,' she said.

‘Yeah,' Ron muttered. ‘He hit 'er hard enough.'

Monika stripped off the shawl. She turned to the dour young man beside her. ‘Here,' she said, ‘fix her up.' She paused for a moment and watched while he unrolled surgical tape and wrapped it round the unconscious girl's mouth. ‘Don't tape her nose,' she said sharply, ‘she'll suffocate.'

He glanced up at her. He called her a filthy name under his breath. She laughed at him, then wrapping the gleaming veil around herself, she walked to the Mercedes and got into the back.

Daniel was waiting there; she looked at him and nodded. For a moment they smiled in collusion. But they didn't speak. Absolute silence was the rule. Except for Daniel. They sat waiting; it seemed a long time but it was less than two minutes when the headlights flared on the Subaru.

That was Bob's signal that the girl was tied and gagged and it was Daniel's move now. It was time to dispose of the chauffeur. Stevenson held the knife point so close it drew a bead of blood. ‘Get out,' Daniel spoke in Arabic. The man whimpered.

‘Don't kill me … Spare me …' Stevenson lowered the knife, and the man scrambled out on to the road. He peed himself with terror at the sight of Daniel in his stocking mask. He didn't even know Stevenson had followed him out, or feel the rabbit punch that sent him sprawling.

Stevenson ran to the car that had blocked the Mercedes and opened the boot. He was so strong he didn't need Daniel's help.

He picked up the unconscious man and threw him inside, doubling him up. Then he slammed the lid, locked it and got into the driver's seat.

The chauffeur's cap had fallen on to the road; the man's urine had formed a pool and the crown was wet.

Daniel picked it up and grimaced. He pulled off the stocking then he put on the cap and got into the driver's seat. Stevenson was already moving. He and the Subaru had a rendezvous arranged.

Daniel had timed it to the last minute. They knew what to do. He started the Mercedes and turned right into Bond Street. The time clock on the dashboard showed eleven fifteen.

‘You'll be five minutes late,' he said to Monika. He grinned, showing his uneven white teeth. He was swarthy enough to pass for an Arab, his face half hidden by the cap. ‘You can tell him it was bad traffic.' He chuckled to himself. It had gone exactly to schedule. The others were on their way to the Regent's Canal. It was a quiet area at that time of night.

Harry's orders were cast iron. No killing. Dump the two of them in the second-hand car, and get the hell out, back to Suffolk in the Subaru. Daniel had tried to argue because he didn't like leaving witnesses. But the Russian, Zarubin, had agreed with Harry. A political assassination was one thing. The murder of the girl and the driver would outrage public opinion and intensify the search for them.

Neither could describe anything beyond four men in black with masked faces, one of whom spoke Arabic. There'd be no fingerprints anywhere, and if forensic picked up hairs and strands of fabric, the best of luck to them. They'd have nothing to go on.

In the back of the car, Monika arranged her veiling. She had touched nothing in the interior. All they'd find would be Denise's fingerprints.

It rode very smoothly; she glanced out of the darkened windows as they rounded Marble Arch. Not even five minutes late, the traffic was lighter than usual. She smiled in anticipation.

Memories of past triumphs came back as her excitement rose. The fear on the victim's face, the seconds while they fought for their lives, the tremendous climax of killing …

They turned the corner into Lancaster Place and Daniel drew up by the main entrance. It was brightly lit, with flags fluttering from the building.

Immediately a uniformed doorman hurried up, saluted and opened the rear door for Monika. She didn't hurry. She got out, nodded to Daniel who was sitting immobile in the front, and slowly walked into the foyer, her face shrouded in the veiling.

The doorman knew her; he led the way to the private lift. He winked as he pressed the button and the door slid open. He must have been on friendly terms with Denise. Monika's eyes lowered above the veil and she stepped inside.

There was only one button, and it brought the lift up to the penthouse. As the doors opened, an armed bodyguard stepped forward and peered inside. He had a dark, vulture-like face and he wore Arab dress with a scimitar at his side. He carried an automatic machine pistol.

When he saw her he stepped back, and gestured her to go forward. Another servant appeared; he didn't speak, but with a movement of his hand, signalled her to follow him.

There was a big reception room to be crossed. It was brilliantly lit by a huge chandelier. Gold-framed mirrors reflected the light; she trod on a rich Persian carpet; there were sofas and inlaid ivory tables and a strong smell of the world's most expensive scent. The Prince liked to have it sprayed round his apartments.

The servant stopped by a door, knocked and a voice from inside gave him permission to enter. He opened the door, bowed very low, and stood aside for Monika.

Jan drove up to Regent's Park. He drove several circuits before he found a space to park. He doused his lights and sat in the dark. He had been chewing his lip until it was raw. The pain preoccupied him.

He felt conspicuous sitting in the car; but he saw two women approaching, walking with the slow hip-swinging gait of the prostitute looking for customers, and sank down in the front seat, pretending to be asleep. They passed on after a glance inside.

He saw a police car in the distance, and started to shake, so he drove off again. The digital clock crept, instead of moving towards the hour. He stopped in a side street off the Marylebone Road, and calmed himself with one of his ration of cigarettes. It made him cough and his lip stung from the tobacco.

It was past eleven o'clock. He turned on the radio; the street was empty; traffic and a dwindling number of pedestrians were concentrated in Marylebone Road. He listened to some popular light music; it went through his head in a tuneless buzz. Eleven twenty. Time to move. He knew the schedule; he'd gone over it with Daniel so often.

Monika would alight at the Regis about now. She had stipulated an hour at the maximum. That would give her enough time to lull her victim and then kill him. A few minutes for photographs from the little camera concealed in her handbag; she assured them that she'd make them interesting. Then she would leave the suite, a finger to her lips to warn the waiting servants that their master was asleep. Down in the private lift and out to where Daniel in the Mercedes would be waiting, as if she were the real Denise he was taking home.

On to the rendezvous with Stevenson and his thugs, where the Mercedes could be abandoned and they would cram into Stevenson's car and head for Suffolk.

If the plan worked out, they would be in their beds a hundred miles away before anyone dared disturb the Prince.

He thought of Monika and shuddered. She had no nerves; danger thrilled her. Killing was a sexual turn-on. She believed herself invincible.

He didn't hurry; he drove carefully, pacing his journey. He turned into Lancaster Place just before midnight. He cruised round once; there was the Mercedes, with the outline of Daniel in the driver's seat, the cap on his head pulled well down, waiting near the main entrance. The hotel lights were dimmed.

Special Branch would know the Prince was staying put for the night; the look-outs would have gone home till the morning when he was due to leave for the airport. There'd be a token force in the hotel itself, but they had no reason to expect trouble.

He parked in sight of the Mercedes but in the shadow of some trees. Twelve thirty.

Any moment now and Monika would come out and Daniel would move to pick her up. Twelve thirty-five. He sweated; drops fell into his eyes. He wiped them with a hand that trembled. And then he heard the screaming sirens.

9

The Prince was seated on a couch piled with cushions at the foot of an enormous draped bed. He didn't move as Monika approached him. The door closed quietly behind her. He held out a hand and she approached. She still held the veil over her face.

He wore a loose white robe edged with gold braid, and he was naked under it. He had a dark, plump face with the big hooked nose of his family, and heavy black eyes.

He got up slowly and she stood very still in front of him, only the large mascara ringed blue eyes showing, the lids lowered slightly. He reached out a hand for the veil.

‘Denise?'

Slowly, Monika let the veiling fall, it slipped off her shoulders and the Prince drew back. ‘What is this?' His voice rose.

‘Denise is sick, Highness,' Monika spoke in a low, seductive tone, gazing at him. ‘She didn't want to disappoint you, so she sent me. I am her friend. She sent me to you as a present.' She lifted one arm high and pulled the combs out of her hair. It fell in a thick blonde curtain down to her shoulders.

His eyes were narrowed, the mouth a little slack. He had a heavy belly and womanish breasts. His hands were delicate; rings glittered when he moved them.