The Manhattan Puzzle (12 page)

She couldn’t believe what had happened. There was something so weird about it all. Was George just unlucky? She looked around. Or had someone pushed him? Or did he fall because he was drunk? She went back over everything, trying to remember.

The cold was making her hands and face numb. The icy feeling was seeping up her arms. It felt as if her body was someone else’s, as if she didn’t have to be concerned about it getting cold.

She went to the back of the ambulance waiting nearby with its lights flashing, filling the air with a sickening blue radiance. She still didn’t know if George was alive or dead.

The idea that he might be dead already or that he was dying right now, hammered into her brain.

‘Were you with him, love?’ one of the ambulance men asked her, as the other one closed the back door. Her last sight of George had been of a white face, a plastic oxygen mask and a bright green blanket lying over him haphazardly.

She nodded. ‘Can I come with you?’ Over his shoulder she noticed the policemen bent over a notebook, writing.

‘Are you a relative of his?’

She shook her head.

‘You can follow us, love. We’re taking him to University College Hospital. Do you know where it is?’

She nodded. Euston Road wasn’t far.

‘You didn’t get hit, love, did you?’ There was concern in his eyes.

She shook her head.

‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘He’s alive. That’s all I can say. How do you know ’im?’

‘He’s a friend. I was with him.’ The pounding in her forehead was easing.

‘What’s his name, love?’

She gave him George’s name. He wrote it down. She told him where George lived, though she couldn’t remember the house number. He raised his eyebrows. They weren’t that close, was the unspoken implication.

And he was right.

And then they were gone and a policeman with a pointy helmet and a bulky black and yellow jacket, was beside her.

He was asking her questions. She answered them all, gave him her name and address, then told him what had happened. Then he closed his notebook. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock,’ he said, with a sympathetic smile. ‘You should go home. We’ll be in touch.’ Then he was gone.

And she didn’t want to go home.

The door closed with a click behind Jim Green. He passed into the main room of the apartment. The early afternoon noises from Fifth Avenue, the honking of car horns and the occasional shout for a taxi, were unheard up here on the twenty-fifth floor.

‘How can I help you?’ said Lord Bidoner.

Jim Green looked around. He seemed relieved that they were alone. He held his hand out.

‘I’m worried, sir.’

‘That’s what I pay you for, Mr Green. To be worried. To lose sleep. To make me money.’ Bidoner’s tone was angry. ‘But indulge me, tell me what’s going on. I am sure you wouldn’t come back here unless you had a very good reason.’

Jim Green was sweating. ‘My colleague is holding back some of our reserves, sir. And he expects me to agree to this.’ There was a slight tremor in his voice. He clearly wanted to betray his colleague, but the reality of it all was getting to him.

That was the moment Xena choose to walk back into the room. She was carrying a knife. She laid it down on the coffee table, then sat near it. She didn’t speak, but watched Jim Green’s every move.

Lord Bidoner stood in front of him, invading his personal space. ‘Are you truly ready to crush your enemies, Mr Green?’

‘Sure.’ He said it as if they were talking about playing a round of golf.

‘Are you committed, Green?’

Green nodded.

Lord Bidoner took his phone from his pocket, opened an encrypted file storage app and flicked through some files. He stopped at one and turned the phone to Jim Green.

The video that played was of a little girl running with a pink satchel on her back. She ran into the arms of a woman, her mother no doubt. There were other children behind them. She was clearly just after leaving school.

Little voices squealing in delight came from the phone.

‘Where the hell did you get this?’ Green’s voice had risen. He half reared in his seat. His face was ashen.

Bidoner put his phone back in his pocket.

‘I just want you to understand that we expect one hundred per cent commitment. Your wife and daughter are lovely. You were trying for a child for a long time, I’m told. Is that true?’

Green nodded and sat back down. His expression hardened.

‘I know what I have to do, sir. And I will do it. You will have no trouble about my commitment.’

‘Good.’ Bidoner took a step back. As Green stood, Bidoner said, ‘Do you remember the oath you took when you joined us?’

‘Yes, I do. I swore to carry out whatever instructions given without question.’

‘Good. Because, God forgives, but we don’t.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘And we will be even more powerful soon. Xena, show our friend to the door.’

As Green opened the door Xena came up beside him. She looked him in the eye, then rubbed at the front of his trousers. She had a smile on her face. It turned to an exaggerated scowl as she took her hand away.

‘Don’t worry. My friend just likes to size people up. And don’t forget, keep me informed of everything your colleague gets up to.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And remember, there is no room for failure, Mr Green.’

The busy corner of Regent Street and Piccadilly Circus was returning to normal. Isabel was standing exactly where they’d been standing waiting to cross the road, but George was on his way to hospital, perhaps dead already, and she was on her own, feeling hollow.

After a few minutes of being jostled by passers-by, she turned and headed back towards the club, just for something to do. There was no way she was going drinking now.

As she waited to cross Piccadilly, heading for the lane leading to Jermyn Street, she stood well back from the edge of the road, and looked around to see if anyone suspicious was near her. Then she turned back towards Piccadilly Circus. There was a long queue at the cash machine outside the BXH branch. There must have been thirty people waiting. God only knew what they were saying about BXH on the news. When a bank gets into trouble, anything can happen. She passed the queue quickly.

Should she go to the hospital, to see if George was okay? She looked at her watch. It was only twenty minutes since they’d taken him in.

She thought about calling Rose, but decided not to. She might ask her to pick up Alek if she heard she wasn’t going away. That was the last thing she needed. Looking for Sean with Alek beside her would be impossible.

She decided to ring Sean’s aunt and uncle. She had to tell them they weren’t coming. What exactly was she was going to say?

Sean’s aunt, Karen, was kind, but there was a toughness to her, a wiry strength. That’s the way her generation was. Everyone was supposed to stand on their own two feet, as far as Karen was concerned. Sean’s uncle, Frank, was different. He was warmer, friendlier. But he had Huntington’s. And he didn’t need her ringing up, panicking, telling him everything that his favourite nephew might or might not have done.

As she rang Karen’s number, disappointment rose inside her. Not for her, but for them. They’d been looking forward to seeing her and Sean. She felt guilty now, as if it was her fault they weren’t on their way to Paris.

‘Karen here.’

The urge to put the phone down, to avoid telling her bad news, was strong.

‘Hi, it’s Isabel.’

There was a pause.

‘Where are you, honey?’ Her tone was happy, but a note of worry could be heard at its edge. A worry she was supposed to dispel with her reply.

Her mouth was dry, hard, as if she’d sucked on blotting paper.

‘I’m in London, Karen. I’m sorry. Sean’s gone missing.’ Better to come straight out with it.

There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Missing?’ Karen’s tone made her concern clear.

‘He didn’t come home last night.’ Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

‘Have you tried his office?’ Karen spoke fast.

‘I’ve been to BXH. He’s not there.’

‘Did you guys have a fight?’

‘No, no. It’s not that.’ Isabel straightened her back and looked over her shoulder. A young boy with cropped hair was staring at her. A shudder ran through her.

‘Have you called the hospitals, the police?’

She licked her lips. She couldn’t tell her about the police being at their house. ‘The police know he’s missing. I’m sure I’d have had a call by now if he was in a hospital.’

‘Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?’ There was something distant about her tone, as if she was thinking about something else.

‘What’s going on with the big merger? There was tons about BXH on the TV before we left. Frank thinks it’s just what they need.’

‘I don’t know what’s going on with the merger, Karen. All I know is Sean was supposed to be out celebrating last night.’

‘Celebrating?’ Karen sniffed. It felt like a criticism. ‘Does he often disappear after a night out?’

‘No,’ said Isabel, firmly.

‘Do any of his colleagues know where he is?’

Karen was trying to help her, by telling her to contact people, but her condescending tone made her advice hard to take. It wasn’t the first time Isabel had heard it.

‘I have to go now, Karen.’ She didn’t want to go into any more detail.

‘Call us. As soon as you find out where he is. And if there’s anything we can do, let us know.’

‘I will. I promise. I’ll call you.’ She cut the line. She needed answers.

Henry Mowlam put the glass of Chardonnay on the small wooden table in front of Major Finch. She was pressed up against the corner of a red banquet. They were an hour out of the office and two drinks down already.

The Chandos pub, near Trafalgar Square, was just far enough away from the control room in Whitehall where they’d spent the day, to not have to worry about every second person recognising them.

Their corner table was surrounded by a mass of humanity enjoying a night out. The noise level of conversation was a wall of sound that almost certainly ensured their own conversation could not be listened to.

‘Have you decided?’ he said. He turned and stared into Major Finch’s eyes. They were blue, large and, if he thought about them too much, very attractive.

Major Finch smoothed the hem of her knee-length black Mark’s & Spencer skirt. Her right leg was crossed over her left.

She let her head fall back to the banquet and closed her eyes.

‘You don’t give up, do you, Henry?’

He put his pint of Old Brewery bitter down and glanced at the party of twenty-something Italian tourists at the next table. Not one of them was looking their way.

‘Do you blame me?’ He took another sip of his pint. Their Friday-night-after-work-drinks were one of the few pleasures in his life, since his wife had divorced him.

‘I can’t be the only level seven officer you know, Henry.’

‘No, but you’re the only one I know well, and who probably knows the answer to my question off the top of her head.’

Major Finch turned to look at him. ‘I suppose you think because I’ve had a few drinks you can have what you want?’ She smiled.

‘I was hoping.’ He shrugged, picked up his pint again. He’d been pushing his luck with Finch since soon after his divorce papers came through.

‘You can’t have any more resources for watching Isabel Ryan, Henry. And I’m not changing my mind just because you bought me a drink.’

‘Even after what’s just happened?’

‘Yes. We’re going beyond what we should be doing anyhow. It was supposed to be an observation operation, not a personal protection one.’

Henry sighed, looked away.

Finch leaned towards him until her mouth was near his ear. She breathed heavily as she spoke. ‘I’ll give you this much, Henry. That symbol you keep asking about is upsetting people in the Met, the Home Office, MI5 and GCHQ. That’s a bit of a record.’ She leaned back.

He let the edge of a smile linger for only a second on his lips. He was obviously going to have to tease what he wanted out of her.

‘Why? You have to tell me why.’

Their eyes locked. The rest of the pub was just noise now.

‘Certain people don’t like ritual murders on their patch. Your speculation about that poor girl’s murder has stirred things up.’

‘I don’t like coincidences,’ said Henry.

‘Do you think we’re going to get more deaths like that?’

‘My crystal ball needs a good clean, but if I was a guessing man I’d say there’s a real possibility. People used to die that way during the inquisition, when they tortured people, pulled their tongues out and other stuff you wouldn’t believe. There were inquisitors in Constantinople too, when the Catholics ran the place. We have no idea what they believed they had to do to save the city.’

‘It’s what whoever murdered that girl believes that worries me.’

‘That symbol at the back of the book is the key to it all, I reckon.’

‘So what would you think that symbol was, if you saw it on the street?’ Her head shook as she finished the sentence. Her hair was loose now and her white top was open an inch more than it should have been.

He shrugged. ‘It’d be a signpost. Go straight ahead, if it was pointing up. Go right or left, if it was pointing either way.’

‘Exactly.’ She looked all knowing. It was probably an act.

‘That doesn’t tell me anything.’ He downed the rest of his pint. Would she be on for another, he wondered.

‘Henry, Henry, Henry, it’s all staring you in the face. The bloody symbol is a signpost. It’s pointing somewhere.’

‘Great, you are a proper genius. I’ll get on to the Nobel committee first thing tomorrow.’ He snorted. ‘So where does it point, Miss Genius?’

She sighed. ‘I’ll tell you this, and no more. The symbol in the book does not point directly north.’

‘So where does it point? Has anyone figured that out?’

‘Not exactly, but a few people think they’re getting close.’

‘The colours, those two-headed eagles, they’re clues, right?’

‘That’s the theory.’

‘So what the hell is this place they point towards? Some treasure trove?’ That would be interesting, he thought. A Byzantine treasure trove could be worth a hell of a lot.