Authors: Phil Rowan
* * * * *
‘Rudi!’
It’s Fiona Adler. She’s looking incredible in some designer suit outfit, heels most women would die for and a subtle array of bling. A senior hospital executive, who’s cowering in the hallway, has escorted her up to my quarters – even Nurse Reilly is backing nervously away towards the door.
‘What has happened to you?’ She asks when she’s given me a light hug and brushed each of my cheeks with her own. ‘You are, I’m afraid, the talk of the Square and I’ve had tabloid editors offering large sums of money for anything I can tell them about you.’
I need to call up my mantra again, but it’s pointless. Fiona’s eyes are like laser beams and she’s got me trapped up against the pillows.
‘I’ve never seen the person who shot me before in my life,’ I say with complete honesty.
‘Of course … he was probably hired specifically to do this job. But why, Rudi … have you stood on the toes of a Russian oligarch, or worse?’
That’s it. Someone I had interviewed or written a story about was displeased. They thought I needed a warning shot, and banging my head on the Crowndale Square pavement was a bonus.
‘I’m lucky to be alive,’ I say with a straight face. ‘But do you know what happened?’
‘No – ’
‘The guy grinned. He shouted ‘
hi Rudi!
’ and then said he was going to kill me. It was scary, and it was Therese the au pair who came to my aid and called an ambulance.’
‘Ah – ’ Fiona sighs wistfully. ‘She’s such a sweet girl. Alison says she’s the best person with the children she’s ever had … but I fear that after this incident she may need counselling. There’s someone I know in Harley Street who could be just the person, and we could do a sort of whip round in the Square to pay his fees.’
‘Fiona – ’
‘Oh, Rudi – sorry. I’m being pro-active when I should be hesitating … and Ingrid called last night.’
‘But you didn’t say anything, I hope.’
She’s looking at me with just a hint of disappointment. How could I have so misjudged her on matters that need discretion.
‘I told her you had to go somewhere unexpectedly and that you might have forgotten to take your mobile. However, I think it would be helpful if you could now find it, because she’s in Helsinki.’
With the Russian she had to see in Paris? Has he bought her entire collection of art works? Perhaps on the understanding that she might go snowboarding with him across fjords or whatever it is they have in Norway, or wherever Helsinki is.
‘No, actually,’ Fiona says dismissively. ‘Her mother has apparently got some relationship problem with her father who – if you can believe it – has become involved with a female church pastor.’
Well at least she doesn’t know that a dysfunctional Asian gunman has taken a shot at me in Crowndale Square.
‘I will call her,’ I tell Julia. ‘Did she mention that we might be spending time together on a Greek island?’
I’m not sure if I should be saying this. I could be tempting fate. Ingrid might take a fancy to her Russian art patron, which could extend beyond his roubles. Julia, however, is blinking back a few tears.
‘You are a romantic young man,’ she says. ‘And I envy you.’
What? Why? Am I hearing this correctly? Fiona Adler is a self sufficient and very together woman. She is, I think, a millionairess several times over and can have all sorts of goodies just by clicking her fingers or picking up the phone.
‘That’s not the point though, Rudi – ’
‘Right – ’
‘You see, I do have regrets.’
Of course. I can take a glimpse behind the tears on her cheeks. There are no Adler children, and although she’s an emotionally vibrant woman, there hasn’t been a really significant other her life since Mr Adler slipped away with an actress from the fringe who wrote poems.
‘Sometimes, I let go,’ she says, ‘and think about what I might have done.’
Hang on. I’m doing calculations here. She can’t be more than forty-two. Giving birth is still possible, provided one is careful. But she’s shaking her head and wiping mascara from underneath her eyes.
‘I thought about it when Nathan left,’ she says. ‘We had a young photographer who wasn’t gay. He was handsome and bright. We had dinner one evening, but I honestly couldn’t take it any further.’
She’s married to her work, I know that. A magazine empress courted by media moguls, and I think she empathises best with attractive younger women.
‘I’m sorry about leaving your do so early the other evening,’ I say. ‘I was exhausted after the riots in Brixton and I needed to see Ingrid.’
‘Of course – ’
‘But did Carla join you?’
I’m being prurient. It’s none of my business what my Controller and my neighbour might get up to, either in Claridges or elsewhere. I have, however, lit a fuse. It’s burning slowly but relentlessly, and there’s an angry red flush ascending from Fiona’s neck to her cheeks. Her eyes also seem to be getting fired up, and it’s unnerving.
‘I don’t know how you came to have any sort of association with that woman, Rudi.’
Oh lord. It’s a little complicated, and I’m prevented by my President’s Patriot Act from revealing the circumstances under which I was arrested and taken in to the awesome presence of Miss Hirsch.
‘It’s just work,’ I say lamely. ‘You know how it is with journalists. We have to play ball all over the place … Carla’s just a contact.’
I think the Spanish priests would have welcomed my neighbour as a probing member for their inquisition. Her eyes have locked onto mine, and I think she’s checking out each cell in my addled brain.
‘Let me tell you something,’ she says after a long pause. ‘We all have to find our own way with people, men and women, Rudi. Sometimes the journey is agreeable, but there are occasions when one wishes it had never happened.’
I’m not ready for this. Could Nurse Reilly please come and take my blood pressure. I would even welcome a long and serious discussion with Dr Zakir about relations between Islam and the rest of us. I need a diversion.
‘Would you mind very much if I popped outside for a moment?’ I ask.
‘You must be tired,’ Fiona says sympathetically. ‘I should go.’
‘No – not yet … I won’t be long.’
There’s a white hospital towelling robe to slip into. Fiona’s looking out over what I assume is a dodgy part of Hackney while my cop guard cradles his belly in the corridor.
‘Do you need somewhat?’ he asks.
‘Just the gents – ’
‘Straight over there, mate … only I’ll ‘ave to come wif you.’
Fortunately, there’s a cubicle I can disappear into. I don’t actually need to be here, but I sit on the disinfected seat and hold my head in my hands. It’s not the best place for a break, and my arm’s hurting where the Asian guy’s bullet hit me. It’s weird up here on the deserted top floor at the Homerton Hospital, and I’m not sure where I’ll be going when they let me out. But the cop’s coughing. ‘
All right, mate …you gotta be done by now. So if you don’t mind, could we please get outa ‘ere
.’
I pull the flush and tighten the belt on my robe when I open the closet door. There’s no conversation on our way back to my isolated room, but Fiona’s waiting with a welcoming smile.
‘I’ve been thinking, she says when I climb back between the sheets. ‘If you and Ingrid go to this Greek island, I’d like to come and visit, if I may.’
Most certainly. ‘You’d be very welcome.’
Only I’m getting confused. Didn’t my neighbour recently attempt to seduce my Valkyrie Princess, and quite brazenly, according to Ingrid?
I’m dithering and giving out exhaustion signals when Nurse Reilly appears with a blood pressure gauge.
‘You’re going to have to rest,’ she tells me. She’s deliberately avoiding any eye contact with my visitor, who is picking up her handbag of the moment.
‘Give me a hug,’ I say spontaneously to Julia, which gets her sitting beside me on the bed.
Her expensively groomed black hair is soft and shiny. She’s been a good friend, and I’m losing myself in her warm embrace when the door opens. I can see a huge bald-headed guy with a lump under his left arm, which I think is a gun. I’m clinging on to my neighbour while Nurse Reilly says, ‘Eh … excuse me …’
The bald-headed guy is familiar. I’ve seen him in Crowndale Square. He drove the BMW that Carla Hirsch came to see me in. She’s coming in past him now, but she stops when she sees Fiona’s elegant back with my arms around her shoulders. There’s mild panic in her eyes. I’d like to know why, but Carla’s followed into my overcrowded room by Dr Zakir.
‘I want please to examine patient,’ he says. ‘So I would wish everyone to wait outside until I am finish … ‘
Chapter 18
A
Desperate Housewives
repeat is coming up on the TV. Someone is about to be murdered in an idyllic suburban close and Dr Zakir is standing with his arms folded at the end of my bed.
‘You must take rest now,’ he says, and I agree. I want to just fall in with the housewives and empathise with their challenges. I’m on my own briefly, but I can hear raised voices outside in the corridor. I recognise Earl Connors’ polite, mediating tone and shortly afterwards my Controller enters.
‘So, Rudi … it’s you and me now.’
I could complain, and as I think about it, she’s sitting patiently on the edge of my mattress. ‘
Can we talk, sir? OK –maybe …but I’m fragile, so not for too long, please.
’
‘You have my sympathy,’ she says, ‘for what it’s worth.’
There’s a self-deprecatory tone here that intrigues me. Am I experiencing a more human side of Agent Hirsch?
‘Right – ’
‘But this person who shot you … any idea who he might be?’
A smiling Asian with a nicely pressed shirt and tie in a beige Lexus. He was articulate and I imagine he had been well educated. ‘
Hi Rudi …I’m going to kill you!
’ Great – I’m lucky he only winged my arm and gave me a nasty bang on the head. Jeremy Wagstaff and his wife, Annalise, are in protective custody. Sunita Malawi is, I’m sure, doing whatever she can to push Carla and myself right out of her handsome head, which leaves the Brixton rioters. One of whom might have taken my picture and Michael ‘Mohammed’ Sharif could have identified me. But how was my hit man to know I would be leaving Sunita Malawi’s house in Manchester Square when I did?
‘I’ve never seen him before,’ I say to Carla. ‘He could have been anyone.’
She’s looking closely at her nails, but then she raises her eyes.
‘Your friend Fiona and I didn’t get along,’ she tells me, but I don’t want to go there. In fact, I’m not sure where I’m going anymore.
‘It’s probably best if you don’t return to the house where you’ve been staying in Islington … it’s too risky.’
I’m thinking seriously about a trip back to the States. I keep having disturbing images of Ingrid being wooed by the mysterious Russian who likes her art work, and it’s getting to me. I’m drawn to the anonymity of my cousin Lee’s place in Wyoming. It’s very remote, and I think I could blend in with the ranch scene. ‘
You come on down here any time you want to cut out, Rudi boy …you’ll have to work and earn your keep mind, but we can always do with an extra pair of hands, especially with the harvest and when we got to round up cattle for the market.
’
With all of this introspection, I’m missing out on the situation with my Controller. Her usually ice cold mask has slipped a little; her mouth is open like she’s in a trance and she’s staring aimlessly at the window which overlooks what I gather is a former mental asylum.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask and her body jerks as though I’ve woken her.
‘Yes – I guess so … but I’ve been thinking.’
‘What about?’
Her defences are down and I’m keen to explore around the real Hirsch.
‘Before 9/11,’ she says, ‘I was coasting along in the State Department. I wasn’t going anywhere fast, and I didn’t have strong feelings about … well – anything.’
‘Sure –’
I’m not the best person to respond on this. I’ve been in a neutral gear emotionally for almost ten years. I keep rushing mindlessly from one assignment to the next, and I drink too much.
‘But then the North Tower collapsed and my father died, Rudi … suddenly, everything changed.’
I can relate to this.
‘I loved him so much … he was my icon,’ she says. ‘And when I realised what had happened, I became very angry. I wanted to go out and find the people who killed him. Most of them were already dead. But their cause flourished and that’s why I’m here … it’s a personal crusade, I guess.’
I’m nodding emphatically. She’s a tough cookie, and scary. I wouldn’t want to do or say anything she might not approve of. Just now though, I don’t think I can help anyone. I need me time, and if cousin Lee in Wyoming can’t give me a bed, there’s always Mom in Sausalito or my dad in LA. I think I’d last about a week with either of my parents. We’d all get very tense and screwed up. ‘
What you need, son
,’ I can hear them saying, almost in unison, ‘
is a proper job …why don’t you think about law school? You’ve probably missed out on the best opportunities, but you could always make a decent living as a lawyer
.’
‘Can I break off now?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean … you want out?’
‘Yes. I’ve had enough. I want to go back to the States.’
This is just what she needs: a challenge she can respond to. Her brain is getting back into gear. Her eyes are homing in on me, and Agent Hirsch is reverting to her normal, ruthlessly pro-active self.
‘Come on,’ she says, getting up and walking over to the window. ‘You’ll be OK. Your doctor’s already confirmed this, and we need you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re our only link with the main players. Sulima Sharif is due here tomorrow – right?’
Possibly – maybe. She had said she might come on Friday.
‘I want you to call her and see what’s happening.’
She’s taking my phone from her bag and switching it on. There are two messages from Ingrid. I want to play them, but Carla’s back in my space on the side of the bed, so I scroll through the numbers until I get Sulima’s. She’s at least an hour ahead, but she could be anywhere between Paris and Geneva. Her number’s ringing, and then she answers.