Honour Bound (21 page)

"I
know he bought a helicopter," she said, voice barely audible, her breath
fluttering against his skin as she spoke. "It's got something to do with
the job. Something he can't use his planes for."

"A
helicopter and radio controlled explosives. Just what the hell is he up
to?"

Norton
took her chin in his hand and lifted her head up. "First thing in the
morning," he said, "you're going to take me to the hotel and show me
where you put the explosives."

She
nodded. Seconds passed just a silence between them. Still kneeling she
unfastened the top button of the shirt. Norton was acutely aware of the
movement of her breasts beneath the fabric. He put his hand on
hers.     

"Go
back to bed," he said. "Over the next few days we're going to need
all the strength we can muster. Now is not the time to complicate
matters."

She
smiled, leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then with a whisper
of fabric, she was gone.

Norton
lay back on the settee and adjusted the pillow beneath his head.
"Shit."

-35-

The
purr in his ear from the unanswered call was beginning to irritate him. The
rhythm of his fingers drumming on the tabletop, were in poor accord with his
ragged breathing. At five-thirty he had been woken with more bad news. Things
were beginning to turn to rat shit. He was annoyed and he wanted answers. The
purring stopped, the connection made. About fucking time, he said to himself,
putting the receiver to his other ear.

"Hello,"
a voice said, "Sir Reginald Langdon's residence."

"I
know that," Peter Holmes growled, "that's why I rang this fucking
number. Get him to the phone, now."

"May
I ask who is speaking?" the voice said, undisturbed by the profanity.

"No
you fucking mayn't. Just get him to the damn phone. Tell him I'm one of his
partners if you have to, but it won't be for long at this rate. Just get off
your arse and get him to the fucking phone."

"I'm
sorry sir," the voice said, more official now. "I cannot pass on a
call of this nature. Perhaps you would care to call back when you are feeling a
little more polite."

"Who
do you think you are
,
you little shit? If you want to
keep your fucking balls, you'd better put him on."

He
wiped the sweat running from his forehead into his eyes with a large
handkerchief. He was about to fire another tirade aimed at the voice's ancestry
but realised he would be talking to himself. The purr had returned when the
connection was broken. He looked at the handset in disbelief and slammed it
back on its cradle with such force that an ashtray jumped as though surprised.

He
hardly had time to regain his composure before the telephone rang. Picking it
up, he barked a single word. "Yes!"

"Ah,
Peter," Langdon's voice sounded so clear he could have been in the same
room. "One of my associates has just had his first obscene telephone call.
I'm just ringing to see if you knew who it could have been."

"Obscene.
I'll tell you what's fucking obscene. I've got the filth crawling all over
another one of my outlets, the second one in two days. You'd better come up
with some fucking answers because this is starting to look like a fucking set
up."

"Peter,
Peter, calm down. You are not being set up. I unfortunately made a rather poor
choice in selecting mister
Winters
as a member of the
team."

"Winters!
What does that lowlife have to
do with it? He's fucking long gone."

"Yes
he is. Wait a minute Peter." Langdon opened a drawer on the telephone
table and pushed a button on a telephone-scrambling device. "Peter, I've
just made our conversation secure. As long as we talk for ten minutes or less,
we won't be overheard. Now, where was I?"

"You
were going to give me a sparkling piece of information about a stiff."

"Oh
yes, that's right. As you quite rightly pointed out our friend
Winters
has been disposed of, unfortunately his contact
hasn't."

"If
you know who it is then what's the fucking problem."

"You
Peter, know him better than I. After all you let him go last night."

Langdon,
by his own request, was handling the reports destined for Vance Talbot. We must
all pull together at this terrible time, he had told Sir Lionel, the senior
director. I will personally take over Vance's workload until someone more
appropriate is appointed. He had even been thanked for his concern and it took
a huge amount of self control to stop
himself
laughing
in the director's face.

One
cloud though had appeared in an otherwise clear sky. Sam Norton. The report he
had read about the killing at the showroom had sounded like a demonstration for
trainees at an abattoir. What made things worse was that no one had seen or
heard from Norton, except Holmes of course, since Sunday morning, when he'd
been given the news about Talbot, almost twenty four hours. The man was
a loose
cannon whose sights were unfortunately pointing in
the right direction, time to get rid of him before he strikes gold. He smiled
inwardly at his pun.

"What!
You mean that fucking shit at the showroom?" Holmes sounded surprised, a
slight air of relief in his voice.

"Exactly,
that shit at the showroom."

Langdon
was amused at Holmes' scatological reference to Norton. But he would have added
dangerous. A dangerous fucking shit.

"Well
we won't have to worry about that
turd
," Holmes
said, "he's been taken care of." He paused. "How did you know
about the showroom?"

Langdon
could hear the suspicion levelled in his voice. "Peter," he said,
"I would not dream of asking you who your contacts are. Please extend me a
professional courtesy, and don't ask me to name mine. But suffice to say that
they are high up and in the right places. Now, about the contact, I now know
who he is and who he works for, that information, with other details that will
help, will be on the way to you within the hour."

“Have
you got wax in your ears?” Holmes said, “I've already said he's been taken care
of.”

"I
know one thing for certain Peter, just by talking to you now. You haven't
spoken to the person who took care of him today."

"Not
yet."
A note of doubt.
"But I will this
afternoon."

"Then
you'll need the services of a very good medium. Peter, your man is in the
morgue in Poplar modelling a new line in eye patches with a gaping hole where
his throat used to be."

Silence
on the line.

"Peter,
are you still there?"

"Yes
I'm here." His voice subdued. "What happened to the girl?"

"Girl?
My source made no mention of a
girl. But I'm sure that when you find the man, well, you'll probably find
her."

"Gerry
was a good man, loyal. That shit is going to pay in pain and blood for..."

"Peter,"
Langdon interrupted, "we've only got a short time left on this line. I am
sorry to butt in. Is everything set for tomorrow?"

"Yes,
everything's set. Don't worry about that, we're ready to go."

"Good.
I'll see you in the morning."

Langdon
broke the connection and turned to
Vousson
.
"Goodbye Norton, hello money."

Remy
Vousson
, who had been propped on one elbow while
listening to the conversation on the speaker, lay back on the bed. His oval
face, more pretty than handsome, broke into a
grin.                       

"Come
back to bed," he said. "Let's have an early celebration." His
face cracked from a grin to a smile.

Langdon
removed his robe. An erection formed as he thought about the celebration he had
in mind. "Yes let's," he said, and settled beside his lover.

-36-

They
left the apartment early. After a shower and a light breakfast Norton had
reminded Sarah they would be going to the Senator Hotel to remove the device
she had put there. What he did not tell her was that the device would no longer
be there. Peter Holmes was the main suspect for the Heathrow
attacks,
everything so far had led to him. He must know by now about the thug at the
garage and that Sarah was missing. He would be a fool to leave such a device in
place, and Norton doubted the man was a fool. He was taking her along mainly to
gauge her reaction to its disappearance, but also on the off chance, that she
could spot any of Holmes' men left to watch the area.

"I've
got to get a change of clothes," Sarah said as he pulled the Vauxhall away
from the kerb and into the flow of traffic.

"Where
are you going to get them from?" he asked, not taking his eyes from the
road.

"My flat, where else?"

"Does
Holmes know where you live?"

"Yes."
She sighed deeply and looked out of the window. "I get your point."

Norton
smiled and glanced at her. "Don't worry," he said, "you look
great."

She
looked at him then down at herself. She had washed her underwear in the
bathroom sink the previous night, leaving it on a radiator to dry. Something
she had not done since her days at college when money had been extremely tight.
She still wore the same trousers but Norton had donated a thick sweatshirt to
replace her blouse. She pulled out the front of the sweatshirt and released it
allowing it to flop back.

"The
height of fashion," she said, and laughed.

Norton
steered the car into a vacant parking bay while checking the rear view mirror.
He let a dozen or more cars pass before pulling out again into the traffic. At
the first roundabout they came to, he reduced speed and drove around it twice.
No other vehicle attempted the same manoeuvre so he exited and began retracing
the last mile of their route.

"Are
you lost?" Sarah asked. "We've just been along here."

"I'm
just making sure we're not being followed."

"Oh,"
she said. Feeling subdued, she stared out of the window.

Norton
made several more detours and retraced his route a number of times. He
intentionally jumped one red traffic light, drove a little further then pulled
into the kerb and switched off the ignition. "The hotel's just up the road
from here," he said, releasing his seatbelt. "We'll walk the rest of
the way."

The
imposing front of the Senator Hotel was half way along the road on the opposite
side. Norton heard Sarah gasp as she led him into the doorway of a shop.

"What's
the matter?" he said, suddenly alert. His hand inside his jacket, fingers
curled around the grip of the Sig.

"Over
there on the steps of the hotel."

He
glanced around quickly. So far so good, he thought. One man stood on the steps,
tall and thinly built wearing a dark suit. Dark wavy hair and a goatee beard offset
his pale face. A small cigar hung limply from the fingers of his left hand, his
right hung down by his side as though awaiting instructions. His suit jacket
was unbuttoned and Norton could see the cut of the material was not good enough
to hide the slight bulge on its left side.

“Either
he’s got a fat wallet,” Norton said, "or he’s carrying. Who is he?"

"I
don't know his name," she answered, the tremble back in her voice,
"but he works for Holmes. I've seen him about quite often, mostly at the warehouse."

"Alright,”
he said, “I want you to go back to the car and wait for me. They'll be here for
the same thing as me."

"Us."
She said. "They’re here for
the same thing as us." Before he could say anything she added, "Don't
leave me on my own, not now. Not with his people hanging about, what if they
see me?" A cold shiver ran through her body as she mentally answered her
own question.

He
thought it through quickly. There was no point in arguing and risking a scene.
That would just draw unwanted attention. Besides, she knew where the device
should be, it would be a lot quicker than searching for it. "Promise
me,"
he
said, "if I tell you to do
something, you'll do it straight away, and without question. If there are any
more of these jokers about, I want to be able to concentrate on them and not
have to worry where you are."

"I
promise." She stood on her toes and pecked him quickly on the cheek. She
felt warmth spreading
inside,
it had been a long time
since someone had bothered to worry about her. She felt safe with this man and
it felt good. "Let's go round the back," she said, "there's a
staff door there."

Using
a spare set of skeleton keys, he opened the door with ease. His originals,
along with his balaclava and gloves had been lost at the car showroom. He
looked around, they were at the convergence of two corridors, both well lit,
and both had numerous doors leading off their length.

"There's
a lift at the end of this corridor," she said, and walked off in the
direction she had indicated. Norton relocked the door and went after her,
watching the natural swing of her hips. Keep your mind on the job Sam, he said
to himself and followed her into a small service lift.

The
door opened at the thirtieth floor. Norton put his arm across the door to
prevent Sarah preceding him. "Remember your promise Sarah. If your
ex-friends are still about, it’s possible they'll be around here. Keep close to
me, but don't get in front."

She
nodded, saying nothing. A nervous look settled on her
face.        

"Don't
worry," he said, "you'll be fine." He backed up his reassurance
with a smile. With Norton leading, they climbed the stairs to the roof.

The
door to the roof was ajar. He pushed it open and waited several seconds before
stepping through. The wind, surprisingly strong at this height, moaned around
the structures erupting from the asphalt like a ghost with a toothache. He
motioned to Sarah and she appeared from the dimness of the stairwell, the wind
immediately whipping her hair across her face.

"Where's
the cable?" He asked, raising his voice to be heard.

She
moved closer to him. With one hand holding her hair, she pointed with the other
at the tower on the opposite side of the roof. "It's at the bottom of that
tower behind a metal grill."

"You
wait here...."

"I'll
have to come with you," she quickly interrupted. "You won't get your
arms through the grill. It was a squeeze for me."

She
looked at him, hoping he would not leave her alone. She wanted to be close to
him and she realised it was not just the threat of Holmes' thugs.

"Come
on," he said

They
retraced the route she had used on her last visit and stopped at the base of
the tower. A square section had been cut from the grill the power cable was as
it should be, the ophidian device had been removed.

"It's
gone," she said, and looked at Norton with disbelief. She turned looking
around the roof, as if searching for another tower. Her eyes returned to
Norton. "That's where I put it, honestly." Her voice was rushed, as
if pleading with him to believe her.

"It's
okay. With you on the loose, it was a smart move to get rid of it. It depends
on how important this is to his plan," he said looking up at the tower,
"as to whether he's just got rid of it or whether he's ...just ...re-sited
it."

His
voice slowed as another thought grew in his mind.

"What's
the matter," Sarah said, "what's wrong?"

"Come
on," he said, "I've got somebody to see."