The Chinaman (45 page)

He stepped to the side and waved her in. ‘It's not much,' he apologised.

She looked round and nodded. ‘You're right,' she said.

‘It's temporary.'

‘It would have to be,' she laughed. ‘Does it have a bar?'

Woody laughed with her. ‘Yeah, there's some whisky. Let me wash a couple of glasses.' He picked up a glass from off his dressing-table and went back into the alcove. There was another glass on the shelf under the mirror containing his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. He tipped them out and washed both glasses, carried them back, and poured them both a drink.

They clinked glasses. ‘Sit down,' said Woody.

Maggie looked around the tiny bedsit. ‘Where?' she said. There was only one chair and that was covered with a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts that looked the worse for wear. She put her briefcase on the floor by the door.

‘It'll have to be the bed, I'm afraid,' said Woody.

She smiled and sat down and Woody joined her.

‘So, Rome, then Belfast. You get around.'

‘Yeah, I'm sorry it's such short notice.'

‘A security conference, you said?'

‘Yeah, lots of top guys. And with any luck there'll be a big story, too.'

‘I'm pleased, you deserve it. Why is it so hot in here?'

‘I told you,' he said. He tapped the wall behind them. ‘It's the immersion heater. It's really cosy in the winter.'

‘I bet, but this is the middle of summer, Woody.'

‘Let me take your jacket,' he said, and helped her slip it off. She opened the top button of her blouse and waved the material back and forth to cool herself. She looked up and caught Woody watching her. She didn't say anything and Woody leaned over and kissed her on her left cheek, close to her mouth.

‘Woody, no,' she said softly, but she didn't move away so Woody kissed her again, closer to her lips. He reached up and cupped her breast and tried to kiss her on the mouth but she moved her head and his lips brushed her hair.

‘Woody, don't,' she said, but her hand fell into his lap and stayed there and he could hear her breathing heavily. He massaged her full breast through the soft material of the blouse and he felt her nipple stiffen and when he tried to kiss her again this time their lips met.

He unbuttoned her blouse as they kissed. Her bra fastened at the front and after a couple of attempts he undid that, too. Her breasts fell free and he leant forward and kissed them as she cradled his head in her hands.

‘Woody, we don't have time,' she said, running her fingers through his hair and kissing the back of his head.

He pressed his fingers against her lips. ‘Shhh,' he said, and kissed her again as he slipped her blouse off her shoulders. She wriggled her arms out of her sleeves and then she helped him off with his shirt and they lay down next to each other, kissing and caressing. Woody broke free and took off his shoes, socks and trousers and then lay down on top of her.

‘Woody, we can't,' whispered Maggie as he began to push her skirt down her hips. She lifted her backside to make it easier for him and he used his foot to push it the rest of the way down her legs.

‘It's all right,' he said, kissing her again and running his hands down her legs. She was wearing stockings and they rasped against his fingers. He slipped his hand into the top of her briefs.

‘No, it's not,' she said. ‘We can't make love.'

He removed his hand and raised himself up on one elbow. ‘You're not a virgin are you?' he asked.

She collapsed into giggles. ‘That's very flattering, Woody, but no I'm not.' She reached up and linked her arms round his neck and pulled him down on top of her. ‘It's the wrong time of the month,' she whispered into his ear. ‘I'm sorry.'

Not half as sorry as I am, thought Woody. ‘That's OK,' he said, but his voice was heavy with disappointment.

Maggie wrapped her legs around him and held him. She kissed him hard, her tongue probing deep into his mouth and then whispered into his ear again. ‘Lie on your back,' she said. He did as he was told and she lay next to him, her hand moving gently between his legs. He groaned and she moved up the bed slightly so that her breasts were level with his mouth. ‘Kiss them,' she said, while her hand became more insistent, moving faster and harder. ‘Kiss them while I make you come.'

The British Airways stewardess stood to one side to allow the passengers to disembark, a flurry of briefcases and forced smiles. She smiled and said goodbye to an Oriental man in a duffel coat, but he looked right through her. He wasn't carrying any luggage and he was scruffily dressed, jeans and a pullover under the coat. There were streaks of dirt across his face as if he'd washed in a hurry and, not to put too fine a point on it, he stank to high heavens. One of the passengers who had been sitting on the same row had asked to be moved and the stewardess had had to agree. The smell turned her stomach, the bitter aroma of skin that hadn't seen soap and water in a long time. The man had been hungry and had wolfed down the tray of cake and sandwiches put in front of him, keeping his coat firmly buttoned up throughout the flight. She'd pointed the man out to the chief steward but he'd told her not to worry, security checks on the flights between Belfast and London were second to none and he looked more like a man taking his first flight than a potential hijacker. The smell? Well, that was a nuisance, but what could you expect, she was told. Nguyen left the plane at a brisk walk. He had to get to central London before the shops closed.

Woody stretched and looked at his watch. ‘Christ, is that the time?' he said.

‘What time is that?' asked Maggie. She was lying with her back to Woody, her head in the crook of his right arm.

‘It's six o'clock. I'm going to have to run.' He slid his arm out from under her neck and kissed her shoulder. She turned and kissed him on the lips and his hand went to her breasts again and he moved on top of her. ‘I wish I could make love to you,' he sighed.

‘You will,' she said. She hadn't allowed him to remove her briefs or stockings but she had made him scream with pleasure with her hands, extending his pleasure until he was exhausted. He'd asked if he could make her come but she refused, saying that she'd rather wait until they could make love properly and fully. ‘When you get back from Belfast,' she'd promised.

Woody sat up and pulled on his underpants, then his socks, then his trousers. Maggie sat up while he went to his wardrobe and took out a clean shirt. She made no attempt to cover herself and Woody turned to admire her breasts while he buttoned his shirt up and put on a tie. She laughed and leant over to pick up her briefcase and swung it on to the bed. She clicked open the case and took out a piece of paper. ‘Here's the address and phone number of my cousin. I rang him this afternoon and said you'd be coming over and that you'd call him some time.'

Woody walked over to take the sheet of paper but as he reached for it she moved it away, catching him off balance. ‘Ask nicely,' she teased. He leant forward and kissed her and she put her arms around his neck, pulling him down on the bed. Woody pulled away and this time she gave him the paper. ‘And can you give him this?' she said, reaching into the case. She took out a laptop computer and put it on the bed beside her. ‘He asked me to get it repaired. He bought it in London last year and couldn't get it fixed in Belfast. It's OK now. Do you mind? I know it'll mean taking it all the way to Rome and then back to Belfast, but I don't trust the Post Office.'

Woody shook his head. ‘Of course I don't mind.' He picked it up and put it in his overnight bag along with a change of clothes and his washing kit. Maggie made no move to get out of bed so Woody asked her what she planned to do.

‘Can I stay here for a while?' she asked. ‘I'll let myself out.'

‘Sure,' said Woody, looking at his watch again. ‘Christ, I'm going to have to dash. I'll call you from Rome. What's your home number?'

She grimaced. ‘My phone's out of order. I'll call you from a call box. What hotel will you be staying at?'

‘Hell, I don't know. Call the office, they'll tell you.' He picked up his bag and kissed her. He blew her another kiss from the door and closed it behind him.

She lay back in the bed and put her hands over her eyes. She felt sticky and dirty being with the grubby man in his grubby room, relieving him with her hands and pretending to love it. She shuddered. ‘The things I do for you, Denis Fisher,' she said to herself.

She slid out from under the quilt and padded over to the sink, washing herself as best she could. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and pulled her tongue out. ‘Whore,' she said to herself, and then laughed. She dried herself and put her clothes back on but she still didn't feel clean.

She took the towel and carefully rubbed it everywhere she'd touched, removing all trace of her fingerprints. Only when she was totally satisfied did she pick up her briefcase and let herself out of the room, not forgetting to wipe the door handle.

Woody made it to the airport with time to spare. He could barely keep his eyes open. He'd had a rough drinking session the night before, but it was Maggie who'd sapped his strength. He had no idea as he sat on the bed and tried to kiss her just how enthusiastic she'd turn out to be. He was quite surprised, and pleased. And knackered.

He was met by a Home Office press officer, a colleague of Annie's, a young guy who used to work for the
Daily Telegraph
and who Woody vaguely remembered meeting several years earlier.

‘I'm sorry, Woody, there's been a change of plan. The jet we've chartered has had engine problems so we're putting everyone on scheduled flights. I've got you a seat on a plane leaving in forty-five minutes.' He handed Woody a ticket. ‘It's Economy I'm afraid.'

‘No sweat,' said Woody. ‘Are you going on the same flight?'

The man nodded. ‘Yeah, and I'll be around to look after you at Rome airport.'

‘We're not sitting together?'

At least the guy had the grace to look shamefaced as he admitted that he was flying Business Class. They joined the queue to have their overnight bags X-rayed. Woody filled his mind with images of Maggie as he waited.

His turn came and he handed his bag to a uniformed guard who put it on the conveyor and watched it disappear as he stepped through the metal detector. His bag was pulled out by a squat, middle-aged woman with a pointed face and a flat chest and put on one side with half a dozen others. It seemed that they were pulling out one in three bags for hand inspection, which Woody guessed was a result of the bombing campaign. It wasn't so long ago when it was a rarity to have one of the guards go through your luggage and then it was usually because they'd seen something they didn't recognise on the scanner.

A short youth with a pencil-thin moustache and sideburns gave him a crooked smile and asked him if the bag was his. When Woody said it was, the guard put it down on the counter and asked him to open it. Woody did and the boy thrust his hands into it as if he was about to deliver a baby. He pulled out Woody's wash bag, unzipped it and examined his can of shaving foam and toothpaste. He carefully pushed aside Woody's underwear and shirts and then his hands appeared with the computer. He looked at it front and back, peered inside the ventilation grille, and shook it.

‘Can you switch this on for me, sir?' he asked.

Woody opened the machine, revealing the screen and the keyboard, and groped at the back where he knew the on-off switch would be. The screen flickered into life. Woody had used portables many times so he had no difficulty getting the computer to flash up a directory. The guard peered at it, and pressed a few keys at random.

‘That's fine, sir,' he said, allowing Woody to switch it off and put it back in his bag. Woody picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Have we got time for a drink before we board?' Woody asked the press officer.

‘Probably several.'

‘You're talking my language,' laughed Woody.

Joker stood by the French window and looked over the river towards where he knew the Colonel would be. He couldn't tell which of the many windows the Colonel was behind, but that was to be expected. He'd be well back from the window with the rest of his team. If Joker could see him, the IRA would be able to spot him, too.

As he waited for instructions he hummed to himself quietly. There was nothing else to do. He'd stripped and cleaned his Heckler & Koch MP5, the German-made 9-millimetre machine gun that the SAS favoured, reassembled it and replaced the magazine with its thirty rounds. He adjusted his assault waistcoat, more from habit than because of need, and flicked the safety catch off. Ginge stood by his side, while Bunny and Jacko waited behind. There was only enough space for two of them to jump down on the balcony at the same time so they'd agreed that Joker and Ginge would go first. Bunny and Jacko would follow as back-up.

During the briefing, the Colonel had made it clear that only one four-man team would actually be going into the flat and Joker had held his breath, fearing that he'd be going back to Hereford without seeing action. He needn't have worried, because the Colonel knew that Joker's team had been pulling the best scores in the killing house. The other two assault teams had groaned but knew better than to complain. One four-man team was sitting in a Range Rover in nearby Wapping Lane, parked up and listening on the radio to the Colonel's instructions, ready to give chase just in case something went wrong. The remaining four were in plain clothes, two in Wapping High Street and two down by the river in front of the target flat, but well out of sight.