The Dying Light (50 page)
‘Tomorrow,’ he said. He was naked and again she thought how good he looked. He shivered and she could feel the goose pimples rising across his back.
‘Come,’ she said, pulling him towards her.
‘I hope to.’
‘Such a very bad joke.’
They slipped between the sheets and she held his head across her chest. ‘You’ve got to get treatment,’ she said to the crown of his head. ‘I can’t lose you a second time. I could not go through that again.’
‘But I heard you were rather composed at my funeral.’
‘More so than Darsh,’ she said and giggled. ‘I wish he’d slugged Glenny.’
He laughed into her flesh and then began to move across her belly with his lips, slowly, deliberately, inch by inch, first circling her navel and then moving up to her breasts, tasting her and murmuring that he had screwed up his life and should have been doing this every night for the last decade; and what did he know about anything if he let such a beautiful woman - his complete friend - languish in New York while he was wasting time with a lot of fucking power-crazed mediocrities. All he wanted was to return to the Dove and wake with her in the morning and, come winter or summer, look across the valley and make love to her and live.
The words came with his kisses, each one planted on her skin, impregnating it with the message of hopeless devotion and love. She absorbed them and responded with her own thrilled endearments, though with nothing like the fluency of Eyam’s requisition of her body. He whispered that he had never expected to make love again, let alone to her. Although he did not say it, she knew that he was thinking that this might be the last time.
She drew his head up so that she could look at him. He moved his hand been her legs and let it graze and explore with the tiniest of movements until she closed her eyes and descended into herself to observe the regular pulses of pleasure build until she climaxed quite suddenly and opened her eyes to Eyam’s steady gaze. She kissed him before pressing one hand on his shoulder to push him on his back. Then she straddled him and made love to him with a slow, rhythmic purpose.
They slept.
At five a.m. she woke to an insistent buzzing. Her mind groped for explanation. The alarm? No. The timer on the cooker? No.
‘It’s the bloody door,’ she whispered. ‘Someone’s at the door.’
She felt Eyam tense beside her. ‘See if they go away,’ he said.
But the noise continued.
‘Maybe it’s Kilmartin or Freddie,’ she said. ‘They may need to be let in.’
She put the light on and scrambled to find her clothes.
Eyam was now sitting up, alert. She went to the intercom and pressed the button.
A voice sounded. ‘It’s Oliver Mermagen, Kate. Can you let me in? I want to speak to you.’
‘Oliver, for God’s sake. What time is it? I’m trying to sleep.’
‘It’s very important that I talk to you.’
Eyam was behind her, fully dressed and doing up his shoes.
‘Hold on,’ she said and took her finger off the button.
‘You’d better find out what he wants. I can make myself scarce, then come back.’
‘There’s a fire exit on the top landing.’
‘Can’t this wait?’ she said into the intercom. Mermagen replied that it was a matter of great urgency. She watched Eyam grab his jacket and seize the drugs from the table.
‘OK, I’ll get dressed,’ she said to Mermagen. ‘Wait there.’
‘No, buzz me up, Kate. There’s no time to lose.’
She released her finger and turned to Eyam. ‘He may have someone with him. Be careful.’
‘If they knew I was here, they’d be storming the place. Phone me when he’s gone.’ He slipped from the door and made for the stairs.
‘Are you alone?’ she asked Mermagen.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake open the door.’
‘OK,’ she said, pressing the second button. ‘I’ll put something on.’ She glanced round the room and noticed the two empty glasses, the bottle of wine and the double indentation in the cushions of the sofa. Having cleared and straightened everything, she arrived back at the door as Mermagen’s frantic knocking began.
‘What do you want at this hour, Oliver?’ she demanded as she opened the door. He was wearing a raincoat and a tweed cap that made him look as if he had just come from some country pursuit.
He took the cap off and shook it. ‘It’s good to see you, Kate, even in these trying circumstances.’
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘Very simple: you were obviously not in a hotel. I had my assistant check the community charge records for the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, where all short-term lets have to be registered. You probably didn’t know that. She simply found the address for the apartment let out to Calverts. I am the only person who knows where you are, Kate. Is Eyam with you?’ he asked, looking over her shoulder.
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Ah, but no doubt you know how to get hold of him.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Initially, some coffee, then I want to put a proposition to you.’
‘Tell me while I make it,’ she said. Mermagen followed her to the kitchen, sat down and placed his cap on the table. ‘I tried calling you. But your phone wasn’t switched on. I left half a dozen messages for you.’
‘Oh really,’ she said.
‘As I explained, I’ve been authorised to act as an intermediary by Eden White and to put a deal to you. The long and short of it is that he will guarantee you and Eyam safe passage out of the country in exchange for all the information that Eyam possesses on government systems and of course all the supporting evidence. He further guarantees that once abroad you will not be threatened or in any way disturbed. He still nurtures a deep affection and respect for David Eyam and he does not want this affair to end unhappily.’
‘By that you mean . . .’
‘There are any number of outcomes that you can imagine for yourself.’
‘A sniper’s bullet, a truckload of sand.’
Mermagen shook his head with annoyance. ‘You have very little time, Kate. I will soon be compelled to say where I have seen you. You will be arrested and they will pick Eyam up. He will be charged and put in jail.’ The kettle boiled and she poured the water into the cafetie‘re. ‘They know about Eyam’s money,’ he continued. ‘They have traced nearly all of it and they can freeze the bank accounts under international money-laundering agreements and using terror laws overnight. Mr White guarantees that this information will not be passed to the government and that David will be free to benefit from this considerable fortune, unmolested by the Inland Revenue. However, he insists that Eyam does not return to this country and maintains the fiction of his death. As far as Mr White is concerned, David Eyam will remain dead. He also expects you to leave this country within the next twenty-four hours. Whether you return to the United States or choose another place to settle is of no concern to him, as long as you abide by the agreement not to reveal that Eyam is alive, or anything of the material that he is believed to have collected.’
She poured the coffee into two mugs and pushed one towards Mermagen’s little hand. ‘Tell me something, Oliver. Why haven’t they released the fact that Eyam is still alive? The former head of JIC fakes his own death in a Colombian bomb explosion to escape charges. I mean, it’s a gift.’
‘Because Eden wants to resolve this with as little fuss as possible: he realises that it could be damaging to all the things he holds dear.’
‘No, he read the email that is doing the rounds and realised that Eyam would destroy him. That’s why he is offering us a deal: as soon as we are out of the country he sends a team of assassins after us.’
‘He’s not a gangster. He has a very high regard for both of you. Up until he read that email yesterday he fully intended to offer you a job.’
‘You say he isn’t a gangster, but he worked for some pretty shady people in Las Vegas, Oliver.’ She sipped from the mug. ‘How come you’re acting as his bagman?’
‘I too have a high regard for both of you.’
‘And all your contracts depend on Temple remaining in power with White’s backing.’
‘I have to make a living, Kate,’ he said.
‘Anyway, I have no idea where Eyam is.’
‘But you can contact him.’
‘And I have no intention of leading you to him. I’ve acted as the pathfinder for one murder: I am not going to do that again.’ The realisation that she might already be doing so gave her an idea.
Mermagen was fiddling with his cap. ‘Call him. Otherwise this is all going to get very messy.’
‘OK,’ she said in a less chilly tone. ‘I’ll talk to him. No harm in that.’
‘That’s good news - very good news indeed. You have my number?’
She nodded.
‘When should I expect to hear from you?’
‘I will be able to speak to him at eleven this morning. Shortly after that.’
Mermagen drained his coffee and got up. ‘I will tell Mr White. You do realise that an awful lot depends on you making Eyam see sense. It’s vitally important for you as well as him.’ He looked at her, his scheming eyes affecting warmth and a regard for her well being. ‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘Go back to bed.’
‘Yes, I quite understand. I’m sorry for coming so early, but I did want to see you as soon as possible. If you’d had your phone on, I could have called you instead.’
She led him to the door. As soon as he was gone, she snatched up a small shoulder bag, unplugged her three telephones and computer and put them in a side pocket. She then chose a dark trouser suit, which she also placed in the bag together with underwear, a shirt and black shoes. She rummaged in the desk and found a padded envelope left by a previous tenant, addressed it and shoved it into the pocket of the jacket she had taken from the bedroom. Then she went round the apartment turning off the lights. A minute or two later she followed Eyam to the fire exit. She hoped to find him there but he had gone so she too slipped into the dank London morning, knowing that she could reach him later.
After walking the half-mile to the Earls Court Road she stopped, turned on her American phone and placed it in the envelope. Then she hailed a cab and, proffering two twenty-pound notes, asked the cab driver to deliver the package to Calverts’ offices in the City.
29
Hotel Papa
As was his custom, Cannon left the Underground at Embankment and walked along the Thames towards Whitehall with a cup of coffee, his laptop bag over his shoulder. By the time he passed through the Downing Street gates, now absurdly defended against the menace of toxic red algae by soldiers, he had been stopped four times and searched once. He got to the Communications Centre half an hour late to find Dawn Gruppo reading something on his desk. ‘Can I help you?’ he demanded from the far side of the room.
Gruppo turned without apology or the slightest trace of guilt. ‘Did you get the message about the seven thirty meeting?’ she asked. ‘Your phone isn’t on. I have been trying to call you.’
‘No - what meeting?’
‘The situational summary: they’ve been in for over half an hour.’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s an update: election, TRA contingency planning, disruptive elements plus
lines to take.’
lines to take.’
‘Surely it’s my job to decide the LTT?’
‘Yes, but we need the prime minister’s views - even you will concede that.’
‘Lyme can do it.’
‘He wants you there for the last part of the meeting with Christine and Mr Ferris.’ She left and collided with Lyme at the door. Cannon didn’t miss the look she gave Lyme, nor the idiotic expression on Lyme’s face, but he pretended to be engrossed with the newspaper front pages and the overnight summary of political websites.
‘So,’ he said without looking up. ‘What did you learn?’
‘The things I do for you, Philip - it was like going to bed with a colony of fruit-eating bats.’
‘You didn’t have to sleep with her. Just take her for a drink was all I said.’
‘I had no option,’ said Lyme rather helplessly. ‘And I must say she is by a long stretch the most filthy-minded woman I have ever met. I mean
interestingly
so.’
interestingly
so.’
‘Spare me the details,’ said Cannon.
‘But she did tell me something. JT is going to call the election tonight or early tomorrow morning. He’s in a lather about the Eyam business.’
‘She said that?’
‘Why’s that such a big deal?’
Cannon didn’t answer but left for the prime minister’s sitting room with the newspapers and summaries under his arm.
If asked about the meetings he had attended in Downing Street and Chequers over the past five or six days, Cannon would have confessed that they all merged into one in his mind. On every occasion he seemed to walk into the room when Jamie Ferris was speaking, and this time was no exception. But the atmosphere had become tense. Temple had dropped all pretence of civility and snapped at Cannon to sit down.
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