Authors: Stella Rimington
‘Contact?’ asked Jana. She thought it best to play dumb for now, pretend she didn’t know why they had called her in, didn’t understand what this woman was getting at. ‘I am a waitress, so I see many people, miss. Is that contact?’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Falconer, with an easy smile Jana found disconcerting. ‘But we’re talking about close contact. I’m sure you know what that means.’
Jana decided to say nothing. Miss Falconer put a photograph down on the desk and pushed it towards her. ‘Have a look, please. Have you ever seen this man?’
Jana took her time, but she could see from a glance that the photo was of Sammy. She felt panic moving like an army of ants along her limbs. She was surprised to be pinned down so quickly and accurately. She said faintly, unable to put force in her voice, ‘I think I’ve seen his face. Was he a guest here?’
Miss Falconer ignored her reply and said flatly, ‘You waited on him two nights in a row when he first came here. He was alone, so it would be odd if you didn’t remember him, Jana.’
The use of her Christian name jolted her. She felt increasingly exposed. Sammy had said he would be nearby, but no one was to know - ‘hush-hush’ he had insisted. Now she tried to shrug.
‘The thing is,’ said the English woman, ‘we know you know this man. You were
seen
with him. And not in the restaurant.’
‘What do you mean?’ She wanted to sound indignant.
‘What was his room number?’ Miss Falconer asked sharply.
‘Four…’ and Jana kicked herself. She felt trapped. ‘It was only conversation. He had lived in Slovakia,’ she said, making up the first thing that came to mind. ‘He spoke Czech. So we talked, that is all.’
Miss Falconer smiled, but it was a knowing rather than a friendly smile. Yet her voice softened. ‘Jana, I know there are rules, and of course they have to be followed. Breaking them once isn’t the end of the world. But not telling me the truth now would be very serious indeed.’
‘I
am
telling you the truth.’ She paused, wondering how much to give to this woman. ‘I was in his room.’ There, she thought, let them make what they liked of that. No one else could know exactly what had happened in Room 411.
‘All right, so you had an affair with this man.’
‘I did not say that.’ How did this woman know so much?
Miss Falconer was shaking her head. ‘No one’s criticising you for that.’
Jana was frightened to think where this was leading. Then she realised that if they knew everything, they wouldn’t be pressing her like this. Should she come clean? she wondered. No, she told herself harshly. That way led only to trouble - she would lose her job, maybe even worse. She could be deported, forced to return home and face the sneers of her mother. She could think of no worse fate.
So give a little, she thought, and hope that would satisfy this woman with the penetrating eyes. Playing on her sympathy would not be enough. There was something steely about this woman, cold and businesslike. She would throw her a bone, the same way you chucked a titbit at a barking dog and kept the sirloin safely tucked behind your back.
So she hung her head, forcing tears into her eyes, then looked up defiantly, straight at Liz. ‘Have you never been in love?’ she demanded, letting the tears overflow from her eyes. She had played her trump card and sensed she had played it very well. Let this woman think she was a fool, an innocent, a dupe; let her think anything she liked, so long as she didn’t discover what else Sammy had asked her to do. I’ve got to tell Sammy he has to get out of here, Jana thought, wondering just how ‘nearby’ he was.
FIFTY-TWO
‘Poor girl,’ said Peggy, stifling a yawn.
‘I don’t know so much about that,’ replied Liz, twirling her wine glass of sparkling water by its stem. She’d come back from her interview with the Czech girl dissatisfied, and she needed to understand why. Even though she wanted to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep to help her cope with whatever the next day would bring, her mind was racing.
‘She sounds like a classic victim of a honey trap, only this time it was a man doing the trapping.’
Liz shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s something hard and calculating about that girl. I don’t see her being taken in that easily.’
‘Girl?’ asked Dave teasingly. He looked half asleep himself, slumped at the end of the sofa. ‘If I called her that you’d be jumping down my throat.’
‘No I wouldn’t,’ said Liz. ‘She is a girl. She can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. Which I know makes her look like the innocent victim of a ruthless man. But there’s something about her that doesn’t ring true. I’m not sure she wasn’t just peddling me a line.’
There was a noise outside and Peggy stood up and walked to the window, lifting the corner of a curtain to look out. She turned around with a startled look on her face. ‘There’s a man with a gun out there!’
‘He’s Israeli security,’ said Dave calmly. ‘They would only come if we let them mount their own patrols. They don’t trust anybody else - not since the Munich Olympics. And I know their Prime Minister’s already here.’
‘Really? I didn’t see a helicopter or a motorcade or anything,’ said Peggy.
‘Low key. He came a day early. They like to mix things up, so nobody knows for certain in advance who’s where when.’
‘That must be a bit of a problem for all of you doing the conference security,’ said Peggy, sitting down again.
‘We cope,’ Dave replied, yawning hugely.
Liz said nothing. She was still brooding on her interview. ‘What could she have been holding back?’ Peggy said, trying to be helpful.
‘I don’t know. She was too quick to get all weepy and pathetic. I didn’t believe it. It just didn’t ring true somehow. So tomorrow, Peggy, will you keep tabs on her? It’s too late to get A4 up here to do it and anyway there may be nothing in it. We can’t detain her - we’ve got no grounds. It’s not a criminal offence to have a fling with a customer, though I imagine the hotel may take a dim view of it once we’ve gone.’
‘If you’re so worried, couldn’t we arrange for her to have the day off?’
‘It’ll be easier to keep an eye on her if we know she’s working at lunch and dinner. And I don’t want her to think just yet that I suspect her of anything more than what she’s told me. No, I’d like you just to know where she is in the afternoon, after she finishes the lunches, particularly where she is as it gets near the time for the entertainment before the dinner at the clubhouse. Okay? You can reach me on my mobile; I’ll be around the hotel until I go into Auchterarder to meet Hannah for coffee at eleven.’
Peggy nodded and Dave gave a loud sigh. ‘So now you’ve got something else to worry about,’ he said. ‘As if this sniper business wasn’t bad enough. I’m meeting with perimeter security, the army blokes, and the Secret Service right after breakfast.’
‘Why the Secret Service?’ asked Peggy.
‘Most of the delegations are arriving by car; they’ll fly to Edinburgh and drive up. But not the President - he’s coming in by chopper. The plan had been for him to land on the King’s Course - right in the line of those hills you’ve got me worried about. I think we’re going to move the landing pad, just to be extra careful.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Liz. ‘Though I’m wondering whether we’re having the wool pulled over our eyes.’
‘But don’t forget that cartridge box,’ Peggy protested.
‘That’s what I mean. It just seems so obvious,’ said Liz. ‘Kollek’s never been sloppy before.’
‘Except at the Oval,’ Peggy reminded her.
‘That was a lot of luck on our part. He could easily have gone undetected.’
‘Are you saying there isn’t a sniper threat?’ asked Dave.
Liz thought for a moment. There was no point in ignoring the potential danger from a long-distance assassin, whatever her instincts told her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just worried that that’s not the only threat.’
Liz dozed fitfully; the more she thought how much she needed rest, the harder it was to go to sleep. She found herself poring over every aspect of the case, trying to make sense of the bewildering clues Kollek had left behind. She wished there were someone she could talk to, to help her resolve the pattern of this weird jigsaw, of which she had only some of the pieces.
The chief constable wasn’t any use; Geoffrey Fane might have fitted the bill but he was still in London. She needed someone sympathetic and intelligent, with lots of experience of untangling this kind of complicated puzzle. Someone like Charles, she thought with a pang. But he’d be at home now, nursing Joanne through her final days; there seemed no doubt that this time she really was dying. She couldn’t disturb him. Would he be wondering how they were all getting on? Would he be thinking about her? The thought of that cheered her momentarily, but then she told herself sternly that Charles would be focused on Joanne, just as he should be.
She lay dozing, her thoughts tugging her to and fro until, when she saw the digital clock by her bed reach 6.00, she gave up. Dressing quickly, she went upstairs quietly to make herself coffee, only to find Dave already in the kitchen, in a long white towelling dressing gown. As he heard her behind him, he turned around and smiled. ‘You too, eh?’ he said sympathetically, and she nodded.
An hour later she left the house as daylight was creeping in on a grey blanket of cloud. A cold wind had turned the previous day’s hint of autumn into something stronger, and as Liz walked towards the hotel she tightened her raincoat belt around her waist.
Overnight, security had greatly intensified, in expectation of the delegations arriving later in the day. Armed police in bulletproof vests conspicuously patrolled the grounds; on a rear-access drive to the kitchens two dark vans were parked - bomb disposal units. Everyone Liz passed was wearing the now-mandatory photo ID. As she stopped at the checkpoint at the rear entrance to the hotel she overheard a member of the kitchen staff complaining that he’d been sent home to collect his before they’d let him in.
Even this early, the security centre in the ballroom was humming with tension. The Secret Service agents were looking extra-smart, in crisp suits and polished shoes.
She spent twenty minutes with Chief Constable Jamieson reviewing the arrangements for the Israeli-hosted social events with the Syrian delegation. Security had been beefed up without Liz’s even having to ask for it; while she sat with Jamieson, she was gratified to see that even the Secret Service was not allowed to interrupt.
Later that morning the delegations began to arrive. By then Liz had spent more time at the falconry centre, reviewing the planned demonstrations with McCash, ensuring that the entire building and even its feathered occupants would be checked again by explosives experts. She made it to the gun dog centre at last, where with a cheerful curly-haired woman, the dog handler, she reviewed arrangements for the canine part of the early-evening entertainment. Two out of an endless assortment of ebony Labradors had been selected to retrieve decoys that would be placed in the middle of the little lake a hundred yards away. The handler proudly brought out a larger dog, mocha and white, with a speckled, ugly face but, so it seemed, an almost supernaturally powerful nose. He’d be showing off his skills too.
Walking back to the hotel, Liz was in time to witness the first procession of three black Mercedes limousines moving sombrely down the gravel drive. The bigwigs were arriving. In the background hovered a flotilla of vans and 4×4s containing their accompanying entourages, waiting for the statesmen to be formally greeted before they disgorged their passengers. Next to them were the vans of the television networks, parked there for days already.
She stood and watched as the three limousines eased to a halt on the circular gravel turn at the entrance to the hotel. A porter in a tweed jacket and kilt stepped forward and opened the door to the middle saloon, and a man in a suit and tie got out of the car. He was an Arab, young-looking, tall and thin, with a moustache. From the hotel entrance a man Liz recognised as the Israeli Prime Minister came down the steps to greet him. As their bodyguards looked on, the two men shook hands, though it was noticeable that neither smiled.
Liz had arranged to be driven the three miles to the little town of Auchterarder, where Hannah was staying. As her car drew up outside the small hotel in the long main street, she saw Hannah standing on the steps. She was casually dressed, but with her usual understated elegance - a sage cotton raincoat, heather-coloured slacks and a fawn jumper with a roll-neck top.
‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘It’s quite quiet at the moment. It’s usually buzzing - the whole peace delegation is staying here, but the others have gone on a trip out this morning. The place isn’t much; not quite the Gleneagles standard. But they do a decent cup of coffee.’
They walked into a gloomy lounge, all dark wood and brown upholstered chairs, where a cheerful young girl in a white lace apron took their order. Liz was surprised to find Hannah, usually the most bubbly of women, quiet and subdued, and Liz wondered if her surroundings were getting her down. But as soon as their coffee arrived, she learned why: Hannah said, ‘Peggy told me all about Danny Kollek. I feel absolutely mortified. How could I have been so taken in?’
‘Oh Hannah, you mustn’t feel that,’ said Liz, with genuine sympathy. ‘You weren’t the only one. And that includes a lot of people who are paid not to be fooled. The important thing is that now you know he’s working against everything you believe in. He’d destroy this conference given half a chance. That’s why it’s so crucial that you let me know at once if he gets in touch with you.’
Hannah nodded, and reaching into her coat pocket put her mobile phone on the table between them. She sighed. ‘So far nothing,’ she said. Her face sagged slightly as she asked, ‘I realise it wasn’t my scintillating personality Danny was attracted to, but what do you think he really wanted?’
Oh dear, thought Liz, she is taking this hard. ‘I don’t know the answer to that. He probably did enjoy your company, you know. But I suppose he was hoping your connection with the peace movement could help him prevent the very thing you’re trying to achieve - peace. But how might he try to do that? That’s what I’m puzzling over at the moment.’