Due Diligence: A Thriller (50 page)

“Station? Paddington?”

The man nodded quickly. “Friend … I meet…”

“You meet friend at station?” said Waldemar. “At Paddington Station?”

“Yes! Yes! Very good. Where is?”

“Go to corner,” said Waldemar. “Then left. You see station.”

“Left?”

“Left.”

“Where is left?”

“Left!” said Waldemar. “Left!”

“You show.” The man pulled on Waldemar’s elbow. “You show.”

“At corner. Left.”

“You show. Please. You show.” The man was backing down the stairs.

Waldemar sighed. “All right. I show.”

He went down the stairs. He pointed toward the corner in the darkness. “There. Left!” he said, and he waved his hand to the left.

The blond-haired man looked up the street, then looked back at him, frowning.

“Left!” said Waldemar. “There!”

The man peered up the street. He took a few more steps, pulling the night clerk with him away from the steps to the hotel.

Waldemar shook his head in exasperation. He pointed, jabbing his hand toward the corner. “There! See? There!”

“There?” said the man.

“There!” yelled Waldemar. He waved his hand toward the left again. “Left!”

Behind Waldemar, a second man came out of the shadows in a doorway. The blond man saw him head up the steps to the open door of the Bartlett and disappear inside.

“Left! See? Left!”

“Left?” said the blond man to Waldemar.

“Left!” yelled Waldemar, still gesticulating.

“Ah? Left?” said the man, his face creasing in a big grin.

“Yes. This is what I say. Left!”

“There?”

“Yes! There! Left!”

The man grabbed Waldemar’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you. Station. There. Left.”

“Yes,” said Waldemar, pulling his hand away from the man.

“Thank you.”

“Is all right,” said Waldemar.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“Is all right,” repeated Wally impatiently. “You go, find friend.”

“I find friend!” said the man, still grinning. He headed off down the street.

Waldemar watched until he went around the corner. Then the night clerk went back up the steps and closed the door behind him. He went back to the little room behind the reception desk.

“Ah,” he said in disgust, looking at the screen where the credits were rolling. “Is finished!”

Upstairs, Emmy heard a knock on the door.

She got up. There was another knock.

“Rob?” she said.

There was another knock.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

“I’m from downstairs,” said a voice on the other side of the door. “I’m looking for Mr. Holding.”

“Why?”

There was no reply.

“Did someone call?”

“Yes. Someone called.”

Emmy opened the door a fraction. The man outside was wearing an overcoat and gloves. It didn’t look as if he were one of the hotel staff. And suddenly she realized he wouldn’t have said he was looking for Mr. Holding. That wasn’t the name Rob had used when they checked in.

But it was too late. He pushed the door back, sending her stumbling, and then he was inside, jerking her up on her feet and slamming the door shut with a kick.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“He’s not here.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“He’s not!”

The man shook her, hard, his fingers biting into her arm.
“When?”

“He’s gone.”

“Is he?” The man flung her onto the bed. He pulled out a gun from under his coat. The pistol had a silencer on the end. Pointing the gun at her, he sat down on the chair behind the door.

“He’s not coming back,” said Emmy.

“Really? Well, I might just wait and see for meself, eh?”

54

Rob bit into the hamburger. It was his second. He had eaten the first one in about four bites, hardly even tasting it as it turned to pap in his mouth. Later on, he knew, he’d feel sick and regret it, as he always did after he ate at McDonald’s. But he had been too hungry to care. All he’d had during the day were snacks. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got out of the hotel. Maybe it was the night air that had done it. The McDonald’s was open and it was familiar, and it was the first place combining those two qualities that he had found after leaving the hotel, so he went right in and ordered big. Two Big Macs, two large fries, and a large Coke.

There weren’t many people in the restaurant. A large black guy was sprawled in one of the booths. A couple of kids in hooded sweatshirts were huddled together over a mobile phone. An Indian couple came in and Rob watched them go to the counter and order.

Rob took another bite out of the burger. The first one was already starting to sit heavy in his stomach. He took a big handful of fries and stuffed them in his mouth.

He took a slurp on the Coke. He slowed down a little now, took a couple of fries, nibbled them thoughtfully. He wondered what had happened with Bassett. Maybe Bassett had called and they hadn’t put him through. Anything could happen in a place like that. Or maybe the secretary hadn’t given him the message. He could try again tomorrow. But what if the secretary had given Bassett the message and he hadn’t called? Say he’d chosen not to call. Say he wasn’t going to call, or refused to meet him? What was plan B?

Rob took a bite out of the burger. He had no plan B.

He finished the burger, then the fries. They were cold now, but he ate them anyway. He looked around at the other people in the restaurant. What could be more depressing than eating in a McDonald’s late at night? One of the staff members was mopping the floor in a closed-off section of seating. Looked about sixteen. Rob watched him.

He’d try again tomorrow, he thought. And tomorrow he wouldn’t just wait all day. Mr. Bassett might need a little hassling. Maybe even a little doorstopping. That, he decided, was plan B. Emmy could come with him. Two doorstoppers would be better than one.

Maybe not. Bassett still might call. Maybe Emmy should wait by the phone.

He left the restaurant. He didn’t go back directly. He walked around the streets for a while, enjoying the cool freshness of the night air. Eventually he started to feel cold and headed back. He rang the bell and waited, peering through the glass panel at the reception desk at the end of the hall.

The night clerk came to the door. He grinned as he opened it.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” said Rob.

“You are again late today.”

“Yeah,” said Rob. He went inside.

“And the Mrs. Smith?” said Wally, closing the door and following him up the hall. “She is not here?”

“No, she’s upstairs.”

“Ah, what you do today? You see London?”

Rob stopped at the foot of the stairs, hand on the banister. He shook his head. “What about you? You study?”

Waldemar nodded.

“How do you study if you’re up all night?”

“I not up all night.” Waldemar winked.

“You sleep?”

“In chair.”

Rob chuckled.

Waldemar shrugged, then laughed as well.

“How long you been in this job?” asked Rob.

“Two months.” Waldemar held up two fingers. “The man before, he stay two weeks.”

“That good, huh?”

Waldemar laughed again.

Rob turned to the stairs.

“You go tomorrow?” asked Waldemar.

Rob stopped. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

“You say by ten o’clock. If no, they take money, you stay or no stay.”

“Thanks, Wally, I know.” Rob turned to the stairs again.

“Last night, is good?”

Rob smiled to himself, remembering what Emmy had said. The poor guy, starved of conversation.

“You sleep good?”

“Yeah. It was all right. It’s not the Ritz.”

Waldemar gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

“It’s not like the Ritz Hotel,” explained Rob. “You know the Ritz Hotel?”

Waldemar shook his head.

“It’s a very good hotel. I’m saying this hotel isn’t as good as the Ritz.”

“Ah,” said Wally. He grinned.

“You understand?”

Wally nodded.

“Okay, Wally. I’m kind of tired. I’m going up now.” Rob already had one foot on the stairs. He stopped again. “You know what? Since you ask, the faucet in the bathroom, it keeps dripping. It dripped all night.”

Waldemar had that uncomprehending look on his face again.

“The faucet…” said Rob. “In the bathroom. Dripping. The water. Drip, drip, drip.”

“Ah!” Waldemar nodded his head quickly. “Water?”

“Yes. The water.”

“From tap?”

“That’s right. The faucet. The tap. They said they’d send someone up to fix it, but they didn’t do it.”

“I fix.”

“You can fix it?”

“I fix water. In Poland.”

“You’re a plumber? I thought you were an engineer. Roads, bridges…”

“I am engineer. I am also … fix water…”

“A plumber?”

“I am also plumber.” Waldemar laughed. “Little bit plumber.”

Rob grinned. “Great.”

Waldemar held up a finger. “Wait … wait…”

He disappeared through a doorway under the stairs, and a couple of minutes later came back with a wrench and a hammer. “Come,” he said.

He went past Rob and started up the stairs.

“You meant to do this?” asked Rob.

“Ah, I do! No problem!”

“All right,” said Rob.

He followed the clerk up the stairs.

They got to the door.

Rob knocked. “Emmy? Honey? It’s me.”

“Rob!”

There was silence.

Rob frowned. He glanced at Waldemar. Then he knocked again. “Honey, I’ve got the night clerk with me.”

Silence.

Rob tried the door. It was locked. He didn’t have the key.

Waldemar grinned. He pulled out a master key and held it up proudly.

“Well, she’s in there…” said Rob.

But Waldemar already had the master key in the lock. He opened the door and walked in.

Rob heard Emmy shout. He saw something appear from behind the door and aim at Wally’s head. He threw himself against the door and there was a scream and a muffled pop as a gun flew into the air, putting a bullet in the ceiling. Rob shoved the clerk out of the way and swung around the door and saw a man on the floor between the door and the wall, clutching his wrist and trying to get to his feet. Then he saw Emmy staring at him from the bed.

“Go!” he yelled as he slammed the door against the man again. There was a cry of pain.

Emmy ran. Rob slammed the door once more and ran after her, shoving Waldemar out of the way. He took the stairs two at a time as Emmy turned the corners of each landing ahead of him. At the bottom they raced for the door. Outside, Rob took the steps to the street in two leaps. Emmy hit the pavement beside him.

They ran down the street, swung left around the corner, across the road, down the next street, and into the mouth of the railway station. Rob threw a glance over his shoulder and kept going. They raced across the almost empty concourse. Cabs stood in a line on the other side.

He ran at the first one, pulled at the door, waited for Emmy to jump in, and then dived in after her.

“Where to, guv?” asked the driver over his shoulder, pulling back the glass.

“Piccadilly Circus!” said Rob, blurting out the first thing that came into his head.

55

The cab stopped. The driver half-turned in his seat and glanced back through the glass divider that separated him from the passenger compartment.

“Here we are, guv.”

Rob looked up. A wall of bright neon rose in front of him.

“Piccadilly Circus,” said the cabdriver. His voice came out hollow, as if from far away, through the microphone system in the cab. He fiddled with his meter. “That’ll be twelve pounds eighty.”

Rob looked around. Cars went past. Other cabs.

“Twelve eighty, guv.”

“Keep going,” said Rob.

The driver looked at him doubtfully.

“Keep going!” said Rob, and he pulled a note out of his wallet and thrust it at the driver.

The driver slid open the glass divider and took it. He looked in his mirror, waited a moment, and swung out into the traffic.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Don’t know. Just keep going.”

The driver shrugged. He drove.

He and Emmy hadn’t said much in the time it had taken to get here, instinctively feeling that it wasn’t safe to talk, even here. They said just enough for Rob to find out that she was okay. He held her hand grimly.

The cab went around a couple of corners. Rob saw the entrance of a lane coming up on the left.

“Go in there. Turn left.”

The driver turned.

“Pull over,” said Rob after they had gone about fifty yards down the street.

They pulled over. Nearby was a ramp that led down to the basement at the back of a large building.

Rob turned around and looked out the back window of the cab.

“You getting out?” asked the driver.

“Wait,” said Rob.

He watched. The lane was deserted. A minute passed. Then another. He could see the lights of cars going by in the road at the end of the lane. No one turned in. He was fairly sure now that no one had followed them.

“Where does this go?” he said.

“This? Clifford Street. That’s the corner up there. Follow it ’round, then into Bruton Street, we’ll come out in Berkeley Square.”

It meant nothing to Rob. He threw another glance behind him. Still nothing. “Keep going,” he said.

“You want to go to Berkeley Square?”

“All right, let’s go there.”

The driver started moving again.

The cab came into a big square with an area of grass in the middle. “Berkeley Square,” said the driver. “Keep going, I suppose?”

“Yeah.”

The cab went three-quarters of the way around the square and exited onto another street.

“Maybe you want to go back to Paddington,” said the driver, and he chuckled.

Rob ignored him. But they couldn’t keep driving around forever.

“We need a hotel,” he said.

The cabbie glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Why didn’t you say so at the start? It’s like bloody cops and robbers!”

“You know any hotels?”