Live to Tell (49 page)

I saw Olivier standing where we arranged to meet, by the bookshop at Paddington station. He was waiting for me. He wanted us to stay together last night but I wouldn’t agree. I wanted time to myself. Saying goodbye to Mrs Jeffery was hard and I spent over an hour with her. If Barry had turned up unannounced I don’t know what I would have done. Luckily that was a problem I didn’t have to deal with. Olivier smiled and kissed me.

“Hello,” he said. “Suddenly I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

An hour later we entered the airport and I began to shake. I tried to walk behind Olivier but indecision caused me to break out in a sweat and my stomach started to churn. I swallowed but my throat stayed dry and my breathing felt laboured. I must try not to let it show. I’ve got to go through with this, I thought, and I forced my feet to move in synchronisation.

“Are you alright?” Olivier turned and stared into my eyes. “You don’t feel faint do you?”

“I’ll be alright, really. It’s hot in here. That’s all,” I said.

I think I’m going to be sick, I thought. Mercifully this check-in queue is moving quite fast. I can’t leave my place in the queue. I must pretend I’m alright. I hope this sick feeling will calm down before I reach the counter.

We finally checked-in our bags and now we had our boarding cards. I pushed mine inside my passport and squeezed it hard. I looked anxiously around and tugged at Olivier’s sleeve. “Can you wait here please? I have to go to the loo.”

He started to say something but I darted away, and entered the sanctuary of a quiet rest room. Inside I stood against the cool, white tiled wall and tried to gather my thoughts. Stop this now, I thought. But did I mean the panic or the escape? What can I do? I haven’t got a choice, have I? I’ve come this far. I can’t back out now. Oh God. I pressed my hand against my head.

Despite my better judgement there was something I had to do before I could leave. I took my mobile phone from its home in the pocket inside my bag. I had to contact Barry. Will he answer? I might just get his voicemail. No matter. I’ve got to try. I pressed the keys.

He answered immediately. “Hello Babe. How’ya doing?”

“Barry. I’m… I’m sorry to ring you.”

“That’s okay. Is everything alright? I’ve been thinking about you—didn’t know whether to call you myself, see how everything is—like. Thought I might drop by.”

“Barry, I’m sorry. You see, I’ve rung to say goodbye. I’m at Heathrow airport—but I wanted to… I wanted… I wanted to say goodbye, before I leave. And… and to explain… everything.”

There, I’d done it, committed myself now.

“Where are you goin’?” He sounded concerned.

“I’m going away, er… to get away from all this.”

“What? Now ’old on. That’s too hasty.”

“Barry, I need to explain everything to you, so you’ll understand.”

Noisily, two women speaking in a language I didn’t recognise came into the rest area. Oh, heavens. This was a nightmare. I pushed open the door to a cubicle and stepped inside, hoping their English wasn’t up to much.

“This is so difficult. I’m so sorry. It’s just that… Well, you remember that awful morning when you found me on the floor—after I’d been attacked?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you remember what I told you… um… what he was going to do to me.” I couldn’t say the word ‘rape’ in case the women understood.

“Yeah?”

“You saw my bruises, didn’t you?”

“Yeah?”

Well, in the struggle… I killed him. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

“What? Jesus. Bloody ’ell. You serious?”

“I wish to God I wasn’t. That’s why I had to leave that morning, to get away before he was found. That’s why I was so upset.”

“Jesus.”

“Now his friends seem to be stalking me and I have to leave. I’m going away with a man, an old friend, but I
don’t
love him. Do you understand?”

“Stay there. I’ll come and get you.”

“No, Barry.”

“Stay there. We can sort this. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“I can’t involve you in all this, my love. Please listen to me. The reason I can go with
him
is because I don’t love him. Do you understand?”

“Look, just wait there for me… Oh Jesus.”

“No I can’t. My love, take care of yourself. I have to go. I wish you nothing but the best.”

“Wait.”

I switched the phone off. I so wanted to give him something but I had nothing to give.

I walked out to the anxious stares of the two women. To reach Olivier I had to go down a long corridor and I felt sure he heard nothing of the conversation. Outside, in the concourse he seemed to be pacing up and down. “I was beginning to think you’d been taken ill,” he said. He looked cross. I guess I was in the rest room much longer than he expected.

Ben and Jurgen walked swiftly across the airport terminal building in the direction of the Italian airline Alitalia’s check in area. As usual the place was teeming with people.

Ben felt conspicuous. Whilst most of the travellers around them seemed dressed for comfort rather than style both he and Jurgen were wearing suits and Ben carried a carefully folded overcoat. He knew that they must stand out from the horde. They didn’t have a briefcase between them, let alone a pull along. If only he’d planned more carefully what he was going to do, taken a bit more time over it.

I must be mad, he thought. Thinking I could even spot someone in this crowd, let alone recognise them. Then he looked up. His eyes searched the balconied area above the concourse. What would I do if I were going to take a pot shot at someone? I wouldn’t stick in this crowd. That’s where I’d go. Nice line of fire from up there. I’ll pick the best spot for me and it’s guaranteed matey will be there. Wonder if he knows what I look like. Of course I’m assuming he’s gonna’ use a gun. What if it’s a knife attack? Oh God, I’d never see that coming. But the man said “make a splash” didn’t he? You can’t really make a splash with a quiet weapon. Also, he stands more chance of being caught waving a knife around. Nobody would approach a gun. Surely he’d realise that.

Jurgen nudged his arm.

“Look,” he said. “See there, over there, that couple by the wall? I’d swear that’s the girl. I’d know her anywhere. Remember the name of her travelling companion, Scarlatti? The man who is with her could pass for Italian, don’t you think? Look at his clothes. I’m sure that is them.”

Ben nodded. The man they were observing wore a full length dark blue coat with narrow jeans and black pointed shoes. If Ben wore the outfit he’d have felt like a clown but it looked stylish on the dark haired stranger. Ben felt a rush of emotion. Was it jealousy? This was the first time he had seen the woman he thought of as Cpl Powell’s wife. Strangely, she also wore a full length coat with the collar turned up as if she were cold.

He turned to his companion. “Thank you Jurgen. Look I appreciate all you’ve done but from now on in I’ve got to do this on my own.”

“That’s stupid. You need someone to watch your back, whatever you are planning.”

“No. If everything goes pear-shaped the worse that will happen to me is bye-bye career,” Ben said. “If I’m really unlucky I might even lose my pension. If they find you’re involved it will be much worse for you. Your diplomatic status will be revoked—effectively it would mean deportation. I don’t think your wife Emma would care very much for that. Do you? Having to pack up and leave at a few days notice? Are you willing to risk that?”

Jurgen hesitated. He sighed. “Against my judgement I will go.” With a shrug he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Briefly Ben surveyed the balcony looking for signs of a threat. I can’t afford to waste time, he thought. He approached the couple that the German pointed to.

Olivier looked at his watch. “Are you sure you’re alright? We need to go. Oh what now?” He glared at something behind me and he muttered something under his breath. Fear took me in its grip as a hand touched my shoulder.

“Mrs Powell?”

Although I felt rooted to the spot I forced myself to turn in the direction of the voice. A smartly dressed man stood there with a light brown raincoat slung casually over his left arm. He spoke quietly.

“Mrs Powell, you don’t know me but I served with your husband in Northern Ireland.” He paused. “If ever you feel under threat or in danger, no matter wherever in the world you find yourself, Mrs Powell please know that you can call for help on this number. And help will come.”

He pressed a card into my hand. Relieved and stunned that I wasn’t about to be arrested but surprised at his words I looked down to read the name. It seemed somehow familiar. Then I remembered. I had seen the name that was printed there before, many years ago. “Oh,” I started to say and looked up. He’d gone. I stood there staring after him. Then I saw him disappearing up an escalator two treads at a time and I knew that I had found a friend.

“Jessica, for God’s sake, we’ve got to go,” Olivier said putting his arm around my shoulder. “Come on. Everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

I turned to him and smiled. “Ready,” I said.

Ben took a step back then sideways and merged into the crowd. He reached the escalator that ascended to the higher level and climbed it two steps at a time. At the top, even though his quarry was to his right, he turned left, walked behind a pillar and skirted around the rear of the upper area past the fast food outlets and coffee bars.

People were moving about in all directions, less hurried than on the floor below. Deliberately he avoided looking at the bulky man in the heavy overcoat whom he was sure was the person he sought. Michael Fenton was taller and broader than Ben expected and seemed to occupy a large area of space. Indecision struck. Supposing he’d got it wrong. He hesitated. The man stood alone tucked into a corner position between a column and the balustrade. He was leaning over the balcony watching the crowd below This fact convinced Ben he had the right person.

Seeming oblivious, the man in the heavy overcoat raised his right elbow and rested his forearm on the rail. Ben realised with a sickening lurch that he had a gun poised and ready. Quietly he slid forward behind the large form.

“Michael, old boy, how the devil are you,” he said, closing swiftly on his adversary. “Are you waiting for Molly?”

The man turned and stared at Ben. “I don’t know you,” he said. A bullet burst through the air.

Jurgen felt rather than heard the faint sound. It was muffled rather like a champagne cork popping under a towel. From where he stood concealed by a newspaper he covered the fifty feet to the spot in less than three seconds. Fenton had chosen his hideout well and the people farther back drinking coffee seemed unaware of the noise. Now in clear sight the two men Jurgen approached were embracing as if enjoying a romantic dance. Fenton’s arm cradled Ben who buckled as Jurgen lunged forward.

“
Scheisse
,” Jurgen gasped.

As he reached the swaying tableau he grabbed Fenton’s outstretched arm. “Michael Fenton, I arrest you. You don’t have to say… oh
verdampt
.” He couldn’t remember the correct words he thought he must use. What the hell? He wasn’t in the police. What did it matter if he got it wrong? “Your words will be used in court evidence,” he ended, wondering in alarm where the man’s gun was. He wondered why no security guards were in the area that still seemed calm and peaceful.