A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [46]
“Nine-thirty tomorrow morning at Holland Park,” Roper said as Tony Doyle loaded him into the van, Dillon already on board.
“Well, that was nice.” Sara slipped her hand inside Holley’s arm as they started the short walk to the Dorchester. “What shall we do tonight?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
They arrived at the small art-house cinema on the corner, the Curzon. She paused to look at the posters and said, “Hey, they’re showing Manhattan.”
“Woody Allen. A great movie,” Holley said.
She was checking the performance times and turned, delight on her face. “It’s starting in fifteen minutes. I truly adore this film, Daniel, all that glorious Gershwin music.”
“Then let’s go and see it.” He put an arm around her, pushed open the door, and they went in.
It was a quarter to six when they came out, happy, into the early-evening darkness and walked back toward the Dorchester.
“What are you going to do?” Holley asked. “Come up to my suite?”
“Love to, but it might be a good idea to check the house out, since Sadie is away—get the mail and so on.”
“Fine by me,” he said. “I’ll tell them to bring the Alfa round.”
Standing on the steps a few moments later, handing his car keys to the doorman, Sara at his side, he was immediately spotted by Jack Kelly, who had taken turns with Henri to stand on the corner of the side street where they’d parked the Citroën. He watched them for a moment, then hurried back to the Frenchman, who sat behind the wheel with a magazine, the silenced Walther in his pocket.
“They’re here,” he said, and got in the Citroën.
“About time. What are they doing?” Henri asked.
“It looks like they’re waiting for the Alfa to be brought round.”
“Then let’s be ready,” Henri said. “You drive. Take me round to South Audley Street to wait for them. My bet is they’re going to her home. I’ll get ready in the rear.”
There was a magnet on the lid of the cake tin box that he held on his knees. He removed the lid, revealing the block of Semtex, three scarlet-rimmed pencil timers in a small box beside it. He sat back.
A few moments later, the Alfa passed him, and Kelly went after it. “Don’t follow them into Highfield Court,” Henri said. “Drop me at the entrance of the street, then continue into Grosvenor Square and wait for me. It will all happen very fast, so be ready for a quick departure.”
The Alfa swung into the drive of the house and the security lights came on. Holley switched off the engine. Sara got out, taking the key from her shoulder bag, and as she went up the steps, a lean brown Burmese cat meowed and brushed her feet.
“On your way, Samson,” she said, and glanced at Holley as she turned the key. “From next door. An absolute rascal.”
She went into the hall, switched on the light, and Holley followed her, closing the door behind him. The security lights died as she started to take off her coat.
Henri had been waiting for the dark. He gave each pencil timer a half-turn, inserted them into the Semtex, replaced the lid, and left the Citroën quickly, crouching as low as possible to avoid activating the lights, dropped on his knees, and reached under the Alfa with the cake box, the magnet clicking firmly into place. At the same moment, Samson, who had been crouching underneath, let out a loud wailing cry and fled, bounding up the steps and leaping onto the balustrade of the side terrace, the security lights turning the darkness into day.
Holley had just helped Sara off with her coat. “Samson again. What’s wrong with him?” She glanced out through the window beside the door and saw Henri as he rose up. “Daniel, there’s a man outside,” she said, and reached for her Colt, which she was carrying in a spring holster against the small of her back.
Holley moved on the instant, reaching to open the door with one hand, drawing his Colt with the other. Henri, dazzled by the sudden lights, pulled out the Walther, fired blindly in the general direction of the door, and ran for it, Holley’s shot chasing him into the street, missing by inches and striking the gate post.
He got there in time to see Henri