A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [118]
‘Fuck, Kathy. How serious is this? If they’re on to me, it’s too risky. If there’s a chance of being followed, I shouldn’t do it. We should close it all down for a while.’
‘Not necessary,’ Fortner says, making a slow right-hand turn. ‘An outrider is routine with something this important.’
‘Well, you can forget it. I’ll go alone.’
‘Your choice,’ he says calmly. ‘Your choice.’
We have stopped at another set of traffic lights. A small group of teenage girls wearing too much make-up pass in front of the Mondeo, laughing in a squawking pack. They are dressed in mini-skirts, in spite of the cold. When we have pulled away, Katharine continues talking.
‘Once you have left your apartment make sure that you drive directly towards the roundabout at Shepherd’s Bush. As if you were heading to our place.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ she says, not wanting to be rushed. ‘Go right around it and come back on yourself down towards Hammersmith.’
I know why she has recommended this, but still I have to say:
‘Go right round the roundabout? Why?’
‘Best way of shaking a tail,’ says Fortner, who can’t help himself butting in. His voice is low and dismissive. ‘Take the Shepherd’s Bush Road down to Hammersmith, then make your way to Chelsea Harbour.’
‘Why there?’ I ask. ‘Why not go directly to Atwater’s office?’
‘There’s something you’ve gotta do before proceeding to Cheyne Walk.’
The information is starting to pile up now and after a tough day at work I am finding it hard to work through all the ramifications of what they are telling me. If their surveillance concerns are a bluff, both Atwater and the briefing are needless, a waste of time. But if there is a genuine threat of penetration by Abnex, I am at great risk.
‘This is getting very complicated.’
‘We’ll go over it all again before we get you home,’ Fortner tells me, dropping down into first gear in a crawl of traffic.
‘What happens at Chelsea Harbour?’
Katharine gathers herself.
‘There’s only one entrance there and one exit. If you still have a tail, this is where you will lose him. Wait inside the complex. It’s a left-hand turn if you’re coming off Lots Road. Anyone following you will be forced to pass your vehicle once they are inside. When you’re sure it’s safe to drive on, proceed to Cheyne Walk. Not before. Go back on to Lots Road and drive east towards the river. Don Atwater’s offices are at number 77. Park your car - it shouldn’t be difficult at that time of night - and, when you’re inside, hand the documentation to him. Make sure that it is Atwater and no one else. Not his secretary, not the doorman. Are we clear?’
‘We would be if I knew what he looked like.’
Marble Arch looms up on the right.
‘Overweight. Puffed out cheeks. Glasses. He will make himself known to you.’
‘And what about the money? What about the two hundred thousand?’
‘As soon as Atwater has the 5F371 data in his possession he will notify us and that will trigger the financial transaction in escrow. It will be the sum that you requested. That’s been cleared.’
As I had expected it would be.
‘Can I smoke?’ I ask, taking out my packet of cigarettes.
‘Be my guest,’ Fortner says, with a little more relaxation in his manner. ‘The sooner this upholstery smells of stale tobacco, the better.’
I light the cigarette, offering one to Fortner, who declines. Then I request that we go over the instructions one more time for clarity. So he drives for another twenty minutes while Katharine runs them past me once more.
We are almost home when their car phone rings out loud and shrill. The interior of the Mondeo is miked up and Fortner is able to answer the call without lifting the receiver from its cradle.
‘Yup,’ he says.
‘Fort?’
The caller, an American, is trying to shout above the roar of the road. His voice sounds distant and warped, as if lost under a great, vaulted ceiling.
‘Hi, Mike.’
‘Hey, buddy. Can you call Strickland ASAP?’
I instinctively flinch away from Fortner when I hear his name, an uncontrolled movement to disguise my surprise. Strickland. The agent Lithiby used to leak my