Ark Angel - Anthony Horowitz [2]
Very few people in the world would have recognized these two individuals, but Webber knew them instantly.
“We enjoyed your talk, Mr Webber,” Blunt said, although there was little enthusiasm in his voice.
“Thank you.”
“We were particularly interested in your comments concerning Force Three.”
“You know about them, of course?”
The question was directed at Blunt, but it was Mrs Jones who answered. “We’ve heard about them, certainly,” she replied. “But the fact is, we know very little about them. Six months ago, as far as we can see, they didn’t even exist.”
“That’s right. They were founded very recently.”
“You seem to know a lot about them, Mr Webber. We’d be interested to learn where you got your information.”
Webber smiled a second time. “You know I can’t possibly reveal my sources, Mrs Jones,” he said lightly. Suddenly he was serious. “But I find it very worrying that our country’s security services should be so ignorant. I thought you were meant to be protecting us.”
“That’s why we’re talking to you now,” Mrs Jones countered. “If you know something, I think you should tell us—”
Webber interrupted her. “I think I’ve told you quite enough. If you want to know more, I suggest you come to my next lecture. I’ll be talking in Stockholm a couple of weeks from now, and it may well be that I shall have further information about Force Three then. If so, I’ll be happy to share it with you. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll wish you good day.”
Webber pushed his way between them and headed towards the cloakroom. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. It had gone perfectly – and meeting Alan Blunt and the Jones woman had been an unexpected bonus. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a plastic disc which he handed to the cloakroom attendant. His mobile phone had been taken from him when he went in: a security measure he himself had recommended in his book. Now it was returned to him.
Ninety seconds later he emerged onto the wide pavement in front of the river. It was early October but the weather was still warm, the afternoon sun turning the water a deep blue. There were only a few people around – mainly kids rattling back and forth on their skateboards – but Webber still checked them out, just to make sure that none of them had any interest in him. He decided to walk home instead of taking public transport or hailing a taxi. That was something else he’d written in his book. In any major city, you’re always safer out in the open, on your own two feet.
He had only taken a few steps when his mobile rang, vibrating in his jacket pocket. He dug it out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he seemed to recall that the phone had been switched off when he handed it to the cloakroom attendant. But he was feeling so pleased with himself, with the way his speech had gone, that he ignored this single whisper of doubt.
It was twenty-nine minutes past three.
“Hello?”
“Mr Webber. I’m ringing to congratulate you. It went very well.”
The voice was soft and somehow artificial. It wasn’t an Englishman speaking. It was someone who had learnt the language very carefully. The pronunciation was too deliberate, too precise. There was no emotion in the voice at all.
“You heard me?” Max Webber was still walking, speaking at the same time.
“Oh yes. I was in the audience. I am very pleased.”
“Did you know that MI6 were there?”
“No.”
“I spoke to them afterwards. They were very interested in what I had to say.” Webber chuckled quietly. “Maybe I should raise my price.”
“I think we’ll stick with our original agreement,” the voice replied.
Max Webber shrugged. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds was still a great deal of money. Paid into a secret bank account, it would come tax-free, no questions asked. And it had been such a simple thing to do. A quarter of a million for just ten minutes’ work!
The man on the other end spoke again and suddenly his voice was sad. “There is just one thing that concerns me, Mr Webber…”
“What’s that?” Webber could hear something else, in the background. Some sort of interference. He pressed the phone more tightly