Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [16]
‘Nice,’ spat Paynter through a mouthful of barbecued sparerib.
‘Very
civilised!’
‘Sorry about the safe house. It’s not ideal. We ought to get it feng shui’d.’
‘Are you kidding?’ said Barrington. ‘It’s like a palace. It’s even got a pool!’
‘Everybody’s got a swimming pool in LA,’ argued Paynter. ‘It’s the law!’
‘It’s fine, Mel,’ noted Barrington. ‘But I am disappointed that the video of the filming at InterCom’s European headquarters in Luxembourg doesn’t work on that VCR. So much for UNIT efficiency!’
‘Not to worry,’ answered Tyrone. ‘I’ve already arranged a PAL/NTSC conversion to be done overnight back at the factory.’
A waitress arrived at the table and the men fell silent as she quickly refilled their cups of coffee. When she had retreated to the safety of the kitchens, Paynter emptied his cup with one gulp.
‘You’re a brave man,’ said Tyrone. ‘The coffee here is terrible, unlike the food.’
31
‘I know,’ replied Paynter. ‘But I like being wired. Keeps me sharp. It’s saved my life more than once.’ He yawned loudly, then checked his watch. ‘It’s six in the morning London time. I’d just be getting up to go down the gym!’
Barrington pushed his plate away, as he also stifled a yawn. Jet lag was beginning to affect both of them. ‘To business,’ he said hoping that some work would keep him awake. ‘What do we know about Sanger’s organisation?’
‘Pretty much what their publicity department tells us,’ noted Tyrone.
‘They’ve got a guy called Joyce who does most of the talking. We’ve code-named him Goebbels! Looks a bit like him too.’ He placed a small black-and-white surveillance photo on the table. ‘Most of the heavy stuff seems to be the responsibility of this man,’ he said. ‘Shaun Ryman. He is one evil mother, of the been there, done that, killed it variety . . . know what I’m saying here?’
‘He’s the trigger man?’ asked Paynter.
Tyrone nodded quickly. ‘That’s our best guess. He specialises in gruesome murders. People are scared and in that climate it’s difficult to get any information other than rumour and hearsay.’
‘What about Sanger himself?’ asked Barrington.
‘Untouchable. We’ve tried sex scandals, working with the competition, even bumping him off – nothing seems to work. The guy’s fireproof, he can’t be compromised.’
‘There’s no such word as “can’t”,’ said Paynter with a wicked grin. ‘We’ll just have to work around him until we find a weak spot then, WHAM!’, he smacked his left fist noisily into his right palm. ‘Sorted!’
‘You wanted to see me?’
Ryman entered the immense boardroom and walked past the fifty-seat conference table to the desk beyond. Behind it, with his back to the door, sat Paolo Sanger, gazing out of the huge panoramic window that overlooked Studio City and the metropolis beyond.
He often did this, summoning up images of a spider and a giant web. Ryman found it very disquieting.
‘You know sometimes when I arrive back here late at night, and all I can see are the lights of the city, I wonder about all of the people out there. They don’t have a clue what the future holds.’
‘Neither do we if the DNA experiments don’t make some progress soon,’
Ryman noted.
Sanger turned in his chair. He was immaculately dressed in a light grey business suit and red silk tie. He pressed the intercom button.
‘Michelle, could you come in here?’ He turned his attention to Ryman. ‘We knew the risks when we came here. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But this still represents our best opportunity. View it as a challenge!’
32
‘Sure,’ said Ryman. He was powerfully built with a thick, bullish neck and short cropped hair. He had a livid red scar on his left cheek and a prizefighter’s nose that had taken one punch too many, yet his movements were light and graceful, almost balletic. He sat in the chair opposite Sanger without being asked and turned his head as the door opened and Michelle Stonebringer walked towards them with a green folder-file in her hand.
She was a small woman in her late twenties, slightly overweight around