Whiteout - Ken Follett [82]
Daisy gave a grunt of disgust.
Nigel said, “Kit, try not to say any more in front of the guards about the client and our ten o’clock rendezvous. If you tell them too much, we may have to kill them.”
Kit realized, aghast, what he had done. He felt like a fool.
His phone rang.
“That might be Toni,” he said. “Let me check.” He ran back to the equipment room. His laptop screen said, “Toni calling Kremlin.” He transferred the call to the phone on the desk at reception and listened in.
“Hi, Steve, this is Toni. Any news?”
“The repair crew are still here.”
“Everything all right otherwise?”
With the phone to his ear, Kit stepped into the control room and stood behind Elton to watch Steve on the monitor. “Yeah, I think so. Susan Mackintosh should have finished her patrol by now, but maybe she went to the ladies’ room.”
Kit cursed.
Toni said anxiously, “How late is she?”
On the monitor, in black-and-white, Steve checked his wristwatch. “Five minutes.”
“Give her another five minutes, then go and look for her.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Not far away, but I’ve had an accident. A car full of drunks clipped the rear end of the Porsche.”
Kit thought, I wish they’d killed you.
Steve said, “Are you okay?”
“Fine, but my car’s damaged. Fortunately, another car was following me, and he’s giving me a lift.”
And who the hell was that? “Shit,” Kit said aloud. “Her and some fellow.”
“When will you be here?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe thirty.”
Kit’s knees went weak. He staggered and sat in one of the guards’ chairs. Twenty minutes—thirty at the most! It took twenty minutes to get suited up for BSL4!
Toni said goodbye and hung up the phone.
Kit ran across the control room and out into the corridor. “She’ll be here in twenty or thirty minutes,” he said. “And there’s someone with her, I don’t know who. We have to move fast.”
They ran along the corridor. Daisy, going first, burst into the Great Hall and yelled: “On the floor—now!”
Kit and Nigel ran in after her and stopped abruptly. The room was empty. “Shit,” said Kit.
Steve had been at the desk twenty seconds ago. He could not have gone far. Kit looked around the half-dark room, at the chairs for waiting visitors, the coffee table with science magazines, the rack of leaflets about Oxenford Medical’s work, the display case with models of complex molecules. He stared up into the dimly lit skeleton of the hammer-beam roof, as if Steve might be hiding among the timber ribs.
Nigel and Daisy ran along radiating corridors, opening doors.
Kit’s eye was caught by two stick figures, male and female, on a door: the toilets. He ran across the hall. There was a short corridor leading to separate men’s and ladies’ rooms. Kit went into the men’s room.
It appeared empty. “Mr. Tremlett?” He pushed open all the cubicle doors. No one was there.
As he stepped out, he saw Steve returning to the reception desk. The guard must have been in the ladies’ room—searching for Susan, Kit realized.
Steve turned around, hearing Kit. “Looking for me?”
“Yes.” Kit realized he could not apprehend Steve without help. Kit was younger, and athletic, but Steve was a fit man in his thirties, and might not give up without a fight. “Something I need to ask you,” Kit said, playing for time. He made his accent more Scots than was natural, to make sure Steve did not find his voice familiar.
Steve lifted the flap and entered the oval of the desk. “And what would that be?”
“Just a minute.” Kit turned away and shouted after Nigel and Daisy. “Hey! Back in here!”
Steve looked troubled. “What’s going on? You lot aren’t supposed to be wandering around the building.”
“I’ll explain in a minute.”
Steve looked hard at him and frowned. “Have you been here before?”
Kit swallowed. “No, never.”
“There’s something familiar about you.”
Kit’s mouth went dry and he found it hard to speak. “I work with the emergency team.” Where were the others?
“I don’t like this.” Steve picked up the phone on the desk.
Where were Nigel and Daisy? Kit shouted again: “Get back in here, you