Red Notice

87

Laszlo watched the driver close his eyes and pray. It was a curious sight, because he looked like a man who hadn’t done anything of the kind since he was a child. Except, perhaps, when his football team was two-nil down with ten minutes to go before the final whistle.

He switched the mic back on. ‘Mr Woolf, I still do not have power.’

‘Mr Antonov, as a gesture of good faith, we’re willing to restore the power to the train, and food and drink, as well as any medical care that may be needed.’

‘How kind you are, Mr Woolf.’ Laszlo bared his teeth in a smile. ‘And how stupid you must think I am. We have no need or desire for food, or care of any kind. If you were thinking of dressing your SAS as pizza-delivery boys, you can tell them to stand down. And I know that the power can be turned on remotely. Make sure that it is done that way. If I see any Special Forces soldiers masquerading as electrical repairmen…’

For a moment Laszlo considered telling Woolf to call off Tom as well. But he decided against it. He admired Tom’s determination. He admired his sheer guts. And, more than anything, he enjoyed the fact that he didn’t have the slightest idea what was really happening here.

‘Mr Woolf, no more games. Just do it.’

He switched off the mic again and smiled at Sambor. ‘And the Lord said, let there be light and, lo, there was light.’

A moment later, right on cue, the fluorescent strips flickered and the air-conditioning unit began to emit a low hum.

The driver began to sob.

Ignoring the pathetic gratitude of the man on the floor, Laszlo stood. ‘You won’t have long now before they send in their dogs. Work quickly.’

Sambor nodded. But before he could move away, Laszlo gripped his arm. ‘And, brother, I think it’s time to put Delphine on the menu. If it’s the SAS team who were in Hampstead yesterday, they will know Tom. And very probably they will know her.’