Deception

FORTY-SIX

Victoria Embankment Gardens held its customary gathering of desperate smokers, leisurely tourists and a growing flow of early homeward-bound commuters. Harry was early, having hit the underground on the run just as a train was arriving.

He did a tour of the area, checking the access paths before entering the garden. There was no sign of Ballatyne or his posse of outriders, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting nearby. Georgio’s restaurant apart, he wondered if the rumours surrounding the Vauxhall Cross collective weren’t true; that like some rare breeds of wild cat, they rarely revisited the same place twice.

He approached the bench where he and Ballatyne had sat last time. It was vacant and he took a seat at one end and stretched his legs. Maybe a few minutes alone would be good for his thought processes. If he could just get rid of the minor prickling feeling on the back of his neck, he might almost manage to relax.

‘Hello, Harry.’

The prickling feeling intensified. He recognized the voice. It was the young woman who had called to set up the meeting. But that wasn’t why his internal alarm bells were ringing. The recognition came from further back, when it had been face to face and unencumbered by the distortion of a phone line.

As she sat down beside him, he turned and looked her in the eye.

It was Clare Jardine.