Mexico Set

10

Despite my tiredness I didn't sleep well after my return from Leith Hill. The air was warm and I left the bedroom window open. I was fully awakened by the ear-piercing screams of turbo-fans, and the thunder of aircraft engines, throttles opening wide to compensate for flap drag. The approach controllers at London Heathrow like to send a few big jets roaring over the rooftops about 6.30 each morning, just in case any inhabitants of the metropolis oversleep.

The radio alarm clock was tuned to Radio 3 so that I could hear the seven o'clock news bulletin and then spend fifteen minutes on the exercise bike to the sounds of Mozart and Bach. Since living alone I'd connected the coffee-machine to a time-switch so that I could come downstairs to a smell of fresh coffee. I opened a tin of Carnation milk and found a croissant in the bread-bin. It was old and dried and shrivelled like something discovered in a tomb of the Pharaohs. I chewed it gratefully. I hadn't had a decent meal since well before getting on the plane. But I wasn't hungry. My mind was fully occupied with thoughts of the children and the conversation I'd had with my father-in-law. I didn't want to believe him but his warnings about money worried me. He was seldom, if ever, wrong about money.

I was outside in the street, unlocking the door of my car, when the girl approached me. She was about thirty, maybe younger, dark-skinned and very attractive. She was wearing a nurse's uniform complete with dark-blue cloak and a plain blue handbag. 'My damned car won't start,' she said. Her accent was unmistakably West Indian; Jamaica, I guessed. 'And matron will kill me if I'm not at St Mary Abbots Hospital at eight forty-five. Are you going anywhere in that direction? Or to somewhere I can get a taxi?'

'St Mary Abbots Hospital?'

'Marloes Road near Cromwell Road, not far from where the air terminal used to be.'

'I remember now,' I said.

'I'm sorry to trouble you,' she said. 'I live across the road at number forty-seven.' It was a large house that some speculator had converted into tiny apartments and then failed to sell. Now there was always a For rent' sign on the railings and a succession of short-term tenants. I suppose it was the sort of place that my father-in-law would like to put me in. She said, 'There is something wrong with the starter, I think.'

I got in and leaned across and opened the passenger door for her. 'The staff nurse is a bitch,' she said. 'I daren't be late again.'

'I can go through the park,' I said.

She decorously wrapped her cloak around her legs and put her handbag on her lap. 'It's very kind of you. It's probably miles out of your way.'

'No,' I said. In fact it was a considerable detour but the prospect of sitting next to her for twenty minutes was by no means unwelcome.

'You'd better fasten your seat belt,' she said. 'It's the law now, isn't it?'

'Yes,' I said. 'Let's not break the law so early in the morning.'

She fastened her own seat belt and said, 'Do you follow the cricket?'

'I've been away,' I said.

'I'm from Kingston, Jamaica,' she explained. 'I had five brothers. I had to become interested in cricket; it was all they ever talked about.'

We were still talking about cricket when I came out of the park and, no right turn being permitted, continued south into Exhibition Road. As I stopped at the traffic lights by the Victoria and Albert Museum she broke into my chatter about England's poor bowling against Australia last winter by saying, 'I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Mr Samson. But you're going to turn west on to Cromwell Road when we've been round this one-way system.'

'Why? What do you mean?' I turned my head and found her staring at me. She didn't answer. I looked down and saw that she was holding a hypodermic on her lap. Its needle point was very close to my thigh. 'Keep your eyes on the road. Just do as I say and everything will be all right.'

'Who the hell are you?'

'We'll drive out along the Cromwell Road extension to London Airport. There's something I have to do. When it's done you'll be free to go wherever you have to go.' She reached up with her free hand and tilted the driving mirror so that I could not see the traffic behind.

'And if I slam on the brakes suddenly?'

'Don't do that, Mr Samson. I am a qualified nurse. My papers are in order, my story is prepared. What I have in this syringe will take effect within seconds.' She still had the West Indian accent but it was less pronounced now, and there was a change in her manner too. Less of the Florence Nightingale, more of the Jane Fonda. And she didn't say 'sorry' or 'thank you' any more.

I was constrained by the seat belt. I could see no alternative to driving to Heathrow. She switched on the car radio. It was tuned to Radio 4 so we both listened to 'Yesterday in Parliament'.

'I'll say this again,' she said. 'No harm is intended to you.'

'Why the airport?'

'You'll understand when we get there. But don't think there is any plan to abduct you. This just concerns your children and your work.' We were driving behind a rusting old car that was emitting lots of black smoke; on the back window there was a sticker saying 'Nuclear Power – No Thanks'.

When we got to the airport she directed me to Terminal 2, used by non-British airlines mostly for European services. We passed the terminal main entrance and the multi-storey car-park that serves it, and continued until we came to a piece of road that leads on to Terminal 3. Despite the yellow lines and 'No parking' signs, there were cars parked there. 'Stop here,' she said. 'And don't look round.' Carefully, and without releasing her hold of the hypodermic or looking away from me, she reached back to unlock the nearside rear door.

We were double-parked near two dark-blue vans. I heard my car door open and felt the movement of the suspension as it took the weight of another passenger. 'Drive on. Slowly,' said the nurse. I did as I was told. 'We'll go back through the tunnel. Then down to the motorway roundabout, keep going round it and back to Terminal 2 again. Do you understand that?'

'I understand,' I said.

'He's all yours,' the nurse said to the person in the back seat, but she kept her eyes on me.

'It's me, darling,' said a voice. 'I hope I didn't terrify you.' She couldn't eliminate that trace of mockery. Some people didn't hear it but I knew her too well to miss that touch of gloating pride. It was my wife. I was numb. I'd always prided myself on being prepared for anything – that's what being a professional agent meant – but now I was astonished.

'Fiona, are you mad?'

'To come here? There is no warrant for my arrest. I have changed my appearance and my name… no, don't look round. I don't want you unconscious.'

'What's it all about?' To keep me driving was a good idea; it limited my chances of doing anything they didn't want me to do.

'It's about the children, darling. Billy and Sally. I went to see them. I waited on the route between your mother's house and the school. They looked so sweet. They didn't see me, of course. I had to watch out for your bloodhounds, didn't I? They both wore matching outfits; acid green with shiny yellow plastic jackets. I'm sure Daddy sent them. Only my father has that natural instinct for the sort of vulgarity that children always love.'

'Have you seen your father?'

She laughed. 'I'm not here on holiday, Bernard darling. And, even if I were, I'm not sure that visiting my father would be on the itinerary.'

'So what is all this about?'

'Don't be surly. I had to talk to you and I couldn't phone you without the risk of being recorded on that damned answering machine.' She paused for a moment. I could hear the deep rapid breathing – hyperventilation almost – that was always a sign of her being excited or nervous, or both. 'I don't want the children's lives made miserable, any more than you do.'

'What are you proposing?'

'I'll give you an undertaking to leave the children here in England for a year. It will give them a chance to lead normal lives. It's perfectly ghastly to have them going to school in a car with two security men and having armed guards hanging around them day and night. What sort of life is that for a child.'

'For a year?' I said. 'What then?'

'We'll see. But I'll promise nothing beyond a year.'

'And you'd want me to leave them unguarded?'

'The department will call them off before long anyway. You know that as well as I do. And you can't afford to pay for such security.'

'I'd manage.' I stopped at the roundabout until there was a break in the traffic and then moved off. It was tricky driving without the rear-view mirror.

'Yes, you'd arrange some sort of protection using your old friends.' She managed to imbue the word with all her distaste for them. 'I can imagine what the result would be. Your pals sitting around getting drunk, and talking about what they'd do if I tried to get the children away from you.'

'And you want nothing in return?'

'I'd certainly expect you drop this absurd business with poor old Erich Stinnes.'

'What has Stinnes got to do with us?'

'He's my senior assistant. That's what he's got to do with us. You won't tempt Erich with any offers of the good life waiting in the West. He's too committed and too serious for that. But I know you, and I know the department. I know you're likely to kidnap him if all else fails.'

'And that would look bad for you,' I said. We were coming to the airport tunnel. I wondered if the sudden darkness would give me a chance to disable the nurse before she had a chance to jab me but I decided it wouldn't. Terminal 2?'

'Yes, Terminal 2,' said Fiona. 'If you persist with this pursuit of Erich Stinnes, I will consider any undertaking about the children null and void. Be reasonable, Bernard. I'm trying to do what's best for Billy and Sally. How do you think I feel about the prospect of not seeing them? I'm trying to prove my goodwill to you. I'm asking nothing in return except that you don't kidnap my senior assistant. Is that asking too much?'

'It won't be my decision, Fiona.'

'I realize that. But you have influence. If you really want them to drop it, they'll drop it. Don't make Erich a part of your personal vendetta against me.'

'I have no vendetta against you,' I said.

'I did what I knew I had to do,' she said. It was the nearest I'd ever heard her get to apologizing.

'You're running the KGB office over there now, are you?'

I could hear the amusement in her voice. 'I'm giving it a completely new organization. It's so old-fashioned, darling. But I'll soon have it in shape. Aren't you going to wish me good luck?'

I didn't answer. At least she hadn't asked me to join her. Even Fiona knew better than that. And yet it was not like her not to try. Was it because she knew there was no chance of suborning me, or because she had other plans – such as kidnapping or even removing me permanently?

'Stop behind this taxi,' said the nurse. It was the first time she'd spoken since Fiona got into the car. I stopped.

'Erich Stinnes will not defect voluntarily,' said Fiona. 'Tell your people that.'

'I've told them that already,' I said.

'Then we won't quarrel. Goodbye, darling. Best not tell the children you've seen me. It will only upset them. And don't report our meeting to anyone at London Central.'

'Or what?'

'Or I won't contact you again, will I? Use your brains, darling.'

'Goodbye, Fiona.' I still could hardly believe what had happened – I suppose she counted on the surprise – and by the time I'd said goodbye the door had opened. It slammed loudly and she was gone. I remembered how she'd broken the hinge on the old Ford by always slamming the door too hard.

'Keep your eyes this way,' said the nurse. 'It's not all over yet.' I saw her look at her watch. She had it pinned to the bib of her apron the way all nurses do.

'What is it?' I said. 'The Aeroflot flight to Moscow or the Polish Airlines flight to Warsaw? That transits in East Berlin, doesn't it?'

'We'll return on the A4,' she said, 'not the motorway, in case you got some brilliant idea about doing something very brave on the way back.'

'I haven't had a brilliant idea for a long time,' I said. 'And you can ask anyone about that.'