Stealth

42

They had breakfast the following morning, then Jennifer said, “We have an appointment at ten o’clock to look at a flat.”

“All right,” Roger said. He had not yet returned to the full realization that he was a free man in his own home. It was best to just follow her instructions.

They arrived at the address, in Eaton Place, and were met by an estate agent, then took the elevator to the top floor. The apartment was large, occupying the entire floor. There was a large drawing room, a separate dining room, a library with a toilet concealed behind bookcases, an office, two en suite bedrooms, and a garage in the basement with two spaces, with an entrance on the street behind.

“Can we afford this?” he asked Jennifer.

“I can afford it,” she replied. “Remember, I’m a wealthy woman.”

Jennifer signed a lease on the spot, and she wrote a check. “Come,” she said, “we must begin packing your things and arrange for removals.”

Late in the afternoon of the following day, they occupied the new place, and while Roger unpacked and placed his things in his new dressing room, Jennifer went shopping. The day after that, things she had bought began to arrive: furniture, pictures, sculptures — all of it from antique shops. Within a few days, the place looked as if they had always lived there.

On Saturday morning, Roger’s iPhone rang for the first time. “Hello?”

“Is this the laundry?” a female voice asked.

“I’m sorry, you have the wrong number,” Roger replied, and she hung up. Shortly, the phone made a chiming noise, and he checked the text messages. The single message gave an address in Hampstead.

“I’ve had a call,” Roger said to Jennifer, who was unpacking kitchen utensils.

“You must go armed,” she replied.

Roger consulted his London A to Z Guide, then planned his route. He caught a cab in the street, took it as far as Trafalgar Square, then walked several blocks, bought a Daily Telegraph, and got another cab. He got out a block short of his destination and walked to a spot on Hampstead Heath, taking care that he was not followed to his destination: an empty park bench. He sat down and opened his paper. Ten minutes passed before a man sat down at the other end of the bench. He didn’t look at the man.

“Good morning,” said a voice that he recognized as Alex’s.

Roger said nothing, but nodded.

“Look up and slightly to your left,” Alex said. Roger did so. “You see the little street, with row houses?”

“Yes.”

“Simon Garr, your old acquaintance from Dartmouth, lives at number 3. He will leave the house in about twenty minutes for a lunch date elsewhere. You will wait for him on the bench across the street, near the house. When you see him, you will confront him as he looks for a cab and shoot him twice in the head. Do you understand these instructions?”

Roger turned and looked at him.

“Don’t look at me!” Alex ordered. “Tell me you understand what you are to do.”

Roger thought about it for a moment, then sagged. “I understand.”

“A taxi will appear, with its light off. You will get into the taxi, which will drive you to Sloane Square. You will walk to your new apartment from there. Are all of your instructions clear?”

“Yes.”

“Before you leave this bench, screw the silencer into the barrel of your pistol.” Alex placed a tweed hat and a pair of sunglasses on the bench between them. “Wear these,” he said. “Leave them in the taxi when you get out. There will be no need to pay the driver.”

“I understand.”

Alex got up and left.

Roger pretended to read his paper for another fifteen minutes, then got up, donned the tweed cap and the sunglasses, crossed the street, and walked to the bench near the end of Simon Garr’s street. He sat down and tried to work up some of his old hatred for Garr. It wasn’t hard; he had harbored it for thirty years. He removed the pistol and silencer from his shoulder holster and screwed them together under the newspaper in his lap, then he waited, not looking at Garr’s house.

He heard the door open and close, then get locked, before he allowed his eyes to drift in that direction without turning his head. A moment later, a tall man in a raincoat and hat walked into his field of vision. It was Simon Garr, no mistake.

Roger rose, crossed the street, and walked toward Garr from behind, the pistol concealed in his folded newspaper. Garr stopped and looked both ways for a cab. Roger approached him and at the last moment Garr caught sight of him and turned. “Roger?” he said.

Roger lifted the pistol and fired, striking Garr over his left eyebrow. Garr collapsed, and Roger walked two steps and fired another shot into his head.

He looked up and saw a cab coming, its light out. It stopped, and Roger got inside, saying nothing. He unscrewed the silencer and returned that and his pistol to the shoulder holster. The cab drove away, made a number of turns, apparently to shake any possible follower, then drove across London to Sloane Square, stopping in front of the Peter Jones department store.

Roger placed the cap and the sunglasses on the seat, got out, and walked in a leisurely fashion toward Eaton Place and his flat. He took the elevator upstairs, and used his key. “Jennifer?” he called. There was no reply. He went to the closet and the safe Jennifer had bought, opened it, placed the pistol, silencer, and holster inside, and locked it.

He hung up his coat, then went to the bar and poured himself a large scotch. Then he sat in a comfortable chair in the library and let his mind wander.

An hour passed, then Jennifer let herself in and put down her packages and hung up her coat. Then she went looking for Roger. She found him in the library, an empty glass in his hand. She took the glass from him and put her hand on his cheek. “How did it go?” she asked.

“It went as it was supposed to.”

“Are you all right?”

“I am, though I could use another scotch. Will you join me?”

She poured them each a drink, then came and sat on his footstool. “I’m glad it went well,” she said. “I knew you could do it. Now you can do anything.”

Roger didn’t reply, just sipped his drink. It occurred to him that Alex had cleverly arranged his debut as an assassin by selecting a victim Roger hated.