Threat Read online

  I smile, put the towels on a chair, walk towards him and take the twenty out of his hand. He pulls me into him but I push him gently away, gesture to him to stay where he is then I back away, lean against the wall, open my legs and slowly lift up my skirt. When it reaches my waist his face turns from pink to purple and he walks towards me with his arms outstretched and his cock sticking out like the beak off some giant bird. He leans his sweaty body against me, claws at my pants and tries to get himself inside me. I stroke my hands round his neck until I feel his Adam’s apple then I put both my thumbs just under it and press hard. His eyes bulge and he struggles and kicks as I force him onto the floor, kneel on his chest and keep pressing. When he goes limp I wait a bit, then I check his pulse and make sure he’s gone. I pull my skirt down and go to the door. The key’s still in the keyhole so I lock it. I go and kneel down beside the body and check that I haven’t left any marks on his neck, then I pull him up onto the bed, put his arm over my shoulder, pick him up in a fireman’s lift and sit him on the windowsill with his back against the glass. The room’s at the front and I can see the Park Lane traffic flowing along down below. I swing open the window, lift him up by his ankles and push him out.

  I hear a woman’s scream and a screech of car tyres as I’m unlocking the door. I wipe the door handle with my apron and check the corridor. It’s clear so I walk to the corner and look for the chambermaid’s trolley. It’s parked further along but the girl’s inside the room and I make it to the stairs before she comes out. At the bottom of the stairs I can see people hurrying along the passage to see what’s happening in the street and I walk along among them and out of the door. I walk slowly to the van, get in the back and change into my stretch pants and sweater. Sirens are wailing as I start the van and drive through Mayfair. I stop by a litter bin in Berkeley Square and dump the maid’s uniform, then I turn left up Regent Street and back to Harlesden with the radio up loud and I’m feeling great, singing along with Little Eva and doing the locomotion.

  • • •

  I pull up in Golborne Road by Portobello Market and go to a second-hand bookstall that I know and buy myself a copy of Pride and Prejudice. I go on down the market and buy eggs, milk, and some sausages and potatoes for Georgie’s tea. On the way back up to Golborne I buy some apples and oranges from an old bloke’s barrow that I used to nick from when I was a kid. He’s a nice old geezer and he asks me for a date and we have a laugh while he’s weighing out the fruit.

  When I get back to the flat I let myself in and run a bath. I still can’t get used to the luxury of having a soak when I feel like it. The public baths in Silchester Road we had to go to when I was younger were freezing cold in the winter and I always had to take Georgie and Jack with me and see to them because mum would be drunk. Some of the people who worked there were horrible to you because they knew you were poor and you might have the scabies or something.

  I turn off the taps and pour in a good dollop of bath oil. I take off my clothes, slide into the water and melt into the warm scent of roses. I close my eyes and soon I’m seeing rolling fields in the sunshine, lying in long grass among lovely flowers and feeling a soft breeze on my arms and legs. There’s just me and the sky and little clouds chasing each other and playing games and I feel wonderful, and it’s going on forever. Then I’m floating up and over the fields and the towns and the sea and swooping down under the waves and…

  I sit up and spit out a mouthful of water. Someone’s knocking at the door. I’ve fallen asleep and nearly drowned myself, silly cow. I take a second to calm down. I haven’t had a call from the desk so it’s probably Lizzie and she might want to join me in the bath.

  ‘Is that you Liz?’

  ‘It’s Nick Boulter. I wonder if I might have a word?’

  I can hardly tell him to piss off now so I say, ‘Hang on a minute Nick.’

  I get out of the bath, towel myself, put on my dressing gown, trying not to think about Budanov in his, with his beak. I open the door and he’s standing there with half a smile on his face and a briefcase in his hand. ‘Oh, I’m awfully sorry, I seem to have disturbed you…’

  ‘That’s ok. Do you want to come in?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I show him into the lounge, point at the sideboard and say, ‘Pour yourself a drink if you want. I’ll be back in a tick.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I go back into the bathroom and put my clothes on. When I get back he’s standing by the fireplace looking a bit lost with a glass of whisky in his hand.

  ‘This is a pleasant flat. Have you lived here long?’ he asks.

  ‘Couple of years.’

  I go to the sideboard and pick up the whisky bottle. ‘Top you up?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I pour myself a whisky, refill his glass and say, ‘Sit down Nick.’

  He sits in the armchair beside the fire and I sit opposite him. We both take a drink. He’s looking anywhere but at me and just as I’m thinking he’s never going to tell me what’s on his mind, he says, ‘Some people I work with are interested in you.’

  A tingle of alarm runs up my spine. I look at him and say nothing. He takes another drink.

  ‘The way you dealt with Budanov this morning was impressive, to say the least.’

  I try to look confused.

  ‘Buda what?’

  ‘The police can book it as a suicide by a visiting Russian businessman and nobody’s any the wiser. Case closed.’

  ‘I’m sorry Nick, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘I am on terms with Feliks Bielsky.’

  He’s looking at me now all right. I hold his look.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘I’m with Military Intelligence.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘MI6 to be precise.’

  ‘You’re a spy?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘There’s no need to be alarmed.’

  ‘Who says I’m alarmed?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I appreciate that very little frightens you.’

  I sit back in my chair. ‘Tell me who you are and what you want.’

  ‘I have been with MI6 since I left Cambridge and I run various agents both here and in Europe. I and my superiors sometimes have occasion to kill enemies of this country who would seek to do us harm and who operate with such ingenuity as to remain outside the reach of the law. You have come to our notice as one who is skilled and effective in that field and we would like to offer you employment.’

  ‘And how exactly did I come to your notice?’

  ‘After you were kind enough to intercede in that little skirmish with the cab driver in Park Lane I took the liberty of monitoring your activities.’

  ‘You had me followed.’

  ‘Yes.’

  This is a nightmare. I’ve always been dead careful to stay unknown and off the books and here I am with the fucking government all over me. I try to sound casual.

  ‘The bloke in the trilby with the black car.’

  ‘Collins.’

  ‘He was one of the two who took Georgie.’

  ‘We wanted to see how you’d deal with Budanov so we sent him along to make sure your sister was treated gently.’

  ‘Did you put the bloke in the cemetery after me?’

  ‘In the nature of a preliminary audition.’

  I don’t know what he’s on about but I get the general idea.

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘A traitor who was a little too clever for us. Responsible for the recent death of two of our agents at the hands of the Russians. Believe me the country’s a good deal safer with him buried in Kensal Green Cemetery.’

  ‘Good job he didn’t kill me then.’

  ‘We told him to bring you in for questioning.’

  He’s got me. He’s shown that he can get Georgie any time he wants and he’s got me bang to rights for murder. I’m fucked. To buy a bit of time I ask, ‘What was the casin
o and the country house all about?’

  He smiles. ‘Ah, yes. It was helpful to see you mixing easily with those of another class. Social inhibition can be a drawback in our work.’

  I control the urge to smash my glass in his face. ‘Where’s Bielsky in this?’

  ‘When the Russian army invaded Poland in thirty-nine, Feliks was captured, imprisoned in Talitsy work camp in Russia and interrogated. He managed to convince them that he was a committed communist, which was just as well since they executed anyone who they thought was anti-Soviet. He spoke good German so they sent him to Berlin as a spy. At the end of the war he escaped to Moscow and lived there for a couple of years. When the cold war started they sent him to spy for them in London and we caught him and turned him.’

  Nick gets to his feet and puts his glass on the mantlepiece. ‘I’d like you to meet my boss.’

  ‘Have I got a choice?’

  He laughs. ‘Not really.’

  I swallow the rest of my whisky and lead him to the front door. He puts his hat on and says, ‘Shall I send a car for you in an hour?’

  ‘If you want.’

  I go to open the door but he puts a hand on my arm.

  ‘Won’t you be happier knowing that you’re serving your country?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s that simple.’

  ‘There won’t be any need for you to curtail your other activities.’

  I open the door for him.

  ‘Goodbye Rina,’ he says, as he walks towards the lift.

  I go back into the lounge, pour myself a whisky, sit down on the sofa and take a long drink.

  My life’s like a lobster pot; dead easy to get into but fucking difficult to get out of.

  10

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my third glass of whisky, dipping into a packet of crisps and staring out of the window. I’m thinking that maybe one source of work’s much like another when all’s said and done, and working for toffs might even be better than working for villains. If MI6 want to do me up they’ll probably just put me away, but if a London firm want rid of me I’m dead. A bird wheels around in the sky above Hamilton Terrace. I wish I could glide about over the city like him and then out over the fields and the rivers and the sea. Georgie told me that some birds fly thousands of miles over continents to follow the warm sunshine and have their babies.

  The phone rings and it’s the porter telling me there’s a car waiting for me. I look at what I’m wearing and tell him I’ll be five minutes. I go in the bedroom, change into my black Emilio Pucci suit and a pair of mid-heeled court shoes. I put on make-up, brush my hair, pick up my handbag and push my flick knife into the opening that I’ve made on the strap. I check myself in the mirror and go downstairs to the foyer. I can see a grey Humber Hawk out front and the driver’s standing beside it smoking a fag. Reg is at the desk and I go over.

  ‘Any news on Dennis?’

  ‘He’s coming out tomorrow.’

  ‘Is he coming back to work?’

  ‘End of the week, I think.’

  Reg opens the glass door for me and I put a two bob bit in his hand.

  ‘Cheers miss,’ he says and goes back to his desk.

  The driver sees me, chucks away his fag and opens the car door for me. I get into the back seat. The man next to me turns, raises his black trilby and offers me his hand.

  ‘I’m David Collins.’

  ‘And if you go near my sister again I’ll cut your face off.’

  He puts his hand in the pocket of his raincoat.

  ‘I was merely ensuring that she was unhurt.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  He sniffs, turns and looks out of the window. I notice the driver taking a quick look at me in the mirror with a slight smile on his face.

  We drive down to Hyde Park Corner, past Buckingham Palace, along the Mall, turn right along the side of St James’s Park and on past the tube station. The car stops on a corner, beside a sign saying Caxton Street. Collins turns to me and points through the windscreen.

  ‘Walk along there and you’ll see St Ermin’s Hotel on your left. Take the lift to the fifth floor, go to room 272 and knock on the door.’

  I ignore him, get out of the car and walk past blocks of mansion flats on each side of the street. I turn left and see the entrance to the hotel at the end of a short road. I walk between two matching statues of a white lion with a bad haircut holding a shield with curly edges. I pass under a metal archway, up some stone steps and through the front door. The entrance hall is really big and swanky with pillars and crystal chandeliers and a white stone stairway in the middle which divides halfway up and leads onto curving balconies. I spot a sign for the lift at the far side of the hall and walk across the marble floor and round the side of the stairway. I look into the bar, where a couple of groups of men in suits are talking, and find the lift tucked away next to a barber’s shop. I step in and ask for the fifth floor. The attendant closes the gates, turns the brass handle and the lift rises.

  I find the room and knock. Nick opens the door and shows me into a bedroom with a leather topped desk at the foot of the bed and a sofa and a couple of armchairs in front of it. There are men’s coats and hats and a couple of briefcases on the bed. A distinguished looking man in a dark suit and a blue striped tie with grey hair, bushy eyebrows and a full moustache under a beaky nose is sitting at the desk. He stands up and walks towards me. Nick says,

  ‘May I introduce Sir Robert Monkton. Sir Robert, this is Rina Walker.’

  I notice that Nick’s wearing the same blue striped tie. I shake hands with Sir Robert and he smiles and says,

  ‘Welcome Miss Walker. Thank you so much for coming. What will you have to drink?’

  Nick moves to a table by the window. ‘Whisky for you Rina, if I’m not mistaken?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ I say and I notice Sir Robert wincing slightly as he hears me speak. He goes back behind the desk and says, ‘I’ll have one too Nicholas. Do sit down Miss Walker.’

  ‘Call me Rina.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Nick gives us drinks and sits on the sofa. I sink into one of the armchairs and take a sip of a very good whisky. Sir Robert looks at me for a moment before speaking.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush Rina. We’ve looked into your background and what little we’ve been able to find out about you indicates that you have a considerable talent for operating in such a way as to leave very little, if any, trace of your presence behind you. This, as you can probably imagine, is a valuable asset for anyone involved in the field of military intelligence and we would like to know if you would be interested in working with us.’

  ‘You’ve got me for a murder so we both know I can’t say no.’

  He hesitates a moment and I think I see a slight smile as he flicks a look at Nick.

  ‘In order to bring charges we would have to reveal the identity of a man who doesn’t officially exist.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘The long and the short of it is, we would lose control of a valuable network of agents in the process of attempting to prosecute you and it simply would not be a price worth paying.’

  ‘So I could get up and walk out of here?’

  ‘You could…’

  ‘But you’d stay on me and get me clean for the next one.’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘I told you she was quick,’ says Nick.

  ‘I only wish some of our more educated colleagues could demonstrate such perspicacity,’ says Sir Robert.

  I want to ask him to write down whatever it is he thinks I’ve demonstrated so I can look it up later but instead I say,

  ‘You want me to kill people.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘What’s the money?’

  Sir Robert looks annoyed for a moment but I’m getting a bit fed up with all this upper class tomfoolery and I want to get home and get Georgie’s tea. Sir Robert sits back in his chair.

  ‘Untraceable cash payments, the size
of which will depend upon locations, circumstances, nature of target and any other considerations.’

  ‘A grand minimum.’

  He thinks for a minute, gives a look at Nick and says, ‘I think we’d find that acceptable.’

  ‘Plus expenses.’

  He seems to find this amusing. ‘Fair enough,’ he says.

  ‘There’s another thing,’ I say.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I deal with you and Nick only. No one else knows my name or anything about me and nothing gets written down or recorded anywhere.’

  ‘That we can guarantee. You should also know that should you be captured, arrested or otherwise detained either within or beyond British Territory we will deny any knowledge of you. You will be entirely on your own. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  Sir Robert gets up, walks round the desk and shakes my hand.

  ‘Welcome aboard.’

  As Sir Robert walks back to his desk Nick goes to him and whispers something. Sir Robert says, ‘Ah yes, indeed. Thank you Nicholas, I was forgetting.’ He turns to me.

  ‘I gather you’d like your younger sister to board at Leavenden School.’

  ‘Er, yes I would,’ I say, wondering how Lordy can be tied up with all this malarky.

  ‘A place has been arranged for her which she can take up as soon as you wish. I believe you’ve already met the headmistress and so perhaps you would care to telephone the registrar and tell her when your sister will be arriving.’

  He hands me a piece of paper with a name and a telephone number on it.

  ‘The fees for the year will be taken care of.’

  ‘Well, that’s…’

  ‘Goodbye Miss Walker.’

  Sir Robert goes back to his desk, Nick opens the door for me and we walk down the corridor. As we reach the lift I decide to play it safe.