My field of vision restricted, my hearing constrained by the hostile elements, call it intuition, but I sensed the redhead at Wilding’s house that morning would be chasing down the same leads, perhaps within the same time frame. All I had to do was pick a spot and wait.
I set down the briefcase beside me and took up a position leaning against a plane tree. Surrounded by a collection of moving shapes, silhouettes, the gauzy light of cars and lorries, I took out a pack of cigarettes I’d bought earlier in a backstreet newsagents. Fog stretched over my face in a damp embrace. There were many approaching footsteps, some fast and staccato, others flat and heavy. Still I waited.
Two cigarettes later, the last crushed against the heel of my shoe, I heard a purposeful yet even tread. Having devoted years to identifying the idiosyncrasies of others, I knew, without the smallest doubt, the gait and pace belonged to the woman with the flame-coloured hair.
I struck hard and fast. Action is faster than reaction. There are exceptions. The woman, highly trained, was one. As my hands clamped around her throat, she flicked her head up, the crown striking my jaw. Next, she raised her right leg. For this I was ready. Before her knee could make the connection with my groin, I flexed, and substantially increased the pressure on her neck. I had to be careful. A man can be rendered unconscious in three seconds, dead in fifteen. I needed her alive, articulate and co-operative.
I am a strong guy. My shoulders are broad. I used all my body weight to push her against the base of the tree. She didn’t scream. She couldn’t. Even so, you’d think someone would come to her aid. Nobody did.
I released the pressure on her neck. I did not clamp a hand over her mouth. I removed her earpiece, stuck my hand in her jacket and lifted her phone, scrolled through, switched it off and shoved it back. I let her recover, but I stayed up close and very personal. I could smell her perfume: floral, contemporary, notes of citron, cedar and musk. Anyone walking by would assume we were lovers about to get it on. I put my mouth close to her ear and whispered, ‘If you’re smart, you’ll understand I haven’t set out to kill you.’
‘What do you want?’ Nice voice, low and melodic, well spoken. Her eyes, an iridescent green, shone like a cat’s in the night. She hadn’t asked me who I was and that told me the boy had talked and she had paid attention. I smiled. She was smart. We were going to get along fine. I loomed over her, using my body to put a barrier between her and anyone else in the street.
‘Wilding was working on something big. What was it?’ No way was I prepared to suggest a blueprint for a biological military weapon let alone any possible ethnic aspect. Way too hot.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Not smart, reckless. I flew at her throat once again. ‘Do you enjoy killing women?’ she spat, her voice low and accusing. I let my hands drop as if I’d touched molten steel.
‘I didn’t kill Wilding.’
‘You were there.’
‘I don’t deny it.’
‘If you didn’t kill her, who did?’
‘We wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation if I knew.’
‘This isn’t a conversation. It’s an assault.’
‘How did he kill her?’ Call it professional interest.
‘Fuck you.’
I admired her spirit. Faced with a force field of barely suppressed aggression, most keel over. Not this woman. ‘My guess is that he injected her with something.’
‘You should know.’ Her cold smile reminded me of light on icy water.
‘I already told you. I didn’t do it.’
‘So what were you doing?’ The green eyes narrowed to two feline slits.
Tricky one. ‘Searching for information.’
‘What exactly?’
I shrugged. ‘Data on a hard drive.’
She blinked slowly once, a cover for the interest she undoubtedly felt. She now recognised that we were dancing on the same stage. ‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t have it.’
‘You insult my intelligence.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t have it. Someone wants it. May even have it. And now I want it.’
‘Who’s the someone?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
Her brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘You don’t know who contracted you for the job?’
I didn’t care to be reminded of my failure. ‘You understand how the game is played. The man who instigates mayhem is five times removed from the action. You don’t think your average suicide bomber meets the mullah who commissioned him, do you?’
‘Rich,’ she sneered, ‘me taking lectures from you.’
‘I’m just saying that …’
‘You don’t have a clue who you work for.’ She glared at me in disbelief.
‘I don’t. Not on this particular occasion.’ I’d cocked up.
She gave me a long hard, venomous stare. When she spoke her voice scorched with contempt. ‘You might think you’re a somebody, but you have no idea what you’re involved in.’
‘I do.’ I didn’t. I was like a pilot making a crash landing. God knew where I’d fetch up.
‘No, you don’t,’ she repeated flatly.
‘Then enlighten me.’
Her laugh was dry as tinder.
‘I’ll take that as proof I’m on the right track. Wilding was involved in something most sane people would prefer not to think about.’
‘It’s proof of nothing,’ she said, tight-lipped. I looked into her eyes. I thought I detected weakness. She looked torn between keeping her mouth shut and wanting to trade. Getting down to the nitty-gritty, the gathering of intelligence is all about give and take, and I was the best lead she’d had all day. I decided to try and tempt her.
‘I’m thinking Wilding would hardly store A-grade information in her home, but then it would depend on what it was and what she planned to do with it.’
Two spots of colour flashed across her cheeks.
‘I accept I’m running ahead of the evidence,’ I riffed. ‘Must be virtually impossible to steal anything from Wilding’s place of work. The security arrangements would be strictly monitored, bombproof even. Then again, she didn’t need to steal anything. She already had it in her head. What should I call you, incidentally?’
‘Whatever you like, this isn’t a social engagement.’
‘We could help each other.’
At this she laughed again. Low, from her belly, this time. It was a good laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Secrecy’s my middle name. Your superiors wouldn’t have to know.’
She issued another cold, cynical look. ‘Unlike you, I have rules to obey.’
‘But surely they could be bent a little?’
She smiled without warmth. ‘What are you trying to do, end my career? Sorry, I’m not open to corruption.’
‘Not even if it helps save the day?’ I let that sink in.
She looked at me, sullen, eyes revealing nothing at all.
‘Toxins, nerve agents?’ I goaded, desperate to get a rise.
Her full red lips pressed together. I noticed she wore brick-red lipstick, very