When he returned ten minutes later, a packet of groceries in his hand, there was no sign of his pursuers. But as he headed back towards Parsons Green the Citroen materialised again, two cars behind him. Just where in hell did they think he was going? And how long had they been tracking him? Hours? Days? Weeks? He racked his brains, trying to think of any place he’d been that ‘they’ might deem suspicious. But he’d hardly had a life since joining Lombard. It had been to and from the office every day. Except for last Saturday. Walking Judith back to his place. In the kitchen – no curtains, full lights. Christ Almighty! He had to warn her.
They followed him all the way home. When he arrived he got out of the car, walked up to his front door, and unlocked it. As he did so, he saw the Citroen out of the corner of his eye: up the street on the left-hand side, headlights killed. He put his keys in the lock, hardly able to wait till the moment he was in, and had closed the door behind him. Then he leaned back against it, staring up at the ceiling. He remembered what Judith had said when she’d stood in this same place last Saturday: All Lombard calls are recorded. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that. His gaze moved from the light fitting in the middle of the hallway ceiling to the light fitting in the sitting room and down to his own telephone. As he stared at the receiver he felt all his certainties, all his assumptions, collapse beneath him.
Jacob Strauss lifted the walnut-veneer telephone from its cabinet in the back seat of his chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce. Meetings with bankers had always been a pain in the butt as far as he was concerned, and having just ended the day with one, he thought he’d earned himself some fun. He dialled a number; he didn’t have to wait long.
‘Party time,’ he said when there was an answer.
‘I’ve put the champagne on ice.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘But I’ve had some problems with the entertainment.’
‘Problems?’ There was instant heat in Strauss’s voice.
‘Uh-huh. Access problems.’
‘Then pay them more.’
‘It’s not the money.’
Strauss paused, before saying wearily, ‘It’s always the money.’
‘Well, it’s usually the money, but this time I’ve a feeling it’s something else.’
In his Onslow Gardens flat, Elliott North’s face was set in a frown. Jay’s answer to everything was to throw more money at it. But this was a very delicate situation. Enormous discretion and confidentiality were required. One wrong move would blow everything for both of them. Trying to explain that over a mobile telephone, which had all the security of a public broadcast, wasn’t easy.
‘Those ones we had last time, they were great.’ He could hear Jay getting excited at the other end.
‘I want the same ones.’
‘I know you do. Me too. But, like I say, there’s trouble getting hold of them.’
Strauss was getting tired of this. He wasn’t used to being told he couldn’t have what he wanted. When he spoke, his voice was filled with anger. ‘I thought we had an arrangement?’
‘We do.’
‘Don’t tell me there’s someone else getting in there.’
‘It’s exclusive. Believe me.’
‘Then where the hell are they?’
‘No one over there has any idea. But I’m going to keep calling. They’ve got to come back some time.’
‘Damned right they do.’
‘And the moment they do, we’ll know about it.’
‘I’ll give their butts a damned good hiding.’
‘You’ll enjoy that.’
‘Hey, too right!’ He was loosening his tie when the thought occurred to him. ‘So, have you got something to put me in a good mood?’
North felt the packet of powder in his jacket pocket. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Enough to put us all in a good mood.’