‘Identification?’
‘Virginia driver’s licence. The address and date of birth all tied in with the correct Social Security number.’
‘I’ll have an agent with you in under an hour. He can start by e-mailing me any details you have on the two hoodlums, and I’ll need a police artist’s computerised sketch of the main suspect.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Harding.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the whole transaction was recorded on video.’ Gutenburg couldn’t see Harding’s smile of satisfaction as he added, ‘Even you wouldn’t have spotted the security camera.’
Stuart continued to concentrate. ‘“Find out“!’ he said suddenly.
‘” I will find out whe
re she has gone”,’ said Maggie with a smile.
‘We’re going to meet a new friend in a new country, and he’ll find us,’ said Tara. ‘Can you remember anything else, Stuart?’
‘“All things fall…”’
‘”… and are built again”,’ Maggie whispered as the man who had snatched the book out of Stuart’s hands reappeared by their side.
‘Now listen, and listen carefully,’ he said, looking down at them. ‘If you hope to survive - and I don’t give a damn either way - you will follow my instructions to the letter. Is that understood?’ Stuart stared into the man’s eyes and didn’t doubt that he looked upon the three of them as just another job. He nodded.
‘Right,’ the man continued. ‘When the plane lands, you will go directly to the baggage area, pick up your luggage and pass through customs without attracting any attention to yourselves. You will not, I repeat not, use the rest rooms. Once you’re through customs and in the arrivals area, you will be met by two of my men who will accompany you to the house where you’ll be staying for the foreseeable future. I will meet up with you again later this evening. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Stuart firmly on behalf of the three of them.
‘If any of you is stupid enough to make a run for it, or tries to enlist any help, Mrs Fitzgerald will be killed immediately. And if she’s not available for any reason, I get to choose between you two.’ He looked at Tara and Stuart. ‘Those were the terms Mr Fitzgerald agreed.’
‘That’s not possible,’ began Maggie. ‘Connor would never …’
‘I think it might be wise, Mrs Fitzgerald, to allow Mr Farnham to speak on behalf of all of you in future,’ said the man. Maggie would have corrected him if Tara hadn’t quickly kicked her leg. ‘You’ll need these,’ he said, handing over three passports to Stuart. He checked them and passed one to Maggie and another to Tara, as the man returned to the cockpit.
Stuart looked down at the remaining passport, which like the other two bore the American eagle on its cover. When he flicked it open he found his own photograph above the name ‘Daniel Farnham’. Profession: University law professor. Address: 75 Marina Boulevard, San Francisco, California. He passed it across to Tara, who looked puzzled.
‘I do like dealing with professionals,’ said Stuart. ‘And I’m beginning to realise that your father is one of the best.’
‘Are you sure you can’t remember any more words?’ asked Maggie.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Stuart. ‘No, wait a moment - “anarchy”.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Now I know where we’re going.’
It’s a long drive from Dallas to Washington. The two thugs who had dropped Connor and Romanov off at the airport had always planned to break the journey somewhere before continuing to the capital the following day. Just after nine o’clock that evening, having covered around four hundred miles, they pulled into a motel on the outskirts of Memphis.
The two senior CIA officers who watched them park their BMW reported back to Gutenburg forty-five minutes later. ‘They’ve checked into the Memphis Marriott, rooms 107 and 108. They ordered room service at nine thirty-three, and are currently in Room 107 watching Nash Bridges.’
‘Where’s the rifle?’ asked Gutenburg.
‘It’s handcuffed to the wrist of the man booked into Room 108.’
‘Then you’re going to need a waiter and a pass key,’ said Gutenburg.
Just after ten o’clock, a waiter appeared in Room 107 and set up a table for dinner. He opened a bottle of red wine, poured two glasses and laid out the food. He told the guests he would return in about forty minutes to clear the table. One of them told him to cut up his steak into little pieces, as he only had the use of one hand. The waiter was happy to oblige. ‘Enjoy,’ he added, as he left the room.
The waiter then went straight to the carpark and reported to the senior officer, who thanked him, then made a further request. The waiter nodded, and the agent handed him a fifty-dollar bill.