Private London (Private 4)

‘Saying you did – who would the lucky lady have been?’

‘Ah …’ I said.

‘Ah?’

‘It’s a long story. And we haven’t got time,’ I said, all business now. The treadmill slowed to a walking pace and I picked up my towel and headed for the showers.

Half past eight and back in the office, I watched as Alison Chambers parked her car on the double yellow line below, tossed her keys to one of her flunkeys to park it and headed towards the building.

If she could see me watching her she didn’t show it. I wondered what she would make of what had happened with Kirsty last night. I didn’t figure I would be telling her. I also wondered what she was doing at work on a Sunday, but I guess some lawyers are like some private detectives. You stop when the work is done.

I crossed to the safe built into the wall, spun the dial and opened it. I took out the small bag containing the diamonds and put it in my pocket. A million pounds’ worth didn’t take up a lot of space. I left the shotgun in the safe, but took out the pistol and shoulder holster, hefted the gun in my hands for a moment or two and then put it back.

‘Good move,’ Sam said from the doorway.

‘But is it?’ I replied. ‘These guys are going to be carrying. If things turn nasty maybe we should have some backup. They nearly killed Chloe remember.’

‘It’s Parliament Square, Dan. Anybody starts producing hardware and nobody’s going to get very far. You got any idea of the amount of security down there?’

‘Makes me wonder why they chose it for the exchange.’

Sam shrugged. ‘It’s a big open space in the centre of London. Lots of exits, lots of entrances. They can have eyes on us from a hundred different places. We try anything and they’ll know it. There’s security all around the parliament buildings. We’re out in the open. It’s a perfect—’

I held my hand up to stop him. I had a bad feeling he was going to say killing ground.

Chapter 65

I HADN’T FELT the hairs on the back of my neck prickle so much since my days in Iraq.

Back then, marking out a minefield in the middle of no-man’s-land was like playing Russian Roulette every day. Sam was right. Parliament Square is a big open space located at the north-west end of the Palace of Westminster, or the Houses of Parliament as they’re called on the bottles of that old brown sauce.

I was standing with my back to the Robert Peel statue, as ordered. Presumably they had picked that depiction of the founder of the first metropolitan police force in the world as some kind of ironic joke.

If it was, then I wasn’t laughing. I was scanning the area. The man who gave his name to the British ‘Bobby’ was on the south-western edge of the large green that was in the middle of the square. Around it stood, among other buildings, the Collegiate Church of St Peter at Westminster – or Westminster Abbey to you and me – the smaller Anglican church of St Margaret, the parish church of the Houses of Parliament, and 100 Parliament Street, headquarters of Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs.

And from where I was standing I could have picked up a stone and thrown it at the Middlesex Guildhall, which is home to the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom. Like I said, I think Hannah Shapiro’s abductors were tweaking our noses a little. Still, you could understand why the area was so popular with tourists.

Especially on a Sunday.

There were four major roads into the square and a Tube station right by it.

I looked at my watch. A couple of minutes or so to go.

Sam Riddel was somewhere close by, but I couldn’t see him. Not that he was going to be able to do a great deal if something bad went down. In addition we had people stationed on each of the roads into the square and by the entrances to the Tube station.

It was the second hot day in a row. Certainly breaking records for the time of year. I looked at my watch again. Showtime.

My phone went. I checked the ID: Brad Dexter. ‘Yes, Brad?’

‘You got a big crowd marching down past me, Dan. Heading into the square. They just appeared from nowhere.’

The phone beeped again, another incoming call: Suzy this time – different street, same message. And again. And again. All four watch stations saying the same thing.

All hell broke loose.

First came the noise. Megaphones and chants. Then the people. Random groups seemed to join together as hundreds started pouring in from St Margaret Street, Broad Sanctuary, Great George Street and Bridge Street. Banners were unfurled as they all headed towards the green.

A group of black-faced Border-style Morris dancers were capering about in outlandish costumes, heading towards me as more and more banners were unfurled. The chanting grew louder.