LONDON ALERT (15 page)

‘I suppose it
was partly because you were on the rebound.’

‘Yes, there’s
that too, but what people cannot understand is that being too attractive is a
lonely business. The nice guys are afraid to make a move, and the bad guys have
no compunction, like the creep I was talking about. You see what I mean?’

‘I think so.’

‘Being married to
a powerful person means fewer people trouble me – not that I allow them to get
near me. You are first person I have talked frankly to for a long time, and I’m
not letting you get too near either. You understand?’

Holt did
understand. Being in her presence was reward enough. Her revelations had made
him really relax. Besides, he was already getting used to the good life, and
this was merely a foretaste of what lay in store in the days ahead. That is, until
the dreaded initiation test.

The meal over,
he helped her clear the table and arranged the dishes in the dishwasher while
she busied herself making coffee.

As they sat side
by side on the sofa with brandies on the coffee table before them, Consuela let
out a sigh, which he took as a sure sign she felt at ease in his presence. He
had felt like this with Celia on the terrace at The Loughty, replete after a
great meal, but this time there had been nothing wrong with the coffee, which
was truly excellent. The Loughty scenario had been Blackwell’s doing. Somehow,
he did not think that would be the Owl’s style.

So as to be more
comfortable and avoid his left hand pressing against Consuela’s thigh, he
raised that arm and placed it on the back of the sofa behind her shoulders. In
so doing he moved closer to her, but not close enough for their bodies to more
than sense each other. While she did not to seem to object or even notice, she did
nothing to encourage further encroachments on her private space. He had to
behave like one of those good guys afraid to make a move, which was in fact not
far from the truth.

After watching a
film on television and then the news, Consuela promptly declared it was time
for bed.

‘We are going to
hit the ground running. Tomorrow we’re off abroad. I booked the flight using
the details on your passport. I hope you are not on any no-fly lists as a
potential terrorist?’

‘I see no reason
why I should be. Where are we going? Pakistan?’

‘No, no. Not
nearly as far as that. You’ll see when I give you your boarding pass. Don’t
worry. It’ll be fun, great fun. It’ll be something for you to remember for the
rest of your life – at least, what remains of it.’

‘You’re winding
me up.’

‘That was only a
joke and partly to prevent myself getting carried away, even getting attached to
you. Besides, I want you slightly on edge so you reveal more of yourself when
you eventually unwind. I have probably said too much about myself – there’s
something about your naïveté that makes me talk too much. You’re a breath of
fresh air after the society people I frequent. I’m going up to my room. I’ve
got to update my report on you; not that there is much to add as yet. Good night.’

With that she
stood up, leant over towards him, and gave him a peck on the left cheek. Though
the air kiss was probably one she had done hundreds of times as a society
hostess at receptions, Holt wanted to believe there was more to it than that.

Later, in his own bed,
alone, he had a feeling of nervous anticipation like a fifteen-year-old, even
though it had been made clear that he should not expect anything physical and
the way things were going that could well prove to be the case.

After a night sleeping
fitfully, thinking of Consuela, he came downstairs to find her already in the
kitchen. She was wearing a fetching cotton dressing gown.

‘Sleep well?’ she
asked.

‘Yes, thanks,’ he lied.

‘Good. We have a busy
day ahead.’

‘I’m intrigued.’

‘We’re having breakfast
in the conservatory. Can you take these things in?’ she said, giving him no
chance to ask how she had slept.

He had never lived in a
house with a conservatory, though many of his parents’ friends had been adding
them to theirs. Besides generating extra space, they enabled one to partly
enjoy the outside life, despite the lousy English climate. It was bright and a
nice place to be.

Breakfast was a simple
continental affair with croissants and slightly toasted French bread. There was
also fruit, including some quite exotic ones. Having made sure he had enough
coffee and toast, Consuela again took the initiative.

‘You have been
very reticent about yourself. You have to give something away for me to assess
you.’

‘I don’t know
where to begin.’

‘Begin by
telling me about your family, whether you have any brothers or sisters. That sometimes
provides good clues regarding a person’s motivations – sibling rivalry and all
that. Was your mother forceful in making you do things, like making you read?’

‘I’m an only
child…’

‘I thought as
much.’

Realizing that
she had obviously not been given any real details about him so that she could
make her own assessment, he explained that his parents had died in a car crash
when he was thirteen years old; that although clever, he just got by at school
with the minimum of effort because he was bored and made up for it by playing
practical jokes. His mother had tried to get him to learn the piano and had a
grand piano that took up most of the living room in their tiny house.

‘The music
mistress at my school said, “Why learn the piano? There’s only one in an
orchestra as opposed to twenty or so violins. Learning the violin would give
you a much greater chance of getting in.” She seemed oblivious to the fact that
my complete absence of talent meant no orchestra would want me, even to play
the triangle.’

‘Which parent
influenced you most?’

‘Neither. They
left me to my own devices. They were too busy with their intellectual pursuits,
though they did question the fact that I spent a lot of time with a guy about
to get married who was into electronics and had all sorts of fascinating
gadgets. They didn’t realize it could have been the gate to a great future in
Silicon Valley.’

He went on to proffer
information very similar to that which he had provided at the exploratory interview
for the service with the major. It was only when it came to his present work
for Giraffe that he found himself in a quandary.

Sir Charles had
told him to say something near the truth but not the whole truth. So he said he
worked in a government think tank, thinking up scenarios for all sorts of
situations, including what would happen were a hub airport to be built in such
and such a place.

‘I can’t say
more than that. All I can say is that I am an ideas man.’

‘You must be
doing something important for it to be so hush-hush.’

‘Not really. I am
just an ideas man, and brainstorming throws up scenarios in all sorts of domains,
with some having security or military implications. I’m simply a backroom boy,
supposedly able to think laterally. It’s not as exciting as it sounds – that’s
why I am looking for something else, something that will stretch me a bit.’

‘Do you have to
travel – go on missions? I saw from the stamps in your passport that you
recently went to Japan.’

On the principle
that his undercover personage should be as close as possible to the truth, the service
had copied his entry and exit stamps for Japan into his new passport under the
name of Benet.

‘I don’t have to
travel, though the people I work for think it is stimulating,’ he said warily.

‘You seem
distant, withdrawn. As if you are hiding something from me, and I am wondering
why.’

‘Do I?’

‘Are you sure
you’re not some kind of undercover cop?’

‘Do I look like one?’

‘No, but
undercover cops never do. You can often tell one because they are too good to
be true – more extremist than the people they are penetrating.’

Had he been, in
the major’s words, sussed out on day one? Was it so obvious?

Anyway, all was
not lost. She could not prove it, and whatever his role, he could always claim
he was bored and looking for greater challenges in keeping with his
intelligence. Also, there was a chance that Consuela might come to like him and
only mention the possibility he might be a plant. He would neither admit it nor
deny it – leave her in suspense. If he denied it, she would not believe him
anyway.

‘Do I look like
an extremist?’

‘No, not in the
least. It’s difficult to work out what you are.’

Holt felt that
he should do some serious explaining, including revealing truths that would
make him more believable. After all, the inspector had told him to present the
real him, as far as possible.

‘I am not sure
who I am either, as when my parents were killed, I was at a loss, and turned
off for a year or so, and did not latch on to anything. You see, my trouble is
that I cannot find a job where my talents are made use of. I don’t feel
stretched, if you know what I mean. People say I’m too clever by half. I don’t
intend to get people’s backs up when I say that. I don’t want to get yours up.’

‘Having a high
IQ wouldn’t get mine up. After all, H has an exceptionally high IQ. What’s
yours?’

‘One hundred and
fifty or sixty.’

Consuela raised
her eyebrows and looked at him more intently than before, as if learning how intelligent
he was made him of much greater interest.

Consuela
parked in the car park at Heathrow’s Terminal 5 – the new terminal dedicated to
British Airways flights – and with a flourish handed Holt his boarding pass.
Club
Europe
to Nice. They
were cert
ainly doing everything in style, for the
extra cost for business class would be considerable.

‘I’ve never been
to the Côte d’Azur. Seen it in films, though. For instance, in
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
, with
 
Michael Caine and Steve
Martin. Always dreamed of going there.’

‘That,’ retorted
Consuela with a glint in her eye, ‘was a really funny movie – especially the
whipping scene, where Steve Martin has to retain a stupid smile, pretending he
has no feeling in his legs while Michael Caine is slashing at them with a cane.
Of course, the fact that I’ve been there many times made the movie all the more
enjoyable. The Côte d’Azur is too crowded in the high season, unless of course
you have a yacht or the use of a great villa with views over the sea, like
Cliff Richard, not to mention many other friends of ours.’

‘Isn’t it the
high season now?’

‘Yes, but rest
assured we have a motor yacht at our disposal, albeit a smallish one. It
belongs to a couple of my best friends. In fact my best friends.’

As they made
their way through immigration and the maddening security check and then on to
the Executive Club lounge, Holt looked up at various security cameras so he
would be identified. At one point he even gave a thumbs-up sign. He was sure
Giraffe would know which flight he was on, as his name and passport number
would have been given when Consuela made the booking. He did it more to
reassure them and make them less likely to tail him – something that could lead
to his downfall, as the Owl would soon find out. At least they would know where
he was going and that he was still okay.

Although the
Club Class on European flights was not nearly as luxurious as that on the
long-haul ones with flat beds, it did mean that one had three seats for two
people, with the middle seat left vacant, and less likelihood of being seated
next to someone totally unpleasant. Also, one was served drinks and proper food
as soon as the ‘Fasten Seat Belt’ signs were off. Nominally a two-hour flight, the
journey seemed to be over in no time, and in fact they arrived early.

Terminal
1
at Nice
,
handling BA and only a few other
airlines
,
had a very relaxed ambiance
even though Nice was said to be
France’s third busiest airport after the two in Paris
.
T
hey
were
through passport control in
five minutes
and as
a result t
he
ir
checked
-
in baggage
seemed to be taking a long time
to arrive
, although
it was
in fact
not so long,
and they were out
on
the public concourse within
twenty
minutes of landing.

As they stepped out
of the baggage retrieval area onto the concourse, a young man in an elegant
dark brown shirt with buttons down the front, offset by smart off-white
trousers, came up to them with a measured stride.

‘Madam
Consuela?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m William,
the new captain, and dogsbody. The car is over there.’

They walked the
few yards to the Peugeot and got into the back seat while William put what
little luggage they had in the boot.

‘Where are we
going?’ Holt asked Consuela.

‘To Antibes,
where we will board my friends’ high-speed motor yacht to take us to the Hotel
du Cap-Eden-Roc. That’s where movie stars like Leonardo DiCaprio stay during
the Cannes Film Festival.

We will spend just
a couple of nights relaxing there before going to a reception-cum-seminar on a mega-yacht
moored at Villefranche-sur-Mer – a beautiful deepwater bay just beyond Nice on
the way to Monaco. The hotel featured in
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
is at Beaulieu-sur-Mer,
just over the headland on the far side of the bay.’

Was the seminar
to be a clever way of winkling out his political views? He had better watch out.
What at the outset had seemed to be a holiday was not to be pure holiday.

The car left the
confines of the airport and after a lot of twists and turns joined the A8
highway, running along the coast all the way from the Italian border through Monaco,
Nice, Cannes, and then on to Aix-en-Provence. They were heading westwards, leaving
the outskirts of Nice behind.

‘You cannot,’ said
Consuela, ‘see much from the autoroute, but soon you will see Haut-de-Cagnes on
top of a hill on the right. It’s one of those picture-postcard places.
Actually, there are number of similar medieval towns and villages perched on
top of what are virtually mountains, designed to repel attackers. The most well-known
is Saint-Paul de Vence. Yves Montand and Simone Signoret and famous artists
such as Marc Chagal lived there. Pity we haven’t time to travel around. What
attracted all those artists was the light.’

Holt got a
glimpse of Haut-de-Cagnes, a medieval village dominated by a fort, itself on
top of a hill. Soon after that they left the A8 and struck south to cross the busy
Route Nationale and join the minor road along the coast. They passed near some
striking apartment buildings Holt had seen from the plane as it came in to land
over the sea.

‘Those crescent-shaped
apartments,’ said Consuela, ‘border a marina – nowhere as large as the one we
are going to at Antibes, but it does have a spa, which is quite nice as you can
come by boat.’

Holt, having
only seen the C
ôte
d’Azur in films, was surprised that
much of it looked so ordinary. However, when the road began hugging the sea,
with the railway line on the right and the Route Nationale running parallel
beyond that, he began to feel different. It was the colour of the sea that did
it – truly the Côte d’Azur. There were people bathing and many more sunbathing,
with a few topless. After ten minutes or so, they deviated from the beach to
skirt a hill with a square castle on top, which Holt learnt afterwards was
called Le Fort Carré – the Square Fort.

‘We’re almost
there,’ announced Consuela.

Indeed, beyond
the fort was the marina. Holt was staggered by the scale of it – one of the
largest, if not the largest marina on the Mediterranean – and by the number and
sizes of boats, ranging from small yachts with sails to mega-yachts like mini ocean
liners crammed into it.

‘I can’t believe
the size of some of these vessels,’ said Holt.

‘Paul Allen, the
cofounder of Microsoft, brings his yacht here in the summer. He once invited H
and me onboard. It was unbelievable, with two pads for helicopters – one right
at the bow, the other at the stern – and a couple of mini-submarines. In
addition, there were several stations for launching various small craft, such
as those for Jet Skiers. The accommodation was out of this world too. There was,
of course, a cinema and the usual swimming pools.’

As they drove
into the car park encompassing the marina, Holt noticed most of the boats were moored
so that their sterns backed onto the piers. This meant more could be crammed in
and also made it more difficult for undesirables to gain access, especially as
most of the boats had electrically operated gangways that would extend
themselves to the quay when commanded by remote control, very much like some
garage doors. Each mooring had its own stanchion supplying water and
electricity.

Many of the more
luxurious vessels were registered in tax havens, including the Isle of Man and
Jersey.

 ‘I’m beginning
to feel quite poor,’ he said to Consuela with a wry smile.

‘You see that
long, rampart-like harbour wall and the spot two-thirds along with the
roof where the windsock is? That’s for helicopters, for people with craft without
a landing pad.’

‘My…!’

‘We’re going on
one of those sleek medium-size motor yachts. They can do up to thirty knots,
whereas the massive ones, although impressive, only do ten or twelve, unless
the owner is fabulously rich and able to have turbines like those on a warship.’

‘How do you know
all this?’

‘I used to come
here every year with these friends. When the Owl said I was to take you to see
some people on a yacht near Monte Carlo, I came up with this idea of a side trip,
ostensibly to better get to know you. Amanda and Jonathan are great friends from
way back – I can always trust them not to spread rumours about whom I’m with,
or even what I do…or more likely, do not do with them.’

The car finally
stopped at the stern of a sleek silver motor yacht some twenty metres long,
with the narrow gangway already extended. The driver gave a discreet toot on
the horn to announce their arrival but not loud enough to disturb those on
nearby boats.

A few instants
later, a fiftyish-looking man appeared from below, followed by a woman about
ten years younger.

‘Wonderful to
see you, Consuela!’ said the man. ‘We do not see much of you these days, other
than in the society magazines. Come on up!’

The narrow
gangway with just a flimsy line slung between supports on one side was quite
tricky to negotiate, but no doubt easy to do so if practised. On stepping down
from the gangway onto the afterdeck, Consuela was hugged warmly and showered
with kisses. She returned them almost as avidly and then introduced Holt,
explaining her relationship to them but not hers to Holt, other than saying that
he was a friend.

‘This is Jeremy,
my English friend. Jeremy, my best friends, Amanda and her husband, Jonathan. We
used to spend a lot of time together down here, even before Jonathan had his
big break.’

Holt too was
showered with kisses, but fortunately not so profusely as Consuela.

‘I like your new
toy, Jonathan,’ said Consuela. ‘Somewhat more luxurious and sleeker than the
previous one, though there was nothing wrong with that. We had a lot of fun on her.’

‘We’ve only had this
one a couple of years. It’s comfortable, fast, and it’s got a stabilizer that
works even when at a standstill.’

 ‘Follow me,’ said
Amanda. ‘I’ll show you your cabin.’

Descending quite
a number of steps, they went forward through a narrow passage until they were under
the bridge, though ‘bridge’ might again be too grandiose a word for the
helmsman’s place on a vessel of that relatively small size. Opening the door at
the end, Amanda showed them into a cabin with an open space in the middle and a
bunk along each wall.

On either side of
the entrance through which they had entered there was a door. The one on the left
– facing towards the stern – led to an en suite shower and toilet, while the one
on the right led to a small cabin with merely a single bunk and washbasin.

Noting their
surprise, Amanda explained that the boat had been designed for a family with two
children plus an au pair; the son and daughter slept on either side against the
walls well away from each other, while the au pair had the tiny adjoining
cabin. The kids could play in the middle, where in normal circumstances the
double bed for guests would be.

 ‘We could now put
a bed in the middle, but the friends we sometimes let use the boat – with
William in charge – very much like this setup. They sleep in the master cabin
with the big bed, and the children here.’

‘What a great
arrangement,’ commented Holt.

‘With kids on a
boat,’ continued Amanda, ‘a constant worry is that they will run wild and fall
overboard. If this cabin door is locked, the only way out is via the au pair’s
cabin. Of course, when they get older things will probably get more
complicated.’

‘Like the boy
getting a crush on the au pair,’ remarked Consuela with a smile, and then
adding, ‘Of course these days I hear it may be the other way round.’

‘We unfortunately
or fortunately never had children. I’ll leave you two to freshen up. See you topside,
say in ten minutes. I’m sure Jeremy would like to watch as we make our way out
of the marina, past the billionaires’ yachts, which of course your husband, Consuela,
could well afford.’

‘He says he’s
too busy and doesn’t have the time to waste on toys for other people’s benefit.’

Amanda left them,
and Consuela went into the washroom to change.

Profiting from
her absence, Holt changed clothes as well. When she returned, they went up to
join Amanda and Jonathan, who explained that they only had two crew members:
William, who they called ‘captain
’,
 
and a young girl, Veronica, who
helped with the cooking and cleaning.

‘I can handle
the boat all by myself,’ said Jonathan, ‘so we only need the one man, though we
are training Veronica as a backup. It’s not very arduous, as once out at sea you
just have to enter the route into the computer and the boat sails itself. Of
course you have to keep a lookout for other boats, but even then the radar
tracks them and issues an alert if there is any risk of collision. The biggest
danger is hitting some kids in a small rubber boat that might not show up on
the radar.’

‘Sounds easy,’
commented Holt.

‘Usually is, but
not always. We can control the boat from two places – from the bridge at the front
of the enclosed main cabin, which is suitable for all weathers, and from the
front of this upper, relatively open deck, which has similar but less sophisticated
controls but in good weather is nicer and has better visibility.’

With the ‘captain’
controlling the boat from the main wheelhouse and the four of them on the upper
deck, they eased their way out of the crowded marina, passing small yachts,
cruisers, and finally some gigantic ones, like mini ocean liners, near the end
of the mile-long quay.

‘What are those
domes for?’ said Holt, pointing to the couple of plastic domes not only on the
superstructure of their own craft but also on virtually all the large yachts.

‘Though they make
them look like spy ships, they are usually to protect the rotating antennae,
which automatically track the satellites for TV. You just key in the code, and
the antenna tracks the satellite automatically. Some of the smaller pods are
for antennae tracking communications satellites – some people run their
businesses from their boats. Keeps them out of the arms of the taxman.’

‘I suppose
people onboard have a lot of spare time to watch TV and videos,’ said Holt,
wondering whether he would find it boring after a time.

 ‘We’ll soon be
there,’ announced Consuela. ‘The hotel is the height of luxury and
tranquillity, and will be the ideal place to talk. I need some juicy details
for my report.’

‘I see,’
commented Holt, slightly unsure of what juicy material he could think up.

‘Don’t worry! It
won’t be all talk. There is an infinity pool blasted out of the rock with a
view over the Mediterranean. Tomorrow afternoon Jonathan and Amanda will come
and pick us up to take us off to La Garoupe Beach, where we will have a
barbeque onboard, like in the old days. Afterwards, they will take us back to
the hotel, and they will come back early the following morning to take us to Villefranche
for the reception, followed by a lecture by some Russian expert.’

‘What on?’

‘The Owl didn’t
say. Anyway, over there you can see La Garoupe Beach, where Amanda and I, and
sometimes Jonathan, used to go some years ago. That is before he sold his
software company. The water is very warm and the beach faces east, so you have
the sun behind you and not in your eyes from midday onwards. Some people come
by boat and moor offshore. Those that do not have their own launch can phone
the restaurant or hotel and ask to be fetched by pedalo. We’ll come back here
tomorrow evening for old times’ sake.’