No Mercy (35 page)

Marler reached into his trouser pocket, brought out four fifty-pound notes, kept them in his hand. He'd extracted
them from his wallet earlier. This was not the sort of area
where you showed a wallet. She stubbed out the cigarette
she was smoking in a tiny ashtray, lit another.

'The motorbike tells me something.' She looked at her empty hand. 'Haven't got any dosh yet.'

'Tell me, I'll decide if it's any good. If it's
very
good you
get what I'm holding.'

'There's a Mrs Hogg. That's what she is, a hog for cash.
I'd never stay there. So here's the address . . .'

After leaving Heel Lane at high speed, Charmian had made
his way back to London. He wasn't happy. He'd botched the job a third time. No precedent for that - he always pulled off
an assignment first time.

He moved fast on his Harley Davidson, keeping a sharp
eye open for where a patrol car might be parked. To hell with
speed limits. The gun he had used to try to kill Tweed the
first time, a weapon with the numbers filed off, was now in a field he'd tossed it into.

Before starting out on this mission he had shaved off his
curved moustache. His dark hair was concealed under a
baseball cap. The telescopic ladder he had used to scale the
wire fence at the Gantia plant was at the bottom of a pond
miles away. The rifle he'd used to shoot at Tweed at Ivy
Cottage was buried in the mud of a lake he'd passed.
Charmian was a professional.

Eventually arriving in London, he had crawled through
Soho, which he had earlier in the day reconnoitred. Feeling
like a drink, he had entered several 'clubs', including the one
patronized by Marler's bottle blonde. Here he had made his
only mistake.

Approached by a woman Charmian had brushed her
aside. His remark had not been complimentary: 'I can do much better than you elsewhere . . .'

Which was why the blonde girl had followed him, to see
which establishment he had entered. Mrs Hogg's.
Checking that no one was watching, he wheeled his
machine into the alley at the back of her place, saw the fire escape running up past a first-floor room. With his gloved
hands he disabled the machine, which tomorrow would end up in the Thames.

He walked back up the narrow side street, which led to
the entrance. A board outside proclaimed,
rooms to let
-
by
the hour, or the day.
A blatant invitation which Mrs Hogg
kept there by passing the local policeman cash.

Beyond the entrance was a small reception area. Behind a
wooden counter stood a fat woman with greedy eyes. She wore a cheap dress, waited for him to speak.

'I need the room for three days,' Charmian began. 'On the
first floor. One with a fire ladder - I fear the fire.'

'That's five hundred quid. Where's the girl?'

'No girl.' Charmian leaned over the counter. Mrs Hogg didn't like that. She stepped back, nervous now. 'I do not
think anyone would pay this five hundred,' he said
quietly.

'Three hundred,' she managed to snap. 'That's rock
bottom. Don't think you can sneak in a girl up the fire
escape. It's locked with a chain at the bottom.'

'I just need the sleep.' He already had his wallet out,
placed three hundred pounds in fifty-pound notes on the
counter. 'You stupid Brit woman,' he went on. 'I say I need the sleep.'

'You can always go elsewhere,' Mrs Hogg shouted, after
grabbing hold of the money. 'Room 10. First floor. Up the stairs,' she sneered.

'You shut the stupid face.'

Holding the key she had given him, he walked up the
middle of the stairs, which creaked. Room 10 was small, had a double bed - he guessed why - and a small toilet closet. He
turned on the light, a forty-watt bulb, lifted the sheets and
mattress off the bed, shook the mattress. No bugs. He made the bed up again quickly, switched off the light, went to the
window.

He pulled back the curtains cautiously and stared down.
There was a fire escape just outside his window. The alley
below was a pool of darkness. As his night vision returned he
saw his machine. He tried to lift the window. It was stuck.
He took a deep breath, heaved with all his strength, jerked it up. That was how he would leave early in the morning.

The payment for three days was to fool Mrs Hogg into
believing he'd be there longer.

He took off his cap, his leather jacket and trousers.
Underneath was a pale-blue suit, which he kept on. He
removed his boots, reached round his back to the knife
tucked down inside a sheath behind his belt. It had a large
blade with a keen edge on both sides. Placing it on the table
beside the bed, he
fell fast asleep, leaving the light on.

An unrecognizable Marler walked into the small hall where
Mrs Hogg stood behind the counter, an old name board was
propped up in full view:
mrs dina hogg.

Marler had changed inside the toilet at the back of the
'club' where the blonde woman had given him the address. Having taken off his dark jacket, he turned it inside out, put it on. He was now clad in a light-blue jacket with yellow
checks - very sporty. Next he rammed a cap on, hiding his hair. Taking out a pair of large square-rimmed glasses, he put them on, stared into the mirror over the basin. It was a different man who gazed back at him. He slung the dark sheath containing the Armalite close to his side. No one in the 'club' who had noticed it had thought it wise to ask any
questions.

After lifting the bar across the exit door, he disappeared
into the outside world. Within ten minutes he was walking
inside the small hall where Mrs Hogg stood on guard.

'You on your own, too?' she rasped.

'Special Branch,' Marler hissed with a lisp. 'Have you a guest who speaks English with a French accent?'

He hoped he had guessed correctly.

'What if I have?'

'You did hear me say Special Branch? I don't want to have
to bring a team to turn this place over,' he warned, an air of
menace in his tone.

'Yes
...
yes
...
I have,' she stuttered. 'Room 10. A corner
room with a fire escape.'

'Don't make the mistake of phoning him while I'm
upstairs.'

He didn't like the look of the ancient worn wooden stairs. He walked slowly, placing his feet as far as possible to either
side. No creaks. Turning left along a narrow landing, he
paused in front of Room 10. The end room, so it was the
one with a fire escape and a window. Too dangerous to fiddle
with the lock.

He walked back downstairs in the same way he had come
up. Mrs Hogg's fat figure was shaking like a jelly. She was
wiping her sweaty hands on her dress. Marler nodded, said only one thing before he went outside.

'More than your life is worth to phone him. A dangerous
criminal . . .'

Outside he hurried back along the deserted side street, made his way back to the alley. He had a problem. He
couldn't fire his Armalite. Mrs Hogg would hear the shot.

The alley was pitch black. He used a torch to check there were no drink cans lying about. Kicking one would wake up
Charmian. He put a glove on his left hand, took out a picklock
with his right. It was a big lock. They were always the easiest
to open. Holding the lock with his gloved hand, he fiddled
with the pick, had it open in seconds. His gloved hand held on
to it so there was no risk of its clattering down into the alley.

He placed chain and lock on the floor, looked up. His eyes
were now accustomed to the dark. He was surprised to see
the room's window was wide open on a chilly night. Didn't
like anything abnormal. He climbed the rusty iron steps two
at a time, placing his feet carefully. The Armalite, ready for
action, was gripped in both hands. He paused outside the open window screened by a curtain.

He was listening for any sound - snoring, heavy breathing of a man fast asleep, the creak of bed springs as the occupant
quietly got up. Nothing. He would have to Use the barrel of
the rifle,
preferably to bring it down across the bridge of the
nose, alternatively across a kneecap.

He parted the curtain slightly, just enough to peer inside.
A feeble bedside light was on, perched on a table. It gave
him enough illumination to realize the bedroom was empty,
the bed linen thrown on the floor. He stepped over the sill,
crept to the tiny toilet room. Door open. Empty. The bird
had flown.

He remembered his foot making a slight creak when he had been on the landing. Very slight but enough to alert
Charmian. His reputation as a top professional was proving itself once more. Marler also checked the door leading into
the hall and found it locked.

He returned to the window, peered out cautiously, ran
down the staircase, slipping his Armalite back inside its sheath. He was whistling as he casually entered reception.
Mrs Hogg was standing in the same position as earlier.
Didn't the woman ever move?

'Your guest who was in Room 10 . . .' he began.

'He's gawn. 'Ad all his clothes on, bag over his shoulder,
said he wanted a drink.'

'Thank you,' said Marler.

'He'll be back,' she called after him as he left for the street.
'Paid for his room for three nights.'

'No, he won't,' Marler said to himself grimly.

Which meant Charmian was still on the prowl, God knew
where. It also meant he would try for the fourth time to
assassinate Tweed. Marler just hoped he'd be there to
prevent it.

22

Activity at Park Crescent in the middle of the night was frenetic. Paul and Tweed returned from Ivy Cottage to find
the whole team assembled. Marler immediately told them about his abortive attempt to kill Charmian.

'He'll try again,' he concluded.

'Then.' said Newman, 'we have to make sure enough of us
are with Tweed at all times.'

'No,' snapped Tweed. 'I have to operate alone or with
Paula.'

'Then in that case,' Harry insisted, 'you change your car.'

'No,' Tweed snapped again. 'That would mean Charmian is dictating my way of life. I'm used to my car.'

'OK,' Harry persisted, 'I'm the smallest. I travel
everywhere with you hunched up in the back. I'm going to
do it whether you like it or not.'

'Don't forget,' Paula reminded her chief, 'Harry saved us
both from that bomb. You've got to listen to him.'