Part 11 (1/2)

'Under cover,' said Marler. 'The Ear has darted into the shelter of a doorway.'

They had just reached their own shelter, close to a front door and under an overhang of a stone beam, when the cloudburst enveloped the street. Rain sluiced down at a slanting angle like a curtain of fine wires. Rivers of water ran down the street's gutters, the top of drainpipes overflowed, sending cascades of water down.

'That's why the Ear paused,' said Marler. 'He knew what was coming.'

Frequently he glanced out to make sure the Ear hadn't moved out of his shelter. The cloudburst ceased as quickly as it had erupted. They heard the storm drifting away to the east. Marler peered out again, stood stock-still.

'What's the matter?' Newman asked.

'The Ear is coming this way. I see now why he really paused.'

'Why?'

'Four men coming up the street this way. The Ear may be the target.'

It was the first time Newman had heard alarm in Marler's voice. He followed him, looked along the street. The small man was shuffling swiftly towards them. He must have recognized Marler, who had removed his gla.s.ses. He gestured over his shoulder, dived into another doorway.

Beyond him was a sinister cl.u.s.ter of four black opened umbrellas, feet walking under them. It wasn't possible when Newman first saw them to identify who was approaching - the cl.u.s.ter had the large umbrellas lowered, the feet steadily advancing beneath the shallow black cones. Then the front two umbrellas were elevated.

Each of the two visible men held handguns. Newman saw their weapons clearly as they pa.s.sed under a street lamp. Soon they would reach the doorway where the Ear was hiding. He grabbed for his Smith & Wesson.

'Not wanted,' Marler snapped. 'Leave this to me.'

He took something out of his raincoat pocket. Newman saw it was a grenade. Marler waved a hand sideways at the Ear, who responded instantly, diving inside another doorway. Crouching down, Marler thrust his right hand, holding the grenade, behind him. Pressing a b.u.t.ton, he rolled the object at high speed along the pavement.

It shot forward and the four umbrellas stopped moving. The object reached them, arriving in the middle of the group. There was a loud crack and the four men panicked, running along the pavement until they disappeared round a corner, their umbrellas waving madly.

'It was a dud,' Newman said. 'It should have killed them all.'

'Hardly.'

Marler was grinning as he stood up. He pulled his rain-covered coat away from his knees and waited for the Ear to reappear.

'What the h.e.l.l was it?' Newman demanded.

'One of the new devices cooked up by the boffins in the bas.e.m.e.nt back at Park Crescent. Looks like a grenade, it sounds like a grenade when it goes off. It explodes into tiny fragments you'd have trouble finding. It also contains a glue-like liquid which sprays all over the targets. They won't know what it is - probably be sure it's some kind of poison, which it isn't. I don't think we wanted dead bodies sprawled all over the pavement. We would have had a problem.

'Well, it worked. The thugs appear to have gone for good. They're probably rus.h.i.+ng back to the Emba.s.sy to get checked by a doctor.'

'Here comes the Ear,' Marler observed. 'I'll introduce him as a friend.'

The little man was shuffling towards them. He glanced over his shoulder twice. A cautious chap, Newman thought - which was probably why he had survived so long. He was close to them when he crossed the street and looked back again to see round the corner where the attackers had vanished. A shot rang out. One single shot.

The Ear staggered, stumbled against the wall of a house, slid down the wall, his legs extended in front of him. He lay slumped there, very still, as Marler ran to him with Newman at his heels, the Smith & Wesson in his hand. Marler bent over the p.r.o.ne form. A red patch was blossoming on the forehead. He opened his mouth, staring at Marler. Blood gurgled.

'Basil...' Another grim gurgle. 'Schwarz...'

Then nothing. Marler checked his neck pulse. He stood up slowly, gazed at Newman. There was sorrow in his eyes - something Newman had never seen before.

'He's dead,' Marler said slowly. 'Not one of the thugs - he looked back towards us a fraction of a second before the bullet hit him. From the angle he was facing, the shot came from the roof of those houses. The Phantom.'

'I'll kill that b.a.s.t.a.r.d when the moment comes,' Newman said.

'No, you won't.' Marler placed a hand on Newman's arm. 'He's my meat.'

9.

The taxi taking Paula home arrived close to the entrance to her flat. The driver had overshot the mark by a few yards. She got out into the quiet street, paid the driver, thanked him. She turned and walked the short distance back to the cul-de-sac.

Several cars were parked illegally by the kerb. It happened often at this late hour - wardens were rarely on duty at this time of night. An old lady approached her with a wrinkled hand held out.

'A fiver to save a soul,' she whined. 'I ain't eaten in two days. I'm droppin' with 'unger.'

The old woman had matted grey hair which hadn't been washed for Heaven knew how long. Her clothes were rags, held together in places with safety pins. Her beady eyes were pleading, at the end of their tether. Her thin lips trembled and her extended hand shook with the cold.

Paula tried to do two things at once. She pulled her shoulder bag in front of her, then used both hands to extract a five-pound note from her purse. Tired as she was she saw her shadow thrown by a street light on the damp pavement. Then she stiffened. There were two shadows.

With both hands holding her purse, she couldn't reach for her Browning in the special pocket. A rough hand grasped her throat. She lifted one foot to sc.r.a.pe it down the s.h.i.+n of her a.s.sailant. Then a pad was pressed against her face, covering her nose. She smelt chloroform. She tried to breathe out but the cold air had forced her to breathe in.

The old lady, bad teeth bared in an evil grin, blurred. Paula, as in a dream, was aware of the sound of a car door opening. Then she sagged, lost consciousness, knew nothing.

She was woozy, her eyes closed, her stomach threatening to erupt. She forced it to behave. She appeared to be sitting against some sort of couch. She kept her eyes closed. The fabric of the couch was well worn. She felt the hard edge of a wooden strut pressing against her back. It was icy cold. She forced herself to keep still.

She could hear the clump of hard shoes on a wooden floor. She opened one eye, then both eyes. A few yards away she could see who was making the clumping noise: The back of a short, thickset man with a bald head. The room was huge, like an old warehouse. She closed her eyes quickly as her captor began to turn round.

During her quick survey of her prison she had seen a large beam spanning the width of the warehouse, about ten feet above the floor. She felt sleepy, willed herself to keep awake. Something had been slung over the beam. She heard the clank of a chain.

That was what she had seen, a gleaming new chain with links about three inches wide. He was clumping about again, further away. Without moving her feet, she wriggled her toes. Anything to bring herself back to normal. The bald man had been holding something in his hand. A Colt automatic.

She became aware she no longer had her shoulder bag. He had her Browning somewhere. The feet came towards her. She knew when he stopped he was standing, gazing down at her. She kept her eyes closed, her body limp. He began to talk. Then she knew he was American, a coa.r.s.e voice.

'Wake up, lady. You and I are going to have a fun time. You've got things to tell me. Questions to answer. What the h.e.l.l is the matter with you? Wake up!'

He began to slap both sides of her face with his rough hand. She let her head flop from side to side with each blow. I have to get back to normal before he knows I'm conscious, she kept telling herself. The slapping stopped. He swore foully.

He was walking away from her again. She took in deeper breaths of the cold air without moving. Got to clear my head, get my strength back. I need more time. The clumping came back in her direction. She wasn't going to get more time. There was a musty smell which suggested a building that hadn't been opened for a long time. The heavy footsteps stopped in front of her.

'Wake up, you friggin' twist,' the coa.r.s.e voice ordered. 'If you don't you'll get a bucket of cold water over you. You're going to be sodden wet soon, whatever you do or don't tell me.'

Inwardly she cringed. What was he talking about?

There had been something very sinister in those last words.

Then his hands grasped her shoulders and he was shaking her from side to side. She kept her eyes tightly shut. His grip was strong and painful. She kept her body loose, let him go on shaking her. She was breathing in and out slowly, clearing her mind.

'OK. You get the bucket of water...'