Craddock, and two of the others pulling up fast in one of the school Audis and hustling Todd out of the back seat in a suitably protective scrum.
At a shout from Figgis that signified a gunshot, they had to get their principal back into his car, throwing themselves on top of him to provide body cover, and then get the vehicle away from the danger zone as rapidly as possible. They were piling in on top of the phys instructor with great gusto, eager to get their revenge for the punishing early morning regime any way they could.
“Do it again. That was crap,” Figgis said mildly when they’d finished. “You’re anticipating too much. This time there might be a threat, or there might not. I’ll decide. And don’t forget, you’re supposed to be blending in with a big business atmosphere. If you do every de-bus like that, you’ll give your principal a nervous breakdown inside the first day. Not to mention breaking most of his ribs.”
He glanced round at the sheepish faces. “You’re supposed to be giving him confidence, making him feel protected, not looking like you’re expecting a full-scale assault every time. If you was looking after me like that, you’d be frightening me to death. Go on. Get back out there and do it again.”
The rest of us stood and grinned as they set up for another run, but as I watched them swing the car round again I suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that I, too was being watched.
I turned my head to find O’Neill standing a few feet away. He was regarding me narrow-eyed through the smoke from his cigarette. When he saw that I’d clocked him, he took that as his invitation to come over.
“I was just thinking back to our little conversation in the pub last night,” he said, a mite too pally in his approach.
I said, “Oh yes,” in what I hoped were entirely neutral tones, while I frantically searched my memory for anything I might have said that he could possibly have taken encouragement from. After a few moments I gave it up as futile.
“Yeah,” he said. He put his head on one side and looked at me with an expression of exaggerated puzzlement playing across his scarred features. “Y’know there’s something familiar about you. I thought that first time I saw you. I keep getting this feeling that I know you from somewhere.”
I cocked him a quick look to check that it wasn’t a chat-up line. Believe it or not there are still some guys out there who think that kind of remark qualifies.
“I don’t think so,” I said, turning away. Jan, standing close enough to overhear the exchange, flicked me a sympathetic glance. Hofmann’s group had started their approach now. I concentrated on watching them roll to a halt and begin their second de-bus.
“You sure about that are you now, Charlie?” O’Neill said softly. He’d moved to just behind my shoulder. There was something intimately knowing in his voice, the blur of it halfway between a threat and a caress.
“I guess I must just have that kind of face,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Is that right?” O’Neill murmured. “Well I got to thinking about coincidences, and how I don’t believe in them. Two crack shots, one after another,” he repeated his words from last night, emphasising them with two taps on my shoulder. I suppressed the urge to scratch. “I
I didn’t reply to that and when I next glanced round, he’d gone. I found myself clutching a desperate wish for him to suffer sudden, total, and irrevocable amnesia.
***
After the driving we were in the classroom until lunch, learning about the organisation behind successful bodyguard work. Checking out hotels, restaurants, itineraries, schedules. It would have been right up Shirley’s street, had she lasted that long.
Just before the lesson finished, Gilby dropped it on us that we’d be back in Einsbaden over the course of the next few days, carrying out site surveys of the village.
“For the purposes of the exercise, your principal is going to be staying there. He wants to relax, see the sights, visit the local bar and cafe,” he told us. “You need to know where the dangers could come from, and your best escape routes.” He picked up his notes and gave us his usual parting cool stare. “You will be tested on this.”
At lunch, ignoring the table manners that had been drummed into me since I was a child, I bolted my food as fast as I could shovel it in. It was efficient rather than stylish, but I managed to get my lunch finished before anyone else and almost ran up the stairs. This time, when I dialled Sean’s number, it was picked up on the third ring.
“Sean!” I said, the relief like a weight lifted. “Thank Christ for that. Where have you been?”
“No, sorry,” said Madeleine’s ever-efficient voice. “He’s not here at the moment. If you’d like to tell me what you need, though, I’ll try and help.”
“Where’s Sean?” I demanded, feeling cheated.
“He’s away. Rush job,” Madeleine said carelessly. “Some Arab prince flew in for a quick shopping trip and he won’t venture into the jungles of Knightsbridge without Sean by his side. Don’t worry. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
I sat on Shirley’s empty bed and stared at the rain slanting across the window. Below me I heard an engine and when I looked down I saw Major Gilby returning from some short run out in the platinum-coloured Skyline. He walked a couple of strides away from the car, then turned and looked back at it for a moment, disinclined to hurry despite the weather. I was too far away to see his expression, but I knew that look. Pride. New toy.
At the other end of the line there was silence for a second longer, then Madeleine said, “So, what’s been happening over there?”
I vacillated over launching into the whole story, or waiting until Sean was back. In the end I decided any other viewpoint was better than none.
“We went out for a bit of R&R in Einsbaden last night,” I said, “and one of the lads, McKenna, got a bit out of hand.”
“With you?”
“No, he had a go at one of the instructors – guy called Blakemore.” I could have added more detail, but some perversity made me want her to have to ask for more information.
“Blakemore. He’s the unarmed combat man, isn’t he?” she said. I should have known she’d be fully up to speed on all the major players in this drama. “McKenna’s a brave boy. He must have been pretty drunk.”
“That’s just the thing,” I said. “He was making out that he was completely sloshed, but when I caught up with him outside, he was sober as a judge.”
“Hmm, you wouldn’t say that if you knew many judges,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Of course,” she said, all trace of amusement gone. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That black Peugeot I told Sean about is back. They were hanging around outside the bar last night. Took off when they knew they’d been spotted. Any clues as to who they might be?”
“Mm, I’ve already been looking into that one,” Madeleine said, and I heard her rustling papers in the background. “Ah, here we are. The car is registered to a German security company who, in turn, have their roots in Russia. I get the impression the German company’s a front, but I’m still trying to get past the layers.”
“Russia?” I echoed, almost to myself. “Why would the Russians be interested in Gilby?” Something stirred in my mind, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I shook it off.
“That’s a good one. We’re working on it.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve found out any more about the identity of this German security agent have you?” I asked. “I’m getting a bit fed up of looking over my shoulder all the time.”
Madeleine sighed. “No, we’re still working on that, too. They’re not exactly the easiest people to get information out of.”
“Well, speaking of getting information out of people, I’ve had O’Neill hanging round me today, making noises about how he knows me from somewhere.”
“Hmm, not the most original line in the world,” she said.
