Niemand watched him go down the crowded pavement, slick as a fish through kelp. He took his bag and got out, left the car unlocked, keys in the ignition. He walked in the opposite direction to the phone seller. Cold drizzle, smells of cooking oil in the air. It took a long time to find a cab.
‘What is your desire?’
The driver was an Indian, a balding man with a moustache, a stern, worried face.
Jesus Christ, where to?
‘Victoria Station.’ It came to mind. What did it matter? At least he knew where Victoria Station was.
He leant back, felt his muscles let go, watched the world go by. Into a main road. Night traffic, heavy both ways. The driver said nothing.
They crossed a bridge. Presumably Battersea Bridge. He must have come this way on the back of Jess’s bike. On the other side of the bridge, the traffic was bad.
Who were these people trying to kill him? How did they find him?
He should give them the film in exchange for letting him leave the country. Ring the woman who’d betrayed him. No. That wasn’t the way it worked: they wanted the film and they wanted him dead. They knew he’d seen the film, he couldn’t be left walking around.
Jess. They would kill her too.
They would think she was in this with him. Why shouldn’t they think that? She’d picked him up on her bike. She’d taken him home. Of course, they’d think that.
‘Pull up anywhere you can,’ he said. ‘I’ll get out here.’
‘Well, this is not hardly worth my while, you said explicitly you wanted…’ Niemand found a twenty, showed it. ‘Just pull up,’ he said.
The driver didn’t look impressed, pulled to the kerb. Niemand didn’t say anything more, got out. It was the Kings Road, he recognised it, knew where he was. He leaned against a wall, got out the cellphone, found Jess’s number.
It rang. And rang. The little electronic sound.
It wasn’t going to be answered. He knew that.
He should have done this before. She had saved his life. Taken him onto her bike, into her house, organised his doctor.
And she had phoned him in time to save his life, save it for the second time.
There had been nothing in it for her. Nothing. She had simply done it for him. For another human being.
All I said was, Thanks very much. What kind of a person am I?
Ringing. Ringing.
The sound of being picked up. The button.
He closed his eyes for an instant. Thank God.
‘Yes?’
‘Jess?’
‘Who’s that?’ A woman.
It wasn’t Jess.
Jess was dead. He knew it.
‘A friend. Is she there?’
Silence. He thought the line had gone.
‘Con?’
Niemand let his breath go.
‘Yes.’ He said.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘They tried to kill me again.’
‘Where are you?’
He told her. He should have said thank you again and goodbye and sorry about your building, but he told her.
46
…HAMBURG…
The phone.
‘Mr Anselm?’
‘Yes.’
‘David Carrick from Lafarge in London. Does that mean anything?’
‘It does.’
The man had the kind of English voice Anselm disliked. Eton and the Guards. He’d come across a few of them. The pinstriped suits with a white stripe. Not blue, not red. White. When had he come across them?
‘Wonderful,’ said the man. ‘Good. We’re secure here, are we?’
‘What can be done has been done.’
‘Of course. That’s Latin, isn’t it? Totally rotten at Latin. I wonder if I can ask you to run a credit check? Someone new to the UK.’
Customs.
‘Name?’
‘Martin Powell.’ He spelled the surname. ‘Recent arrival, we would think. And we’d also like a general search, anything that turns up in the name. May I say that this could not be more urgent.’
‘You may. We’ll give it priority.’
‘Thank you. The numbers, you have them?’
In his segment of view, Anselm could see that the day was darkening.
‘We do.’
‘Immediate contact, please.’
They said goodbye.
47
…LONDON…
‘Let me be clear. I’m tired, I don’t want to be in this shithouse town.
We have the place, the cunt is there alone. Now one man is dead and two are in hospital with burns and the cunt is gone.’
‘Well, in essence.’
‘In essence? That means?’
‘Yes. Mr Price.’
‘So keep your fucken Limey talk for your old private school pals.
This’s a fuck-up of some size, not so?’
‘Yes. It is. But we had…’ ‘Who hired these people?’
‘We’ve used them before, Charlie, they’ve done…’ ‘You hired them?’
‘Well, ah, Dave…’ ‘Don’t be a prick. Don’t fucken shift the blame. Who’s the seller?
In fucken essence?’
‘We’re not sure right now. We’ll be…’ ‘That’s so fucken reassuring. You don’t even know who the cunt is.
We’re trying to kill some cunt, we don’t even know who he is.’
‘Haven’t had very long. This thing kind…’
‘
