“They won’t be hard to find,” Kellner muttered. “There can’t be that many tall buildings in London. All we’re looking for is a dish stuck on the side.”
“And there is one other possibility,” the prime minister added. He glanced at Blunt. “This woman, Julia Rothman. She knows where the dishes are located. Can you find her?” Blunt showed no emotion at all. He didn’t look at anyone in the room. His eyes were empty slits. “It is possible,” he said. “We can try.”
“Then I suggest you get on to it straight away.”
“Very well, Prime Minister.”
Blunt got to his feet. Sir Graham nodded and Alex stood up too. He was suddenly feeling very tired, as if he had been in this room for days.
“It’s been very good to finally meet you, Alex.” the prime minister said. “Thank you for all you’ve done.” He could have been thanking Alex for serving tea and biscuits. A moment later Alex was forgotten. He and Blunt left the room.
Alex knew what they would want him to do.
He said nothing as he and Blunt were driven back to Liverpool Street. Blunt didn’t speak either, apart from once, just as they were pulling out of Downing Street.
“You did very well in there, Alex,” he said.
“Thank you.”
It was the first time the head of MI6 Special Operations had ever complimented him.
And finally they entered the room on the sixteenth floor, the office Alex knew all too well. Mrs Jones was waiting for them. It was the first time Alex had seen her since he had tried to kill her. She looked exactly the same as he always remembered her. It was as if nothing had happened between them. She was dressed in black, her legs crossed. She was even sucking one of her peppermint sweets.
There was a brief silence as Alex came in.
“Hello, Alex,” she said.
“Mrs Jones.” Alex felt uncomfortable, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he muttered.
“I think there’s something you should know, Alex. It’s important.“ She glanced at Blunt. ”Did you tell him?”
“No.”
She sighed and turned back to Alex. “I know you think you took a shot at me, but you didn’t. We’ve worked out the angles. The bullet wouldn’t have come close. You were less than two metres away from me and there was no way you could have missed accidentally, so—as far as I can see—something stopped you at the last second.
As much as you hate me—and I suppose you’ve every right to—you weren’t able to shoot me in cold blood.”
“I don’t hate you,” Alex said. It was true. He felt nothing.
“Well, you don’t need to hate yourself either. Whatever Scorpia may have told you, you’re not one of them.”
“Shall we get down to business?”
Blunt took his place behind his desk. Briefly he outlined what had happened at Cobra. “They’ve made all the wrong decisions,” he concluded. “They’re going to look for the dishes—as if they have any hope of finding them. They think an evacuation would be too difficult.”
“Kellner.” Mrs Jones spoke the name with a heavy voice.
“Of course. The prime minister always does what he says. And the trouble is, Kellner’s completely out of his depth. It seems to me we have only one hope.”
“You want me to go back,” Alex said.
It was obvious. Blunt had been told to find Julia Rothman. But he had already admitted that he didn’t know where she was. Nobody did. Only Alex might be able to find her. He had a phone number; they were expecting his call.
“They’ll know I failed,” he said. “At least, they’ll know I was taken prisoner by you.”
“You could escape,” Mrs Jones suggested. “Scorpia won’t know if I’m alive or dead. You could tell them you killed me and that you managed to escape from us later.”
“They might not believe it.”
“You’ll have to make them.” Mrs Jones hesitated. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Alex,” she went on. “After everything that’s happened, I’m sure you never want to see any of us again. But you know the stakes now. If there was any other way…”
“There isn’t,” Alex said. He had made up his mind before he had even left Downing Street. “I can call them. I don’t know if it’ll work; I don’t know if they’ll even answer. But I can try.”
“We’ll just have to hope that they take you to Julia Rothman. It’s our only chance of finding her, and maybe she’ll lead us to the dishes.” Blunt reached out and pressed a button on his phone. “Please could you send Smithers up,” he murmured into the machine.
Smithers. Alex almost smiled. It struck him that Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones had already planned this.
They had known they would be sending him back and they had already told Smithers to come up with whatever gadgets he would need. That was typical of MI6. They were always one step ahead. Not just planning the future but controlling it.
“This is what I want you to do,” Blunt explained. “We’ll arrange an escape for you. If we make it spectacular
