'He said you're to phone him. You have his mobile number, right?'
Rojas nodded.
'Right. Did he tell you what I'd do to you, when I found out that you'd set me up?' He took a small automatic from his coat pocket.
The man smiled.
'He said you'd be a professional. He said you'd appreciate the irony. And he said he'd transfer a quarter of a million dollars to any account you nominate. I'm to give him the account number in person.'
Rojas looked at the man. A smile slowly spread across his face and he put the gun away.
'He is a good judge of character,' he said.
'Luckily for you.'
'Yeah, that's him,' said Shuker, peering through his binoculars.
'Charlie Macfadyen. Big wheel in Edinburgh. Brings in most of the city's coke and heroin. Don't know the other guy, though.'
'Wonder what it was all about?' said Jenner, as the motor-drive on his SLR clicked and whirred. Down in the street, the two men walked away from Donovan's house towards a gleaming red Ferrari.
'Dunno. They went in looking like they were going to kill him, and half an hour later they're best of friends.'
The bedroom door opened and two men walked in Shuker and Jenner's replacements. One of them was carrying a copy of the Evening Standard.
'You seen this?' he said, tossing the paper to Shuker.
Shuker looked at the headline, then held it up for Jenner to read.
'You thinking what I'm thinking?' asked Shuker.
Jenner nodded.
Donovan switched off the noise generator and put it back on the sideboard. His ears ached from the constant static sound. He paced up and down as he went through his options. Carlos Rodriguez had lost his cocaine and his money and would be looking for revenge. Donovan had managed to talk around Macfadyen and Jordan, but Rodriguez wouldn't be so easy. And if Rodriguez sent his nephew, Donovan doubted that he'd even be given a chance to explain.
Donovan could run, but wherever he went the Colombians would find him eventually. And running would mean leaving Robbie behind. The only way to mollify Rodriguez would be to reimburse him for the lost cocaine or to find out who had given up the deal to the authorities, and he wasn't in a position to pursue either option. Donovan cursed. He had no room to manoeuvre. None at all. He was virtually out of funds, stuck in the UK, and top of the most wanted list. Donovan couldn't see how it could get any worse.
He put on a brown leather jacket, picked up three fully charged mobile phones and slotted them into various pockets. He rolled up the Evening Standard, got the keys to the Range Rover, secured the house, and drove off. He didn't bother sweeping the car or looking for a tail. He drove to Marble Arch and parked in an underground car park, then walked to Marble Arch Tube station. He bought a one-day Travelcard allowing him unlimited use of the underground system, then caught a Central Line train to Oxford Circus station.
After twenty minutes of swapping trains and lines, he finally got off at Charing Cross. He spent ten minutes walking aimlessly around the station, checking reflections, doubling back, walking into dead ends. He was clean. He was sure he was clean.
He went over to a bank of public phones and shoved in his BT phone card. He called Directory Enquiries for the number of the Intercontinental and then called the hotel and asked for Rodriguez's room. The receptionist said he'd checked out two days earlier. Donovan replaced the receiver. With any luck, Rodriguez had gone back to Colombia. That at least gave Donovan some breathing space. Maybe.
He dialled the Spaniard's number, but the answer machine kicked in. Donovan didn't identify himself, just asked Rojas to call him on the mobile.
Next he called the Yardie whom Macfadyen had brought in on the Colombian coke deal. The man answered.
'Yo?'
'PM?'
'Who wants to know?'
'I'm a friend of Macfadyen's.'
'So?'
'So he wanted me to talk to you.'
'I'm listening.'
'Face to face.'
'Fuck that.'
'He thought I should explain why the deal he cut you in on has gone belly up.'
'Say what?'
'Can you read, PM?'
'What the fuck you mean?'
'Buy the Standard. Front-page story. When you've read it, call me back on this number.' Donovan gave him the number of one of the mobiles he was carrying, then hung up.
He used another of his mobiles to phone Underwood. The detective wasn't pleased to hear from Donovan, but Donovan cut his protests short and told him to call him back as soon as possible.
Donovan's next call was to Jamie Fullerton. He arranged to meet him at his gallery later that afternoon. Finally he called Louise.
Donovan sat on a bench in Trafalgar Square, rereading the article on the cocaine bust. One of the mobiles rang. Donovan pressed the green button. It was PM.
'What the fuck's going on, man?' asked PM.
'Your phone clean?'
'Only had it two days, and after this the Sim card goes in the trash.'
'You don't know me, PM, but you know of me. I put Macfadyen on to the deal. He cut you in. He wants me to talk through what happened.'
'Where and when?'
'This evening. Say seven.'
'Where?'
'You choose. I don't want you jumpy.'
'You being funny?' bristled the Yardie.
'I was actually being considerate. Letting you choose the turf.'
PM gave him the address of a house in Harlesden, then cut the connection.
Donovan waited, then walked around the square, watching tourists photographing themselves next to the huge lions that stood guard around Nelson's Column.
Louise arrived at two o'clock, walking up the steps of the National Gallery and standing at its porticoed entrance. She was wearing sunglasses and a long dark blue woollen coat with the collar turned up. Donovan watched her from the square until he was sure that she hadn't been followed.
She waved as she saw him walking towards her. He hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
'Thanks for coming,' he said.
'It's all very mysterious,' she said.
'Yeah, sorry. Had to be. Come on in.'
'In here?'
'Sure. You never been inside an art gallery before?'
'Never.'
'You'll love it.'
Donovan ushered her inside and to the right, into the East Wing.
'God, it's huge,' whispered Louise.
Donovan grinned.
'You don't have to whisper, it's not a funeral.'
