The automatic doors parted and I walked into the frenzy of the arrivals lounge. Drivers were holding up name cards, families were clutching flowers and teddy bears, and they were all looking hopefully at each face that came through the sliding doors. All I wanted was a big dose of caffeine.
I wandered over to Starbucks and got myself about a pint and a half of cappuccino. Tucking myself away in the corner, I got out the 3C and the mobile and switched them both on.
I found the number I wanted and waited an age for the mobile to get a signal. The new Bosch mobiles worked on both worldwide and U.S. frequencies;
there wasn't 100 percent coverage here yet, but it was getting better. They had completely changed the way we worked. Phones had been around for ages that could do the same job, but they weren't available commercially. On covert ops you can use only what you can buy at the Carphone Warehouse; if not, you'd stand out like dogs' bollocks. I hit the keys.
'Hellooo, Michael speaking.' The voice was camp and highly pitched, more like a game-show host than the personal assistant of a member of the 'other Foreign Office.'
'My name's Nick Snell,' I said.
'Oh, yes, I've been waiting to hear from you,' he said, and it was a mixture of warmth, excitement and pleasure, as if I were a long-lost friend.
'How are you?'
I was a bit taken aback. We didn't know each other, and going by the sound of his voice I wouldn't even buy a secondhand washing machine from him, yet he was talking to me as if I were his best mate from way back.
'I'm fine,' I said, feeling a smile spread across my face.
'How are you?'
He came back with, 'I'm just Jim Dandy!' Then he tried to switch to serious mode.
'Now then, where do you want to meet me?'
All of a sudden I wondered if I was on a radio stitch-up show and started to laugh. I said, 'I'll leave that to you. After all, it's your town, isn't it?'
'Oh, and what a town!' He clearly couldn't wait to share it with me.
There was a little pause, then he said, 'I tell you what, I'll meet you at the Bread and Chocolate Bakery. It's a coffee shop on the corner of M and 23rd. They do fantastic mocha, and it's not far from the apartment. Now, do you know where M and 23rd is?'
I knew the area and I could read a map. I'd find it.
'I've got to pick a car up first--I'll be there in about two hours' time. Will that fit in with you?'
For reasons best known to himself, he came back with a mock-Texan drawl.
'Why, sure, Nick.' He laughed.
'I'll be the beach ball with the blue shirt and the red tie; you won't be able to miss me.'
I said, 'I'm wearing jeans, a blue checked shirt and a blue bomber jacket.'
'See you there. By the way, parking is an absolute bitch this time of day, so good luck to you. See you there, M and 23rd. Byeee!'
I hit the 'end' button and shook my head. What the fuck was that all about?
I was only two blocks away when I got held up in slow-moving traffic.
With its tall buildings and narrow roads, the area around M and 23rd reminded me of the more upscale areas of New York. Even the weather was the same as on my visits to the Big Apple: cloudy, but warm. Trust Sarah to live around here, I thought, but in fact it made sense. It wasn't far from Massachusetts Avenue, which more or less bisects the city from northwest to southeast, and all the embassies, missions and consulates are in the area, mainly in the northwest section.
As I filtered forward I saw the problem. The junction ahead was sealed off by D.C. police bikers, and we were being rerouted to the right. As I made the turn, a fleet of black Lincolns with darkened windows screamed through the crossroads. At the rear of the convoy was a bunch of four wheel-drive Chevy escorts and two ambulances, just in case the principal cut his finger. It looked as if either Netanyahu or Arafat was already in town.
The grid system in D.C. works with the lettered streets running east west and the numbers north-south. I found the junction I wanted easily enough, but there was no way I could stop. The one-way circuit on M street had a mind of its own, and Metal Mickey was right, parking was a gang-fuck. The street was lined with cars that had a firm grip on their meters and weren't letting go for anyone; another three laps of the block and I finally found a Nissan pulling away from a space on M, just past the junction I wanted.
I locked up, fed the meter and walked. Bread and Chocolate turned out to be a small coffee shop on the street level of an office and apartment
building, just fifteen meters farther down on the left side of 23rd. There was another coffee shop opposite, attached to a grocery store, but this was the better of the two. The interior looked so clean I felt I should have scrubbed up before going in. Long glass display cases were filled with Danishes and a million different muffins and sandwiches, and on the wall behind them was a coffee selection menu that went on forever. Everything looked so perfect I wondered if people were allowed to buy anything and mess up the displays.
The tables were white marble, small and round, just big enough to seat three. I sat facing the glass shop front and ordered a mocha a small one after the mother lode at the airport. The place was about a quarter full, mostly with smartly dressed office workers talking shop. I nursed my caffeine for the ten minutes that remained before our RV Right on time, in he walked, and a beach ball he certainly was. He had skin that was so clear it was virtually see-through, and black hair that was slightly thinning on top, which he'd gelled and combed back to make it look thicker. On his cheerful, chubby face he had fashionably round, black-rimmed glasses, behind which a pair of clear blue eyes were looking twice their natural size because of the thickness of the lenses. He was wearing a shiny, gray, single-breasted suit, bright blue shirt and red tie, all set off nicely by a little burn-fluff goatee beard. He must have been about forty pounds overweight, but was tall with it, over six feet. His jacket had all three buttons done up and was straining to contain the load. He spotted me just as easily and came over, hand outstretched.
'Well, hellooo. You must be Nick.'
I shook his hand, noticing his soft skin and immaculate, almost feminine, fingernails. We sat down and the waiter came over immediately maybe Metal Mickey was a regular. Pointing at my coffee, he looked up and smiled.
'I'll have one of those, please.' The aroma of the mocha was no match for his aftershave.
The moment the waiter was out of earshot, he leaned forward, unnaturally close to me.
'Well then, all I've been told is to help you while Sarah's away.' I was about to reply, but he was off again.
'I must say, I'm quite excited about it. I've never been involved with someone else's PV review before. Just my own, of course. Anyway, so here I am, all yours!' He finished in a grand gesture, with his hands in the air in mock surrender.
Grabbing my chance, I said, 'Thanks, that certainly makes things a lot easier. Tell me, when was the last time you saw her? I'm not too sure how long she's been away.'
'Oh, about three weeks ago. But what's new? She's here, there and everywhere, isn't she?'
The coffee came and Metal Mickey's head turned as he said thanks to the waiter. The light caught it just right and I could see the scarring where the plate had been inserted an area about three inches by two of slightly raised skin. I just hoped that no one on a nearby table answered their cellular phone, because he'd probably leap up and start doing the conga.
He picked up his coffee cup, got his podgy lips over the rim and sucked away at the froth. He put it down again with a big 'Ah!' and smiled, then was straight back into it.
'Yes, three weeks ago was the last time. I don't worry much about her comings and goings. I just make sure things are running smoothly here.' He hesitated, like a child who wants something from a parent and is trying to pluck up courage. I was almost expecting him to start playing with his fingers and shuffling his feet.
'I've been thinking, is her review because she's due to return to the U.K.? If so, it's just that I wondered ... would I have to go back, too? I mean, not that I wouldn't want that, but it's just...'
I caught his drift and cut in.
'I don't think she, or you, will be going home soon, Michael. Unless you want to.' I decided not to hit him
