SOME WILL DIE
Knightsbridge London three in the morning two days before. One of the Regency mansions in a row around a neat small square. Around the back, behind the tall brick wall, a shadow beneath an open sash window shifted and slipped over the sill to crouch on the sitting room floor. Waited as the moon momentarily appeared from behind thick clouds casting enough illumination to show all he needed to know. Slid the window shut. A slight breeze through the round hole in the glass beneath the lock shifted his hair then soft soled sneakers moved him towards the closed door. The handle moved but the door caught. No problem, locks are easily picked. Pushed the door but the intruder hadn’t realised his mistake. He hadn’t noticed the minute electronic sensor located in a hinge screw hole as he crept towards the stairs.
In the main bedroom Joe Ricci immediately heard the triple ping from beneath his pillow. Instantly alert the satin sheets crumpled as he slid to stand barefoot. Calmly grabbing the nine millimetre from the bedside drawer he screwed on the silencer. Flicked off the safety. Moved two pillows lengthways down the bed, shifted the duvet then silently stood behind the open door, gun pointing at head height.
The faintest sound. Single footsteps on the stairs. Not loud enough to have woken him but at this moment, in the darkness, in the silence, they sounded like elephant’s feet. Halfway up he judged and moving stealthily. Took a deep breath. Lips slightly pursed as he exhaled. Flexed his fingers. A subtle squeak. The slightly loosened floorboards on the landing. Firmed his stance. Adjusted his grip, finger poised. Let the shadow enter. Let the outstretched gun silently pop three holes in the pillows then… he
squeezed the trigger. Immediately shifted as the body slumped and smiled at watering eyes staring up at him. Pressing his gun hard against the man’s forehead he snapped, “Who sent you?”
Was that a grin, an attempted laugh? Whatever, the spluttering of blood told him a life had become irredeemable.
Across town, two days later, a hotel near Covent Garden. The man in the black suit shifted slightly as he listened to the receptionist’s soft smooth voice drift into the phone. Heard her say his name, Steven James. She glanced at him as she listened to the reply. Blinked once then looked at the desk. Picked up the A4 manilla envelope with her left hand.
“Yes, that’s what I said, an envelope. A4.” Obviously, a reply to a question. “Yes, Steven James,” she repeated.
Steve glanced up at the camera behind the reception desk. The one that was directed over that immediate area of the foyer. Smiled; CCTV held no concern for him but it did add a complication. His gaze returned to stare at the receptionist. Putting down the envelope she rested her hand on the desktop, index finger tapping. Glancing again her eyes caught his and immediately looked away. Her fingers started drumming the desk. His dark penetrating eyes she found stark and intimidating. Initially she had been attracted to this tall man as he pushed the entrance door and casually strode across the foyer. What was there not to like. Thirties, at the low end. Dark jacket undone and flapping. Pale blue shirt, no tie. Wide, strong, sturdy looking shoulders. Long swept back dark hair framed a rugged face that smacked of fun. Now though the way he stood, the way he looked at her, the way those eyes… A shiver slithered down her spine and that really surprised her. So out of character.
She glanced behind. Up at the camera. The other receptionist had disappeared out the back and on her own she suddenly felt vulnerable. Stammering into the receiver she asked, “Are you there?” and waited. Her left-hand fingers started to fiddle with a pen. Steve said nothing. Other than the initial, “Grant Henderson, please,” he had not said another word except, “I want to give him this,” as he had handed her the envelope and stared with those dark brown eyes.
Steve moved closer. Leant on the front of the desk. His face less than a couple of feet from hers. As the phone came to life he could just make out, “Tell him I don’t want to see him. Tell him I don’t want it,” then a click.
Momentarily the receptionist held onto the phone before replacing the receiver. Took a couple of seconds to settle, to get her act together, to reset her composure. Pushing the envelope towards Steve she confidently said, “Sorry, he says he doesn’t want to see you or want the envelope,” the words framed with a tight-lipped smile.
Steve ignored it. “Phone him again.” The words so close she could smell lunch. Something oriental.
“But…”
“Call him.” That made her fume. Her frown stared at Steve, head slightly cocked, “Do it,” he snapped and her teeth pulled on her bottom lip.
Eyes smouldering, she stabbed out 233. Grant Henderson answered but before she could speak Steve snatched the phone, “You’ll really want to see what’s inside,” he said.
There was a pause. Then, “First I want to know how you found me.”
“Think about it, it was easy, your mistress, she likes money more than protecting you. All I had to do was tempt her and buy her sushi. If you want to hide, rule one, don’t call anyone. Now, do you want this, it’s dynamite.”
Another pause. Then, “Okay, leave it but I won’t see you. I don’t want to see anyone.”
Steve James handed back the phone. Pushed the envelope towards the receptionist, “Did you hear that?” He asked. Then seeing her fury, he slowed down, “Please, can you have it taken up straight away. I’ll wait.”
As the receptionist pressed a couple more buttons Steve slung her a half smile and moved to the set of four contemporary chairs around a low glass top table covered with a neat pile of newspapers and sat facing the street door. Glanced around the foyer. Smart, as you would expect in a top London hotel. Open double doors at one end. The bar with the entrance to a swanky restaurant. Five in the afternoon was a quiet time. People who had been out were back and people who were arriving had checked in so just a few hanging about. A couple chatted close to him. The guy suddenly glanced towards activity at the street door. Then sighed and looked away. A woman barged past a man going out as she rushed into head towards the stairs. A man with a nondescript plump face, wire rimmed glasses and wearing a heavy looking dark blue jacket with a bulging pocket sat in the corner blankly staring out of the street window seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
The receptionist hung up the phone and a porter appeared. Handing him the envelope she said something and nodded towards Steve. Glancing once the porter headed towards the stairs. Maybe five minutes later he was back. Looked at the receptionist and nodded. Moving around the desk she stood in front of Steve. Waited a moment trying to collect some words together but, in the end, coldly said, “It’s delivered.”
Steve stood, smiled and handed her tightly rolled notes, “Thank you,” he said scowling as he moved towards the street door.
Returning to the desk she unrolled the narrow tube and stared at five twenties as she shielded them from the camera trying to spy over her shoulder. Glanced around the foyer. No staff. The lady had disappeared up the stairs. Four guests coming out of the lift. The seated couple not looking her way. The man still sitting in the corner staring out of the window. Pulling off one note she put it in the gratuities box under the countertop and tucked the rest down the shallow V of her grey dress into her bra. Leant both hands on the counter and sighed long and hard. A new experience. He was the first person to ever get her flustered. Looked up and stood straight. Pulled her hands through her long dark hair to smile at the guest who had entered the foyer from the bar. Who was sauntering her way. This one she knew. He had been staying for three days. An American, Theo Morales. Nice man. Quietly spoken and funny.
“Hi Kate. Nice day, eh?” he said as he stood in front of her. He liked this girl, so beautiful but not so sweet, he was sure of that. Took in the slim figure that made her look fragile but that didn’t fool him, he suspected the exact opposite. Neat looking. A good luck face, a natural great look but he was one of the few who noticed the hard edge that, for him, gave her away. This was one deceptively tough cookie, he thought, one of those with charm who knew the ropes and how to make the most of them without getting wrapped up in knots.
“It is,” Kate smiled, “how can I help you?” She just loved his soft American accent.
“I’m dining out tonight. I know it’s presumptuous, but would you like to join me?”
Kate hesitated, a whole heap of questions and doubts instantly cropped up. Sure, he was good looking but how old was he? The greying temples. She had to guess near fifty. Perhaps nearly twice her age. Did it matter. Maybe, but… did it really matter. Did she know him well enough… no… but… did she like him. Definitely. Was she attracted to him… certainly. Rich… probably. So, this might be an opportunity. Well then… “That would be lovely, thank you. My shift ends at eight,” she smiled.
“I know. I’ve booked a table for nine-thirty. Nice place, Italian. Only a fifteen-minute walk. You’ll like it. Say, is that enough time for you to get ready?”
She knew the place and it was good. Very authentic. “Certainly,” she replied, “I live in the hotel while I’m working.”
“I know. Shall I meet you down here at eight-forty-five?”
If she had noticed she did not seem to be concerned he had appeared to have done some homework. Nor did she ask herself if that was the case how much did he know about her. Instead, she said, “The cocktail bar around the corner. Could we meet there? The hotel, you know.”
“Sure, I understand. There’s nothing like a bit of discretion.”
Kate smiled, “Thank you for understanding. I’ll be there by eight-forty.”
“No problem, we’ll have time for a drink. Already looking forward to it,” Theo said as he turned towards the stairs but stopped to look at the information board leaving Kate watching the back of his expensively tailored grey suit with an amused smile. She sighed again. What a day. First a very difficult sinister encounter that had momentarily unnerved her and now an offer of hopefully first-class entertainment. All within the space of thirty minutes. She pondered for a moment. Forty minutes, that was enough, shower, change and… the phone rang breaking her thoughts about what to wear. It didn’t even occur to her to consider what Theo wanted. She just assumed company and, of course sex, both of which she had no doubt would be enjoyable.
As Steve James hit the pavement the blue jacket in the corner stood, took a final glance out of the window at the back of the black jacket striding towards Trafalgar Square and moved towards the lift. Saw the arrow light pointing up so headed to the stairs. The stairs he had always intended to take. Walked past Theo, up two flights and through the fire door, along the corridor to stop outside room 233. Knocked and waited but to the side out of sight of the spy hole.
“Who is it?” drifted through the door.
“The porter again. Sorry I forgot there’s a second package for you,” The man glanced each way down the corridor.
“I’m not expecting anything.”
“The man, Steven James, was insistent. My job, you know, I just do what I’m told.” Took time to look along the corridor again. Heard the lift whir. Stared at the lift doors. Then the stairwell door maybe judging the distance. The lift carried on up.
“I’m not sure,” came the reply.
“Okay, no problem, I’ll slip it under the door.” The man pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and slipped the corner under the door so it would protrude into the room. Wiggled it back and forth. “It’s too fat,” he said, “it’s stuck.”
There was a pause then, “Okay, step back and I’ll open the door.”
As the door moved the man suddenly lunged forward. Barged inside. Slammed the door against the wall as he shoved Grant Henderson hard. Kicked the door shut and, with both hands, pushed Grant Henderson along the short entrance hall to fall onto the bed next to the manilla envelope.
“Hey,” Grant shouted. “What do you want?” An understandable statement but meaningless. He saw the man glance at the envelope.
The .22 slipped neatly out of the man’s jacket pocket. He took a long few moments to slowly screw on the silencer all the time grinning at the pale face staring up at him as he moved closer. Henderson’s protests were loud as he backed across the bed screwing up the covers. Rolled over onto the floor. Shuffled on his back towards the window. The man slowly followed, still grinning. Henderson ended up half sitting with his back leaning on the wall. The man stood over him, legs astride, ignoring the “Please don’t,” plea as his grin widened. Three phuts. Two in the heart and one in the exact centre of Grant Henderson’s forehead.
The man stared until the body gave one final twitch then unscrewed the silencer. Replaced the gun in his pocket and picked up the envelope. Opened the door and glanced each way. Quickly pulled the door half-shut as the lift pinged. The lift door whirred shut. Another glance. Quickly out, shut the door and towards the stairs. Stopped, cursed, realised he'd left his envelope laying on the floor. The lift whirred and stopped - too late, he’d have to leave it. Back through the fire door as the lift pinged and down the first few steps. Theo Morales, on the way up, nodded a friendly hello but the man barged past, slightly dipped and squashed Theo against the handrail ruffling his jacket then took the stairs down two at a time. Leather slapped the carpeted treads until the ground floor door slammed shut.
Thinking nothing of the rough treatment Theo glanced at the stairwell camera and climbed to the third floor, took his keycard from the ticket pocket of his suit jacket and entered suite 340. Slipped off the jacket and carefully hung it in the wardrobe by the en-suite. Loosened his blue silk tie. As he moved into the room, he casually tossed the manilla envelope onto the dressing table, smiled and grabbed the bottle of fifty-year-old bourbon that had been patiently waiting for his return. That girl, Kate. Meeting in the cocktail bar was what he had always intended; it was just better she made the choice. It was never a problem, though, he had known she would and that’s why he’d chosen her, she was that professional.
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