Fear of the Fathers (40 page)

“What are you going to do then?” said Stella as Jennings finished.

“The only thing I can,” he said. “And that's leave the country. Grady's got me a false passport and we're flying out to the States tomorrow. I just came down here because I wanted to say goodbye and let you know I was okay.”

Stella saw the sadness in his eyes. “I'm glad you did,” she said, touching his hand. “But isn't it a bit risky going by plane?”

“That's what I thought. But you didn't recognize me, so there's a good chance that passport control won't.”

“That's true. But I wasn't looking out for you specifically. They're eagle-eyed little shits at the airport.”

“Well, it's a chance I'm going to have to take. I need to get out of the country until the heat dies down at least. I can regroup over in the States and take it from there.”

“There might be a safer way for you to get out,” she said, looking hopefully to Cronin.

Cronin felt the eyes of the table upon him. “Well, I suppose one more won't hurt,” he said. “As long as Stratton doesn't mind.”

“One more what?” said Jennings. “What's all this about Stratton? What the fuck's going on?”

Both Jennings and Grady sat stunned as Stella finished recounting her story.

“Well, I've heard it all now,” said Grady. “Are you putting us on?”

“Of course I'm not,” said Stella. “It's hardly something I'd make up. I didn't believe it myself until I saw him.”

Jennings quietly took it all in. The news that Stratton was alive had surprised him, but not as much as it should have done. The visions he'd been having somehow began to make sense. He wasn't sure how to take the news, however. On the one hand he was pleased that Stratton wasn't dead, but on the other…

“So you're suggesting that Jennings goes to India with you, Stratton, and this Oggi guy?” said Grady.

“Yes,” said Stella. “What do you think?”

“I guess it's less risky than flying, but it's hardly the good old US of A.”

“But he could fly on from there, he'd be less likely to be stopped in India.”

“Excuse me,” said Jennings. “I am here you know.”

“Sorry buddy,” said Grady. “What do
you
want to do?”

“What I want to do is expose Stone and Davis for the murdering scum that they are, get reinstated, and carry on with my duties…But seeing as that isn't possible, I'm pretty much in favour of joining these guys on their trip to India, if there's enough room on board. No offence Grady, but I just don't feel comfortable trying to get through passport control, heavily disguised or not. And besides, getting involved in this will take my mind off what's going on. And I suspect they could do with an extra body anyway.”

“Of course,” said Cronin. “It'll give us more options. A man of your experience will be a real asset. You can handle a gun and, more importantly, you can handle yourself.”

Jennings appreciated the compliment and felt his insides smile. Having a former member of the SAS saying you'd be an asset was high praise indeed. “I get by I suppose,” he said humbly.

“So that's all sorted then,” said Stella. “Tommy comes with us.”

Grady raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Tommy?” he said drily. His mirth, however, was short-lived, because at that moment a dark-haired biker appeared in the doorway. “Police!” he shouted urgently.

Jennings gave Grady an earnest look. “I'd better get out of here,” he said.

“That goes for both of us,” said Grady. “I don't need them questioning me.”

They both looked around frantically for possible exits.

“Quick!” said Tags. “Under the pool table!”

Without questioning the command Jennings dived under closely followed by Grady. As they did, Tags pressed a button next to the coin mechanism and wooden panels dropped down on each side of the table, covering the space beneath. They lay silently next to each other, hardly daring to breathe. Tags and Dino grabbed their beer bottles and placed them in front of themselves.

Two men in suits walked into the back room. One was youngish with black hair, the other was older and grey. Stella thought they looked vaguely familiar but couldn't quite place them.

One of them produced a warrant card. “Detective Sergeant Andrew Stone, Metropolitan Police,” he said sharply. “Are you Stella Jones?”

“Yes,” said Stella. “I am. What can I do for you?”

“We're looking for a man called Thomas Jennings, I believe he's a friend of yours.”

“Yes, he is – or was. I heard on the radio that he'd drowned. Is that not right?”

“He may have done,” said Stone. “But then again he may not. We haven't found a body, so until we do we have to keep an open mind. I take it you haven't seen him then?”

“Why would I?” said Stella. “He's hardly likely to come to me or anyone close to him is he? He's not stupid.”

Stone's eyes darted around the room. He turned to Davis and said, “Go and check out the toilets.” Then he addressed Cronin: “And who are you?”

“I'm Father Patrick Cronin. I'm here as moral support for Ms Jones. We're having a memorial for her dead boyfriend.”

“Yes,” said Stone. “I heard about that incident. I'm sorry for your loss. It's a bit boisterous out there for a memorial though isn't it?”

Stella shrugged. “It's in keeping with what he would have wanted.”

Davis exited the toilets and shook his head at Stone, who said, “Well then, I guess that will be all for now, but if you hear from him be sure to call us. Remember, whatever you think of him, he's a murderer and needs to be brought to justice. You of all people should want justice Ms Jones.”

“I'll bear it in mind,” said Stella.

Stone took one last look around the room and left. Davis followed.

Ten minutes later the dark-haired biker returned and gave the all-clear. Tags pressed the button on the pool table and the false panels came up.

“That's a nifty trick,” said Jennings as he and Grady got to their feet. “How long have you had that?”

“Years,” said Tags. “It's there for just such an event. The police don't usually dare come in here, but when they do it's good to have somewhere to hide quickly.”

“I'll say,” said Grady. “I'm not really sure it's built for two though…Not two men anyway.”

They sat back down at the table. Jennings reached over for his Budweiser and polished the remains off in one. “A bit too close for comfort that,” he said. “But how the hell did they know to come here? I don't remember saying anything to them about this place or the memorial. In fact I'm one hundred percent certain.”

“Who knows?” said Stella. “Did you write it down in your diary?”

“I don't have one,” said Jennings. “I keep all my appointments on my phone, and that's at the bottom of the Thames.”

“I guess we'll never know then. Perhaps they're just bloody good,” she said. “It doesn't matter anymore anyway, in a couple of days you'll be safely out of the country.”

“If I make it,” said Jennings.

Jennings and Grady stayed for another hour and then, after arranging rendezvous details, returned to the Dorchester. Stella and Cronin continued chatting to Tags for a while before they too made a move.

“That was eventful,” said Cronin as they headed back to Stella's flat.

“You can say that again,” said Stella. “I don't know what would have happened without Tags' secret panels.”

“Quite,” said Cronin. “It was a bit risky going there in the first place though, don't you think? He must think an awful lot of you to do something that dangerous.”

“We're good friends. He knew I'd be worried.”

“I'm not sure I'd have done that for a friend,” said Cronin.

“Well, Tommy's different,” she said, aware of what Cronin was getting at but choosing to ignore it. “Anyway, I'm more concerned as to how the police came to be at the Angel. And not just any old police either. There's got to be something big going down if the PM's bodyguards are snooping around. It's not their job.”

“I agree,” said Cronin. “I just hope it doesn't get in the way of our own plans.”

Stella parked the car as close as she could to the flat and she and Cronin walked the short journey down the street. As she looked about something bothered her, but she wasn't sure what. Something felt out of place. When she got to the front door it hit her. “Alonso's car!” she said.

“What?” said Cronin.

“Alonso's car,” she repeated. “It's not there.”

Cronin looked back down the street. “You're right,” he said. “It's not. Maybe it's been towed away. I wouldn't imagine he had a resident's parking permit.”

“He wouldn't need one back there, it's free.”

She opened the door and flew up the stairs. Cronin kept at her heels. After rushing into the flat she ran to the bathroom and stood in the doorway gasping. Two pieces of severed material hung from the radiator. Alonso was gone.

Outside the hotel Alonso drummed his fingers on the steering wheel waiting for a sign of his quarry. He was certain that Stratton was somewhere inside, and it would only be a matter of time before he showed his face. Next to him, in the passenger seat, a rather weary young officer called Keane tapped away at his mobile phone, informing his girlfriend that he would be unable to make dinner.

Keane had been assigned to Alonso by Stone. Initially he had been pleased with his duties: it had involved an undercover surveil-lance followed by a top secret break-in and rescue – just the sort of thing he'd signed up for when applying for Special Ops. He had felt honoured to have been trusted with the task. But now the excitement was over, the reality of long, uncomfortable watches and endless coffee was beginning to take its toll.

“So you're sure this guy's inside the hotel,” he said to Alonso, not for the first time.

“Yes, I am positive,” said Alonso.

“Why don't we just go into reception and ask. You've got a photograph haven't you? We could storm the place.”

“As I'm sure has been explained to you,” said Alonso. “This is a delicate situation. We cannot go in heavy-handed, and if we start asking questions at reception he may become alerted to our presence. The man is not stupid by any measure, he will have no doubt bought the allegiance of the staff, or at least have some contingency for such an occurrence. We must wait and watch. An opportunity will present itself sooner or later.”

“And what if it doesn't?” said Keane. “What if he isn't even in there? We could be sitting here for days for no reason.”

“Perhaps,” said Alonso. “But I do not think so. He is in there, I can feel it. And when he shows himself we will act. I do not want to give him a chance to get away. We will have him within the day. You will see.”

Keane mumbled something incoherent and began to attack a ham and cheese roll.

Monday morning broke with promise. For the second day running the sun was able to show its full might. Jennings gazed out over Hyde Park with a sense of optimism, feeling that the worst was over and that somehow everything was going to turn out alright. The brisk air and blazing blue sky had imbued him with a swell of invincibility.

Grady joined him on the balcony, clutching a cup of steaming black coffee. He breathed in deeply and contentedly. “You do have a sun in this country then?” he said.

“Of course,” said Jennings. “It just likes to hide away most of the time. But when it appears there's nothing like it in the world. I defy anyone to beat a beautiful spring morning in London. The sounds, the smells – it's almost heaven.”

“I wouldn't say that. Give me an open space any day,” said Grady. “But I guess it does have its charms.”

“I suppose I'm just getting sentimental,” said Jennings. “Everywhere has its own beauty if you spend enough time there. I love this country. It's far from being perfect, but I love it all the same. It's sad really, I don't want to go at all.”

Grady patted him on the shoulder. “I know buddy, but for the time being you're going to have to bite the bullet. Look at it this way though – you'll get to spend a lot of time with Stella, won't you Tommy?”

“Fuck off Grady. I've told you – don't call me that.”

“You didn't seem to mind it yesterday Tommykins.”

“Whatever. Just leave it. Jennings will do fine. And besides, I don't think I'm going to be spending that much time with her anyway. Not now.”

Grady sipped his coffee. “Of course,” he said. “Stratton. That must have been a bit of a curveball. I mean, as if competing with his ghost wasn't bad enough.”