Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
He reached the doorway and the intercom system. It carried no names. Only numbers. He pressed the buzzer marked ‘2J’.
Dempsey looked down at his watch. An unnecessary habit; his internal clock was as precise in Eastern Standard Time as it was in Greenwich Mean Time, but he still liked to double-check. The black Bremont confirmed it was 10 p.m. Late enough that a visit should be a surprise, but still early enough for an answer.
He reached out to press the buzzer again. The sound of static stopped him.
‘Who is it?’
A man’s voice. It sounded out of breath.
‘Sir, my name is Agent Joe Dempsey, from the International Security Bureau at the United Nations. I’m looking for a Mr Quilty. Thomas Quilty.’
‘It’s Tom, son.’ The strain in the speaker’s voice was impossible to ignore. Even this short conversation sounded like a physical effort. ‘Only two people ever . . . ever called me Thomas. Both sounded a lot more . . . a lot more . . . ladylike than you.’
Dempsey waited for a moment, expecting Quilty to say more. When he heard nothing but laboured breathing, he spoke again.
‘Sir . . . Tom . . . I would really appreciate it if I could step inside and speak to you. It’s important.’
‘I don’t doubt . . . that it is, when you’re buzzing . . . buzzing my door this . . . this late.’ Quilty paused, audibly regaining some breath. ‘But it’s . . . it’s ten p.m., and with all due . . . all due respect, son, I . . . I don’t know you from . . . from Adam. So maybe we meet somewhere tomorrow. Somewhere . . . somewhere public.’
‘All due respect right back to you, Tom, but are you sure you’ll still be with us tomorrow?’
‘What?’
‘It’s a fair question. No offence, but it sounds like your own lungs are trying to kill you. And I’m afraid they might not be the worst of your worries.’
‘You think I’m . . . I’m worried about the . . . the spooks I saw . . . out there?’
‘The what?’ Dempsey was surprised by Quilty’s question. He spun on his heel in response, looking behind him with no pretence that he was doing anything else. Still he saw nothing.
‘Where’d you . . . say you were from again?’
‘The UN, sir. The International Security Bureau.’
‘And who sent you?’
‘With everything that happened today, I think you know who sent me.’
‘Still need to hear you say it, son.’
‘Elizabeth Kirk.’
‘Of course . . . of course it was.’ There was resignation in the voice, drowned out as the buzzer release sounded. ‘Come on up.’
FOURTEEN
Bruce Bull took a deep breath as Nizar Mansour was brought into the small, bare interview room.
He had not known what to expect. How could he? He knew nothing of the man beyond the name he’d given, the fact he had admitted to placing the bomb on Flight PA16 and that at some point in the last few hours the man with whom Mansour lived had been murdered.