London Rules полностью

‘The thought of her has gladdened many a long night.’

‘Careful. Some of us are used to you. Others might bring charges. Get your crew organised, why don’t you? I’m surprised Standish isn’t already here.’

‘Do you know, I’m not sure she likes you all that much.’

‘I’m not sure she likes you, either. And yet you keep her on. Have you ever told her why?’

Lamb gave her a long hard look, but Diana Taverner sat on committees; Diana Taverner chaired meetings. If long hard looks could make her crumble, she’d have been dust long ago.

At last he said, ‘She knows her old boss was a traitor, if that’s what you mean.’

‘And does she know he tried to implicate her in his treachery? That she was his cut-out, all set for framing?’

‘She’s probably worked that out.’

‘And that you put the bullet in his brain? Or does she still think he did that himself?’

Lamb didn’t reply.

She said, ‘Be fun to be a fly on the wall when she finds out.’

‘What makes you think she will?’

‘Christ, Lamb. Of all the secrets you’ve ever kept, which one screams to be heard the loudest?’

There were noises off: bodies arriving downstairs. The Dogs, Lamb assumed. Come to take Ho to the Park, and nail the rest of them down. He heard Standish open her door and emerge onto the landing. ‘What’s going on?’ she called.

‘There you go,’ said Lady Di. ‘Keen investigative mind at work.’

Roderick Ho would have been pleased, though unsurprised, to learn that he was the reason Kim’s heart was beating faster.

When she’d got home last night, the taxi having dropped her two streets away – in her line of work, it was best to keep her address quiet – she’d sat up late watching The Walking Dead and drinking vodka mixed, at first, with cranberry juice, and when that ran out, with more vodka. Sleep had come suddenly, without warning, and she’d woken with drool bonding her to her pillow and a thumping heart. Things had gone bad. Or were about to. Sometimes these feelings were misaddressed, emotional mail meant for someone else, but they were always worth acting on. The worst-case scenario was the one you planned for.

So she showered and dressed in three minutes, and grabbed her emergency kit from the wardrobe: passport, both savings books and two grand in cash, plus a change of clothing and the bare minimum of warpaint, all bundled inside a getaway bag. Nothing else in her room mattered. The rent was by the month; her housemates temporary friends. She’d leave them a note – an invented emergency – and walk out of their lives forever. Or run. Her heart hadn’t slowed yet, and if it wasn’t the organ you placed the most trust in, it was certainly the one you wanted to keep doing its job.

Roderick Ho, she thought. The reason her heart was in warning mode was Roderick Ho.

Make it quick? He’s harmless.

They were only going to work him over, they’d said, but she hadn’t really believed it. Which meant, her beating heart whispered, that making herself scarce was the wise next move.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she left the room and was on the landing when the doorbell rang.

She froze.

But why worry? It was mid-morning, in one of the world’s biggest cities. There were postmen and people peddling religion; there were meter readers; there were pollsters who wanted to know what you thought about things you’d never thought about. The shape behind the mottled glass in the front door could have been any one of these. When she altered position, light slid across the blurred outline of a face, as if it were being scribbled upon.

The doorbell rang again.

There was a back way, through the tiny garden, over the fence; an escape route, except one that meant going down the stairs, making her briefly visible to whoever was at the door. Who was rattling the handle now, and meter readers didn’t do that. They just pushed a card through the slot. Kim backed away from the landing and re-entered her bedroom. Its window gave onto the garden, a drop about twice her own height. There came a splintery whisper from downstairs, as if a metal lever had been inserted into a gap too small for it. The window was a sash and was locked; a screw device that only took seconds if you weren’t panicked by intruders. Kim’s fingers leaked fear, and kept slipping. The splintery sound became a crack. The window-lock gave, and its rod fell into her hand. There were footsteps on the stairs, and her heart battered her ribs as she pulled the window up and tossed her bag out. She would follow it. It would take a second. Less. But her top caught on something as she bent to lever herself through the gap: lives have hung on less. Threads, promises.

When she turned, he was in the room with her, his gun pointing directly at her face.