Slough House полностью

And at his feet, newly screwed to the floorboards, a metal ring with handcuffs attached.

‘You’re safe here, provided you don’t wander,’ the man told him.

‘Which you won’t,’ said the woman. She dropped to her knees, and before Cantor could react had fastened the loose cuff around his left ankle.

‘What the hell—?’

‘Water,’ said the man, producing a two-litre bottle from behind the door.

‘And an empty,’ said a new voice. The woman who’d been at the Needle had appeared, holding another two-litre bottle, uncapped. ‘But I’m sure you’ll fill it.’

‘What are you doing?’ Cantor said. His mouth was dry.

‘We’re leaving you to ponder your actions,’ said the scarred man. His accent had gone, his voice softer.

‘People tell me I ought to do that,’ said the squat woman, getting to her feet. Her voice had also altered. ‘But I’ve never really found the time.’

‘Which isn’t going to be a problem for you,’ the other woman said. ‘Bags of that coming up.’

The young Chinese man who’d been holding the parking space had arrived too. He alone was hanging on to the B-movie vibe. ‘You picked the wrong guys to mess with, friend.’

The second woman tossed Cantor the empty bottle. ‘You can shout as loud as you want,’ she said. ‘But if anyone hears you, they won’t care.’

‘Who are you people?’

It was the Chinese man who answered. ‘We’re Slough House,’ he said. Then added, ‘Hasta la vista, baby,’ before following the others down the stairs.

Cantor pulled against the cuff, but it didn’t budge.

And the woman had been right about this much: Cantor shouted as loud as he could. But no one came.

He said, ‘I enjoy being a member here, don’t you?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘I rather think I’m about to provide an illustration. Do pay attention.’

The waiter arrived with a fresh G&T for Judd; a large Chablis for Taverner. She resisted the temptation to dive straight in.

I’m simply pointing out that you can’t give the PM all the facts about our arrangement because you’re not yet in possession of them …

‘I’m fond of that plaque in the lobby. The one that says this club was founded fifty-odd years ago by a chap whose name escapes me but has a VC attached. Lovely detail. If you’re going to tell a lie, tell a big one. Stick it on the side of a bus.’

‘Get on with it.’

‘Because we both know the club’s not twenty years old. And that its founder was one Margaret Lessiter, who, unless I’m mistaken, you were at college with. One of the brighter lights, no? Alongside that chap who crashed a bank and the conman’s daughter who pimps for royalty. Sterling year. I bet the gaudies are fun.’

‘I’m not sure either attend. What’s your point?’

‘That the badge doesn’t tell the whole story.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Take my own little enterprise. Bullingdon Fopp.’

The PR firm Judd had been running since he left the Cabinet.

‘The thing is, Diana, I needed start-up money. A life dedicated to public service doesn’t leave one overburdened with ready cash.’

‘Really. But your property portfolio weighs more than the average bungalow. Let’s not pretend your public service prevented you amassing a fortune.’

‘There’ll always be those who resent the enterprising. But we’ve moved past the moment at which your antennae should have twitched.’

Oh, they’d twitched.

Once you’re in possession of the facts, I expect the PM is the last person you’ll be making full admissions to.

She reached for her Chablis. You could drown in two inches of water, she knew. Two inches of wine was starting to look like an option. ‘You have backers,’ she said. Her voice sounded flat and unnatural, as if she were still in rehearsal. With luck, the director would soon shout Cut.

‘Whose names don’t appear on the paperwork,’ Judd agreed. ‘Discretion being the better part of investment. How many commuters know who owns the tracks their trains run on? Whose fuel keeps their lights on?’ He waved his free hand lightly: the walls, the floor, the ceiling. ‘Who owns half of central London, come to that? New builds and old? Doesn’t matter whose names are on the deeds.’ He leaned forward. ‘You know why national sovereignty’s so treasured by the great and good? Because they get a damn fine price for it when market conditions are right.’

‘Just tell me.’

‘Forty per cent of my company’s initial funding came from overseas sources.’

‘Overseas.’

‘Quite a long way overseas.’

‘You used Chinese money to launch Bullingdon Fopp.’

‘Well, it was good enough for the steel industry.’

‘The company that organised backing for the Kazan operation.’

‘Among the various other uses you found for the money.’

‘Oh, you mad bastard.’