The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (reading a book txt) 📗

Where are the scores of doctors and nurses? Where is the life-saving equipment which that kind of money buys?’

This is what the reporters had been waiting for. A murmur ran through Room 2172. Photographers jumped up to catch Hisami’s expression, but he had his head in his hands and was looking down. Anastasia moved forward, but before she could do anything Stewart Steen made a helpless flapping motion, thrust his legs out and lay back rigid in his chair. His eyes were staring at the ceiling and his mouth foamed at the corners. ‘We need help here!’ she yelled. ‘Get a doctor!’

Then it was Hisami’s turn. He pushed his chair back, kicked out his legs and waved his arms about wildly. His eyes searched the room with a total lack of comprehension and then he seemed propelled backwards by some unseen force, which caused him to fall over the back of his chair. His most trusted aide was unable to prevent him falling to the ground, where he lay rigid with a sound of gurgling in his throat.

‘Clear the room and get a doctor in here now!’ shouted the Chair. ‘Call 911. I said clear the room, goddammit.’

But a louder voice, that of Warren Speight, prevailed. ‘Don’t touch them!’ he commanded. Then, leaning forward, he called to Tulliver, who was crouched over Hisami. ‘Sir, sir, do not move. They’ve likely been poisoned. Step away from him now, sir! Do as I say, please.’

The word ‘poisoned’ was all that was needed to clear the room. Over seventy people filed out instantly, only a few of them daring to look back. Very soon, the periphery of 2172 was swarming with Capitol Police, and not long afterwards came men in biohazard suits, trained for precisely this emergency. Anastasia and Tulliver stood rooted to the spot, looking down at the two men, who, in their agony, were completely unrecognisable.

Chapter 5

Bulletin

Samson waited over an hour in his office before he spoke to Macy Harp, time he filled with Cedar’s accounts and invoices that needed attention. A text had arrived from Imogen postponing the conference call at Macy’s office– clearly everything had been upended by Harland’s death. Macy eventually phoned at 8.25 p.m.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Samson. ‘I know what Bobby meant to you, Macy.’

There was a brief silence at the other end. ‘He only had a few months left and the fucking bastards robbed him of that.’ His voice faltered. ‘He had cancer, but kept going.’ He stopped, overcome with grief. ‘He was a great man and as reliable and brave as hell. I loved him dearly.’

‘Of course you did, Macy. I’m sorry – I’m bloody useless at this. Never know what to say.’

‘What can anyone say?’

‘Any idea who’s responsible? I had Nyman round here. He told me about it, but he hadn’t got any details.’

‘Yes, I guess the Office will be getting worked up, though Bobby thought they were a bunch of clowns latterly. Our conference call – the one I wanted you in on – has been delayed and I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. Let’s have a bite.’

‘Not here. Nyman’s having dinner with a woman – probably Sonia Fell – and he said that I am going to be monitored from now on because of that business in Narva. He thinks there’s a connection with Bobby.’

‘Well, you know how to avoid them. There’s an Italian restaurant off Shepherd’s Market – Corfinio. I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’

Samson put on a clean shirt and changed jackets then left through the kitchen and down an alley where Cedar’s bins were lined up. Not many minutes later he found Macy in the restaurant with a bottle of red wine and the menu.

‘We’ll order then talk,’ he said. He was flushed and distraught, and angrier than Samson had ever seen him.

‘I met Bobby when I was twenty-seven, you know. I was a lad, just joined MI6 and didn’t know shit from sawdust. Bobby was my senior by five years and he taught me everything. We worked on a lot of the same operations. Good judgement! Really had a nose for it. Almost second sight. And he never, ever fucking played games.’

They ordered and were silent for a few minutes. Harp slung back a glass of wine and poured another with a fierce look.

‘Did you talk to Ulrike?’

‘Not yet – she’ll be devastated. Of course, she was preparing for his death. He was in the final stretch. I pray he had the sense to tell her how much he loved her, because he did! She was the love of his life, you know.’ He stopped. There were tears in his ears. ‘It’s absolutely bloody, the whole thing.’

Samson looked down. ‘I know.’

‘We have to find these fuckers and deal with them.’ Macy gripped his hand. ‘Deal with them. That’s what he would have done. That’s what he did. He dealt with the people who killed Ulrike’s husband. He sorted out some bastards in Bosnia and the Czech Republic. This was a man who was tortured, blown up in a fucking plane, and he never, ever buckled. He fought the good fight is what he did.’ He raised his glass. Samson did likewise and for the second time that evening he drank to the memory of Robert Harland.

Presently, Samson asked, ‘What do you think about Nyman’s theory? He says it’s the Russians avenging the deaths of Chumak and Bukov. All those who were at Narva are now targeted. That’s me, Anastasia, Naji Touma, and, I guess, my friend Vuk Divjak.

‘The Serb rascal?’

‘The same.’

Macy looked away and frowned. ‘Why now? Why not a couple of years back? And who were Chumak and Bukov? They were nothing. You don’t go assassinating a man like Bobby Harland because of a couple of dead grease monkeys. It doesn’t add up.’

‘They had a go at me today,’ said Samson, and Macy looked up from his glass. ‘I thought he was going to attack Zoe Freemantle, but there’s no doubt he was after me,