A Death in Sweden(46)
“You said he didn’t discuss its contents, but thinking back to Beirut, do you have any idea what it might have been?”
“I wasn’t in Beirut. Hassan!” He looked towards the door, and when the young guy appeared he smiled and said, “Would you bring my Rolodex and some paper and a pen? Thank you.” He turned back to Dan and said, “I’ll give you the address and number of Tom Crossley in Geneva. He was in Beirut, but they were old friends, in some army unit together. He may well have some idea.”
“Thanks. I have some other stuff to deal with first, but I’ll give him a visit.”
Carter looked thrilled and said, “And I do hope you’ll visit us again, for longer next time. Are you in Paris often?”
“Not as often as I’d like, but I’ll keep you to that invite.”
As for Tom Crossley, and finding out what had happened in Beirut, Dan knew it was hardly relevant. Finding out the secrets of Jacques Fillon had been geared to two specific ends, helping Patrick to rein in Brabham and, at the same time, getting Brabham off Dan’s back. The final pieces of the mystery would hardly make any difference to either of those.
Yet he wanted to know. He wanted to know exactly what had been on that tape, not just for his own security, but for the knowledge of it, for Sabine Merel, for her friends and family. And he wanted to know exactly why Jack Redford had run and become Jacques Fillon.
He’d visit this guy Tom Crossley once this was all done, if he was still in the position to visit anyone, because Redford’s story mattered to him now. It mattered most of all, perhaps, because it could so easily have been Dan’s story, and in some ways might still become it yet.
Chapter Twenty-eight
He had the cab drop him a few blocks from the Vergoncey and approached with a mixture of casual pace and complete vigilance, wanting to know exactly how much sand had slipped through the glass in the time he’d been away.
He saw the same two company men in their parked car, about a hundred yards this side of the hotel. But he noticed someone in a leather jacket squatting down and talking to them on the passenger side. He wasn’t CIA, and if they’d brought in the freelancers that could mean they were planning to take Dan down tonight.
He turned and went back the other way, so that he came to the hotel along the side street where there was a small, rarely used entrance that was locked after a certain time at night. And just as he turned into the doorway, he noticed another guy standing up on the corner ahead, but looking in the other direction. He was casually dressed, but wrong somehow, wrong for that street, in the way he was standing, in everything about him.
It suggested they were escalating the situation, putting all their available assets in place, and that meant Dan and Inger had to move out of here now. With that thought, he picked up his speed and turned before reaching the main lobby, climbing the stairs rather than waiting for an elevator.
The corridor on their floor was empty, a deceptive calm, but he stopped for a moment between their rooms, listening, taking in the quality of the stillness. He knocked on her door then. There was no reply, but there was no movement, either. He checked his watch and knocked louder, thinking she might be asleep or in the bath.
He checked his watch again, took out his gun, and attached the silencer, an emptiness creeping into his stomach. He was tempted to knock one more time, but he knew there would be no answer now and didn’t want to think through the possible reasons for that silence.
Instead, he opened his own door, his gun at the ready, though the room was apparently empty, even emptier than he’d left it. He hadn’t got around to unpacking his case and had simply left it near the door, but it had gone now.
He stepped inside, covering the angles, checking the bathroom, even the closet, and all the time he was trying to imagine a benign scenario that might explain the disappearance of both Inger and his case.
It was only once he was satisfied the room was empty that he spotted the sheet of notepaper left on the desk. He walked over and glanced down at it without picking it up, a couple of lines scrawled across the page.
Get out of the hotel! Switch on your phone!!
She hadn’t signed it, but despite the alarm of the message he couldn’t help but smile, relieved—she’d left of her own accord. He could even allow himself some bemusement now, that she was actually a step ahead of him.
He walked over to the window as he switched on his phone. The two guys were out of the car and a couple more were standing talking to them. The guy who’d been crouching down near the car earlier had gone, so by Dan’s reckoning, that meant there were at least six here.
The phone buzzed in his hand and he looked down at the screen—three missed calls from Inger. He returned one of them and held the phone to his ear.
She answered instantly, saying, “Where are you?”
The men standing down by the car had a businesslike air about them, he thought, as if they were gearing up for something rather than just idling or awaiting orders.
“You left a note,” he said.
“Dan, you have to leave. I’ll tell you more later, but you have to move now.”
Her voice was calm, but there was an urgency about it that set him on edge.
“Okay, I’ll call back.”
“No, wait! Do you have a pen?”
“Sure.” He walked over to the desk, grabbed the notebook and pencil and scribbled down the number she reeled off to him. “Thanks. I’ll call you soon.”