seen your background details,’ he said, the confusion in his voice obvious as he watched her remove the ball gag from the Harrods bag. ‘How could this have happened?’
She bent down close to his face, smiling coldly. ‘The woman you employed does not exist. Catherine Manolis died in Nice in October 1985, aged twenty-three months. Her identity was stolen and used to apply for false identity documents. We tailored her to suit the job application, and no one spotted it.’
Michael sighed. ‘So, everything you told me about your upbringing was rubbish. You’re not a widow at all.’
‘Oh yes,’ she told him, her voice hardening, ‘I’m definitely a widow. My husband was murdered last year defending his country against men like you. Except while he was fighting on the frontline you were sitting far away behind a desk giving orders.’
‘But Cat, you must understand, I had nothing to do with that. I was—’
Before he could finish the sentence, she stuffed the ball gag into his mouth. Again he tried to protest, but she pushed the gun against his cheek and ordered him to bite down hard on the gag, and he did as he was told.
When she’d finished gagging him, she pulled out his mobile phone and switched it off. It would be switched on again later and moved to different places in the hotel to confuse any rescuers trying to locate him.
She then pulled out her own phone and speed-dialled a number. ‘I have the prize,’ she said, ‘and it’s ready to be opened.’
And Michael Prior truly was a prize. But then, a director of MI6 was always going to be.
Seventeen
16.40
WOLF PUT DOWN his mobile and turned to Fox. As he did so, some of the hardness left his face, and for a moment he had that faraway look of the daydreamer.
Every man has a weakness, thought Fox, and, like a lot of men, Wolf’s was the opposite sex. The woman on the other end of the line had him wrapped round her little finger, and that worried Fox because she was a wilful little bitch. He had the feeling that when the op began in earnest she might well cause problems.
He’d have to watch that.
‘Cat’s got him,’ Wolf said as Fox turned the van out of the traffic chaos of Park Lane and down one of the side streets. ‘The MI6 man is ours.’
‘Good. She’s done well.’
And she had too. To lure such a senior member of one of the largest intelligence agencies in the world into a honey-trap was no mean feat, and it had taken a lot of skill and planning. But then it seemed that Michael Prior’s weakness was women too.
Fox drove the van round the back of the Stanhope Hotel, parking on double yellow lines a few yards short of the delivery entrance. The journey had taken them eight minutes longer than anticipated, and Fox could almost feel the adrenalin surging round the interior as each of them prepared for the assault. Wolf had pulled back the curtain separating the front cab from the back, and Fox could see the others now. Each of them was quiet and focused. Everyone was waiting to begin.
Wolf put his mobile on loudspeaker and made a call to Panther, their inside man in the Stanhope.
Panther was Cat’s brother, Armin. Both Fox and Wolf had met him on a number of occasions as they endeavoured to find out everything they could about the hotel. He was an unpleasant little bastard with a bad attitude who resented the fact that he might have to take orders from Fox, a foreigner he neither knew nor respected, but in the three weeks he’d been working at the Stanhope as a room service waiter he’d been an invaluable source of information.
It had been no problem getting him the job. Big hotels are notorious for their lack of background checks. He possessed good-quality fake papers supplied by his embassy, entitling him to work in the UK, and the fact that he had no experience, and virtually nothing on his CV to indicate what he’d been doing for the past few years, was clearly of no consequence. What mattered to the hotel’s management
She bent down close to his face, smiling coldly. ‘The woman you employed does not exist. Catherine Manolis died in Nice in October 1985, aged twenty-three months. Her identity was stolen and used to apply for false identity documents. We tailored her to suit the job application, and no one spotted it.’
Michael sighed. ‘So, everything you told me about your upbringing was rubbish. You’re not a widow at all.’
‘Oh yes,’ she told him, her voice hardening, ‘I’m definitely a widow. My husband was murdered last year defending his country against men like you. Except while he was fighting on the frontline you were sitting far away behind a desk giving orders.’
‘But Cat, you must understand, I had nothing to do with that. I was—’
Before he could finish the sentence, she stuffed the ball gag into his mouth. Again he tried to protest, but she pushed the gun against his cheek and ordered him to bite down hard on the gag, and he did as he was told.
When she’d finished gagging him, she pulled out his mobile phone and switched it off. It would be switched on again later and moved to different places in the hotel to confuse any rescuers trying to locate him.
She then pulled out her own phone and speed-dialled a number. ‘I have the prize,’ she said, ‘and it’s ready to be opened.’
And Michael Prior truly was a prize. But then, a director of MI6 was always going to be.
Seventeen
16.40
WOLF PUT DOWN his mobile and turned to Fox. As he did so, some of the hardness left his face, and for a moment he had that faraway look of the daydreamer.
Every man has a weakness, thought Fox, and, like a lot of men, Wolf’s was the opposite sex. The woman on the other end of the line had him wrapped round her little finger, and that worried Fox because she was a wilful little bitch. He had the feeling that when the op began in earnest she might well cause problems.
He’d have to watch that.
‘Cat’s got him,’ Wolf said as Fox turned the van out of the traffic chaos of Park Lane and down one of the side streets. ‘The MI6 man is ours.’
‘Good. She’s done well.’
And she had too. To lure such a senior member of one of the largest intelligence agencies in the world into a honey-trap was no mean feat, and it had taken a lot of skill and planning. But then it seemed that Michael Prior’s weakness was women too.
Fox drove the van round the back of the Stanhope Hotel, parking on double yellow lines a few yards short of the delivery entrance. The journey had taken them eight minutes longer than anticipated, and Fox could almost feel the adrenalin surging round the interior as each of them prepared for the assault. Wolf had pulled back the curtain separating the front cab from the back, and Fox could see the others now. Each of them was quiet and focused. Everyone was waiting to begin.
Wolf put his mobile on loudspeaker and made a call to Panther, their inside man in the Stanhope.
Panther was Cat’s brother, Armin. Both Fox and Wolf had met him on a number of occasions as they endeavoured to find out everything they could about the hotel. He was an unpleasant little bastard with a bad attitude who resented the fact that he might have to take orders from Fox, a foreigner he neither knew nor respected, but in the three weeks he’d been working at the Stanhope as a room service waiter he’d been an invaluable source of information.
It had been no problem getting him the job. Big hotels are notorious for their lack of background checks. He possessed good-quality fake papers supplied by his embassy, entitling him to work in the UK, and the fact that he had no experience, and virtually nothing on his CV to indicate what he’d been doing for the past few years, was clearly of no consequence. What mattered to the hotel’s management
Similar Books
