make us suffer a little longer.”
“If he said nine, he’ll get in touch at nine,” insisted Diamond. “The delay won’t be his. It will be due to the way the message comes through.”
The phone on the desk rang.
“You do have a rapport with him,” said Farr-Jones as he picked it up. “Farr-Jones . . . Good. Put them through.” He covered the mouthpiece and said, “He’s resourceful. British Rail Passenger Inquiries this time.”
The others listened to the responses.
“Yes? . . . When was this? . . . Nine precisely? ... If you would be so kind. Exactly as it was given.” He picked up a pen and started to write. After a moment, he said, “Thank you. I’ll read it back and I’d be obliged if you would check every word most carefully. ‘J.M. to Diamond. Take a taxi up to the Grenville Monument immediately and collect instructions. Alone. Carry no weapon, phone, radio or bug. If you trap me the girl will die slowly, so lay off.’ Is that correct? . . . And was the caller male or female? ... a man? . . . Thank you. And—this is important—would you kindly destroy the message now and say nothing about this to the press or anyone else?” He cradled the phone and spread his hands.
“What’s the Grenville Monument?” Warrilow asked.
“Offhand, I can’t say,” Farr-Jones admitted.
Wigfull was afforded his chance to shine. “Isn’t it on Lansdown? You know, where the battle was fought in the Civil War? Grenville was one of the Royalist leaders. They put up a stone pillar where he fell.”
“Lansdown, you say?” Warrilow turned to a map on the wall.
“Yes, sir. It’s one of the highest points hereabouts, beyond the racecourse on the Lansdown Road.” Wigfull traced the road with his finger. “I walked the Cotswold Way once and passed close to it. See, the monument is marked. Just here, to the east of Hanging Hill.”
“Open ground?”
“I have a vague recollection of some trees or bushes not far away, but there isn’t much else up there. It still looks like a battlefield. On one side of the road you can see the ridges of earth they dug out for their defenses.”
“Still deep enough to give some cover?”
“Not where the monument is.”
“Ideally I’d use a helicopter for an operation like this,” Warrilow reflected, “but obviously we’ve got to be careful.”
Tott, becoming pink, said, “I’m not prepared to see my daughter’s life put at risk.”
“No question of that, Harry,” said Farr-Jones. “Samantha’s safety is paramount in our planning.”
“Which is why I’m recommending subtlety in our surveillance,” Warrilow added smoothly.
“Surveillance of what?” Diamond said.
“Your meeting with Mountjoy.”
“I haven’t agreed to meet him.”
“But surely—”
“Nothing is sure,” said Diamond. “Nothing is agreed. I’m a civilian. Remember?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Something had been troubling John Wigfull. Tentatively, he said, “There’s an inconsistency in the two messages from Mountjoy, isn’t there? Yesterday he asked us to have a car ready. Today we’re told to use a taxi.”
“And is there a car ready?” said Diamond.
“Of course. I told you.”
“Is it bugged—invisibly, of course—but bugged?”
“Yes.”
Diamond smiled. “You won’t need it. That was the decoy. Mountjoy is ahead in this game. He’s had years to plan it.”
Warrilow drew in a sibilant breath and folded his arms as if to convey that he, too, had seen through this transparent ruse. “You’ll have to carry something,” he told Diamond.
The moment had arrived for Diamond to lay out his cards. “If you want my cooperation, gentlemen, you can have it on my terms. My terms are Mountjoy’s, exactly. No bugs, no radios, weapons or”—his eyes locked with Warrilow’s— “surveillance. I go up to Lansdown alone to see what this is about. I’m your surveillance, right? If I come back alive, as I intend to, I’ll have plenty to tell
“If he said nine, he’ll get in touch at nine,” insisted Diamond. “The delay won’t be his. It will be due to the way the message comes through.”
The phone on the desk rang.
“You do have a rapport with him,” said Farr-Jones as he picked it up. “Farr-Jones . . . Good. Put them through.” He covered the mouthpiece and said, “He’s resourceful. British Rail Passenger Inquiries this time.”
The others listened to the responses.
“Yes? . . . When was this? . . . Nine precisely? ... If you would be so kind. Exactly as it was given.” He picked up a pen and started to write. After a moment, he said, “Thank you. I’ll read it back and I’d be obliged if you would check every word most carefully. ‘J.M. to Diamond. Take a taxi up to the Grenville Monument immediately and collect instructions. Alone. Carry no weapon, phone, radio or bug. If you trap me the girl will die slowly, so lay off.’ Is that correct? . . . And was the caller male or female? ... a man? . . . Thank you. And—this is important—would you kindly destroy the message now and say nothing about this to the press or anyone else?” He cradled the phone and spread his hands.
“What’s the Grenville Monument?” Warrilow asked.
“Offhand, I can’t say,” Farr-Jones admitted.
Wigfull was afforded his chance to shine. “Isn’t it on Lansdown? You know, where the battle was fought in the Civil War? Grenville was one of the Royalist leaders. They put up a stone pillar where he fell.”
“Lansdown, you say?” Warrilow turned to a map on the wall.
“Yes, sir. It’s one of the highest points hereabouts, beyond the racecourse on the Lansdown Road.” Wigfull traced the road with his finger. “I walked the Cotswold Way once and passed close to it. See, the monument is marked. Just here, to the east of Hanging Hill.”
“Open ground?”
“I have a vague recollection of some trees or bushes not far away, but there isn’t much else up there. It still looks like a battlefield. On one side of the road you can see the ridges of earth they dug out for their defenses.”
“Still deep enough to give some cover?”
“Not where the monument is.”
“Ideally I’d use a helicopter for an operation like this,” Warrilow reflected, “but obviously we’ve got to be careful.”
Tott, becoming pink, said, “I’m not prepared to see my daughter’s life put at risk.”
“No question of that, Harry,” said Farr-Jones. “Samantha’s safety is paramount in our planning.”
“Which is why I’m recommending subtlety in our surveillance,” Warrilow added smoothly.
“Surveillance of what?” Diamond said.
“Your meeting with Mountjoy.”
“I haven’t agreed to meet him.”
“But surely—”
“Nothing is sure,” said Diamond. “Nothing is agreed. I’m a civilian. Remember?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Something had been troubling John Wigfull. Tentatively, he said, “There’s an inconsistency in the two messages from Mountjoy, isn’t there? Yesterday he asked us to have a car ready. Today we’re told to use a taxi.”
“And is there a car ready?” said Diamond.
“Of course. I told you.”
“Is it bugged—invisibly, of course—but bugged?”
“Yes.”
Diamond smiled. “You won’t need it. That was the decoy. Mountjoy is ahead in this game. He’s had years to plan it.”
Warrilow drew in a sibilant breath and folded his arms as if to convey that he, too, had seen through this transparent ruse. “You’ll have to carry something,” he told Diamond.
The moment had arrived for Diamond to lay out his cards. “If you want my cooperation, gentlemen, you can have it on my terms. My terms are Mountjoy’s, exactly. No bugs, no radios, weapons or”—his eyes locked with Warrilow’s— “surveillance. I go up to Lansdown alone to see what this is about. I’m your surveillance, right? If I come back alive, as I intend to, I’ll have plenty to tell
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