False Impression by Jeffrey Archer Page B

and renew the export licence. But
there’s no need to do that before...’
    ‘Do it today,’
said Fenston.
    ‘This morning I
had planned to move four Vermeers from...’
    ‘Fuck Vermeer.
Your first priority is to make sure my painting is packed and ready to be
collected.’
    ‘But the
paperwork might take a few days,’ said Ruth. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that
there’s now a backlog following...’
    ‘And fuck any
backlog,’ said Fenston. ‘The moment the FAA lift their restrictions, I’m
sending Karl Leapman over to pick up the painting.’
    ‘But my staff are already working round the clock to clear the extra
work caused by...’
    I ’ll only say
this once,’ said Fenston. ‘If the painting is ready for loading by the time my
plane touches down at Heathrow, I will triple, I repeat triple, your fee.’
    Fenston put die
phone down, confident that the only word she’d remember would be ‘triple’. He
was wrong. Ruth was puzzled by the fact that he hadn’t mentioned the attacks on
the Twin Towers, or made any reference to Anna. Had she survived, and if so,
why wasn’t she travelling over to pick up the painting?
    Tina had
overheard every word of Fenston’s conversation with Ruth Parish on the
extension in her office – without the chairman being aware. Tina vainly wished
that she could contact Anna and quickly pass on the information – an
eventuality neither of them had considered. Perhaps Anna would call this
evening.
    Tina flicked off
the phone switch, but left on the screen that was fixed to the corner of her
desk. This allowed her to watch everything and, more important, everybody who
came in contact with the chairman, something else that Fenston wasn’t aware of,
but then he hadn’t asked. Fenston would never have considered entering her office
when the press of a button would summon her, and if Leapman walked into the
room – without knocking, as was his habit – she would quickly flick the screen
off.
    When Leapman
took over the short lease on the thirty-second floor, he hadn’t shown any interest
in the secretary’s office. His only concern seemed to be settling the chairman
into the largest space available, while he took over an office at the other end
of the corridor. Tina had said nothing about her IT extras, aware that in time
someone was bound to find out, but perhaps by then she would have gathered all
the information she needed to ensure that Fenston would suffer an even worse
fate than he had inflicted on her.
    When Fenston put
the phone down on Ruth Parish, he pressed the button on the side of his desk.
Tina grabbed a notepad and pencil and made her way through to the chairman’s
office.
    ‘The first thing
I need you to do,’ Fenston began, even before Tina had closed the door, ‘is
find out how many staff I still have.
    Make sure they
know where we are relocated, so they can report for work without delay.’
    ‘ I see that the
head of security was among the first to check in this morning,’ said Tina.
    Yes, he was,’
Fenston replied, ‘and he’s already confirmed that he gave the order for all
staff to evacuate the building within minutes of the first plane crashing into
the North Tower.’
    ‘And then led by
example, I’m told,’ said Tina tartly.
    Who told you
that?’ barked Fenston, looking up.
    Tina regretted
the words immediately, and quickly turned to leave,
adding, I’ll have those names on your desk by midday.’
    She spent the
rest of the morning trying to contact the forty three employees who worked in
the North Tower. Tina was able to account for thirty-four of them by twelve
o’clock. She placed a provisional list of nine names who were still missing, presumed dead, on Fenston’s desk before he went to lunch.
    Anna Petrescu
was the sixth name on that list.
    By the time Tina
had placed the list on Fenston’s desk, Anna had finally made it to Pier 11, by cab,
bus, foot and then cab again, only to find a long queue waiting patiently to
board a ferry to