to me about it. Adam loved money. I spotted that when I inter viewed him for the post in security at ACTIL. Broden overruled my doubts and anyway the job was for his department.'
'You said at the party you flew to America now and again. When was your last trip?'
'A few weeks ago,' Marienetta said tersely.
'And you also said Sophie flies over there. When was she last there?'
'A few weeks ago. We didn't fly together. Sophie would think I was keeping an eye on her.'
'And where did you fly to a few weeks ago?'
'Boston.'
***
Leaving Marienetta, who was calling a cab, Paula had to walk rapidly once more to Marino's. Due to meet Black Jack Diamond at 7 p.m., she knew she could just make it if she kept moving. Her legs were beginning to ache.
Entering the dimly lit street leading through to Piccadilly, she paused just beyond an alley to smooth down her jacket under her coat. The single street lamp cast her shadow in front of her. Suddenly she realized there was a second shadow, very still, tall, wearing a hat, behind her.
The hat, a man's, was wide-brimmed, possibly Spanish. She froze. The street was otherwise deserted. Then she recalled hearing a car stop by the kerb near the entrance to the side street. Shadow was now tailing her on foot. An ominous development. Whoever had followed her had been caught out by her suddenly stopping to tidy herself. Now Shadow's sinister outline was motionless, almost alongside her own shadow. He was very close to Paula. Her throat was dry with fear.
Then her brain accelerated. She was carrying the brief case in her left hand, her handbag looped over her right shoulder. With one sudden movement her right hand dipped inside her handbag, gripped the .32 Browning in its special pocket. Her left hand propped the briefcase against the wall, she was swinging round, the Browning gripped in both hands.
Shadow had disappeared. Down inside the narrow alley. The only way it could have vanished so quickly. Don't peer round a corner. She heard in her mind the warning words of Sarge, the man who had trained her at the mansion in Surrey with its acres of grounds.
With her finger resting lightly on the trigger, she jumped forward, faced down the alley. Nothing. She had half expected this. A short way into the murky alley it turned a corner, blotting out what lay beyond. She wasn't going down there.
She walked back, picked up the briefcase, walked back swiftly to the main street. Just beyond the entrance a brilliant red MG was parked. Brand new. Realizing she was going to be late for her appointment, she walked back into the side street, the Browning still in her hand, concealed under her coat. She walked quickly past the alley. Damn! She hadn't noticed the licence number of the red MG. Too late now.
As she entered Marino's the Browning was back inside its special pocket. The hat-check girl took her coat but Paula kept the briefcase. The absurd ordeal of obtaining the volume inside it made her decide to hang on to it come hell or high water.
Marino's was a large square room with a long bar against the left wall. The only occupant was Black Jack, seated at a table by the bar with a drink in front of him. December and the weather, which was getting colder still, would stop people from coming out.
Black Jack stood up in the aisle, arms held out to embrace her. She evaded him, smiling, slipping into the banquette opposite where he had been sitting. He waved his arms in a futile gesture to express his disappointment at her stand-offishness, sat down facing her.
'I thought you weren't coming,' he said with a broad smile.
'I got held up. Gave you time to have a few drinks.'
He held up his glass, which was half full. Scotch, she guessed. 'This, Paula, is my first drink. What is yours?'
'A glass of Chardonnay, please.'
The barman heard her and a glass was in front of her in no time. She raised it, clinked glasses with him. Do relax, she told herself. You want him to talk. He might just have valuable
'You said at the party you flew to America now and again. When was your last trip?'
'A few weeks ago,' Marienetta said tersely.
'And you also said Sophie flies over there. When was she last there?'
'A few weeks ago. We didn't fly together. Sophie would think I was keeping an eye on her.'
'And where did you fly to a few weeks ago?'
'Boston.'
***
Leaving Marienetta, who was calling a cab, Paula had to walk rapidly once more to Marino's. Due to meet Black Jack Diamond at 7 p.m., she knew she could just make it if she kept moving. Her legs were beginning to ache.
Entering the dimly lit street leading through to Piccadilly, she paused just beyond an alley to smooth down her jacket under her coat. The single street lamp cast her shadow in front of her. Suddenly she realized there was a second shadow, very still, tall, wearing a hat, behind her.
The hat, a man's, was wide-brimmed, possibly Spanish. She froze. The street was otherwise deserted. Then she recalled hearing a car stop by the kerb near the entrance to the side street. Shadow was now tailing her on foot. An ominous development. Whoever had followed her had been caught out by her suddenly stopping to tidy herself. Now Shadow's sinister outline was motionless, almost alongside her own shadow. He was very close to Paula. Her throat was dry with fear.
Then her brain accelerated. She was carrying the brief case in her left hand, her handbag looped over her right shoulder. With one sudden movement her right hand dipped inside her handbag, gripped the .32 Browning in its special pocket. Her left hand propped the briefcase against the wall, she was swinging round, the Browning gripped in both hands.
Shadow had disappeared. Down inside the narrow alley. The only way it could have vanished so quickly. Don't peer round a corner. She heard in her mind the warning words of Sarge, the man who had trained her at the mansion in Surrey with its acres of grounds.
With her finger resting lightly on the trigger, she jumped forward, faced down the alley. Nothing. She had half expected this. A short way into the murky alley it turned a corner, blotting out what lay beyond. She wasn't going down there.
She walked back, picked up the briefcase, walked back swiftly to the main street. Just beyond the entrance a brilliant red MG was parked. Brand new. Realizing she was going to be late for her appointment, she walked back into the side street, the Browning still in her hand, concealed under her coat. She walked quickly past the alley. Damn! She hadn't noticed the licence number of the red MG. Too late now.
As she entered Marino's the Browning was back inside its special pocket. The hat-check girl took her coat but Paula kept the briefcase. The absurd ordeal of obtaining the volume inside it made her decide to hang on to it come hell or high water.
Marino's was a large square room with a long bar against the left wall. The only occupant was Black Jack, seated at a table by the bar with a drink in front of him. December and the weather, which was getting colder still, would stop people from coming out.
Black Jack stood up in the aisle, arms held out to embrace her. She evaded him, smiling, slipping into the banquette opposite where he had been sitting. He waved his arms in a futile gesture to express his disappointment at her stand-offishness, sat down facing her.
'I thought you weren't coming,' he said with a broad smile.
'I got held up. Gave you time to have a few drinks.'
He held up his glass, which was half full. Scotch, she guessed. 'This, Paula, is my first drink. What is yours?'
'A glass of Chardonnay, please.'
The barman heard her and a glass was in front of her in no time. She raised it, clinked glasses with him. Do relax, she told herself. You want him to talk. He might just have valuable
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