Page 22 of End Game
‘And as neither of us is getting any younger,’ Miles continued, ‘I feel the time has come for me to show you just how much I appreciate your friendship and loyalty.’ Miles glanced across to see the bead of sweat had reached Booth Watson’s nose, while several more had appeared on his forehead, allowing Miles to continue with his well-prepared homily. ‘Of course, I’m well aware that my latest enterprise may be stretching that loyalty to breaking point, especially considering I didn’t heed the sage advice you gave me earlier.’
Booth Watson turned to face him; his mouth opened but no words came out.
‘I suppose it should have occurred to me when I learned that Bernie Longe had offered to double your retainer if you would leave me and represent him. But, typically, you turned the offer down out of hand.’
Booth Watson removed a handkerchief from his top pocket and began to mop his brow.
‘So I’ve decided the least I can do in the circumstances is not only equal Longe’s offer, but, aware you are putting your career on the line, add a bonus for your troubles.’
‘A bonus?’ Booth Watson heard himself repeating.
‘Yes,’ said Miles. ‘Once the Games are over, it is my intention to place a million pounds in a numbered Swiss bankaccount, so you can enjoy the retirement you so richly deserve, because I can assure you this will be my last venture.’ Miles hoped he sounded sincere.
Booth Watson was speechless.
‘But I interrupted you,’ said Miles, as the cabbie turned into Cadogan Place. ‘There was something you wanted to tell me?’
‘It can wait until the Games are over,’ said Booth Watson, as the cab drew up outside Miles’s front door.
Miles smiled as he got out of the taxi and paid the fare.
25 June 2012 – 32 days to go
THE FOLLOWING MORNINGover breakfast with William, Ross filled the boss in with everything he’d witnessed when he’d followed Faulkner to the Oval.
‘Since then, there’s been nothing of interest,’ Ross added, ‘although he did manage to give me the slip yesterday morning after I got stuck at a traffic light.’
‘So, Faulkner has somehow got himself mixed up with the Russian government,’ said William thoughtfully.
‘So it would seem.’
‘What exactly are they up to?’
Ross left the question unanswered, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Has Beth told you what she witnessed during the gala reception at the Russian Embassy recently?’
William nodded. ‘She mentioned it in passing, but we were interrupted before I got the full story. My phone never stops ringing these days. Something about a Van Gogh?’
‘In one,’ said Ross. ‘Faulkner was taking an unusual amount of interest in a particular Van Gogh self-portrait – a painting Beth has since been told will be part ofThe Hermitage Comes to the Fitzmoleanexhibition.’
‘So Faulkner may be trying to buy it from the Russians,’ mused William.
‘Possibly,’ said Ross. ‘The question is: is he buying it with money, or with something else the Russians need?’
‘Good question.’ William sighed. ‘Look, keep an eye on Faulkner, by all means, but we have bigger issues to worry about right now. With only five weeks to go, all our focus needs to be on the Olympics and any potential threat to the Games – which this isn’t.’
‘As far as we know,’ said Ross.
•••
Ross decided to carry out William’s instructions and concentrate on the Olympics rather than Faulkner, but he still wondered if the two might somehow be connected, so on his day off he was back in his taxi, parked a hundred yards from Faulkner’s front door. He was taken by surprise when Faulkner climbed into his Rolls but Collins turned right at the end of the street and not left.
Ross kept his distance as the chauffeur-driven car headed out of central London, passing through the boroughs of Chelsea, Fulham and Brentford, before coming to a halt outside a semi-detached house in Hounslow.
Ross watched as Faulkner got out of the car, strode up a short, weed-infested path, before knocking on a door that was opened almost immediately. He was clearly expected.
Ross drove past the house and carried on for another hundred yards before turning left and disappearing out of sight. He parked the car, got out, and hid behind a tree that afforded him a perfect view of the front door. He waited.
About an hour passed before Faulkner came back out andclimbed into the Rolls, which then headed back towards central London.
