Honour Among Thieves by Jeffrey Archer

that he
was badly out of breath and sweating from head to toe.
    He
pushed through the swing door of the coffee shop and peered around the room,
having no idea who or what he was looking for. He imagined that everyone was
staring back at him.
    The
coffee shop had about sixty cafe tables in twos and fours, and he would have
guessed it was about half full. Two of the corner tables were already taken, so
McKenzie headed to the one that gave him the best view of the door.
    He
sat and waited, praying that they hadn’t given up on him.
    It
was when Hannah arrived back at the crossing on the corner of Thurloe Place
that she first had the feeling someone was following her. By the time she had
reached the pavement on the South Kensington side, she was convinced of it.
    A
tall man, young, evidently not very experienced at shadowing, bobbed rather
obviously in and out of doorways. Perhaps he thought she wasn’t the type who
would ever be suspicious. Hannah had about a quarter of a mile in which to plan
her next move. By the time the Norfolk came in sight, she knew exactly what
needed to be done. If she could get into the building well ahead of him, she
estimated she only needed about thirty, perhaps forty-five, seconds at most,
unless the porters were both fully occupied. She paused at the front window of
a chemist’s shop and stared at the array of beauty products that filled the
shelves. She turned to look towards the lipsticks in the corner and saw his
reflection in the brightly polished window. He was standing by a newspaper stand
at the entrance to South Kensington tube station. He picked up a copy of the
Daily Mail – amateur, she thought -which gave her the chance to cross the road
before he could collect his change. She had reached the front door of the hotel
by the time he had passed the chemist. Hannah didn’t run up the steps, as it
would have acknowledged his existence, but mistakenly pushed the revolving door
so sharply that she sent an unsuspecting old lady tumbling onto the pavement
much sooner than she’d intended.
    The
two porters were chatting as she shot across the lobby. The red ticket and
another pound were already in her hand before she reached the porters’ desk.
Hannah slammed the coin down on the counter, which immediately attracted the
older man’s attention. When he spotted the pound, he quickly took the ticket,
retrieved Hannah’s little case and returned it to her just as her pursuer was
coming through the revolving doors. She headed in the direction of the
staircase at the end of the corridor, clutching the little case close to her
stomach so the man following her would be unaware that she was carrying
anything. When she reached the second step of the staircase she did run, as
there was no one else in sight. Once down the staircase she bolted across the
corridor and into the comparative safety of the ladies’ room.
    This
time she was not alone. A middle-aged woman was leaning over a washbasin to
check her lipstick. She didn’t give Hannah so much as a glance when she
disappeared into one of the cubicles. Hannah sat on the top of the lavatory,
her knees tucked under her chin as she waited for the woman to finish her
handiwork. It was two or three minutes before she finally left. Once Hannah
heard the door close, she lowered her feet onto the cold marble floor, opened
the battered suitcase to check everything was there and, satisfied that it was,
changed back into her T-shirt, baggy sweater and jeans as quickly as she could.
    She’d
just managed to get her sneakers on when the door opened again, and she watched
the lower part of two stockinged legs cross the floor and enter the cubicle
next to hers. Hannah shot out, and buttoned up her jeans, before checking
herself quickly in the mirror. She ruffled her hair a little and then began
checking round the room. There was a large receptacle in the corner for
depositing dirty towels. Hannah removed the plastic lid, took out all the
towels that were there