Honour Among Thieves by Jeffrey Archer Page A

and forced her little case to the bottom, then quickly
covered it with the towels and put the lid back in place. She tried to forget she
had carried the bag from Leningrad to Tel Aviv to London – halfway across the
world. She cursed in her native tongue before checking her hair in the mirror
again. Then she strolled out of the ladies’ room, attempting to appear calm,
even casual.
    The
first thing Hannah saw when she stepped into the corridor was the young man
sitting at the far end reading the Daily Mail. With luck, he wouldn’t even give
her a second thought. She had reached the bottom of the stairs when he glanced
up. Rather good-looking, she thought, staring back at him for a second too
long. She turned and began to climb the staircase. She was away; she’d made it.
    ‘Excuse
me, miss,’ said a voice from behind her. Don’t panic, don’t run, act normally.
She turned and smiled. He smiled back, almost flirting with her, and then
blushed.
    ‘Did
you by any chance see an Arab lady when you were in the rest room?’
    ‘Yes,
I did,’ replied Hannah. ‘But why do you ask?’ she demanded. Always put the
enemy on the defensive whenever possible was the standard rule.
    ‘Oh,
it’s not important. Sorry to have bothered you,’ he said, and disappeared back
around the corner.
    Hannah
climbed the stairs, returned to the lobby and headed straight for the revolving
doors.
    Pity,
she thought once she was back on the pavement. He looked rather sexy. She
wondered how long he would sit there, who he was working for, and to whom he
would eventually be reporting.
    Hannah
began to retrace her steps home, regretting that she couldn’t drop into Dino’s
for a quick spaghetti bolognese and then take in Frank Marshall’s latest film,
which was showing at the Cannon. There were still times when she yearned to be
just a young woman in London. And then she thought of her mother, her brother,
her sister, and once again told herself all of that would have to wait.
    She
sat alone for the first part of the tube journey, and was beginning to believe
that if they sent her to Baghdad – as long as no one wanted to go to bed with
her – she could surely now pass herself off as an Iraqi.
    When
the train pulled in to Green Park two youths hopped on. Hannah ignored them.
But as the doors clamped shut she became aware that there was no one else in
the carriage.
    After
a few moments, one of them sauntered over towards her and grinned vacantly. He
was dressed in a black bomber jacket with the collar covered in studs, and his
jeans were so tight they made him look like a ballet dancer. His spiky black
hair stood up so straight that it looked as if he had just received convulsive
shock therapy. Hannah thought he was probably in his early twenties. She
glanced down at his feet to see that he was wearing heavy-duty army boots.
Although he was a little overweight, she suspected from his movements that he
was quite fit. His friend stood a few paces away, leaning against the railing
by the door.
    ‘So
what do you say to my mate’s suggestion of a quick strip?’ he asked, removing a
flick-knife from his pocket.
    ‘Get
lost,’ Hannah replied evenly.
    ‘Oh,
a member of the upper classes, eh?’ he said, offering the same vacant grin. ‘Fancy
a gang bang, do we?’
    ‘Fancy
a thick lip, do you?’ she countered.
    ‘Don’t
get clever with me, lady,’ he said as the train pulled in to Piccadilly Circus.
    His
friend stood in the doorway so that anyone who might have considered entering
the end carriage thought better of it.
    Never
seek attention, never cause a scene: the accepted rule if you work for any
branch of the secret service, especially when you’re stationed abroad. Only
break the rules in extreme circumstances.
    ‘My
friend Marv fancies you. Did you know that, Sloane?’
    Hannah
smiled at him as she began planning the route she would have to take out of the
carriage once the train pulled in to the next station.
    ‘Quite
like you