trimmings, if you please.'
Paula already knew something was wrong. Ages ago she had briefly had an Old Etonian as a friend before she escaped his predatory clutches, a man she soon found she disliked intensely. This so-called Evelyn- Ashton couldn't speak Old Etonian correctly. Near, but not near enough. While his back was turned speaking to the barman she dropped her handkerchief. Bending to retrieve it she slid the Beretta out of its holster and kept it in her right hand concealed under the table cloth, the muzzle aimed at her host's legs.
Max was in shock. Facing him was the most beautiful woman, in her thirties he guessed, and with the most entrancing smile. He'd almost decided before she appeared that he couldn't do it. Torture? Hideous. No way.
After coffee arrived a dam broke in his mind. She had to be warned. And certainly after what had happened out on the Wash. She sensed something strange in his manner, leaned forward.
`Is something wrong, something bothering you?'
He opened his mouth, swallowed, then it all flooded out as he forgot to speak like an Old Etonian.
`Miss Grey. Not from me anymore. I've been hired — this will be a shock — to kidnap you, dope your champagne, pretend you're ill, carry you out into that Ford outside, hide you in a travelling rug on the back seat.' He took a deep breath. 'Then torture you in a secret place, get Tweed on the phone to hear you screaming to lure him out. I can't do that to you. Please go now The barman knows a back way out. Don't use the front entrance.'
`So,' Paula said coolly, 'what is the name of the Armenian?'
`Don't know any Armenians.'
In a strained voice he turned round to call the barman. She chose the opportunity to slip the Beretta back inside her leg holster under her jeans.
Max explained the problem to the barman in low tones but she heard every word.
`This lovely lady's husband is on his way here. Can you quickly show her out of the back way you told me about earlier?'
She laid a hand on his broad shoulder as she stood up to follow the barman.
`Maybe you should get out of the country quickly. Start a new life.'
She was still alert for a more sophisticated trap when the barman led her to a concealed door out of sight at the back.
`Where does this lead to?' she asked. And could you check to make sure there's no car or persons out there?'
`Nothing,' he replied, returning from outside. 'No room for a car. Nobody about. You turn left, walk straight down the alley until you come to an even smaller alley. That takes you into Tiverton Street, well away from the Duke's Head.'
`Thank you so much.'
`Good luck.'
It was all in a day's work to him. Paula was not the first woman he had smuggled out just in time.
Paula had her Walther in her hand, concealed by her shoulder bag as she hurried over the cobbles. Thank heavens for my sensible shoes, she thought. She found the narrower alley and emerged into Tiverton Street, close to where her Porsche was parked.
She glanced down the street to where the brown Ford had been parked. It was gone. She realized then she had walked slowly over the cobbles to avoid twisting an ankle. She heard a familiar sound, a cross between a hum and a whistle. She turned round. It was Marler.
`I've been on the prowl,' he said with a smile. 'You look a bit tense.'
`I'm just going shopping in my Porsche.'
`Give you a hand?'
`Yes, please. The fridge is empty.'
When Max left the Duke's Head he was working on a problem. Taz, the Moroccan who was behind the wheel of the Ford, had been shown a photo of Paula Grey, so it was almost certain he'd recognized her when he saw her enter the bar. If he was questioned by Doubenkian, Max knew his own life wouldn't be worth a penny. Taz was a recent addition to the army of men Calouste had built up in different European countries and now in Britain. In Max's opinion the new recruit was poor quality but he could carry out simple jobs.
When Max opened the passenger door he saw the solution to
Paula already knew something was wrong. Ages ago she had briefly had an Old Etonian as a friend before she escaped his predatory clutches, a man she soon found she disliked intensely. This so-called Evelyn- Ashton couldn't speak Old Etonian correctly. Near, but not near enough. While his back was turned speaking to the barman she dropped her handkerchief. Bending to retrieve it she slid the Beretta out of its holster and kept it in her right hand concealed under the table cloth, the muzzle aimed at her host's legs.
Max was in shock. Facing him was the most beautiful woman, in her thirties he guessed, and with the most entrancing smile. He'd almost decided before she appeared that he couldn't do it. Torture? Hideous. No way.
After coffee arrived a dam broke in his mind. She had to be warned. And certainly after what had happened out on the Wash. She sensed something strange in his manner, leaned forward.
`Is something wrong, something bothering you?'
He opened his mouth, swallowed, then it all flooded out as he forgot to speak like an Old Etonian.
`Miss Grey. Not from me anymore. I've been hired — this will be a shock — to kidnap you, dope your champagne, pretend you're ill, carry you out into that Ford outside, hide you in a travelling rug on the back seat.' He took a deep breath. 'Then torture you in a secret place, get Tweed on the phone to hear you screaming to lure him out. I can't do that to you. Please go now The barman knows a back way out. Don't use the front entrance.'
`So,' Paula said coolly, 'what is the name of the Armenian?'
`Don't know any Armenians.'
In a strained voice he turned round to call the barman. She chose the opportunity to slip the Beretta back inside her leg holster under her jeans.
Max explained the problem to the barman in low tones but she heard every word.
`This lovely lady's husband is on his way here. Can you quickly show her out of the back way you told me about earlier?'
She laid a hand on his broad shoulder as she stood up to follow the barman.
`Maybe you should get out of the country quickly. Start a new life.'
She was still alert for a more sophisticated trap when the barman led her to a concealed door out of sight at the back.
`Where does this lead to?' she asked. And could you check to make sure there's no car or persons out there?'
`Nothing,' he replied, returning from outside. 'No room for a car. Nobody about. You turn left, walk straight down the alley until you come to an even smaller alley. That takes you into Tiverton Street, well away from the Duke's Head.'
`Thank you so much.'
`Good luck.'
It was all in a day's work to him. Paula was not the first woman he had smuggled out just in time.
Paula had her Walther in her hand, concealed by her shoulder bag as she hurried over the cobbles. Thank heavens for my sensible shoes, she thought. She found the narrower alley and emerged into Tiverton Street, close to where her Porsche was parked.
She glanced down the street to where the brown Ford had been parked. It was gone. She realized then she had walked slowly over the cobbles to avoid twisting an ankle. She heard a familiar sound, a cross between a hum and a whistle. She turned round. It was Marler.
`I've been on the prowl,' he said with a smile. 'You look a bit tense.'
`I'm just going shopping in my Porsche.'
`Give you a hand?'
`Yes, please. The fridge is empty.'
When Max left the Duke's Head he was working on a problem. Taz, the Moroccan who was behind the wheel of the Ford, had been shown a photo of Paula Grey, so it was almost certain he'd recognized her when he saw her enter the bar. If he was questioned by Doubenkian, Max knew his own life wouldn't be worth a penny. Taz was a recent addition to the army of men Calouste had built up in different European countries and now in Britain. In Max's opinion the new recruit was poor quality but he could carry out simple jobs.
When Max opened the passenger door he saw the solution to
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