The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,120

every day a girl gets to be part of something so dramatic. Every country in the world will know what happened here tonight. I’ll never forget I was part of it.’

‘Spoken like a true psychopath.’

She smiled a little. ‘You say it like it’s a bad thing.’

The waiter arrived. ‘Champagne, madam?’

‘I should say so.’ She took a flute for herself.

‘Sir?’ the waiter said to Victor.

He nodded and took one. ‘Thank you.’ When the waiter had gone, he raised his glass and said, ‘So what shall we drink to? Well, sip in my case.’

She thought for a moment. ‘Us,’ she said. ‘Let’s drink to us and the special time we’ve shared. It’s so much more romantic to know in less than an hour’s time we’ll never see each other again.’

She clinked his glass.

Victor said, ‘Is that Prudnikov?’

Francesca’s head turned to follow his gaze. ‘Where?’

‘Over by the mirror.’

He pointed with his champagne flute. ‘That one. Near the woman in the black dress.’

Francesca craned her neck. ‘Every woman is wearing a black dress.’

‘At your one o’clock. By the flowers and the woman with the big hair.’

She looked for a moment and then said, ‘No, that’s not him.’ She turned back to face Victor. ‘Too tall.’

Victor took a single sip of his drink.

Francesca did the same. ‘I do love champagne.’ She took a second sip and frowned a little. ‘But trust Russians to go for the cheap stuff. It’s probably not even real champagne but some second-rate national equivalent.’ She said, in a bad accent, ‘Champagnovski.’

‘Shampanskoye,’ Victor corrected.

‘You’re so very knowledgeable, Felix,’ she said, half mocking. ‘I bet you have lots of hidden talents I couldn’t possibly imagine.’

‘All sorts. I can do magic tricks.’

She chuckled and sipped her drink. ‘How charming.’

‘I’ll show you one later if you like.’

‘I think I’d really rather like that, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be possible.’ She sighed, sympathetic and almost sad. ‘Oh, Felix, there isn’t going to be a later for you, is there?’

FIFTY-EIGHT

Coughlin used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from above his eyebrows and his top lip. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. His nostrils flared with each heavy breath. Next to him, Hart was focused, but relaxed and calm. Coughlin didn’t like him. Coughlin was scared of him. They stood near the north-facing windows of the top-floor apartment. All the furniture had been pushed away from the windows to give them the best view. The only light came from streetlamps outside and the room was dark. Coughlin was glad of that. Hart wouldn’t be able to see how much he was sweating. He might be able to smell it, however.

Hart’s phone chimed. He checked the screen then thumbed a reply before calling Leeson. ‘Francesca’s sent the second code. Everything’s on schedule.’ He waited a moment as Leeson said something in return, then hung up. Coughlin said, ‘Couldn’t Kooi just force her tell him the code?’

Hart shook his head, somewhat contemptuously. ‘He’s at an embassy reception surrounded by security personnel. How is he going to get the opportunity to force her?’

‘I don’t know. But that’s only because I’m not the one who has to blow myself up. And if I was, I’d find a way to get that code, regardless of the consequences.’

‘What a fine father you’ll make someday. Kooi cares about his family too much to back out. But if he was as selfish as you, it would do him no good. Every fifteen minutes Francesca will send a different code that only she and I know. Don’t let appearances deceive you: there’s nothing Kooi could do to her in there to make her reveal the code and he won’t be as stupid as you would be in his place. Which is why you’re here and he’s in there. Amusing isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘How by virtue of your idiocy you will not only survive while Kooi dies, but you will profit from the demise of a more intelligent man. Natural selection in reverse.’

Coughlin frowned.

Through the window they could see over the crossroads to the Russian embassy. Much of the building was screened by the trees in the grounds, but from their elevation they could see above those on the south side to where the terrace stood. A couple of dozen guests were visible there, drinking and chatting. Coughlin couldn’t see them all because the trees to the west of the terrace partially blocked line of sight.

‘It’s not a problem,’ Hart said, reading Coughlin’s thoughts with unnerving accuracy. ‘The ambassador likes to

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