South by South East Read Online Free PDF Page A

heard.
    “Tim…!”
    I nudged Tim and pointed. Another door had opened and I could see into what looked like a fully working laboratory with its own collection of technicians in white coats. But you didn’t need a microscope to see what they were working on. They had the telephone box from the alley. And they were taking it apart piece by piece. I watched as one man sprayed the glass with some sort of powder while another unscrewed the telephone receiver. But then the taxi driver prodded me with his gun and gestured at the door nearest the receptionist. “In there,” he said.
    We went in. It was an office like any other with a desk, a computer screen, a few leather chairs and lighting as soft as the executive carpet. Sitting behind the desk was an elderly man with grey hair that had probably come with the job. He was a black man, dressed in a three-piece suit and an old school tie. His movements were slow, but his narrow, grey eyes seemed to move fast.
    “Please sit down,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He punched a few letters on his keyboard but the screen was turned towards him so I couldn’t see what he was writing. Meanwhile, Tim had shifted onto the edge of his seat and was craning to look over the top of the desk. The man noticed him and stopped typing. “Is there something wrong?” he enquired.
    Tim coughed. “You’re only using two fingers,” he said.
    “Yes.” The man smiled and held up his hands. “But I do have a complete set.” He pushed the keyboard away. “So you know about Charon?”
    “Maybe…”
    “Of course you do, Mr Diamond. You are Tim Diamond, I presume?”
    Tim stared. “How do you know that?”
    “I was guessing. We found a name tag in the coat that McGuffin was wearing when he … left the company.” I couldn’t help smiling at that. “I presume he exchanged coats with you in an attempt to escape from Charon. That was the sort of thing McGuffin would have tried. And you must have found the hotel key in his coat. Am I correct?”
    “Keep talking,” Tim muttered.
    “I have your details here on the computer,” the old man went on. He glanced at the screen. “Tim Diamond Inc. Detective Agency. Camden Town.” He turned to me. “You’re not on my file.”
    “I’m his brother,” I said.
    “Ah.” He typed a few words onto the screen.
    “Nick Diamond. Want me to spell it?”
    “I think I can manage.”
    “And what exactly is it that you do manage, Mr…” Tim began.
    “My name is Mr Waverly.” He smiled. “I am the chief executive of this organization.”
    “And what organization is that?”
    Waverly lowered his voice. “I take it you’ve heard of MI6.”
    “I’ve driven up it,” Tim said.
    “No,” Waverly corrected him. “You’re thinking of the M6 motorway to Birmingham. I’m talking about intelligence.”
    Tim’s face brightened. “Then you’re talking to the right person!” he announced.
    “Military intelligence!” Waverly explained.
    “Spies,” I added.
    “McGuffin was an agent working for me,” Waverly went on. “He was pursuing a killer known only as Charon. I don’t know how much he had told you, but Charon has a contract on a Russian diplomat by the name of Boris Kusenov.”
    “How do you know that?” I asked. I didn’t think it was an important question when I asked it. It was just something I wanted to know. But it seemed I’d touched on a sore point because suddenly he looked less like the head of the British Secret Service and more like a used car salesman with a second-hand secret.
    “It doesn’t matter how,” he said and I realized that it did matter a lot. “All that matters is that he doesn’t kill Kusenov on British soil.”
    “Suppose he stays on the pavement?” Tim asked.
    Mr Waverly swallowed hard. “I mean, we have to ensure that Kusenov is not killed while he is anywhere in Britain,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “It would have huge international repercussions. That is why