East of the City Read Free Page B

kept asking who Bill Tyler was.
    ‘You’ll see.’
    ‘What’s he do? What’s this safe-house bit?’
    When the Mortlake Group put Bill Tyler’s company on a retainer and a secrecy agreement was signed, it cut both ways. If we ever had to use their services, no third parties were to be informed. I wasn’t sure yet where Max fitted into that arrangement.
    I said, ‘Ask Tyler.’
    ‘I’m asking you, Ian.’
    When I didn’t answer him, he gave me a pissed-off look.
    In a vague kind of way I’d known Max for more than twenty years. He used to trail around after Sebastian at the dogs, a pimply-faced kid three years older than me who always had his hands in his pockets. Sebastian bet with my old man quite a lot. He sometimes brought Max down the Gallon Club of a Monday night, that’s when the bookies and a few big punters did their settle-up for the week. I’d be sitting in the corner drinking my Coke and Max’d be perched up at the bar near the men. He’d say Hi to me, but that was all. I guess when you’re fifteen a twelve-year-old isn’t someone you want to be seen with, but I only understood that later. When I was twelve, I thought Max was a prick.
    We got to the safe-house, I hit the buzzer, wondering how I was going to explain Max to Bill.
    ‘This the right place?’
    Stepping back, I checked the number. 33. ‘Ahha.’ I hit the buzzer again. It was one of those old Victorian places with bay windows. There were dark curtains, downstairs and up, so we couldn’t see in. There was a narrow gap between the pavement and the house; you could see a basement down there, but that was curtained too.
    ‘Yes?’ Bill, on the intercom.
    I gave him the codeword, the lock clicked and I pushed the door open. ‘Allen sent Max Ward with me,’ I said. I was already inside, with Max right behind me, when Bill muttered over the intercom, ‘Fucking hell.’
    There was a short hallway leading straight to the stairs and an open door off to the right. I went in, calling Bill’s name.
    ‘Christ, minimalist or what,’ Max said, following me into the front room. ‘Who is this guy?'
    The walls and ceiling were a dirty cream colour, and the floor had a grey carpet that looked brand-new. There wasn’t one piece of furniture in the room. The overhead light was bright, a single bulb, its glass cover was sitting on the floor in the corner.
    ‘He lives here?' Max said.
    Footsteps came down the stairs, Bill appeared in the doorway, he looked at me hard. When I did the introductions he didn’t bother to shake Max’s hand. ‘Where’s the note?' he said.
    While he was reading it, Max said to him, ‘Shouldn’t you be out there?' Max gestured vaguely. London. The world. He wasn’t angry, more like confused about exactly what was being done to save his old man.
    Bill looked up. ‘Is your father on any medication?
    ‘What?’
    ‘Does he have to take anything?
    ‘Some pills,’ Max said. ‘For his heart.'
    Bill asked what type, and how often, and Max explained that they weren’t that important. ‘He just pops one when he’s a bit stressed.'
    Bill stared and waited. Max, feeling stupid now, told him the name of the drug.
    Then Bill handed the note back to me. I read it again while he fired more questions at Max. The note said, ‘ Sebastian Ward will be released upon the delivery of 5 US Treasury bonds, each to the face value of one million pounds. Place and time of the exchange to be notified. ' That was it. The typeface was dark and bold, and the note was unsigned.
    ‘They haven’t phoned?' Bill asked Max.
    ‘Not yet.’ Max touched his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got home and office redirected to the mobile. Not a squeak.’
    ‘The note was addressed to you?’
    Max pulled out an envelope. M. Ward Esquire , it said. The door buzzer went, I took a step that way but Bill grabbed my arm. ‘It’s not for you.’ He went into the next room, we heard a button click. ‘Yes?’ he said.
    A man’s voice came back over the