Then We Die Read Free Page A

trundled away from where he wanted to be.
    ‘
C
’
mon! C
’
mon!
’
    It took maybe twenty seconds for the lift to move down one floor and the doors to open. Jumping out, Carlyle took a left, following the signs for the emergency exit, cursing until he found a small door leading to the stairs.
    Bounding up two steps at a time, his heart was racing by the time he reached the third floor. Taking a moment to calm himself, he stepped as casually as he could into the corridor and headed back in the direction of the lifts, adopting the air of a guest having difficulty in locating his room.
    When he reached the lifts, the man in the tweed jacket was still standing there, staring aimlessly at a print hanging on the wall. There was no sign of his twin or of the third man, the one in the suit.
    As he approached, Carlyle could see that this guy was at least six inches taller – and probably a good 20 kilos heavier – than himself.
    What are you going to do now
,
genius?
he wondered, now bitterly regretting his rather premature text to his sergeant.
    The man turned to face Carlyle, his expression hidden by the sunglasses. Carlyle nodded politely and made to walk past.
    ‘Excuse me, sir,’ the man said, ‘do you have the time?’
    His English had a slight accent, but Carlyle couldn’t place it. He checked his watch and smiled. ‘Almost exactly five.’
    ‘Thanks.’ The man gestured towards the print. ‘Nice picture, don’t you think?’
    ‘Very nice,’ said Carlyle, quickening his pace in order to avoid being caught up in any more chit-chat. ‘Very nice indeed.’
    He sensed the man hesitate, before making a decision not to follow. As he turned the corner, the inspector heard the guy say something in a language that certainly wasn’t English. Carlyle continued walking down a long, gloomy, curving corridor, with doors on either side, but empty of any other people. Gritting his teeth, he hoped this didn’t lead to a dead end. Pulling out his mobile, he again called his sergeant. When the call didn’t go through, he studied the screen and was dismayed to realize that he had no signal. ‘Fucking hell!’ he hissed. ‘The middle of London and there’s no bloody signal. How the hell can that be possible?’
    Ten yards along the corridor, Carlyle came to a room-service tray deposited outside one of the guest rooms. On it stood an empty bottle of Cuvée Dom Perignon 2000. Might be handy, he thought, picking it up by the neck and weighing it in his hand. Looking up again, he spotted the second tweed-jacketed jerk from the Palm Court coming out of a room ahead of him.
Game on!
With one guy in front and one behind, there was no chance of backing down now. Carlyle strode forward, smiling inanely.
    Tweed jacket number two was also clearly bigger and heavier than Carlyle himself. Still wearing his sunglasses in the semidarkness, he held up a hand, like a traffic cop directing traffic.
    ‘Hotel Security.’
    Carlyle nodded politely, but said nothing. The man in front of him was wearing surgical rubber gloves, of the kind doctors used. Carlyle felt a wave of relief pass over him, mingling with the adrenalin that was coursing nicely through his veins. This must definitely be the crew that was hitting London hotels. He might be about to get his head kicked in, but at least he wasn’t going to end up looking like a paranoid idiot.
    The man frowned when he realized that Carlyle wasn’t backing off. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
    Another accent he couldn’t place.
    ‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ said Carlyle, moving closer.
    ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the man smiled malevolently, ‘but I’m going to have to ask you to return to the lobby.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    Carlyle kept coming.
    The man nonchalantly moved his feet apart, adopting a lower centre of gravity. ‘We have a small issue here that we need to deal with,’ he said flatly. ‘It is nothing serious and you will be able to access your room very shortly.’
    ‘I understand,’