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“Not the people?” inquired an American voice.
“No,” said the warder. “They pass from monarch to monarch, so no politician will ever be able to get their hands on them.”
The first thing William noticed as they headed for the jewel room was that there wasn’t a guard in sight, while their guide must have been over sixty, and was somewhat portly. But then, as the guidebook confidently stated, no one had escaped from the Tower in almost a thousand years.
But William wasn’t a tourist, and today was not one for admiring state treasures, so he discreetly peeled off from the group and followed the signs for the upper and lower Salt Tower. He walked down the slope toward the Queen Elizabeth Arch and slipped into an unlit vault that had been added in the late 1230s as part of Henry III’s curtain wall that surrounded the fortress. The small octagonal stone room was empty, and of little interest to anyone except the most ardent historian.
William knew that Bess of Hardwick had been imprisoned in the Salt Tower for supposedly practicing witchcraft, and wondered if that was what Adrian had in mind. He sat down in a stone alcove that afforded him a good view of the entrance, so he wouldn’t be taken by surprise.
One or two tourists stuck their heads inside but, after a glance, quickly moved on to more promising possibilities. William heard the tower clock strike eleven, but then he’d never expected Adrian to be on time. He patted the two wads of notes in his breast pocket once again as he waited for his informer to appear.
He looked up to see a familiar figure standing in the archway. His eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal, until he spotted William. He walked quickly across to join him, and before he’d even sat down, said, “Did you bring the money?”
“Every penny,” said William, extracting the corner of one of the cellophane packets to reveal the crisp new notes, which brought a smile to Heath’s face. He blinked as the money disappeared back into William’s pocket.
“First, the name,” said William calmly.
“Khalil Rashidi.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be sure he’s the one they call the Viper?”
“Maria had a brief fling with him. That’s how we met.”
“And you trust her?”
“She’s the only person I do trust.”
William recalled Lamont’s words: Never forget, your old school chum isn’t your friend, and he never will be. But that doesn’t mean you don’t stick to your side of the bargain. You’ll have to, if you’re going to secure his trust. He extracted one of the cellophane packets and handed it to Heath. It disappeared instantly.
“What about the other hundred?” said Heath.
“Not before you tell me where Rashidi goes at five o’clock every Friday afternoon.”
“Number 24 The Boltons.”
“Is that where he lives?”
“No idea. That wasn’t part of our bargain. Pay up.”
William extracted the second package and handed it over. “If your information isn’t kosher,” he said, “I’ll personally drag you back here, put you on the rack, and I’ll be the one tightening the screws.”
“That’s not very friendly,” said Heath, “considering I’m working on something even bigger for my old school chum.”
“Any clues?” said William, trying hard not to sound excited.
“Not yet. But if I pull it off, I’ll need enough money for me and Maria to disappear.”
“Disappear to where?” asked William. But Heath, unlike Bess of Hardwick, had already escaped.
6
“Brazil would be my bet,” said William.
“Why Brazil?” asked Lamont.
