The outfit needs wearing in, so she drinks a cup of the cooling coffee, leaves the apartment building, and makes her way across Park Lane to Hyde Park. She tries it all on, walks around, accustoms herself to the look. A black polo-neck sweater, a plaid skirt, black woollen tights and zip-up boots. A pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses with pale-grey lenses. Several sizeable carrier bags stand by the front door, where Konstantin has left them.
In the kitchen there’s a half-full cafetière of Fortnum & Mason’s Breakfast Blend coffee, still warm. Street apartment, she kicks off her clothes and is asleep within minutes. He doesn’t seem to have one.” “I need a guaranteed two-hour window. Can you get the bloke’s diary up, Billy?” “ I’ve got Penny’s. He flicks his lighter beneath his half-smoked roll-up. Infra-red, pressure pads…” “You think it’s doable?” Eve asks him. “ That’s a dummy alarm over the first-floor window, so they’ve probably got a conventional system inside. Which we can’t.” “Just asking.” Lance leans in towards the screen. We’d never get one, even if we said why we needed one. The shit would really fly if we were caught.” “ I’m assuming we’re not going the search warrant route?” “No.
“ I’d like to, but it’ll be well secured. I think it was as far as he thought he could go.” “ So,” says Lance, “ are we going to turn Cradle’s place over?” Eve polishes her glasses. I’d asked specific questions about the possibility that members of the UK Intelligence Services were receiving large-scale payments from any unknown source. But Jin Qiang wouldn’t have directed me to Kent if he didn’t know I’d make the connection with Cradle. Assuming that Tony Kent is acting as some sort of financial intermediary for the organisation we’re targeting, I’d guess that money’s parked well out of sight of the Revenue.” “ So how do we know it’s going to Cradle?” “We don’t, for certain. They’ll have trouble explaining away seventeen fat ones.” Eve shrugs.
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