“It’s precisely what that means,” says Felicity, wondering who on earth Andrew Fairbanks might be.
Bonnie is shaking her head in disbelief, so Andrew Fairbanks must be a big deal. “You must be very busy at the moment, I’m so sorry.”
“Not at all,” says Felicity, waving away the concern. “Not at all. Part of the job.”
“Andrew Fairbanks,” says Bonnie. “Wait till I tell my mum.”
Felicity suddenly feels a ridiculous but visceral desire to be Bonnie’s mother. Or grandmother. For someone to come home to her and tell her their news.
“So do you think you can help?” Bonnie asks. “You can say no, I promise.”
Surely the big bosses at Vivid Viral owe Felicity a few favors, for whatever it is that she does for them? Surely she can send an email and recommend Bonnie? She’s new, she’s hungry, she’ll do anything, try anything? Felicity feels sure that they’ll listen to her. And that she can help out this lovely, funny, nervous woman, who has traveled to Letchworth Garden City because her friends have told her to shoot her shot.
“I’ll tell you what,” Felicity says, “why don’t we chat about it over a pizza?”
40
In the parking lot of Emory Executive Airfield, Rosie, Amy, and Steve see Eddie Flood’s plane fly up into the clear blue sky.
“He’ll have fun in Hawaii,” says Steve.
“Not as much fun as Barb and her daughter are going to have,” says Rosie.
They even have his name now, and a scan of his passport photo from Carlos Moss. Eddie Flood, the man who has been sent to kill Amy, is currently on a ten-hour flight to a holiday paradise in pursuit of an eighty-year-old health retreat owner and her grateful daughter.
Steve takes his small rucksack from the back seat as Rosie’s Vuitton suitcase is lifted carefully from the boot by Carlos Moss.
“St. Lucia here we come,” says Rosie. “I’m just going to google what’s legal and illegal there.”
“Thank you, Carlos,” says Amy, as they walk toward the terminal building.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” says Carlos. “They’ve just refueled a Falcon for you. It’s a nice one.”
Ahead of them is Steve, still in T-shirt, gym shorts, and combat boots, his back covered in sweat patches. Rosie is trying to take his arm, but he is resisting.
“He sure loves you, huh?” says Carlos.
“I find it quite hard to accept love,” says Amy.
“I hear you,” says Carlos. “You should work on that, though.”
Amy nods. A porter with a trolley has arrived to take the cases. Carlos approaches Steve for a hug.
“I don’t hug, I’m afraid,” says Steve.
“Well, I do,” says Carlos and hugs him.
“I’m sorry I’m so sweaty,” says Steve.
“It’s South Carolina,” says Carlos. “Sweating’s what we do. You have a good flight, folks, and don’t get killed. Steve and I have got airships to see.”
He bows to Rosie. “Miss D’Antonio.”
“Thank you, Carlos,” says Rosie.
Carlos returns to work, and Rosie, Steve, and Amy head toward the tarmac.
“You should put Carlos in one of your books,” says Amy. “As a thank-you.”
“I know Carlos very well,” says Rosie. “He’s already been in one of my books. You ever read While You Were Dead?”
“No point in pretending I haven’t anymore,” says Amy. “So who’s Carlos in that? The security guard at the end?”
“The ex-Marine the writer sleeps with in the private airport terminal,” says Rosie.
“Of course he is,” says Amy. “Of course he is.”
Rosie points the porter in the direction of their chartered plane.
41
Max Highfield is meeting Henk van Veen in the library of The Wilberforce, a London private members’ club, just off Pall Mall. From the reception desk he can see oak and leather and hear whispered conversations between men and women in suits and ties. This is where Henk likes to meet.
Max has actually been here before. They sometimes hire it out for film shoots. He once shot a Nazi in the gents’ toilet.
“I’m sorry, sir, no trainers,” says a porter in a bowler hat.
“Excuse me?” Max replies. Perhaps the porter has not recognized him. Max takes off his beanie and runs his big hand through his thick hair with intent.
