I fell into bed around eleven, no closer to working out what I was going to do. There didn’t seem many options. As I lay there in a sleepy state, I realised I needed to stop trying to change the situation and just accept it. That way I could play within the rules and find a way to win. The plan came to me suddenly. It was complete madness, and most likely suicide, but it was something. I swore quietly to myself at the sheer insanity of it but there was nothing else I could do. I thought deeply. If I was going to do it, it was going to take a lot of work and research.
*****
My sleep had been more disturbed than usual that night. I fell asleep pretty early, but was woken every hour or so by something. There was nothing in my flat and no commotion outside so I had to assume that it was me who was waking myself up so inconsiderately. By six I accepted I wasn’t going to get anymore sleep and dragged my body back to life. It seemed to be taking longer and longer each time I got out of bed. It took me a quarter of an hour to limp to the bathroom and it was nice, for once, to be greeted by a reasonable reflection in the mirror. My stubble was growing back though it wasn’t at a length to look bad yet and the new, shorter haircut was still looking good.
I had to run the water for a good ten minutes before it was warm enough for humans to shower in it. I was under strict instructions from Louis, my hair stylist, to only use the expensive shampoo he had forced me to buy and to add ‘conditioner’. I've never been exactly sure what it is meant to do but I did it anyway. It felt nice to take care of myself again. Little by little, I was beginning to control all the aspects of my life again. Only three minutes had crept passed seven o’clock when I finished grooming myself and I settled down at the kitchen table to work. I had bought an internet dongle along with my phone and managed to get online with little difficulty. I couldn’t be bothered to try and install Wi-Fi in a flat I hoped I wouldn’t live in for very long. The Internet performance was slow but consistent and I got about my business.
The first thing I needed to do was learn everything about Chinese ewers and the Yuan Dynasty. Google was littered with information about the importance of decorative ewers and I waded slowly through them. I found three news stories that were relevant. There was an online article from 2004 that stated a Yuan Dynasty Ewer had been stolen from the ‘Castello Sforzesco’ Museum in Milan. Local police were at a loss as to how anyone could have got near it and the press were calling it an inside job. The details were sketchy but that was seemingly because the thief had done such a good job. They had nothing to go off. My head spun with confusion and pride as I thought about Emma doing the impossible. I had assumed she was primarily a con artist, but it was starting to look like she took being a thief more seriously.
The second article was from the same website and was dated exactly a week after the first. There were photographs of a dark alleyway in Milan, full of bins and tramps. It was here that the Milan ewer was apparently found. There were no details as to who found it or why it was there but it had been tested by experts and was the genuine one. Except it wasn’t.
The final article was a photocopy of a real newspaper which had been scanned on to the computer. The scanning had blurred the font somewhat but it was still legible. The headline read ‘The Scandal in Milan’ in large black font. This was only a week old. There was no mention of the job in Paris or that there was more than one ewer. It discussed how a ewer which had gone missing for a week seven years ago had recently been proven a fake. According to the paper, the paint used on it looked flawless originally but over the years it had begun to crack and flake away. Expert testing had confirmed the truth. It was a fake.
By lunchtime I felt like I was up to date with most things ‘Yuan’-related. I realised I had still not eaten so I forced down a few slices of leftover pizza to keep my energy up. The rest of my day was going to be pretty exhausting.
I slipped out of my flat and into my ‘pimpmobile’ as quickly as I could. I was sure the Russians weren’t following me but you could never be too careful. I was a little dubious about my next journey but I felt it was necessary. The other day I had spotted a 24-hour gym in a less inviting area of town, not far from where I now lived. To call it grotty would be to do it a kindness but it seemed the perfect place for me. I parked up and walked in gingerly, trying not to look intimidated.
The gym was more like a boxing club when I got inside. There was a worn down ring in one corner and several punching bags hanging from rusty chains. It was a large, expansive space; far too big to fill with exercise equipment. As I walked in there must have been twenty men working out, ranging from their twenties to mid-forties and all in unbelievable physical condition. Just like a movie, they all turned to stare at me as if stunned that someone like me would dare to come in.
‘Who teaches the self-defence classes here?’ I muttered. ‘I saw the sign...’
‘I do,’ called a deep voice from a large man, standing just outside the ring. He did not move or offer to help me. He merely stated it like a black and white answer.
‘I want to learn. I need to pick up some stuff right now,’ I cried, more confidently.
‘No.’ Even though I didn’t think he was joking, all the other men began laughing loudly.
‘What?’
‘I said ‘No’. You don’t belong here. Give me one good reason why I should help you,’ he said slowly, edging closer to me all the time. Soon he was no more than a few feet away from me.
‘I’ll give you a thousand,’ I replied cockily, throwing him a wad of tight notes.
This was the make or break moment. There was every chance he would just take my money and throw me out but I hoped it would show confidence on my behalf.
‘OK, pretty-boy, you’ve got yourself an instructor.’
*****
That night it took all my strength to drag my aching body into bed. Tyler, my instructor, was not as bad as he'd seemed. I wouldn’t exactly say I was now Jackie Chan, but he knew his stuff and had taught me a lot. I 'd been able to dictate what I wanted to learn; he showed me the best ways to deal with someone with a weapon, how to take a punch and taught me the pressure points on a body that would help me get out of a tight situation. I'm not stupid. I realised that all of this was unlikely to make any difference, but it gave me some peace of mind. I definitely needed that.
It had been a productive day. I hadn’t got as much stuff done as I would have liked but I planned to finish my training tomorrow. For now, my body could rest.
*****
The problem with doing six or seven hours of solid exercise and then going straight to bed is that your body forgets to wake up the next morning. An athlete would struggle to recover from the amount I did and I was certainly not an athlete. I attempted getting out of bed twice and then gave up, deciding to do the rest of my research right there.
My brain felt as sore as my torso did by lunchtime. It was not used to taking in so much information (or really any information at all) and I wanted to know what Emma did. It had taken a lifetime to learn what she knew but I wanted a rough outline. I read about famous cons and the tricks they used. It was fascinated reading and I didn’t find it hard to keep my attention focused; I could honestly see how people went down that road. I was more shocked at how people had the guts to try it. The more I read, the more I realised it was completely about confidence. Most people want to believe what you tell them. Nerves are the only thing that gives you away.
From there, I read on about pick-pocketing and lock-picking. Both of these were a science in their own right. I could never get my head around all of it, but the internet is a wonderful thing. I had access to a wealth of information and I did my best to absorb it.
Training was going pretty well. I couldn’t get the hang of the locks (despite trying for hours on my front door) but I felt pretty confident about the self-defence techniques. I was hoping to spend the next few days planning exactly what I was going to do. I'd found a shooting range and intended to head there tomorrow morning. I knew I
would need a license for my own, but I was hoping I could rent one. In a few days I would be ready to put my plan into action. I could do this.
Sadly, I didn’t have a few days to prepare. I didn’t have very long at all. At that moment, my phone began ringing. I was shocked at first. I had never heard that phone ring before; this was the first time it had been used to receive, not make, calls. It was Jack.
‘Hello?’ I said, quizzically.
‘Tom, listen I don’t have much time. Let me talk.’
He sounded worried. This couldn’t be good.
‘Go for it,’ I said quickly.
‘You won’t believe this but two nights ago the American ewer was stolen! The whole place is in absolute uproar. The feds think it’s already out of the country. No one knows who or what has happened; I’ve got a pretty good idea though.’
‘Emma,’ I breathed.
‘Exactly. I don’t know how she did it but my bet would be she is already back in the UK by now. It’s impossible what she's doing.’
I tried to calculate quickly. The Kozlovs already had three of the ewers. I didn’t have much time. She was moving faster than I'd ever dreamt.
‘She’s good Tom. She knew she would have to hit Paris and then America back to back, before the security measures were in place.’
‘OK, so how long have I got?’
‘You don’t get it Tom, China has freaked out. They have demanded the final two get sent home.’
‘How long Jack?’ I demanded.
‘With all the paperwork, you're looking at a week. No more. But Tom, you won’t get within a hundred feet of them now. It’s over.’
My brain was racing. I wasn’t ready but I was going to have to start the plan now. If China took the ewers home, the Kozlovs may never get their hands on them and then there would be no need for Emma to stay alive.
‘Shit. Right Jack, where are the Kozlovs? I need to know.’
‘They are staying at the Dorchester, rooms 104 and 106 according to Stevie’s reports. They're being watched constantly. Why, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ I lied.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Jack said cautiously.
‘I’ll try,’ I replied and hung up.
This was it. I paced into the bedroom and pulled out my sharpest suit. I had to look the part. I had spent so long trying to hide from the Kozlovs and I was now about to go and find them. Into the lion’s den.
It was almost nine at night when I stood in front of the mirror, looking as smart as I ever had. My new suit fit me perfectly and I had the crispest of white shirts on underneath. I looked right. Almost ready to go; just one more thing. I walked over to the bedside cabinet and pulled out the gun. I would be needing that.
Chapter Eighteen
‘I never underestimate anyone.’
I decided against taking the ‘pimpmobile’ for this, I wanted to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I phoned ahead and got a taxi to pick me up.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked, in a wonderfully cockney accent.
‘The Dorchester, please,’ I replied as I slipped into the back.
The Dorchester is, in my opinion, the best hotel in London. It is situated in Park Lane, Mayfair and anyone who has played monopoly will know how expensive an area it is.
The hotel itself is unobtrusive, at least from the outside. It looks grand enough but there's a quiet confidence about it that says ‘I know I’m good, I don’t have to boast’. The white surface of the building is draped with flowers all year round and the sign over the entrance is classy and dignified, without looking gaudy. All in all, it seemed to embody my definition of class and I could see why the Kozlovs would want to stay there.
It probably took quite a long time to get there but I didn’t notice it. I was in the zone. Something was happening to me. I was closer to death than I had ever been potentially, but I wasn’t afraid. I was focused. The events of the last few months had been building up to this moment. I looked up at the building and paid the taxi driver what I owed him. Presently, I was alone again. One deep breath, one quick straighten of the suit and I was away. Confidence.
I breezed through reception and noticed the hotel was still brimming with activity. I’ve heard people say London never sleeps and I was beginning to agree. I waited until the ladies on reception were relatively free and approached.
‘Hi there,’ I smiled. ‘I think the phones aren’t working. I’ve just been up in 104 and the boss wants some champagne up there pretty quickly, his girl is sobering up.’
‘Charlotte’ from reception looked confused. ‘Have you been trying to call from 104? I’ll send someone up to look at the phone if you like?’ she said helpfully.
Confidence, Tom. Confidence.
‘Listen, Charlotte you don’t know what he is like. He doesn’t want anyone disturbing them all night. OK? But he needs some champagne now! The best you’ve got. Charge it to the room.’
Charlotte looked flustered but understood. She must have dealt with hundreds of arseholes with too much money before.
‘Of course, sir, it’ll be there in just a minute.’
‘Thanks Charlotte, I’ll make sure he knows how helpful you’ve been,’ I said and with that, I turned and was gone. Part one, done.
I strode confidently up the corridor and found a sign that pointed me towards rooms 101-109. It didn’t take me long to find Room 104. Behind this door stood one of the men responsible for ruining my life. I was shaking but I kept calm. I was preparing myself for what I had to do next.
Charlotte kept true to her word and just a minute after me, a member of staff appeared pushing a trolley with champagne and all manner of chocolates and fruits. It looked beautiful. Part two.
‘Thank God you’ve come,’ I said, in an over-friendly tone. ‘Is this for 104?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Oh thank you so much, you’ve saved my arse,’ I cried and hugged him tightly. He looked shell-shocked but didn’t stop me. I released him and told him I would take it inside.
‘The boss doesn’t want to be disturbed; let me do it,’ I whispered and he nodded with understanding before disappearing.
My research had clearly worked. The hug may not have been the most convincing acting but it had allowed me to unclip his door card. It wasn’t that difficult, but I didn’t know what I would do if I had failed. I wanted to run away and not go in there, but I had no choice. I had to do this. For Emma.
I knocked on the door and called out, ‘complementary room service.’ It wasn’t the most original thing but I needed a line to get me started. At first I heard nothing and I was worried he wasn’t in but eventually someone grunted their approval. I let myself in with the door card; the green light flashed briefly and the lock clicked open. I was in.
Nobody was in the bedroom but I could hear water running from the bathroom.
‘Leave it and go,’ called a deep, Russian voice.
I had to use my time wisely. I raced around the room checking for a weapon. Mob bosses always have a weapon hidden somewhere. I was somewhat surprised to find it so easily, hidden under his pillow. I unclipped the magazine from it and hoped that meant it had no bullets left. That made me feel a little safer. Now all I could do was wait. For this to work I was going to have to be completely in character.
In the corner of the room was a small, silver sofa that would barely fit two at a squeeze. It wasn’t particularly comfortable but it would serve as a good vantage point. I pulled out my own gun, cocked it and rested it on the sofa’s arm. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.
It took three or four minute for a Kozlov to appear from the bathroom. That was three or four minutes of torture, trying to control my nerves and breathing. Eventually, in just a dressing gown, he walked straight past me and picked a piece of fruit up off the trolley.
‘I don’t think you can underestimate how easy it would be for me to kill you right now,’ I said quiet
ly. I think it sounded confident and collected.
Kozlov froze quickly, but he didn’t turn around.
‘I wondered how long it would take for you to join us, Tom.’ His accent was deep but he spoke perfect English. His response threw me for a second but I wasn’t going to let him know that.
‘Do you mind if I sit?’ he asked casually. I knew he wanted to edge nearer to his gun, but I played along.
‘Of course, please do.’
‘I think you must agree that if I wanted you dead, you would be right now,’ I continued, coolly.
‘I am not sure you have the heart to kill a man,’ he replied. He was now on his bed, his hand under the pillow.
‘I think you underestimate me.’
‘I never underestimate anyone,’ he replied. ‘It’s a weakness!’ and with that he drew his gun out from under the pillow and aimed it at me.
I didn’t flinch for a second. I gave him a wry smile and for once, I could see his confusion.
‘I’m impressed with you Tom. I heard you ran away to Mexico but I must have been wrong. It’s a shame all your hard work will go to waste.’
He stood up and pulled the trigger. As he did it I accepted whatever would happen, would happen. Luckily for me, nothing happened. He looked down, confused for a second and when he looked back at me I was waving his magazine at him.
‘That’s the problem with you, Kozlov. No imagination.’ I picked up my gun gently and pointed it at him. ‘Now, do I have your attention?’
‘Completely.’
‘I want you to call your brother now, and get him in here. I threw him my phone and added, ‘In English.’
Kozlov looked concerned for the first time. He wanted to get control back but he had been outwitted once and didn’t want to test me again.
‘Igor, come here,’ he said and then threw the phone back at me.
‘When he comes in I want you to ask for his gun and then as soon as you have it, you drop it in on the floor. Try anything and I will put a bullet through the back of his head. Underestimating me again would be a very big mistake.’