Revenge

provided the necessary details.
After that, there could be no going back because he would be facing a murder charge. Fortunately for the Chief, Jones had since flourished in his career and with each promotion came access to even better information. Connor had never met him before and doubted Jones was his real name but the Chief trusted his information and that was what mattered. Connor knew he was going to need some inside help.
Connor arrived early at the meeting point in Hyde Park. He’d been growing a beard for a couple of days and now had quite thick stubble. He wore old jeans and a thick blue overcoat favoured by country folk. He looked as unremarkable as most of the others in the park. He sat on a cold bench, from where he could see the bronze statue of Peter Pan with its squirrels, rabbits, mice and fairies climbing up to Peter at the top and waited for Jones to arrive. Fortunately, given the freezing temperature, he didn’t have to wait long. The man approaching matched Connor’s image of a city banker. He wore a blue pin stripe suit under a long navy coat with a bowler hat on his head. There was no exchange of greetings. Connor had no time for anyone who would mess with an underage girl and wasn’t going to waste words. Both men’s eyes revealed what they thought of each other. Neither was there out of choice.
“We need to find a way of getting to Murphy. I need to know his whereabouts and any plans to move him,” Connor said.
“You won’t be able to get near him,” Jones replied disdainfully, in the upper class tones of someone educated at Eton and Oxford.
“Just get me the fucking information I need and leave the rest to me,” Connor said in a tone that didn’t invite discussion.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jones responded unenthusiastically.
“You better do better than that. I need results or else…” Connor let the threat hang in the air.
“I don’t respond well to threats,” Jones snapped.
“You make me sick,” Connor sneered. “We know how to deal with the likes of you back home. You get me what I want or you’ll end up behind bars and they don’t like your sort inside.” He knew he was laying it on a bit thick but it had the desired effect.
Jones turned paler; any fight draining from him at the thought of what would await him should he not comply. He didn’t like showing emotion. And he certainly didn’t like this terrorist criticising his lifestyle and making threats. He would have to call in favours. There were a great number of people owed him favours over the years and he stored them away like a camel does water until needed.
“It will take twenty-four hours,” Jones said in an even voice. He had no wish for any further confrontation.
Connor turned and walked away. He knew Jones would come through with the information. He had no choice.
When Tom asked at the front desk for Melanie Adams’s room, he found he was indeed expected. The receptionist almost came to attention as he pointed Tom towards the elevators and told him Miss Adams was in the Presidential suite, which was situated not surprisingly, on the top floor. As he stepped outside the elevator he saw a door to his right with two large men standing guard outside. Tom gave them his best smile as he approached and introduced himself.
“I’m Tom Ashdown. Miss Adams is expecting me.”
The first man gave a small tap on the door and in the same movement opened it. “Please go in,” he said indicating for Tom to enter.
As he entered the suite Melanie came towards him with a broad smile of welcome. “Hi Tom. It’s good to see you again. I’m so pleased you called me.”
Tom went to offer his hand in greeting but she ignored it and instead put both her arms around him, gave him a gentle squeeze and kissed him lightly on each cheek.
“I owe you so much,” she said, breaking the embrace.
Tom barely managed to speak he was so stunned by the magnificence of the room in which he stood. “Actually it’s my brother you should thank,” he responded. “If it hadn’t been his turn to pay for dinner, I would never have been there.” Then seeing Melanie’s slightly quizzical look he added, “It’s a long story,” regretting his original explanation.
“Well you were there and I’ll be forever grateful you were.”
Tom cast his gaze around the room. The sheer size of the place was the first thing to hit you. Then the opulence of furnishings reminded him of something from a royal palace. He wondered how many real Presidents might have stayed here as guests.
“Wow,” was all he could find to say. “This place is amazing.”
She smiled and glanced around her. “Guess it is kinda nice, though after a while one hotel room is much like another.”
This is nothing like the hotel rooms I know, he thought. For a start there was no bed. He was standing in a huge living room with magnificent centrepiece of a fireplace. Around the fireplace were sofas and chairs. At the other end of the room was a dining table with six chairs. Heavy drapes hung at the windows. What he thought to be Persian or at least oriental rugs were on the floor. A large mirror with an ornate gold frame hung over the fireplace. Lighting was provided by two chandeliers and magnificent pictures were on the walls that looked like they might be original masterpieces. He couldn’t imagine anything in the room would be a copy. He felt the room wouldn’t be out of place in the White House or 10 Downing Street. He wanted to regain his composure a bit and not act like the star struck idiot he was feeling. He’d stayed at some nice hotels in his time but this was a whole notch higher.
“How are you doing?” he enquired. Then added,