The Churchill Plot by David R. Stokes

Author:David R. Stokes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: David R. Stokes
Published: 2018-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

“About done, Harvey?” Brogan asked. Then he saw alarm in his colleague’s face. “What is it?”

“We have company. Look at the mirror behind the bar to your left. You should be able to see a couple of ugly-ass fellows.”

Brogan casually glanced and saw what King saw: two men surveying the room and finally sitting at a table across the room from them. King slid his chair slightly to the left and motioned for Brogan to do the same—thus taking them out of direct view of the visitors.

“I’d bet my left nut that they are friends of the gentlemen we met in Birmingham.”

“Well, we can’t sit here for long. If we can see them in the mirror, they can see us. We need to move.”

“I agree, sport. And it’s obvious that we can’t go back up to the room—it’s probably blown, too.”

“I’m listening. You’re the boss here, Harvey.”

“Gee, thanks.” King paused. Finally, he said, “Here’s the plan. Whatever happens, meet me at The Criterion in Piccadilly in one hour.”

“Okay, got it. But how do we get from here to there?”

“Need a diversion. Then we run like hell.”

“What kind of diversion?”

“There are two ways out of here. We’ll split up. You go out the side door, I’ll head out the front. Now, I want you to get up and walk slowly toward this end of the bar—the toilets are out that door.”

“Okay—”

“When you get near the bar, fling that glass of yours down toward the middle of that big mirror. Then hightail it out the door. I’ll watch the bad guys and plan my exit accordingly.”

“I’m sure they’ll be following me.”

“Better for me,” King said with a broad smile. “After all, you’re younger and faster.”

Brogan stood up slowly. With his back to the bad guys, he shuffled over toward the bar. He looked at King just before turning and flinging his glass, a fairly sturdy mug. that hit the mirror and shattered it in a split second. There was commotion. The two visitors jumped up and ran toward Brogan, who was out the door in a flash. King disappeared through the main entrance, and was soon out on the street.

Meanwhile, Brogan had entered the lady’s privy, which was, fortunately, unoccupied. Three long minutes later, the coast was clear and Brogan made his way out a back exit of the Dorchester and into a narrow alley.

*

Around the time King and Brogan were taking different routes to Piccadilly to meet up at The Criterion, Sean Welling’s desk telephone rang, and he answered it.

“H-h-hello,” a voice said. “I’m c-calling from The Savoy Hotel to confirm the director’s dinner reservation for six thirty this evening.”

Welling was puzzled for a brief moment because he knew of no such dinner plans on the director’s calendar. Then he realized that this was about something else.

“Oh, er, yes—that is confirmed. The director will be there.”

“Wonderful,” the voice said. Then the caller rang off.

Welling took a breath and then stood up and walked over to his boss’s door. He knocked and heard a reply through the door.

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