Shall We Tell the President? by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

eater.”
    â€œThat’s good. Because I think you need to be fed. You look as though you might be hard to find in the dark. I’m still trying to get the flu, incidentally.”
    She laughed warmly. “See you later.”

    Mark put the telephone back on the hook and walked over to the elevator, and pressed the arrow on the Up-button.
    He only hoped the Met policeman had arrived and was already on duty. Christ. How long was the elevator going to take to return to the ground floor? Patients must have died just waiting for it. Eventually the doors slid open and a burly Greek Orthodox priest hurried out and past him. He could have sworn it was a Greek Orthodox priest, from the high dark hat and long trailing veil and the Orthodox Cross around his neck, although something about the priest struck Mark as strange, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He stood, puzzling for a moment, staring at his retreating back and only just managing to jump into the elevator before the doors closed. He pressed the fourth-floor button several times. Come on, come on. Get going, you bastard, but it had no ears for Mark, and proceeded upward at the same stately pace as it had earlier in the afternoon. It cared nothing for his date with Elizabeth Dexter. The door opened slowly, and he went through the widening gap sideways and ran down the corridor to Room 4308 but there was no sign of any policeman. In fact, the corridor was deserted. It looked as if he were going to be stuck there for some time. He peered through the little window in the door at the two men, asleep in their beds, the voiceless television set was still on giving out a square of light. Mark left to look for the staff nurse and eventually found her tucked away in the
head nurse’s office enjoying a cup of coffee. She was pleased to see that it was the better-looking of the two FBI men who had returned.
    â€œHas anyone come from the Metropolitan Police to keep an eye on Room 4308?”
    â€œNo, no one’s been anywhere near the place tonight. Silent as the grave. Were you expecting someone?”
    â€œYes, damn it. Guess I’ll have to wait. Do you think I could take a chair? I’m going to have to stick around till an officer from the Metropolitan Police comes. I hope I won’t be in your way.”
    â€œYou won’t be in my way. You can stay as long as you like. I’ll see if I can find you a nice comfortable chair.” She put her mug down. “Would you like some coffee?”
    â€œI certainly would.” Mark looked at her more carefully. It might be an evening with the nurse rather than the doctor. Mark decided he had better go back and check the room first, reassure Casefikis, if he were still awake, and then call the Met and ask where the hell their man was. He walked slowly to the door a second time; he felt no need to hurry now. He opened the door quietly. It was pitch black except for the light from the TV, and his eyes were not quite focused. He glanced at the two of them in bed. They were quite still. He wouldn’t have bothered to look any further if it hadn’t been for the dripping.
    Drip, drip, drip.
    It sounded like tap water but he couldn’t remember a tap.

    Drip, drip.
    He moved quietly to the bedside of Angelo Casefikis, and glanced down.
    Drip, drip.
    Warm fresh blood was flowing over the bottom sheet, trickling from Casefikis’s mouth, his dark eyes bulged from their sockets, his tongue was hanging loose and swollen. His throat had been cut, ear to ear, just below the chin line. The blood was starting to make a pool on the floor. Mark was standing in it. He felt his legs sink, and he was barely able to grip the side of the bed and stop himself falling. He lurched over towards the deaf man. Mark’s eyes were now focused, and he retched loudly. The postman’s head was hanging loose from the rest of his body; only the color of his skin showed that they were once connected. Mark