Dance With the Enemy (14 page)

‘Man, you should see some of the crap that’s being spouted about this,’ Reggie said. He and Blakemore were in the office of Blakemore’s farmhouse, eying the latest internet news about Modena. ‘It’s insane. More hits than anything else at the moment.’

‘Yeah, well, there are a lot of gullible people out there,’ Blakemore said, who was sitting at the polished mahogany desk, Reggie standing behind him. ‘And also a lot of people who like to make themselves feel better by reading about the misery of others.’

‘Wow, man, that’s like … really profound,’ Reggie said with over-the-top sarcasm, rolling his eyes as he spoke.

‘Don’t irritate me, Reggie.’

‘Sure thing,
boss
.’

The way Reggie said it made it clear that he didn’t see Blakemore as such.

They’d been in Blakemore’s lavish farmhouse for three days, and despite the beautiful surroundings, which even Reggie could admire, Blakemore was really starting to grate on him now.

When Reggie had first met Blakemore he had thought he was someone to aspire to. Blakemore had clearly made a good life for himself and had an eye for quality and style that Reggie could only dream of. Blakemore had spent vast amounts of money modernising his exquisite house with gizmos and technology, but he’d also gone for much a more traditional feel where it mattered, like in the kitchen where there was a hellishly expensive range cooker, classic walnut worktops and an oversized Belfast sink. It wouldn’t have done the house, an eighteenth-century brick farmhouse, justice to have had it any other way.

But over the last few days, Reggie had lost almost all of his respect for Blakemore. While once he had wanted to be just like Blakemore, Reggie now knew that the two men were like chalk and cheese. They just didn’t get along, and Reggie realised that the only part of Blakemore’s life that he really had any desire for was the money. Reggie was quite content to be himself. He didn’t want to be the posh boy gone wrong who thought he owned the world.

‘Anyway, how much longer do we keep this up for?’ Reggie said. ‘I mean, don’t you think it’s possible that Modena just doesn’t know what we’re asking him?’

They’d been beating and torturing Modena for three days now and it seemed like they were getting nowhere.

‘He knows,’ Blakemore said, but Reggie could tell by the hesitant way he answered that he didn’t fully believe his own words anymore.

And ever since Selim had been let loose on their captive, the goal had only seemed to drift further away. The guy was enjoying inflicting pain on Modena just that little bit too much. Reggie had no problem in hurting people and hurting them badly, but he didn’t get off on it like Selim seemed to.

‘Well, you’d just better hope that we get it out of him before it’s too late,’ Reggie said.

‘Don’t worry, big man, courtesy of our little diversion with that video, I’m sure we’ve still got plenty of time. Just stay cool.’

‘But have you seen what Selim’s done to him? It’s Modena I’m worried about, not the police finding us.’

‘Going soft on me now, Reggie?’ Blakemore gibed.

‘No, I just want to get my money before it’s too late.’

Initially Reggie had been nervous at having Modena in Blakemore’s home. But it was the obvious option, given the location and remoteness. And why would anyone make the link to Blakemore when the whole world believed that Selim, the enemy of the West, was the one behind the kidnapping? And there was also the contingency plan should anyone come knocking. A back-up should they need to move Modena quickly and quietly. But at the moment he felt like Selim’s tactics were putting the entire operation in jeopardy. Modena would be too far gone before they got what they needed.

‘He knows,’ Blakemore said again, this time with more conviction. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be here. Otherwise I wouldn’t be willing to pay to have you here.’

‘Well, don’t forget that. You’d
better
pay.’

‘I will do. When you’ve finished your job.’

Oh please, let that be soon
, Reggie thought. He couldn’t wait, in fact. He was sick of having to listen to Blakemore’s shit, day in, day out. The money for this job was going to set him up for a few years at least so it was surely worth it, but he was being pushed to breaking point here.

‘Well, how do you suggest we go about getting what we need then?’ Reggie said. ‘Pretty soon there’s not going to be anything left of Modena.’

Blakemore swivelled around in his chair and stood up, facing Reggie. His inferior height meant he had to crane his neck to look Reggie in the eye.

‘I agree we need to reign Selim in,’ Blakemore said, in an apologetic manner which told Reggie that the buck was being passed to him on that, ‘but Mustafa’s doing a good job in there. If he keeps that up, things might just work out – we might just get what we need. Reverse psychology, Reggie. Good cop, bad cop – whatever you want to call it. You should see Modena’s eyes whenever Selim walks into that room. He’s terrified of him. The same with you, in fact. It’s not like you’ve been befriending him in there. But he doesn’t talk to you. Because you don’t talk to him. You just bully him and beat the crap out of him.’

Reggie felt a slither of pride at Blakemore’s words. He knew he wasn’t the brightest or most articulate person but he had his uses. And people like Blakemore needed him. It was Reggie, after all, who had planned the whole kidnapping using his tactical nous and combat training. Blakemore might have been a success with his millions in the bank and his fancy farmhouse with its vast wine cellar filled with bottles he would never drink, state-of-the-art gym, outdoor heated pool, and more bedrooms and bathrooms than he could ever need, but he still relied on people like Reggie. Blakemore was simply an organiser. Reggie was a doer. And Blakemore wouldn’t be where he was without people like Reggie. Yet it was a fact that seemed lost on Blakemore, who pranced around like he was a queen bee.

‘Well, I’m sorry if I forgot to take the course on how to be nice,’ Reggie scoffed. ‘And at least I’m not sticking nails in the poor bastard here, there and everywhere.’

‘That wasn’t my point. As long as Selim stays on side then I think we have it just right. Every time we bring in Mustafa for you or Selim, Frank must feel like he’s just won the lottery. And vice versa. When he sees you or Selim coming, he’s bricking it. Mustafa is the only one who talks to him and he’s the only one who doesn’t hurt him. We keep up this little tag team and we’ll get what we want. My bet is that it’ll be Mustafa he opens up to.’

Reggie agreed. He had come to the same conclusion himself. His phone began to vibrate in his pocket and he fished it out. It was Lorik. He left the office without saying another word to Blakemore and headed down the corridor to the vast kitchen.

‘You have to be kidding me!’ Reggie blasted as he listened to Lorik explaining the latest mess. ‘You have got be fucking kidding me!’

He sat down on one of the rustic oak dining chairs at the expansive dining table and looked out of the window of the kitchen. How many more fuck-ups was he going to need to sort out for this lot?

Reggie heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Blakemore entering the room.

‘Just sort it out, Lorik,’ Reggie bellowed at the top of his voice, his face like thunder. ‘No more mistakes!’

Reggie ended the call and threw the phone down on the table.

‘What is it?’ Blakemore asked, sitting down on one of the chairs.

‘Police. I think they’re getting closer. Or at least this John Burrows fella is.’

‘What!’ Blakemore jumped up out of his seat.

‘That was Lorik. Johnny’s dead.’

‘Dead? How?’

‘They tried to bring in Burrows. But he’s a tough one. Johnny’s wound up dead. Had it coming, if you ask me. Never thought much of him.’

‘So Burrows
escaped
?’ Blakemore said, as though it was an impossible scenario.

Reggie had to agree. It should have been simple. All Johnny and Lorik had to do was grab him and bring him in. One man.

‘For now, yeah,’ Reggie said, trying to make the situation sound more under control than it really was. ‘But we’ll get him.’

‘So you think he’s police now?’ Blakemore said. ‘Thought you said earlier he wasn’t?’

‘We couldn’t find any trace of the guy. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t police. Anyway, does it matter what he is? Either way we’ll get him. Get
them
. Lorik is following one of them now. A woman.’

‘Wait a sec. A woman?
Them
? Since when has there been a
them
?’

‘First time we’ve seen her. She helped Burrows get away from Lorik.’

‘But now she’s alone?’

‘Apparently, yeah. She dropped him off somewhere. Lorik stuck with the woman. Might not have been my choice, but that boy’s got his needs. They’re actually not far from here. About fifty miles or so.’

‘What! She must be coming here! Fuck Lorik’s
needs
. Just tell him to get rid of her!’

‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I already did. As you can imagine, Lorik was itching to do it. She’s about to get
way
more than she bargained for.’

Blakemore winced and Reggie couldn’t help but smirk. He might not have had such sick tendencies as Lorik, but it also didn’t bother him if he thought the victim had it coming. And this woman, whoever she was, certainly had it coming.

Logan had only been stranded for a few minutes. In a bit of good fortune, the waitress from the cafe where they’d just bought their food had given him the number for a local taxi firm. The driver had taken him to the nearest car rental place, only a couple of miles away. Thankfully it had been a different company to the one from which he’d rented the now damaged and abandoned Fiat. He’d still got his John Burrows identification and enough loose Euros to rent a car for two days, which was the minimum term they would allow. Maybe this time he’d even get the chance to take it back.

Now he was on the road again, in his second rented Fiat of the day, his head churning as to why Grainger had run off from him.

He’d had doubts about tagging along with her and whether he could really trust her. But after she decided against handing him in to the police, he’d told her almost everything he knew about the case. It had never crossed his mind that she would then go and run away like that. He would have thought the logical option was for her to stick with him, to do this together, but she’d obviously had different ideas.

The biggest worry, though, was about what she was going to do next. He hadn’t told her exactly where Blakemore was, but he’d told her the name and nearest town. Even if the police or FBI hadn’t yet figured the connection, he’d effectively handed it to them now. It wouldn’t be that hard for them to find out where Blakemore was and send a team in. In the grand scheme of things, that may not be a bad thing. It may well lead to Modena being recovered alive and well. But Logan didn’t want the police
or anyone else raining on his parade. Selim was his, and he couldn’t bear the thought that someone else may get to him before he did.

That was assuming, of course, that Grainger was going to feed back the information on Blakemore to the police. Logan had to believe that she would and that Blakemore was, or very soon would be, a wanted man. And yet Logan still didn’t know how or why Blakemore even fitted into this. More importantly, he still didn’t know if Blakemore actually had Modena at all. The link was there, but Blakemore could just be another cog, rather than the mastermind.

There was only one way to find out. And Logan was now only twenty minutes from his destination.

Long gone now were the tall apartment and office blocks of the city, and the suburban tree-lined streets of the town where they had stopped. He was in an altogether more rural setting, with narrow, isolated roads twisting between undulating hills of brightly coloured crops, oilseed, poppies and sunflowers, whose dazzling yellow contrasted with and complemented the deep blue sky above to create a scene of pure beauty. It was a picture book setting – one which had been transferred to canvas by many famous artists, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

Logan’s phone buzzed and he picked it out of his pocket. It was Mackie again. This time he answered the call.

‘So you’re still alive, then?’ Mackie said. It was clear he was in a bad mood.

‘You sound surprised by that.’

‘I am a little. You know, it would have helped if you’d called me to give me an update. You’re a wanted man, Logan. The police are after you for four murders!’

Four murders? What was that all about? Logan thought. It only took him a few seconds to figure it out: the police must be pinning the deaths of Johnny, Djourou and his cronies on him. But how had Djourou’s demise been linked to him? Had a witness seem him leaving Djourou’s apartment? Or had Lorik and Johnny called it in to the police themselves to give Logan’s description?

‘You’re causing me quite a shit storm with my superiors,’ Mackie said. ‘Not that I should be surprised by that. I ought to be used to your antics by now. But death by machete? What’s that all about? That’s a new one even for you.’

‘That wasn’t me, actually. I didn’t kill Djourou.’

‘Maybe not. But several policemen saw you running from the scene at the car park where there’s a pretty mangled-up dead body. Saw you running away with a woman, I might add. Just what the hell is going on?’

‘I didn’t kill Djourou and his men or that guy in the car park. He was called Johnny; he was Blakemore’s man. I think it was him that killed Djourou and Djourou’s other accomplice. Then he was killed by his own colleague as he tried to get away from me.’

‘Logan, you’re making no sense whatsoever. Do you remember our little conversation earlier?’

Mackie paused. Logan wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to answer the question or not.

‘Well, do you?’ Mackie asked eventually.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, you’ll remember then that some people, the JIA committee included, have quite big doubts about whether or not you should be out in the field at the moment –’

‘There are no doubts from me, sir,’ Logan said. ‘And there weren’t any doubts from you when you hauled me back in from Vegas.’

‘
And
,’ Mackie said, raising his voice, ‘getting reports about you shooting at policeman and running away from a car crash where we’ve got fourteen people injured, some seriously, starts to raise some pretty big doubts in my mind about whether I’ve done the right thing in putting you on the case.’

‘That’s not how it was.’

‘So you say. But you’re not exactly being subtle so far. What happened to that? You need to keep your head down. You don’t get nine lives on this. If you get nabbed, you know we can’t bail you out. We’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be a ghost.’

‘I know all that. I’m getting close now, though. Closer than anyone else is, that’s for sure.’

‘And who’s this woman you’re running around with?’

‘There’s no woman,’ Logan affirmed, quickly thinking about how he was going to bluff about Grainger’s identity. ‘She was just an unlucky bystander I carjacked. She’s gone now.’

‘You carjacked some poor woman? Logan, are you deliberately trying to ruin both our careers?’

‘No, sir, I’m not. I’m trying to finish this. I’m heading to Blakemore’s home now. I’ll let you know what I find.’

Logan ended the call before Mackie could say another word. He knew he was making progress. But Mackie had a point. It was progress at what cost? And he knew Mackie would flip if he found out that Logan was in cahoots with an FBI agent. He was supposed to be running a covert mission. But Logan would do anything to get to the answers in the quickest possible way. He couldn’t let Selim slip through his grip.

Logan brought his mind back to the job at hand. To find his way to Blakemore’s he was using an old map that the car rental attendant had sold to him for five euros (he hadn’t had enough cash to go for the GPS option). It looked from the map like the next turning should only be a few hundred yards up on his right, and he slowed a little to try to spot it. The turning, though, was well hidden on a corner, and with the lack of signposts and the overgrown hedges on both sides of the road he managed to go right past it.

With a quick glance in his mirror to check there was no-one behind him, he pressed his foot onto the break and came to a stop a good fifty yards past where he needed to be. The road was barely wide enough to take two cars. A U-turn would require a number of back-and-forths. Rather than carry on and look for a turning spot further ahead, he put the car into reverse and made his way back to the junction. He hadn’t seen another car on this road for at least five minutes and it would only take a few seconds to get back to the turning.

But he was about ten yards from the junction when a car appeared, coming towards him from around the blind corner. Logan felt his body stiffen and with the little time he had to react he was unable to do anything other than brake. The other driver, seeing Logan’s stationary vehicle, slammed on his brakes, his tyres screeching and skidding on the worn-out asphalt. He shifted slightly to his right at the last second. It was enough to avoid a collision. The car came to a stop parallel with Logan’s, but half up the verge on the right-hand side of the road.

Acknowledging his mistake, Logan smiled awkwardly at the
driver who had wound down his window to hurl abuse. Logan didn’t bother to get into an argument with the man. He just apologised and carried on reversing, eliciting several honks on the horn from the angry man before he carried on his journey.

Logan reached the junction and turned into the even narrower road. After a few hundred yards the road seemed to become narrower still and was barely wide enough for one car. A simple wire and wood fence on each side separated the road from the towering sunflowers in the surrounding fields.

As he approached a sharp left turn, he noticed what he thought was a slip road into the adjacent field. But as he got closer, he saw it actually appeared to be the scene of an accident. There were shattered headlight casings and skid marks on the road leading up to the fence, which had been torn from its position and lay haphazardly on the ground. On the other side of the broken fence, mown-down sunflowers created a neat trail that carried into the dark centre of the field.

Logan slowed as he approached the bend in the road. He stared into the heart of the field to see if there was any sign of the vehicle that had caused the destruction. There wasn’t anything obvious. But with his attention on the field rather than the road, he didn’t see the car parked just beyond the apex of the bend until the last second. Braking hard, yet again he only narrowly avoided a crash.

The other car, which looked more like it had been abandoned than parked, had its hazard lights flashing and the driver’s door was wide open. There was no sign of any occupants. Even with the car tucked up against the right-hand verge, there was barely enough room to get past. But Logan wasn’t about to even attempt it. He didn’t like the look of this.

Logan turned off his engine and got out. As he walked up to the parked car he kept his right hand down by his side, only inches from his gun, in case he needed to draw it. He walked along the driver’s side of the car, looking in through the back windows before stopping at the open door. The engine was off but the keys were still in the ignition. Other than the keys, there was nothing else in the car, no personal effects or other belongings.

He continued walking around to the front of the car, stopping when he saw the damage to the front left wing; the bumper was indented and the headlight smashed. There was similar damage
across the rest of the front. The red streaks on the blue paintwork, if nothing else, gave away the colour of the unlucky object that had been hit.

Logan turned back to the trail leading into the field. All of the evidence – the keys in the ignition, the smashed headlights in the road, the damage to the front of the car – pointed to an accident. And it looked like it had taken place recently, given the way the car had been abandoned, keys still in the ignition.

His senses were heightened further when he heard a gunshot.

He stopped and instinctively ducked, though it had sounded quite distant. Whoever was shooting, he certainly hadn’t been the target. But his mind was now in overdrive. Something was happening here. He needed to quickly decide whether he really wanted to be involved.

He stood up and carried on walking to the head of the trail that led into the field. Again he stopped in his tracks.

‘Oh no,’ he said in disbelief.

The decision about whether to get involved had just been made. This was going to be his fight after all.

The answer was right there, fifty yards in front of him, up the trail of flattened sunflowers.

It was Grainger’s Ford.