Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) (19 page)

It was clear that Earthguard had expected me to show up at the Ritz. It had been a trap, plain and simple. Unless...? Could they have been after Varushkin? Or was Varushkin working with Earthguard? Why hadn’t the place been swarming with police and agents? One shooter was never going to guarantee my death or capture. It had been close though - too close. There are too many unanswered questions. I am certain of two things: the two Earthguard agents are operating alone and they aren’t looking to take me alive. If the agents are isolated then my chances are still good. Everything is not yet lost.

I must have the weapon by the end of tomorrow if my plan is to succeed. I cannot allow uncertainties to get in my way. I will be on a plane to Australia by Tuesday afternoon with my beloved Sasha. I will not fail.

The Russian presents me with a new challenge. According to Christos, Varushkin is a rival pimp. There are very few people who could kill so efficiently while gunfire whistled past their ears. And none of them were pimps. He smells of Russian Special Forces to me. I never saw the blow or even Varushkin, but I did see a floored Christos tugging at the toothbrush lodged deep in his neck. Those guys love their ‘use whatever is at hand to kill’ shit. Perhaps Varushkin is after the gun too? I have an idea. Maybe Varushkin is the answer.

The more I think about Anorak man, the more I think he is linked to the girl. His disappearance bothers me. He is a loose end. One minute he’s in the thick of it and the next he’s gone. I remember the expression but not the face as he ran from one car to the next. He was looking for the girl, I’m sure of it. The bond between him and Jones is strong. Perhaps I can use this?

I light up another cigarette while I make a few calls and get the search for Varushkin started. Instinctively, I reach for my coffee and take a big gulp. The cooling liquid tastes worse than before. I spit the mouthful onto the well-worn carpet. It is definitely piss. That bloody cow, Olga.

*

John, Savannah, Johnson and Wilson were on the fourth floor of a seven floor office building directly above Boots The Chemist and directly opposite the shot-out windows of their old suite at the Ritz.

According to Wilson they had cleared out the company that occupied the space the minute they left John and Savannah alone last night. John silently considered the power and influence necessary to make such a large-scale upheaval possible, especially in the middle of the night during a weekend. Whatever Earthguard was, it carried some serious clout.

The agents had taken residence in the corner office, which had given them the best line of sight into the junior suite and had kept tabs on them ever since. Activating the watch had made no difference. Two single mattresses and a few half-empty takeaway cartons littered the mottled grey, carpet-tiled floor. A telescope on a tripod pointed across the road. John pressed his eye to the telescope. Despite the curtains being closed he could make out several red blobs of colour moving behind the curtains. Each blob had a number in a circle that followed it around.

“Is this infrared?” John asked. “And what’s with the numbers?”

Johnson explained. “It’s an advanced form of infrared. It can go much deeper than the standard variety. The numbers are the approximate weights of anything warm-blooded it picks up. It’s how I knew I wouldn’t shoot you or Savannah.”

“Impressive,” John said, moving the telescope across the whole area of the suite. “Quite a few people in there cleaning up your mess.”

“You made quite a mess of your own,” Johnson retaliated. “By the way how are you doing with that?”

“With what?”

“Having killed a man.”

John took his eye from the telescope and considered the question for a few moments. “It’s difficult to say. I keep expecting it to hit me like delayed shock or something but according to Savannah, Christos was about as low as you could get, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever feel bad about it.”

Johnson took a step back. “I’m impressed,” he said. “Not many take it like that. You’re hardcore agent material.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” added John hastily, “I was a bit shaken up after I watched him die, especially with all the blood spurting all over the wall and the gurgling and everything.”

“Yeah, that can shake a guy up.”

John hung his head and looked at the floor. “I was more worried about Savannah.”

“The bedroom incident, huh?”

“No, I mean ... what do you mean? I meant keeping her safe.”

He swivelled in an about-face manoeuvre to hide his embarrassment and to see if Savannah was in hearing distance. Fortunately, she and Wilson were en route to the kitchen in the main office, presumably to rustle up some hot drinks.

Typical of most executive offices, the corner office’s top half was constructed solely of glass so watching the workforce was easy and privacy could be achieved with the aid of blinds. John could see Savannah talking to Wilson as they walked, and he wondered if he was dropping the same bombshell on her. Her eyes were hidden by the angle of her head but her visible cheek appeared to have regained a little colour.

“Jesus, you were watching that?” he said, without conviction. After all, there had been nothing to see.

“Just two coloured blobs with numbers on. Could have been cells under a microscope if we hadn’t known. The sound on the other hand...”

John looked down at the offending item on his wrist. “The watch.”

“You got it.”

John hadn’t thought he could feel any worse about his treatment of Savannah, but the fact that the agents had witnessed his crass behaviour only added to his feelings of guilt. He exhaled long and hard before sitting down behind the large space-age desk in an executive chair that could fit two people. The head of this firm was either super large or looked super tiny in the high-backed cream leather chair.

Using his feet, John spun himself around and around until his vision became blurry and his head weightless. Any feeling was preferable to the one that gnawed at his conscience from within.

Johnson stepped over, stopped the chair rotating with his hand and leaned over John. “Look John, we’re working here and we don’t have time to worry about people’s feelings. This isn’t the movies where they turn up the receiver’s volume because they want to jack off or turn it off out of respect for privacy. We kept our eyes and ears open every second because that’s our job. Do you understand?”

John shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay, I get it. It’s just that I’ve pissed her off big time and I don’t know why I did it.”

“Because you’re just a scared kid.”

John shook his head. “I’m thirty-two, I wish people would realise that.”

“I’m not talking about your age. In terms of life, you’ve never lived, done anything serious or been anywhere that wasn’t a vacation. You’ve virtually no experience of the world and its pleasures, and you think Savannah will see right through you. You might be one brave son of a bitch but you’ve got zero self-confidence.”

Strangely, John found no offence in Johnson’s words. “I would have ... how do you Americans put it ... sucked?”

“So what? We’ve all sucked at one time or another. She’d get over it and she’d still be there in the morning. You bailed her ass out of trouble more than once and until you screwed up, you’re the only guy she’s met who’s treated her right. These facts alone reward you with a few ‘Get out of screwing up free’ cards, although what you said last night used up at least two of those.”

“So what do you suggest, Dr. Johnson?”

The agent let go of John’s chair, stood upright, and moved to the window. “What do I know?” he said, tapping the glass as he stared at the traffic below. “I’ve yet to have a successful relationship of my own.” He turned his head back to John. “Just don’t waste your next ‘Screw up’ card. It might be your last.”

John sat forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his fists under his chin. Listening to relationship advice from a man who killed people for a living somehow seemed like the most normal thing that had happened today. The tall agent wasn’t telling John anything that he didn’t already know, but it did feel good to share his troubles.

A worrying thought crossed John’s mind. “You’re not taping this are you?”

Johnson’s head jerked back almost imperceptibly and he let out a short puff of breath from his nose. It was too quiet to call it a snort but it was the closest to laughter John imagined the agent got.

“No. We don’t go in for photos or videos or recording or evidence of any kind, unless we need to set someone up, of course. We are the elite of the security agencies, global and without direct supervision. Keeping evidence and invisibility don’t go hand in hand.”

It sounded like the role was a little too self-policed for John’s liking. “Sounds like a licence to do whatever you want,” he said.

“We do have to report in to a controller and he has the ability to track our location at any time, but other than that we work unhindered. The selection system has proved very successful in avoiding the recruitment of those that would use the power for their own benefit.”

“That sounds like a line,” John thought aloud. When was Johnson going to get out of his face? Having him so close was quite disconcerting. He felt like he was on trial.

Johnson turned his eyes upward to the ceiling. He seemed to be contemplating John’s throw-away remark. “Yeah, I think it may well be,” he said eventually. “Anyway, enough about Earthguard, it’s time to powwow with the other two.”

*

Savannah handed Wilson a mug of steaming coffee. “Two sugars, right?”

“It smells great,” Wilson said, accepting the mug by the handle and reading the large red words ‘My Dad’s A Spy’ on the side. “Good choice,” he declared, smiling. He took a sip, pleased to note that the aroma preceding the taste had lived up to expectations. He twisted his head, leaving his eyes on Savannah. “That’s the best cup of coffee I think I’ve ever had.”

Savannah blushed ever so slightly. “Nothing to do with me. It’s freshly ground with fresh cream too.”

Savannah collected her herbal tea from the counter and joined Wilson at the seating area in a fifteen feet square communal room adjoining the kitchen. Aside from six small circular tables, one at which they sat, there was a dartboard and a cupboard full of magazines and newspapers.

“So why did you leave the room?” Wilson asked, keen to start a conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“You came out of that office like you were on fire. So who is it, Johnson or Smith?”

“Huh?”

“Which one makes you uncomfortable?”

She spoke without hesitation. “Smith.”

“Because he turned you down?”

Savannah jerked in her chair spilling tea onto her big coat. Staring at the running liquid, her cheeks flushed crimson red. She jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Wilson wondered if she’d reappear. He heard the sound of paper kitchen towels being pulled from a dispenser and a moment later Savannah returned, dabbing at the coat as she sat back down. He sighed with relief. Perhaps he’d been a little too direct.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hand. “It’s this job. Sometimes I forget how real people communicate.”

Savannah looked up at him as she put down the damp kitchen towel in front of her. “I should have guessed you’d be listening in when you left our room without putting up much of a fight. It’s my own fault. I tend to fall for bastards.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. He’s hardly relationship material.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has a menial job which pays peanuts.”

“He has? He seems very intelligent.”

Wilson elected not to mention the maths degree from Oxford University, instead just shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip of the wonderful coffee. Savannah watched him as he put his cup down.

“So what about you?” she asked.

The cup wobbled in his hand. When was the last time anybody had wanted to know about him? “What about me?”

“You didn’t hang around in the office either.”

He didn’t understand it but the girl in front of him relaxed him. There was no accusation in the remark and her big brown eyes exuded a kindness he hadn’t noticed before. He spoke without considering his words. “You nearly had sex with a bastard, I just work with one.”

“Oh,” she said, looking unsure what to say next, eyes on the kitchen towel.

“My wife died eight days ago,” he said, gazing at a dark green wall. “Cancer.”

Savannah sat up and leaned forward. “My mum too. Three years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss. How come you’re working?”

“It seemed preferable to spending all day feeling sorry for myself.”

“Are you religious?”

“No. Why?”

“After Mum died I went to church every day for weeks and it really helped.”

“Why did you stop?”

“My dad died and I was thrown out of my home, so I had other things on my mind. Once this is over, I might start again.”

“I’m not sure that God would be interested in helping me. I’ve sent too many souls to meet his rival.”

“If they were all like Christos then I’m sure he wouldn’t mind too much.”

Wilson had always scoffed at those who relied upon religion for their salvation. Yet Savannah was such an obviously good person that hearing it from her mouth made it hard to disagree. Julie’s doctor had hinted that he might find some comfort there. No, it was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

“I’m not so sure. I could do with someone to talk to. It feels good to talk to you. Johnson doesn’t want to know.”

“Some boss. Haven’t you got any family?”

“A daughter, her name is Kate. We don’t see eye to eye.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s about your age but she’s pierced and tattooed and constantly under the influence of drugs and alcohol.”

“I know that some churches provide family counselling. Perhaps that might help.”

“I think her skin would burn if she went inside.”

“You never know what might happen if you stay positive and give it a go.”

The thought of dragging Kate to church almost made Wilson laugh out loud. It was a crazy image for sure. It would require physical restraints to get her inside a church. But until this moment he’d have rather left the country than consider meeting up with Kate. She’d made her feelings towards him plain and unambiguous. He’d left the army and his family to play Supercop and just because he paid for her flat didn’t give him the right to have anything to do with her. Maybe with her mother’s passing she would be more amenable to reconciliation.