In the Evil Day (40 page)
‘
Machen Sie schon
,’ said Anselm, showing him the direction with the pistol. ‘
Bewegen Sie sich
.’
The man took off at a half-run.
‘Come,’ he said to Alex.
‘What about him?’ she said, pointing at the man on the ground.
‘His friend will be back for him,’ said Anselm. He took the pistol by the barrel and threw it into the lake.
They walked back towards the office. Anselm put his hand to his chest and it came away black with blood.
He was beginning to feel nausea rise.
She took his arm and they walked back along the lake shore towards the cheerful lights.
‘Where’d you learn to knock someone like that?’ he said.
‘Gridiron. I played in the States.’
‘We didn’t pass in the dark,’ he said.
She leaned towards him and touched the side of his face with her lips.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But it was close.’
CAROLINE found the note on her desk:
See me soonest. Halligan.
End of the road. Goodbye Fleet Street, hello Leeds.
Family, McClatchie once said, you always start with the family. But Jess Thomas didn’t have any family.
The architect in Singapore had said something.
She goes back a long way with Natalie, with the family, I think.
Natalie Zampatti had a family.
She rang Sandra Fox at Craig, Zampatti.
‘Nat’s got a sister somewhere, a doctor,’ said Fox. ‘Hang on I’ll ask the secretary from whom no secrets are hidden.’
Caroline waited. The longest possible shot. The most fucking impossible shot.
‘There? Try St Martin’s Hospital. Apparently sister and husband are both doctors. Her sister’s name’s Virginia.’
It took a long time and she couldn’t get hold of Virginia but she got the name of her mother. Finally she was speaking to Mrs Amanda Zampatti in Cardiff, a thin voice, uncertain.
Caroline gave her the Detective Sergeant Moody of Battersea Police line.
‘Oh my God, she’s all right is she? Poor girl, she’s got no one, you know.’
‘We’d like to be sure. There’s no actual cause for alarm at the moment. But we thought she might have gone somewhere to get away from everything.’
‘Well, Virginia and David have a place, a farm sort of place. She’s been there, I know that, Ginnie told me on the phone.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘To tell you truth, I don’t know. They wanted to take me but really I can’t be…’
‘No idea where it is?’
‘Well, Wales, but that’s not much use is it? Up north, I think. She said it was away from anything, no phone or telly or anything. I can’t think why you’d want to have a place…’
‘Thank you, Mrs Zampatti. I’ll get back to you if we find out anything.’
Caroline slumped again. There was no quick way to do this.
BAADER’S DOCTOR was in Mittelweg, a small, bald man, impassive. He looked at the wound under Anselm’s pectorals and made clucking noises.
‘
Das ist nicht übel,
’ he said. ‘
Da können Sie von Glück reden.
’ Light-headed, Anselm watched as he cleaned the long cut, sprayed it with anaesthetic and stitched it up with the quick movements of a tailor. He wound a bandage around Anselm’s body.
‘Don’t get it wet for forty-eight hours,’ he said. ‘Then change the bandage ever day. Any sign of infection, come and see me straight away. Otherwise, in a week. Tell the receptionist you are Herr Baader’s associate.’
He went to a cupboard and came back with two packets of tablets. ‘This one twice a day. That’s important. The others are for pain. If you have pain.’
Baader was waiting, sitting in an uncomfortable chair reading a fashion magazine. They walked to the car, drove in silence for a while.
‘This is deep shit,’ said Baader. ‘Dieter says we’ve been opened. He doesn’t know for how long.’
Anselm tried to focus on the meaning of this. ‘What can they know?’ he said.
‘Where we go, what we want. Everything. Everything we know.’
‘Won’t make much sense.’
Baader turned into Schone Aussicht. ‘In the end,’ he said, ‘everything makes sense if you’ve got enough of it.’
Not life, thought Anselm, not life. ‘Who would they be?’ he said For a second, the sad wolf face looked at him. ‘People who are offended,’ Baader said. ‘People who don’t mind blowing up a ferry full of people to kill two men. The people who want to kill you.’
Baader turned into the driveway, parked outside the annexe. He put his head back against the rest, looked at the roof, said, ‘I think you should go away for a while. Tonight. Just go. Fat Otto will get you out of here, we can switch transport a few times. Do a few things like that. Go to Italy. Rome. I’ll give you an address, you can collect cash there.’
Anselm didn’t argue. He felt sick, weak, tingling in his veins, the taste in his mouth he remembered from Beirut.
He was part of someone’s problem now. Whatever the problem was and whoever the people who had it were. He had joined Lourens and his ex-employee, joined Serrano and Kael and Bruynzeel. Yes. And Kaskis and Diab and all the dead soldiers from Special Deployment. They had been a problem for someone and they had been killed for it. Tilders, he had been collateral damage. They hadn’t cared whether they killed him or not.
And he was a target now. Two men sent to kill him. They would have killed Alex too, killed anyone who happened to be there, also collateral damage.
They would come for him again. Tonight. Tomorrow. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go anywhere.
At the annexe entrance, Baader rang the bell for Wolfgang to let them in. They were in Baader’s office, both of them standing, when Inskip came to the door.
‘Could I have a word?’ he said to Anselm.
They went to Inskip’s workstation. Inskip pointed at a screen.
‘The Lafarge file. The woman, Thomas, she’s used a card. Twice in the same place.’
‘Where’s that place?’ Constantine Niemand and Jess Thomas. The film, Eleven Seventy.
‘Some godforsaken Welsh hamlet.’
He needed to tell Caroline Wishart.
‘There’s something else,’ said Inskip. He pressed a button on one of the recorders. A monitor came alive, a man in a military overcoat walking across tarmac. He wasn’t smiling for the cameras.
The voiceover said:
General David Carbone, commander in chief of US Special Operations
Command today denied the existence of a special unit of the US Special Forces’
super-secret Delta Force called Sudden Death.
A woman was on screen, long grey hair, haggard, talking soundlessly, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
The voiceover said:
The mother of an ex-Delta Force soldier, Benjamin Galuska, found dead
yesterday in Montana, has alleged that her son was haunted by things the Sudden
Death unit had done but would never have taken his own life.
Soundbite from the woman:
Ben said they’d kill him, he said they’d killed the others. But we didn’t believe
him.
Cut to the man in the overcoat. He was shaking his head.
I’d like to say that I share Mrs Galuska’s grief over the death of her son and I
put out my hand to her. And I’d like to say that Benjamin Galuska served his
country with courage and honour and pride. But I must also state categorically that
the unit she speaks of did not and does not exist. Why Staff Sergeant Galuska
invented this story we will never know. He seems to have been a troubled person.
God rest his soul. Thank you.
‘Galuska’s one of the two I couldn’t find,’ said Inskip. ‘Are we dealing with supernatural coincidence or what?’
‘What,’ said Anselm. ‘Don’t tell Lafarge anything. Even if they ask.’
He went to his office and rang Caroline Wishart’s number. She picked up on the first ring.
‘John Anselm. I’ve got something on Jessica Thomas.’
He heard her breathe in. ‘Yes?’
He spelled out the name of the place, the business.
Breathe out, a sigh.
‘Any use?’
‘Yes. I think I know where she is.’
Anselm heard himself sigh in return. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to England tonight. We might make sense of this if we find them.’
He went back to Baader’s office and told him. Baader looked at him for a long time, a finger tracing the line of his upper lip.
‘What the hell,’ he said. ‘Nothing to lose. Kill you here, kill you there. Not a fucking thing to lose.’
Anselm rang Alex.
‘I wasn’t pleased at being got off the premises as fast as possible,’ she said. ‘I have a small interest in whether you live or die.’
‘He meant well. I have to go away for a day or two.’
‘You’re not going to tell me?’
‘No. Would you like to go away for a while when I get back?’
‘To do what?’
‘Exercise in the morning, philosophise in the afternoon.’
‘Leaving the nights free for…?’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’
‘I need to think about it. I’ve been behaving impulsively. It’s a dangerous time.’
‘I’m a dangerous man.’
‘Much more than I thought. The answer is yes, call me.’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘Be careful. Please.’
Baader made the arrangements. Anselm rang Caroline again. An hour later, tired, chest hurting, he walked across the tarmac at Fühlsbuttel to the executive jet.
NIEMAND SAT against the stone building in the last light, feeling the wall’s warmth. He heard the car change gear to climb the hill, and he took the machine pistol and ran for the barn. He climbed the ladder into the loft and stood beside the dormer window looking down the hill at the twisting road. A hawk in the darkening sky rose and fell, planed sideways, watching for any small movement below.
The car came into view at the small stone bridge. It was the dark-green Audi. Jess coming back.
The gate was open. She drove up past the house and into the barn and he waited until she was out of the car and he was sure she was alone, no one crouching in the back, before he spoke.
She looked up, alarmed, then she smiled, the smile that changed her face. He climbed down and went to her and kissed her, took her head in his hands, ate her mouth, felt her hands on his back, on his buttocks, pressing him into her, pulling him.
When their mouths came apart, she said, thickly, ‘Christ, is this allowed before lunch?’
They got as far as the sitting room. He had made a fire, the room was warm, and they fell on the sofa. He was underneath. They kissed, rolled, changed places. He found the button, the zip. She pulled her jeans off, he undid his button, she pulled the zip, dragged the jeans down, they lay and rubbed skin, making throat and nose sounds. She moved and sat on him, she was weightless. She put her right hand behind her and took him, held him, squeezed him, raised herself and came down on him. In that moment, he could have died of pleasure, he wanted to be as deep in her as was humanly impossible. She pulled her heavy jumper off, threw it away, the spencer gone too, ripped off, discarded. His hands went under her bra and it loosened, he had her breasts in his hands, the inexpressibly lovely weight and feel, and his face was on them, rubbing, a nipple in his lips, a small nipple, sucking it, the other one, back and forth between them. She was riding him, her head back, making sounds, a hand behind his head, a hand behind her scratching him, short nails scratching him.
The fire’s light lay yellow and gentle and unstable on the things in the room, the room was smaller now, shrunk to the reach of the flames.
PALMER SAT behind the desk, hands together, fingers steepled.
‘Come in,’ he said.
The man came in, looked at Palmer and Charlie Price and Martie and Carrick, looked around with an air of distaste, like a First Class traveller allocated a seat in Economy by mistake.
‘Couldn’t we have done this another way?’ he said. ‘I’m not ecstatic about coming here.’
‘I don’t have time for the cloak-and-dagger,’ said Palmer. ‘And I wanted to impress on you this business has been fucked up to high hell. There’s shit flying, there’s no error margin left.’
‘You may consider me impressed,’ said the man. His eyes panned over the three other men. ‘The committee may also consider me impressed.’
Palmer thought he would like to kick the man’s arsehole north of his eyebrows. He said, ‘There are possible complications.’