Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) (17 page)

'Guns?' He turned the pistol in his hands, much less afraid than he used to be.

'Mostly. But there are some other useful bits. I try to keep a load in every capital city. You never know when the shit's going to hit the fan.'

'How do you afford all this stuff?' asked Blake. 'Where do you get it from?'

Greg continued to rummage, pulling out bags of clothes and smaller wooden boxes. 'The Agency pays. Call it business expenses.'

'Won't they know where this is? I mean wouldn't they know that you would come here?'

Greg stopped, looked over at him. His grin looked particularly menacing in the low light. He dropped the lid back onto the crate and strode towards him. Blake felt uneasy, remembered again what the Shadow Man had told him; that Greg was a traitor.

'Are–'

As if from nowhere, Greg lashed out and slapped him hard across his cheek. Blood rushed to his face. Blake held his burning skin.
Was the Shadow Man right after all?

'That's for leaving me at your old man's house.'

Blake figured he deserved that. Really, he thought himself lucky that it was all he had got. 'Alright,' he said, blushing and rubbing his cheek. 'So now you've had your payback, I need to know something.'

Greg stepped back, returning to his wares. 'What?'

'Back at the house, one of the Agents said that you betrayed my father. Said that he would let me go because I'm just the victim and that you're using me. Is that true?' Blake held his breath, scared to know the answer.

'I told you they would try to turn you against me, didn't I?'

Blake felt embarrassed. 'Well, yeah…' He looked down at the floor. 'So are we even?'

'Not even close. But if you stick by my side and do as you're told, you will be back in Daddy's loving arms in no time. Tell me, did you arrange that whole Trafalgar Square business by yourself?'

'I did. I screwed it up good and proper, huh?' Blake felt like he had failed a test.

'Impressive. There's hope for you yet.' He smiled and wondered back to where Rowboat Ron had been, flicking a humoured look over his shoulder.

Blake stood in the empty room, called after Greg. 'So, how do you suppose we find my father? He could be anywhere by now.'

'I told you,' Greg stopped and turned, looked at him with a smile that said
you should really be damn impressed by me.
'Matthews spilled the beans. I know
exactly
where Val is. Now blow out that candle. We have work to do.'

Chapter 22

Val had never intended to get back in the game. It was a temporary contract that The Boss had forced upon him. He had no control over it and, hopefully, it would be his final job. His grand finale. Though he would have to live with his ex-partner's blood on his hands, and that was never an easy thing.

Since the incident at the airport, he had been careful, clever, and most important of all, patient. Getting everything together had been a last-minute job, and a tough one. He had worked alongside this man for years and knew that it would not be a simple job to stop him.

But those years were merely a distant dream now. A memory from a life that didn't feel like his own. He wondered where the years had gone, but he knew; travelling the world to fulfil contracts, killing those who needed killing, and stealing what needed stealing. It had all been for the greater good. And although his partner had saved his life on more than one occasion, he could sometimes make things difficult too. Not too long ago, they had had to pay a visit to the outskirts of Virginia, where the Russians had been kidnapping women and selling them to the sex trade. That had been his final mission with the man.

But that was back in
those
days. Back in
that
life, where a man named Val Salinger did bad things for the right reasons. Back when The Agency were the good guys.

The radio crackled on the shelf beside him, snapping Val out of his reminiscence. His ears had popped and his eyes were dry with fatigue. Reminding himself that it would all be over soon, he snatched up the radio, cranked up the volume and listened to the kid whom he had hired for this job.

'Mister Black, the sniper is in position,'
the voice spat through the ageing radio.

Mister Black was a name that he had used before, but not in this city. Not even in the United Kingdom, for that matter. He wasn't so much an expert at assigning random names as his partner had been, but he was always willing to give it a shot. There was always a worry for him that - because people travel, talk, compare peers - his identity would become confused. The six degrees of separation had too few degrees for his liking.

'Very good. Remember; no shots fired until I say so. Under
any
circumstances,' he told the kid again. He had no idea if his team were competent, only that they were all he had.

'Understood, sir. Over and out.'

Val clipped the radio to his belt and, through the glass, looked out across the water. The night was black but the moon was full and white, spreading its glorious light across the rippled water. He had considered purchasing a boat like this for himself someday, maybe when his retirement came.
If
it ever came. He had borrowed this one from The Agency, who put up no fight in lending what needed lending to stop the rogue agent.

And the boy.

Had he been hurt? If all had gone correctly, Blake should have been kicking back on a beach somewhere with his inheritance. A couple of million would do the trick. He had never been a good father - that is, he hadn't been there when he was needed - but if financial support was of any consolation then Val considered himself redeemed.

It wasn't long now. His partner - Daniel, as Val recalled was the used name in this area of London - would already know where to go. That was what had made him such a damn good Agent. Although he sometimes acted alone, it would only be to recover intelligence and get The Agency a step ahead of where they needed to be. So, Val understood, if
Daniel
wanted to know where he was holed up, he would only have to wait.

Soon, they would soon come through that gate and the war would begin. Val had always known his ex-partner to be quite the strategist, and if he still had a silver-haired head on that scrawny neck of his, he would leave the boy elsewhere. Although Val still clung onto that little thread of hope that he would get to see his son one more time. If not just to get a chance to say how sorry he was that he had abandoned him–how pitifully ashamed he was for not being every bit the father he had wanted to be. Maybe - just maybe - he would tell Blake about his mother, and that the details of her death had been a lie.

But that was for another day. The boy had been through too much lately.

The radio made a screeching sound on his belt. He flicked it up and pushed in the button. 'What is it?' It couldn't be them, could it? It was too early. He wasn't quite ready.

'Sir, there's a problem. You should really come and see this.'

Val could almost feel the blade at his neck. He knew it would have been too easy. 'Well?' he pressed. 'What is it?'

'I think you need to see this for yourself, sir.'

Val huffed, scratched at his spiky stubble and tossed the radio onto the desk. Sighing, wondering what the problem could be, be made his way to the bridge of the yacht. When he reached the rail, he had to squint his eyes to make sure he was seeing right.

In the distance, blue-and-red lights flashed in vibrant contrast to the black sky. The police car seemed to be at the gates, so it seemed unlikely that they would see the sniper from there. And if this bunch of amateurs had any sense about them, they would have ducked out of sight as soon as they saw the police.

Val walked down the sloped jetty, wondering if he knew the officers. Whether or not he did would make a huge difference in the outcome of all this; The Agency owned most of the police. But now was not the time for some medal-seeking rookie to kick the dust into everyone's faces. If God was on his side, he would not be recognised. After all, Val Salinger was a dead man, as far as the world was concerned.

'What can I do for you gentlemen?' he asked, his hip aching in the cold and causing him a slight limp. As the shorter officer turned, Val suddenly recognised that she was female. A pretty one too, save for the broad shoulders. 'Miss–I apologise.'

'That would be
Officer Lang
to you, sir,' she said, cutting through the pleasantries. Her partner, a tall balding man lurked behind her, leaning against the car and looking around him nervously. 'May I ask if you're the owner of this yacht?'

A newbie,
thought Val.
She must not know me.
'Yes ma'am.' He glanced at the two guards who stood at the gate. If the officers searched them, they would find their firearms. It may not lead to conviction, but it could certainly cause unnecessary hassle for The Agency, and he wanted to avoid that if at all possible.

'Do you have the documentation?' the male officer suddenly piped up, still having not introduced himself. From the looks of it though, he was a nobody. It seemed that Officer Lang was in charge of this one.

'Not right now, I'm afraid. I keep all of that at home. Silly of me, really.' Val chuckled, as genuinely as he could muster. He needed to be convincing.

'Yes, it is.' Lang took a black pad from her breast pocket, flicked it open and clicked a pen to it. She cleared her throat. 'Can I take your name, sir?'

'My n-name?' He shuffled closer, leaning in to see the pad. 'What do you need my name for?' This was getting far too much for him. The officer seemed to be challenging him, and he didn't like to be threatened. 'What is this about, Miss?'

'Officer,
' she corrected. 'We've had reports of a domestic disturbance upon your craft.'

A domest–?
It was becoming clear that this woman was not on The Agency's payroll.

'Well, do you have a search warrant?' he tried.

'Not yet, but you'll find that we don't need one if all we aim to do is take your details. Are you refusing to cooperate? If you are, then that's even better.' She smiled with a wry devilishness, flipped the pad closed and looked him dead in the eye.

Val could sense a hostility, a knowing with bitter intent.

The officer reached one hand behind her back, presumably reaching for her handcuffs.

After years of experience, Val's reflexes told him not to flinch. 'Of course not,' he said with a smile. This woman was pushing her luck, and he was concerned that he may have to take action. 'My name is Vincent Black. I'm a zoologist from the city.' He had always wanted to be a zoologist. This was probably his only chance.

'Sounds like a superhero name,' she said without the faintest hint of humour.

'Well, I'm no superhero. Just an old fart who likes to fish.'

Lang glanced around the yard, up at the platforms where the snipers were hiding, and then back at Val. 'Mister Black, do you have any identification with you?'

The male officer still hung back, as if he didn't want to get involved.

The woman, however, was simply asking for trouble.

Val began to sweat, his skin getting hot under his collar. It wasn't the threat of the law that bothered him, but more that she was pushing at him to slip back into his old ways. He tried to tell himself that it would be okay to become
that
person one more time–that she was forcing his hand. He thought about his passport on the boat - the one under the name of Oscar Wales - and suddenly wished he had given her that name instead. He sighed. 'You don't really want to see it, do you? If it's a simple noise complaint, we'll keep it down. I promise.' It was a desperate attempt at abruptly ending the conflict. He turned on his heel and barely made two steps before she called him back.

'Mister Salinger, do
not
walk away from us!' she screamed at him. As he glanced back he saw the short - and short-tempered - young officer storming towards him.

She called me Salinger.
He could feel his heart ready to rip out of his chest.

Officer Lang met his gaze. 'That's right. Your face is all over the papers.'

Val looked up at where the sniper was. He knew he had done everything he could to prevent this, but that didn't make it any easier. With a simple nod of the head, a dart whistled through the air and punctured her neck. For a second, she reached for it, but then her lights went out and her knees gave way. Val caught her just before she hit the ground, and gently lowered her to the floor.

The other officer - the man, if you could call him that - stood in surrender with his hands above his head. 'I couldn't stop her, Mister Salinger.' It was a confirmation that he had known who Val was all along, ever since they had arrived.

Val raised a hand to call off the next shot. 'You shouldn't have let her come this close.' He turned to the guards, who had their hands in their jackets and looked ready to take action. 'Put them in the booth and cuff them. We'll let them go as soon as we're done here.'

The policeman almost laughed with relief. 'Thank you, Mister Salinger!'

Val's guards moved straight forward, obeying their order. One of them hauled Lang to her feet and dragged her away, the other escorted the policeman to the gatehouse. Neither put up any resistance, which made Val pleased that he had made the right decision.

With no more time to waste out here in the open, he turned and headed back to the yacht's cabin, where he would ready himself for the inevitable war.

Chapter 23

They were laid on their bellies in the wet dirt, surveying the yacht from a distance with the use of binoculars (for Blake) and the scope of a rifle (for Greg). Blake was getting into the swing of this. That is, he was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable at a distance, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was becoming more observant.