Rocks (18 page)

“Well if two aren’t
much trouble,” another voice interrupted, “let’s make the odds really dirty.” Surprised, both Hayden and Lars turned to see a large bear of a man, his rather ugly face dominated by a pockmarked nose, bright ginger hair receding from his temples. In his hand he carried some sort of cudgel and, as Lars struggled to turn in his chair the stranger lifted it to deal a powerful blow across the Norwegian’s head, knocking him senseless to the table.

“
S’alright lads!” the man said, raising his other hand and waving to the Garda who were now looking in their direction. “My friend’s just been drinking a little early in the day!” One of them nodded discreetly and the large man opened his arms to embrace Karla, who had rushed around the table to greet him.

“So this is Uncle Coilin, I take it?” said Hayden. “Thank you.”

“Ah, think nothing of it,” the man replied. As Hayden reached out a hand, however, Colin drew back slightly. “Sorry son. I haven’t shaken hands with a Brit for over a decade. Nothing personal, you just never know when they’re going to fecking try and do next.”

Karla shook her head at this and pulled an exasperated face at Hayden over her uncle’s back. “Sit down,” she told Coilin. “That was good timing.”

“I’d never let anyone harm my little Gráinne,” he replied, taking a seat beside her. “You know that.” Karla blanched and began to wave her hands, while Hayden stared at her in amazement, a grin slowly spreading across her face.

“
Gronya?” he said in the nearest approximation of the name he could manage. “
Gron-ya
?”

She glared at him and then blushed before turning on her uncle. “I told you never to call me that. My name’s
Karla
!”

“Ah!” Coilin waved a large, brawny hand in front of his face before letting it rest on the back of Lars’s head who remained unconscious beside him. “You should never be ashamed of where you come from. The
Macnamaras are a fine family.”

“
Gronya Macnamara?” Hayden couldn’t resist a chuckle. Both Karla and Coilin turned to stare at him with such malevolence that he quickly shut up.

“Her great-grandfather,
Padraig Macnamara, was a good friend to the first Taoiseach of a free Irish state, I’ll have you know.” Colin’s face was fierce and proud.

“My name is
not
Gráinne Macnamara,” Karla opined. “I changed it by deed-poll, remember.” She sighed.

“So, what name do you use on your passport?” Hayden asked, keeping his face as straight as possible. He corrected himself. “I mean, on any passport you want to pass for the real you.”

“Karla Steel,” she said with a slight blush, dipping her eyes to avert both his stare and that of her uncle. “I thought it sounded classy.”

Uncle Coilin shrugged. “Each to their own, I guess.” He stared at Lars, still unmoving on the table. “I suppose we should do something with this fella before long, eh? I mean, sooner or later someone’s going to wonder what the feck is going on. Oh, by the way,” he appeared to interrupt his own train of thought. “Mad Dog sends his regards.” Karla grimaced at this.

“Who the hell is ‘Mad Dog’?” Hayden asked, still trying not to laugh at either Karla’s birth name or her chosen one.

Karla simply scowled and refused to answer, but her uncle explained: “Just our little nickname for the
Assistant Deputy Minister for Culture up over the border—a hang over from his old provo days. Not that I’m allowed to say that, of course. Anyhow, he has a thing for our little Gr- our little Karla here.”

“I don’t make many mistakes,” Karla muttered, “but that was definitely one of them.” She shook her head before adopting a brisk, business-like tone. “Anyway, back to the matter in hand. We have to do something about him.” She gestured to Lars.

“That we do. Where’s he from?”

“Norway,” Hayden answered.

“Norway?” Coilin looked surprised. “Well, feck me. That was the last place I’d have expected. I mean, they haven’t really been bothering anyone since all those Viking feckers went around causing all that trouble. Don’t you worry: I heard from the lads that there was a bit of an incident on the ferry. We’ll hand him over to the boys in a while. I’ll sort him out and then get you back to pick up your diamond in a jiffy.”

“You can do that?” Hayden looked sceptical.

“Of course I can!” Coilin looked offended at the question. “Just as I’ll sort out moving the Wallenstein as soon as you get your hands on it again.”

“How?”

“Uncle Coilin trained as a lawyer,” Karla added. “He’s very useful to know.”

"Really?" Hayden was incredulous.

“Typical fecking Brit,” Coilin snarled. “Always jumping to stereotypical conclusions about thick Paddies.”

“Well,” mused Hayden, “you do seem to say ‘feck’ a lot, which is right up there in terms of cultural stereotypes alongside Guinness, leprechauns and kissing the Blarney stone.”

The older man bristled at this. “While it causes me a great deal of regret to say this, stout originated in London before it was exported to Ireland, leprechauns don’t exist, and if I ever get my hands on the Blarney stone I’ll shove it so far up where the sun don’t shine that you’ll be able to kiss it without moving your lips. Or, indeed, any other part of your body.”

Karla reached forward and patted his hands. “Calm down,” she said gently. “He was only teasing.” Hayden nodded in agreement cautiously.

Uncle Coilin stared at him sternly.

“I don’t fecking believe it,” he grumbled. “I could put up with the French, the Italians, the Americans, the Chinese, the Russians.” He continued a list that seemed to take several minutes to complete before concluding: “but I never thought you’d end up with a fecking Englishman.”

Hayden stared at Karla open-mouthed. “Is there any nationality you haven’t slept with?”

She mused for a few moments. “No-one from Tibet.”

“You have some prejudice against Tibetans?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve just never met the right one. Yet.” A grin slowly spread across her face. “Mind you, I bet the Dalai Lama would be awesome.”

“I don’t think he has sex.”

Waving her hand, she looked at Hayden with mild contempt as Coilin sank his head into his hand. “That’s just marketing and PR bullshit,” she explained breezily. “I bet you he’d be fantastic in the sack. I mean, it wouldn’t be like shagging the Pope
—you know, all kinky shit and getting me to dress up as a young girl. No, he’d be a Tantric master. He’d keep me in a state of orgasm for hours.”

Hayden sighed. “I don’t know which is worse: your perverse grasp of theology or the fact you fantasise about sex with the world’s religious leaders.”

“It’s the only way to bring us together in peace and harmony,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

“You should hear her suggestions for solving the Middle East crisis,” Coilin muttered. “It’s enough to make David Ben-Gurion spin in his grave.” Shaking his head, he placed a meaty hand on Lars’s collar, making the Norwegian groan slightly. “Anyhow, we can’t spend all day chatting like this. You two need to get back to London and pick up that diamond. I’ll sort out our mutual acquaintance.”

“You’ll be able to help us?” Hayden was still struggling to come to terms with all that he’d learnt.

“Of course he can help us,” Karla told him. “Uncle Coilin can sort out anything
—that’s why I was on my way to him.”

“Yes, but I mean… fencing the Wallenstein, that’s just straight out illegal even for
someone like your uncle? No offence meant,” Hayden added quickly, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture.

“None taken,” Coilin replied, manhandling Lars to his feet. “I’m a lawyer. Breaking the law is what I do.”

It was not until the morning of the next day that Karla and Hayden stood before the secure lockers at Heathrow. They had left her uncle to deal with Lars and hired a car in Holyhead to make their way back to London more quickly. Part of Karla had been extremely eager to get her hands on the Wallenstein as quickly as possible, but more than that she had wanted to get her hands on Hayden. Indeed, it was with some reluctance that the pair of them had crawled from his bed that morning.

He looked extremely presentable, dressed as he was in a grey Armani suit which accentuated his broad shoulders. He would have seemed a perfectly respectable businessman were it not for the bandage covering his nose
—a fact which made him somewhat self-conscious.

“You look cute,” she told him, resisting the temptation (already indulged several times) to reach up and tweak him.

“Yeah,” he remarked wryly. “Just like a stockbroker who’s got into a fight with a cave bear.”

“
Mmm,” she purred, pressing her body against his. “Just the thought of that’s getting me hot.”

He glared at her and then laughed. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Not too flashy I hope,” she replied self-deprecatingly, though inside she glowed at this simple compliment.

“I was amazed at how quickly you managed to find something so… fetching.”

“Years of practice,” she told him with a wink. “Believe me, I can shop for days without food and water when the mood’s on me, but today we have business. Only the thought of the Wallenstein could have stopped me fucking you this morning.”

“I’m surprised you can still walk.”

She punched him affectionately. “Don’t flatter yourself, handsome. It takes a lot more than that to render me legless—though I hope we find out just how much before long.”

Again he laughed. “So, who are you today?”

She fished her passport from the inside pocket of her jacket. “Amelia Lund, originally from Dortmund. Ich freue mich Sie kennenzulernen, Herr Carter. It was the only one I had to hand who was a brunette. And you?”

“Jeffrey White, sales director for a medium sized enterprise just outside Slough.”

Hugging his arm, she beamed up at him. “Don’t you just love how dull and boring our alter egos are?”

“Of course,” he replied. “It means we can save all the exciting stuff for our real selves
—”

“Don’t say it!” she hissed, raising a finger with real venom in her voice. “Don’t you dare fucking say it!”

“—Ms Steel. What, did you think I’d be as indiscreet as your Uncle Coilin?” His winked at her and pulled her back into him again. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Nodding, she opened her clutch bag, a quilted Versace number, and retrieved the key before passing it to him.

“Don’t you want to open it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m too nervous. If it’s not there, I want to be able to blame you so that I won’t feel in the slightest bit guilty when I cut your dick off.”

Hayden pulled a peculiar expression at this. “Amazing, isn’t it,” he murmured. “I go my whole life without anyone threatening to castrate me, then I have two people offering to do it in as many days.”

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Karla with a grin, “but Lars wouldn’t have had yours stuffed to make it into his own private plaything. Your man parts are your best feature, you know. Now, come on. Put an end to my misery and open that locker.”

Hayden did appear a little nervous as he inserted the key and turned it. “Weren’t you worried it might be searched?” she asked.

“I know some people here,” he replied. “I paid a little extra for the privacy. You’d be amazed at the sort of stuff folks store away here.”

It wasn’t until he drew out a small box that Karla realised she had been holding her breath. Almost in unison, the two of them looked around: there was no-one else close by.

“Open it,” she whispered. “Just a little. I want to see it.”

Slowly, Hayden drew back the lid as the two of them huddled closer together. Inside the case, placed on soft, black cloth, was a square diamond, its multitude of facets glittering in the light.

“Beautiful,” Hayden whispered. “It suits you perfectly.”

Karla began to offer a sarcastic reply, but the look in his blue eyes stopped her. Instead, she lifted herself onto tiptoe and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Thank you,” she replied.

“A shame to sell it, really,” he observed.

“Don’t even think it,” she told him. “It’s the best I’ve ever seen, but I’ve never been the kind of girl to get sentimental about diamonds. They’re just fancy rocks when all’s said and done—something to fund the kind of lifestyle I’m used to. Speaking of which, you can go and get me a new phone to replace the one you chucked in the Irish Sea.”

“Didn’t you keep
Chantelle’s?” he asked, his eyes twinkling again.

She glowered at this. “That went overboard on the return journey
—and don’t you
ever
mention that woman’s name again.”

“She’s very sweet when you get to know her.”

Karla nearly rose to the bait but instead mastered her temper, placing the box in her bag. “Go and buy me a new phone. Now. You can afford it.”

“
We
can afford it.” Hayden frowned as she began to walk away. “Hey, where are you going?”

“To the ladies’ room,” she replied. “I need to powder my nose. Don’t worry. Your rock is quite safe with me
—you’re not getting rid of me that easily. In any case, you’ve got my luggage. There’s the latest Alexander McQueen in there and I’ve got no intention of losing that.”

He blew her a kiss as she sashayed to the bathroom, feeling like a million dollars and carrying several million more in her purse. A number of men watched her as she went by and she smiled to herself: there was only one pair of eyes she cared were fixed on her at that moment
—even if Hayden Carter was as likely to be concerned as to the fate of the Wallenstein as admiring the way her hips swayed.

When she emerged a while later, there was a sparkle in Karla’s eyes. A more experienced spectator might have come to the conclusion that powdering her nose might have been a euphemism for another kind of chemical sustenance. An even more experienced spectator might have surmised that Karla Steel carried a discreet little helper in her bag to while away the boredom in solitary pleasures. Both of them would have been wrong. Nonetheless, it was true that she took slightly more careful steps as she exited from the bathroom.

A young girl looked up at her, just on the verge of her teens. She was a sweet thing and, full of the joys of life, Karla smiled at her.

“You’re very beautiful,” the girl said.

“Why, thank you!” Karla replied. “And you’re a very pretty thing. Are you going on your holidays?”

The girl nodded. “I like your bag,” she said, a little shyly.

“Would you like it?”

Again a nod.

“Here, why don’t you take it? It’s a Versace.”

“Really?” The girl’s face lit up with pleasure. “Do you mean that?”

“I most certainly do,” Karla replied. “I don’t need it any more.”

Amused at her impulsive act, Karla began to make her way to the terminals where she knew Hayden would be waiting. If nothing else, there was no way he was going to leave Heathrow while the two most important things in his life remained at the airport. As she crossed the concourse, a large entourage of visitors began to pour in through the doors, leaving the suite of limousines that had drawn up outside. The group, consisting of some twenty or so individuals, was led by a tall black man, a fur coat trailing flamboyantly across his shoulders and dark shades covering his eyes. Beside him walked a smaller, tough-faced woman who glanced at Karla curiously as she was caught up in the trail of lackeys.

“Hey,” Papa Dee called out, his baritone voice rich and soothing. “Make way for the lady.”

“Dankeschön,” Karla replied, bowing her head slightly as she waited to go past.

“Why in such a hurry?” asked Papa Dee, moving forward as though to reach her. Karla flashed her green eyes at him. He was a handsome fellow, that was for sure, but she would brook no interruption now.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “Your… eyes.”

“I am aware that I have two of them,” she replied in clipped German tones.

“And your voice… I love European accents.”

She bowed her head slightly and manoeuvred around him and the rest of his crew.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he called out after her.

“I certainly do, Papa Dee,” she said, not looking back. “You’re on tour, I believe. And your father is a diplomat. I think I met him. Once.”

“Don’t go!” the singer cried. “Baby! You’ve got something I want.”

“Two things, actually,” she smirked to herself.

She found Hayden a few moments later, staring up with a frown at a television screen. His bandaged nose made him look both strangely comical and incredibly sexy at the same time.

“What is it?” she asked.

He didn’t reply but simply pointed up at the screen. Looking up, Karla recognised the familiar, pasty-white face on the screen.

“Maarten,” she gasped.

Hayden nodded. “They found him in a shipping container down past the Isle of Dogs. Apparently he’d been bundled in there with food a few days ago. He was rambling on about a Norwegian killer on the loose. Look.”

Karla watched the tickertape news at the bottom of the screen as the presenter’s face replaced that of Maarten Kropp. It said that police were looking for a tall, blonde-haired man in his mid-fifties who was incredibly dangerous. An identikit image flashed up and Karla nearly laughed.

“They’ll never find him with that,” she scoffed.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Anything about us?”

Hayden shook his head. “Maarten’s made no mention of you.”

This made her sigh. “Maybe I misjudged him.” She dismissed any regrets with a shake of her head. “What about the Wallenstein? Any news?”

“Nope. My guess is that Boeckman’s want to keep that under wraps until they know Lars has failed. We’ve probably got a couple more days.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, coming closer. “You’ll never guess who I just bumped into.”

Hayden shook his head. His frown was just too cute, Karla thought to herself.

“Papa Dee,” she told him. “If I remember rightly from when I was checking up on him, he was due to head back to Europe for the next leg of his tour…”

“...And after that he’d pick up his diamond,” Hayden concluded.

“By which time we’ll be long gone.”

“Yeah,” Hayden said thoughtfully, letting Karla snake her arm through his as they walked towards passport control. “Just the two of us.”

There was something odd about his voice. “What is it?” she asked.

“Let’s face it,” he said, suddenly looking a little glum, “this relationship’s probably doomed.”

This made her stop short. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply, staring at him intently with her green eyes.

“Neither of us is made for commitment, but we’ll try. I mean, we’re both crazy enough about each other to try, right? We’ll attempt to settle down, get married, have kids and I’ll even seek out something approaching a civilian occupation which will leave me bored out of my brain with a growing drinking problem. You’ll get sick of being a lady who lunches and start sleeping with the pool attendant simply because you can’t help yourself, and in revenge I’ll start fucking my
secretary—you know, the beautiful one who’s not too sharp between the ears. Then, when you find out, you’ll divorce me, get custody of the kids, the house—hell! You’ll even take the car, leaving me with nothing but a first world war revolver with which I’ll blow my brains out one day.”

“Jesus, Hayden! I never had you down as the depressive type.”

He sucked in his cheeks and then grinned at her. “Nah. I just get a bit twitchy between jobs. I like to remind myself of what I
don’t
intend to do with my life.”

This made her relax slightly. “Well, that’s a relief.” Then she scowled. “But you better not mean it
—what you said, about this relationship being doomed.”

He leaned forward and kissed her paternally on the brow. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of trying at all. If it doesn’t come naturally, I’m outta here.”

She jabbed his ribs at this and he groaned in mock pain. “In any case,” she said sweetly. “Do I look like the sort of woman who plans to have children? It takes a lot of effort to fit into a Stella Mccartney like this, and I’m not having some little snotty bastard mess with my figure, thank you very much!”

“That must be why I love you. Oh, that and the fact you had a multi-million Euro diamond when I first met you.” Hayden paused at this. “By the way, where is it? I almost forgot about it during our little chat.”

“That must be the first time today. It’s quite safe. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to try and get through customs with it?”