The Game (19 page)

Lucille was waiting near the van’s doors when they opened. She had been on her feet as soon as she had felt the vehicle coming to a stop. She’d been sat on the mattress positioned across the width of the back compartment and next to the front wall. The mattress was queen sized and newly purchased. There was no protector or linens and no pillow, but with her back against the padded wall, it was comfortable enough that she had no aches or pain from the long hours of travelling. She didn’t sleep though. She couldn’t.

He had her son.

In time she had become used to the darkness and the constant rocking and swaying and noise and the heat of an insulated room with no ventilation. The pain in Lucille’s head had eased throughout the day, but she felt sick with fear and weak from the hours of crying and screaming. She hadn’t drunk anything since leaving the restaurant, however long ago that was now. Her throat was dry and her lips cracked and sore.

She didn’t know where she was. She could have been taken south to Spain or north into France, but she didn’t know how long she had been unconscious. They could have reached almost anywhere by now.

This time when the door opened, light didn’t flood inside and sting her eyes, though she had been braced for it. Outside it was dark. Night time. The blond man stood alone against a backdrop of starry sky and flat countryside. He held a backpack in one hand. For the first time Lucille saw him with her vision unimpaired. He was tall and powerful, dressed in loose jeans and a loose workman’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms covered in fair hair. He looked to be somewhere in his forties, his skin weathered and tanned. His lips were thin and surrounded by a short beard that reached high on his cheeks. The blond hair was clipped short and even across his head, receding at the temples and flecked with grey. Blue eyes that caught the starlight and reflected it like those of a wolf stared at her and she forced herself not to cower.

‘Where’s my son?’

‘How’s your head?’

‘I want to see him.’

‘I would have been aghast had you not. He’s sleeping in the cab.’

‘What do you want with us?’

He didn’t answer. ‘Your eyes are focusing better, aren’t they? I imagine the headache has dulled over time too. That’s good. Could you turn around so I can see the wound?’

‘Let us go. Please. I’ll do’ – she paused and breathed to stay composed – ‘anything you want.’

He stared at her. His wolf’s eyes didn’t blink.

Her heart hammered. She braced herself, disgusted and terrified, but thought about Peter and how she would willingly endure anything to save him.

The blond man stepped forward. He held up his hand. Lucille looked at it. It was large and calloused. A monster’s hand. She swallowed and reached for it.

Laughter.

A loud, coarse sound that permeated every inch of her being and made her wince and shudder.

‘You need to fear me, Lucille,’ the blond man said once he’d finished laughing. ‘But not in that way.’

An image flashed through her mind: a bench, pigeons, a man feeding them.

‘I know you,’ she said. ‘From the park.’

‘Excellent,’ the blond man replied. ‘You’re over the worst of the concussion if you remember me.’

‘How long were you watching us for?’

‘Does it matter?’ he asked. ‘With that knowledge could you bend space and time and travel back to warn yourself of my presence? And if you were able, would such a warning do any good? Could you stop me? Could anyone?’

‘God will punish you for what you are doing.’

‘When he has already done so by granting me life, how can any further punishment be worse?’

Lucille couldn’t stop the tears. She wanted to be strong. She didn’t want him to know how terrified she was. But she couldn’t help it.

‘Give me back my son,’ she wept.

‘When he wakes he can rejoin you.’

‘He needs me.’

‘He likes it up front. It’s fun. I let him win almost every game we play. Not all, of course, otherwise he’ll suspect. He’s a smart little child. You should be proud of him.’

‘What do you want with us? Why are you doing this? Don’t hurt him. Please, don’t hurt my son.’

The blond man said, ‘You should know, Lucille, that there is no safer place for Peter in all this world than at my side. You should also know that whether it stays that way is up to you.’

She sobbed.

‘Take your time,’ he said.

It took a little while until she was able to hold back the tears. She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist.

He hoisted up the backpack and placed it inside the rear compartment of the van. ‘In there you will find some water, food and basic medical supplies. There are also some clothes and other items.’ He gestured to the countryside behind him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you out earlier and I may not be able to do so again for some time, so go and relieve yourself now while we have the opportunity.’

Lucille peered at the countryside. Low verges lined the road. Beyond were fields that stretched to the horizon. There were no lights, no sign of human habitation.

‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘That does not matter.’

‘Where are you taking us?’

‘Find yourself a quiet spot. Climb over a verge into one of the fields.’

She looked at him.

‘I’m not going to come with you,’ he said. ‘Can’t leave a young child on their own even for a few minutes, now can we?’

The words stung her deeply. More tears wet her cheeks.

‘I’ll stay here with Peter,’ the blond man said. ‘Take all the time you need.’

She glanced at the road, then looked away in case he’d seen. He had.

‘I won’t try anything,’ she said.

‘You’re an intelligent woman. You know this isn’t some deserted track, so there’s a reasonable chance a car might pass. You know you could flag one down to help. But you also know the occupants will fare no better than those soldiers.’ He shrugged. ‘Or maybe you’ll get lucky and a convoy of armed police will happen by. But could they stop me before I ripped your boy’s head from his neck? It’s an interesting question. How does one weigh the odds of that which is beyond common comprehension?’

The blond man held up his hand again and she took it. He helped her down from the van and onto the road. Standing next to him, without the artificial perspective gained from the height of the van’s cargo deck, she realised just how weak and insignificant she was in comparison. If he didn’t want her body she had no weapon to use against him. She was powerless.

‘I won’t try anything,’ Lucille said again.

His wolf’s eyes shone in the starlight. ‘I know you won’t.’

Victor found the Rolls-Royce waiting for him a couple of kilometres south of the parking garage. It had been too much of a risk to have such a recognisable vehicle in close proximity to two crime scenes and a heavy police presence, so Victor had told Leeson to drive it away while he took care of the last Georgian. The limousine sat along the kerb of a quiet road, out of the direct glare of any streetlights, as Victor had instructed. As he neared, Leeson climbed out of the driver’s seat and greeted Victor with a smile and a handshake.

‘Thank you, Mr Kooi. Thank you so very much.’

‘All part of the service.’

Leeson gripped his hand tightly with both of his own. ‘You saved my life. I don’t know how the hell you pulled it off, but you did. Six of them against the two of us, but here we are, alive and breathing and nothing but some sweat and a few scratches to show we’ve ever been in battle. I really think that—’

Victor opened the rearmost cabin door and gestured. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you think on the way back?’

Leeson smiled, in a different way. ‘Yes, of course, Mr Kooi. Anything you want. Any problems with the last one?’

Victor shook his head.

The younger man climbed into the back and Victor shut the door before getting into the driver’s seat. Leeson pulled open the partition window and then slouched back in his seat.

‘Did you call Dietrich and Coughlin?’ Victor asked.

‘Yes. As you said, I told them to stand down and head back to the farmhouse.’

Victor pulled away from the kerb and set about taking a circuitous route out of Rome. He saw Leeson was smiling and drumming his fingers on the console next to him.

‘Happy to be alive?’

Leeson nodded. ‘I’ve never experienced anything quite like this.’

‘Post-battle elation,’ Victor explained.

‘It’s exhilarating.’

‘Don’t be alarmed if you find yourself experiencing strong sexual desire.’

‘Wouldn’t that make me a psychopath?’

‘That’s not exactly how one is defined, but regardless, it’s nothing to be concerned about. The violence doesn’t cause it. You came close to death. Your subconscious wants you to reproduce while you still can.’

Leeson laughed. ‘I’ll remember you said that if I find myself with an inexplicable erection.’ He fixed himself a drink. ‘Now I understand why men like yourself can do what you do. For the first time in my life I’m actually happy – no, ecstatic – just to be alive. It’s more satisfying than anything I’ve ever experienced. I would happily do it all again just to recapture this sensation.’

‘It diminishes each time.’

‘Do you still feel it?’

Victor shook his head again. ‘I don’t even remember what it really feels like.’

‘Then what do you feel after something like this? What do you feel right now?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No joy?’

‘No joy.’

‘Then I feel sorry for you, Mr Kooi. I really do. Aren’t you glad to be alive?’

‘Of course,’ Victor said. ‘Life is always preferable to the alternative.’

‘Ah, so you are a man who believes there is nothing waiting for us beyond the grave.’

‘No,’ Victor said. ‘That’s the problem.’

‘Then why do what you do?’

‘It pays well.’

Leeson laughed.

He barely stopped smiling for the entire journey back to the farmhouse. He also barely stopped talking. He wanted to relive the experience. They talked through what had happened, their individual roles and how they worked as a team. Leeson described every detail of when he had shot the Georgian attempting to flank them. The panic he had shown in the restaurant was long gone and didn’t seem likely to return in the dead of night, tearing him from sleep and drenching his body in sweat. It wouldn’t be long before he believed he had been fearless.

Victor stopped the Rolls-Royce on the driveway in front of the farmhouse, but kept the engine running.

‘You need to open the barn,’ he said.

‘The barn is off limits—’

‘It doesn’t bother me who does it,’ Victor interrupted. ‘But you need to hide this vehicle. It’ll have been picked up on CCTV and witnesses don’t forget seeing a Rolls-Royce limousine. It’s a bull’s-eye to any aerial surveillance. And you don’t want another visit from your Georgian friends, do you?’

‘Why not?’ Leeson asked with raised eyebrows. ‘We dealt with the last lot easy enough.’

We. Easy.
 

‘And what about the authorities? Are we going to easily deal with a police helicopter spotting the Phantom and a tactical team knocking down the farmhouse door?’

Leeson nodded. ‘Okay, you win. Sensible as always. I’ll have Mr Dietrich do it.’

Victor nodded too, wondering why Dietrich was allowed to take the limousine into the barn and he wasn’t.

Inside the farmhouse kitchen Francesca, Dietrich, Jaeger and Coughlin were waiting. Jaeger sat eating a sandwich, the rest stood around the table – Francesca closest to the door, the other two men at the far side, leaning against the countertop next to the sink. Dietrich’s arms were folded in front of his chest, defensive. Coughlin looked bored.

Francesca smiled. ‘The warriors return. All hail.’

She spoke while looking at Leeson, whose back instantly straightened in a rush of pride and arrogance. Francesca knew exactly how to play him.

‘My dear,’ he said, and embraced her.

Victor made sure not to make eye contact as she glanced his way.

‘Well?’ Dietrich spat.

Leeson released Francesca. ‘Do you want to tell the story, Mr Kooi, or shall I?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘Though first, Mr Dietrich, would you be so kind as to house the car in the barn?’ Dietrich nodded and Leeson handed him the keys as he passed. ‘And I think before I begin, a glass of vino is appropriate.’ Leeson motioned to Francesca. ‘Pop down to the cellar and fetch a bottle, there’s a good girl.’

Francesca nodded and smiled and left the kitchen. Victor got himself a glass of water. She returned after a minute and poured everyone a drink. Victor shook his head when she came to him.

Leeson waited until Dietrich had also returned before he recounted the events of the last few hours. He was a good natural orator, who did an excellent job of underplaying his own role just enough to encourage clarifications and enquiries for more details. Details he was only too happy to embellish under the veneer of false modesty.

Francesca gasped and exhaled at every chance and when Leeson had finished, said, ‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Robert,’ with wide-eyed rapture and a little excited clap of her hands. Leeson was a good orator, but Francesca was his perfect audience.

Jaeger nodded with raised eyebrows, reserved but impressed.

Dietrich and Coughlin were not.

‘So, His Majesty here pinged five of this crew, right?’ Dietrich asked, doubt creasing his forehead.

Leeson nodded. ‘That’s correct. Mr Kooi was truly formidable.’

‘He kills a bunch of amateurs and I’m supposed to be awed? Don’t think so.’

‘Your evaluation of the quality of the opposition is immaterial here. Had Mr Kooi not been present I would now be a corpse and you, Mr Dietrich, would be without an employer.’

Dietrich scowled. ‘There’s nothing this guy could have done that I couldn’t have myself. And easier. I wouldn’t have needed a civilian to help me get the job done over a bunch of amateurs.’

Victor tried – badly – to hide a laugh.

‘Got something to say, Your Majesty?’

Victor remained silent. But he smiled at Dietrich. Just a little smirk, but enough to further antagonise the man. There was nothing Victor could do to make Dietrich reverse his opinion of him, and there was a good chance they would eventually find themselves as enemies. Victor was happy to let Dietrich go into that potential future encounter with the disadvantage of genuine dislike and hatred.

Dietrich stared. ‘Too afraid to talk, are you?’

‘I’m afraid if I do I might use words you don’t understand.’

Dietrich took a step forward. ‘You won’t be talking so tough when I gut you and leave you in the basement for the rats to gnaw on.’

‘Good luck with that.’

Francesca laughed. ‘Such pathetic displays of testosterone-fuelled arrogance. Who are you both trying to impress besides each other? Because it’s not working.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Dietrich said.

She laughed again. ‘Do you think anyone cares who could have killed more or done so easier? Is that the only way you can measure yourself against him?’

‘Why don’t you shut the fuck up?’

Her eyes widened.

‘Don’t talk to her like that,’ Victor said.

‘I’ll talk to her however I wish.’

‘Try again.’

Dietrich stared at him. ‘Mind your own business or maybe I’ll start minding yours.’

Victor stared back. ‘You say that like it actually means something.’

‘Better for you if you don’t find out what that something means.’

‘I can’t wait to find out.’

Dietrich smiled at that and inched away from the countertop. There were two metres between them. His back straightened and his fingers curled towards his palms. He was strong. He was dangerous. But he couldn’t hide what he was about to do if his life depended on it.

Which it did.

But Leeson saw what was coming and held out a hand. ‘Let’s leave this posturing right there, shall we? You are both valuable men to me in different areas. Whoever harms the other will lose that value. Do I make myself clear?’

Dietrich’s eyes were locked with Victor’s. Neither answered.

‘Well?’ Leeson asked. ‘Do I need to start looking for replacement personnel who will actually do as I ask?’

‘No,’ Victor said, because he knew Dietrich would rather fight to the death right there than answer first.

Dietrich smirked at him – satisfied at this perceived victory – and shook his head at Leeson.

‘Very good,’ Leeson said. ‘When you two are no longer in my employment you can settle your differences in whatever manner you see fit. For all I care you can beat one another until what remains is not enough to fill a bucket. But for now, you behave yourselves. If you cannot be respectful, be silent. And Mr Dietrich…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t ever want to hear you speak to Francesca like that again. Apologise, immediately. And need I remind you of the potential consequences of such discourtesy?’

Dietrich stared for a moment until he did understand, then nodded. He looked at Francesca and said, ‘Sorry.’

‘Accepted.’

Coughlin, who had been silent since their return, asked, ‘How exposed are we?’

‘Minimally,’ Victor answered when Leeson didn’t right away. ‘The crew were competent enough not to have any ID on them or other identifiable evidence, so they are unlikely to have left an obvious trail elsewhere. The restaurant has Leeson’s name.’ He looked at Leeson. ‘But I assume that’s not a problem. The parking garage had CCTV, obviously, and the recordings will match witness descriptions from the restaurant, but there won’t be recordings of our faces.’

‘And how can you be so sure of that?’

‘Because I’m good at what I do.’

‘Then let’s hope you’re right, because you’ve left a trail of destruction through a city all of thirty miles from this position.’

‘Way to go, putting us all at risk,’ Dietrich added.

‘It’s not a problem,’ Victor said.

‘That remains to be seen,’ Coughlin said.

‘It’s not a problem,’ Leeson repeated after a moment’s thought. ‘We’re still good here,’ he said after another pause, and Victor wondered what conclusions he’d come to and why the involvement of the two of them in a firefight in the middle of Rome didn’t compromise whatever it was they were here for.