The Hit List (33 page)

'And they might have gone to work on Eve, too,' j said Slater grimly.

'That is a possibility, yes. I've spoken to Manderson j and agreed that we'll leave here tomorrow morning, j get the hire company to pick up the cars, and regroup \ later in the day -- this time, hopefully, without being 1 followed. Meanwhile, Terry keeps watch for Pasquale, j and as soon as he finds him a couple of you guys go mi and force him to make a meet with Branca. We're] watching the RV, and we'll follow Branca back to! wherever she's holed up with her RDB mates - and! Eve. Then we go in and extract Eve.'

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Chris Ryan all this in twenty-four hours?' asked Andreas

ily"

*have no choice,' said Chris. 'Manderson says

i question of handing over that disc on Tuesday. i return for Eve.' jit's fucking outrageous!' Slater exploded. 'They her. They probably will kill her.' Grabbing i-service menu from a table, he hurled it l-the wall. f others regarded him in silence.

Slater continued angrily, 'I may be just a S-squaddie, but are the pictures on that disc jch a big fucking deal? I mean I know chopped i and heads don't look good, but that Cambodia history. Nobody's admitted that guys from lent were training the Khmer Rouge, but jf's exactly denied it either. It's certainly not

come as a shock to anyone in the know.' by one the others turned away. Only Christ eyes. 'I'm afraid it's a question of "ours is not an why",' she said quietly. 'For whatever reason '- to hold on to the disc and get it to Manderson. fnon-negotiable.'

rfy, and with an effort, Slater brought himself f control. 'So how do we play it?' he asked.

gets on the phone to suppliers -- we're going . some automatic weaponry in case it comes to jjlttlt. You and Andreas sleep. If anything comes in Perry, I'll wake you. There's nothing else we can

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Slater nodded. Chris was right. He glanced at her. Even close up there was a kind of deliberately cultivated ordinariness about her. But Chris was not, Slater knew, an ordinary person. She could hardly have slept over the last couple of days, but continued to dispense good sense and cool judgement. When they had returned, stunned by their reversal from the forest of La Roche-Guyon, it had been to find that the wheels had continued to turn, that contingency plans had been made. Every group, Slater had learnt, needed a figure like this - a co-ordinator who held things together by attending to the details that fell outside the remit of the specialists.

Her early career, Leon had told him, had been spent in MIS, as had Terry's. Their shared speciality had been the tracking of terrorists in mainland Britain, and their surveillance skills had been legendary, as more than one PIRA active service unit had discovered to its cost. Their great gift was for self-effacement -- for making themselves invisible. You could probably spend an hour with them in a station waiting-room, Slater mused, and then climb on to your train convinced that you'd been alone all along. It was a rare skill.

Slater took Terry's room. For a long while he lay awake, thinking of Eve and how different she had looked and sounded the night before.

'Sometimes I just need to escape and be human, again,' she had whispered as she settled herself against j him. 'Will you be my escape route?'

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Chris Ryan

'I will,' he promised her. Til be anything you want

to be. But what about our working together? Isn't

: going to be a problem?'

p'Not if we don't make it one. We're just going to we to be very cool about it all. Keep all... all of this

side of the Cadre. Because if it touches on the way s work, people won't like it. It'll unbalance the team. > we don't let it touch on the way we work. The Iment we walk out this door tomorrow morning the

ale thing snap-freezes.' id how will I know when you next . . . need to

>e?' he asked.

Tou'll know,' she answered, her voice a dreamy je. 'I promise you, you'll know.' I

IS woke to Andreas's urgent shaking of his shoulder. f a moment he had no idea where he was, and then I room took shape around him. He glanced at his ch; it was 4am.

ic drug-guy's turned up,' said Andreas, stuffing Clock 9mm into the waistband of his trousers Ihanding Slater the silenced Sig Sauer rescued from

lotel Inter-Lux. 'We're going to go and shake Idown.'dter was still wearing his outdoor clothes from the

efore, and quickly pulled on the walking boots he ft'bought in the Mammouth supermarket. They

I't ideal, but if there was going to be a fight he |?t want to be caught in a pair of thin-soled loafers.

Sig Sauer went into a pocket of the hiking jacket.

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Slater nodded. Chris was right. He Even close up there was a kind of cultivated ordinariness about her. But Cl Slater knew, an ordinary person. She couldJ slept over the last couple of days, but cc dispense good sense and cool judgement, had returned, stunned by their reversal fronJ of La Roche-Guyon, it had been to wheels had continued to turn, that contit had been made. Every group, Slater had le a figure like this -- a co-ordinator who together by attending to the details that fell j remit of the specialists.

Her early career, Leon had told him,', in MIS, as had Terry's. Their shared sp been the tracking of terrorists in mainland] their surveillance skills had been legend than one PIRA active service unit had < cost. Their great gift was for self-efface making themselves invisible. You coi spend an hour with them in a station Slater mused, and then climb on to convinced that you'd been alone all along. Il skill.

Slater took Terry's room. For a long awake, thinking of Eve and how difie looked and sounded the night before.

'Sometimes I just need to escape and�' again,' she had whispered as she settled he him. 'Will you be my escape route?'

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Chris Ryan

am. Five minutes later, certain that they had lost earlier pursuers, they recrossed the river by the de Sully. Soon they were in the eleventh sement, parking a couple of hundred metres the street and round the corner from the ig containing Miko Pasquale's apartment, aterialising from the shadows, Terry climbed into ick seat, carrying a crumpled salami sandwich and pen bottle of wine in a paper bag. He looked ely disreputable -- a borderline alcoholic, perhaps, | had taken to drinking in the streets, f^asquale came back in about half an hour ago, 6. The lights went on in the second-floor flat for ten minutes and then went out. I think we can he's asleep. I've watched half a dozen people ; in and out of the place, and I've got the keypad | for the gate . . .'

/e you tested it?' asked Andreas. >, but from where I was on the bench back there i able to see people punching it in. I couldn't see aal numbers, but I could see that the code went aw, bottom row, and then middle row twice. I walked past you could see the finger marks ad the one, the nine, the four and the five. So it's

1945 or 1954.' iickly he fitted on one of the Motorola comms

put on the other. j>K, give me five minutes to get back in place, and we you the go-ahead. You all three going in?' mi nodded. 'Yes we are. And we're going to need

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you to stay out here in case we have any visitors. It's not impossible Branca might show up.'

'OK. Wait for my word.'

Slater checked the Sig Sauer, ensured that he had a spare clip of ammunition.

'Clear to go,' came Terry's message. 'Over.'

The three men climbed from the car and sauntered unhurriedly up the street, as if returning home from a long weekend. When they got to the gate they pulled on gloves and Slater punched 1954 into the keypad. Nothing. He keyed in 1945, and with a muted click the gate unlocked and the three pushed their way into the small courtyard.

Pasquale's name and flat number were on one of the letter-boxes. Slater led up the stairs and waited outside the second-floor flat. The bell-push was grimy; drug dealers, Slater thought, must get quite used to late night visitors. Even so, 4.30 in the morning was stretching a point.

'Why don't you ring the bell?' Andreas suggested to Leon. 'You look the druggiest of all of us.'

'You mean the blackest?' whispered Leon. 'Thanks a lot!'

'White boys in hiking jackets don't buy smack at 4.30 in the morning,' hissed Andreas.

'And black ones do? Man, just where have you been hiding your sweet ass?'

'Guys,' intervened Slater. 'Wind your necks in, OK?' '

Leaning forward, he pressed the bell. From within,

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Chris Ryan

I'heard slowly approaching footfalls and a ing mutter. To conceal themselves, Leon and i took a couple of steps up the staircase. s spyhole briefly went dark, and the door opened

of inches on a brass chain.

i

le door opened a couple of inches, Slater his heel against it, hard. The chain snapped the door flew backwards into the face of the ening it, who sank to his knees with a groan, i hands.

three men barged in, kicking the door shut ; them, and Pasquale raised his head. Blood was from his nose. He was a tall man, not jme, with pale scars showing in his cropped night-time attire was a Paris St Germain strip. He looked more puzzled than afraid, do you need?' he asked in heavily accented pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and ; it to his nose. 'Smack? Crack? Ecstasy?' need to talk,' Leon answered in English, r frisking him. 'Let's go inside and sit down. Any ; around and these two men will shoot you.'

^-dealer looked at the faces of the three men ; in front of him, and then led them through to 3us lounge containing an acre of white carpet, a ridescreen TV and several tons of furniture ed in black leather.

he said, indicating the sofas and armchairs, what is it you want.'

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Slater positioned himself so that he could cover both Pasquale and the door.

'We want Branca,' said Leon simply.

'So you are who, police?'

'Why should we be police?'

Pasquale shrugged. 'Because of the Branca business.'

'Which is?'

Pasquale shrugged again.

'She deals drugs?' asked Leon.

Pasquale smiled and said nothing.

Slater strode over. Grabbing Pasquale's left hand, he wrenched the little finger back until there was a snap of breaking bone. Pasquale screamed - a long, high keen of terror and shock, and fell white-faced to the carpet. For a moment he lay there, gasping.

'Tell us,' Slater ordered him. 'Does Branca deal drugs?'

And still Pasquale hesitated. Casually, Slater stamped down hard on the dealer's wounded hand. For a full minute, ^blank-faced, he watched the other man's agonised writhings on the carpet.

'Does Branca deal drugs?' he repeated.

Pasquale's face was grey with pain. Still disbelieving, he stared at his broken hand.

'She buy into my operation,' he managed eventually. 'We partners.'

'How did that work out? Take your time. We've got several hours.' '

'Several hours? What you mean several hours?'

'We're going to be here until tomorrow morning.'

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Chris Ryan

man! Please. I need a doctor.' aimed the Sig Sauer at the dealer's face, i'll need a fucking undertaker if you don't : my questions!'

Pasquale gasped. 'She pay me cash. Five thousand francs. In return she get fifty per are of profits for one year. And contact list.'

frowned at Andreas. Why were the Serbian fciservice buying into the Parisian drugs trade? It ?make sense.

did you meet her?' asked Leon. was at all the parties. The music parties, the parties, the film parties, the TV parties, the I parties -- all the parties where my clients go.' 1 she became your lover.' and some others, I think. I was not ... in avity.'

t you meet her husband?'

?

1 was he involved in this . . . deal?'

it, shit, pas du tout. He was not into all that scene.' l�tell me about your clientele.'

: usual. Models, designers, actors, business . . .'

liticians? Journalists?' aale regarded Leon warily. 'A few.'

we me names.'

ice.

^ping briskly forward, aiming with care, Slater Pasquale through the top of the arch of his right

The pain, he knew, would be extreme - all those

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tiny bones smashing through sensitive tissue - and the shock would be sufficient to break any resistance immediately.

The effect was the intended one. Arching his back in agony, the drug-dealer began to shake and babble as if electrified. His eyes rolled back and his tongue danced crazily in his mouth.

'The names,' said Slater, jamming the muzzle of the silenced Sig Sauer into Pasquale's eye. 'Comprenezr

Pasquale understood. It took him a little time to form the words, but he understood.

There were the inevitable socialites, footballers and models, but there was also a prominent female broadcaster ,on current affairs, a columnist on Le Monde, the wife of the chef de protocole at the Elysee Palace, and a Nato liaison officer from the defence ministry.

Leon looked at Slater and Andreas. The RJDB's interest in Miko Pasquale was suddenly very easy to understand. Five hundred thousand francs had been a very small price to pay for access to this kind of influence, and probably an excellent investment as well, given the scale of Pasquale's business.

'Why did you agree to Branca's terms?' asked Leon. 'Half a million wasn't much to pay for half your profits.'

Pasquale took a deep breath, struggled to control himself. Tears streaked his face now. 'Branca is very chouette -- very sweet -- but many of her friends are not so chouette.'

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Chris Ryan

icy're like us?' H'est fa. They're like you. Can I get something to

this . . . my foot?' Jo,' said Slater. 'Bleed. I don't like drug-dealers.'

at time do you guys think we should wake ica?' mused Leon.

irly,' said Slater. 'Get her when she's not thinking iearly.'

Jut not too early,' Andreas intervened. 'She'll just pissed off and tell Smacko Jacko here to ring her And then we'll be stuck here for fucking ages.' yen o'clock?' ventured Leon. ['agree with seven,' said Slater. 'We're just going to I to inject a little urgency into the phone call.'