by Angus McLean
Moore gave a short nod. ‘Crystal,’ he said. Public recognition had never been a concern for him.
The van entered the grounds of the Maleme airfield and made its way to a hangar on the far side where a white Cessna Mustang 6-seater waited with its props turning.
As soon as the van pulled up Leon alighted and spoke to the pilot and co-pilot.
‘Who the hell are these guys?’ Katie whispered.
‘Contractors probably,’ Moore replied. ‘Probably a legit outfit working on the side for the Government.’
Leon returned to the van and waved them out. He held his hand out and Moore passed him his pistol. Katie did likewise, then their phones and radios.
In return he handed them a folded wad of cash. Moore looked at the money-Egyptian pound notes.
‘My people will take you to Alexandria,’ Leon explained. ‘That is where your Mr Ingoe has asked for you to go. The sooner you are off Greek soil the better, I think. From there…’ he shrugged, ‘your people will sort you out.’
‘Thank you.’ Moore shook his hand firmly. ‘I’m sorry about your man.’
Leon gave a short nod. ‘It is the business we do,’ he said simply.
The pilot gestured from the open door and they took the hint. The two pilots were swarthy looking men in their forties with moustaches. Neither spoke to the two passengers.
As they settled into their seats the door lifted and they saw Leon’s van disappear back towards the road. They had barely buckled up before the Cessna was taxiing down the runway, and a minute later they were airborne. Katie clutched his hand tightly and stared blankly at the wall.
Moore held her hand and closed his eyes, needing to clear his head. So much had happened so fast that it was hard to get a grip on.
For some reason he found his mind wander to Michelle McGregor and her jerk of a husband, Alan. He hadn’t thought of them for days and wondered now how their lives had unravelled since he’d last seen them. God, what a mistake she had been. The thought of what he had done made him sick to the stomach-the lying, the cheating, the wrecking of another man’s marriage for what-mindless sex? Moore took a breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He’d been a fool, just a lonely, self-centred middle-aged fool.
He thought too of his friends Vince and Ngawai, and mused on how busy they would be right now back in Chania. Whatever happened back there, he knew the VIPs were in good hands. They were good people, and he envied what they had-something he had never had.
Or if he had, way back when, he’d wrecked it for himself. He opened his eyes now and looked at Katie. She was still staring at the wall, tears running slowly down her flushed cheeks. She looked so vulnerable and he felt a wave of protective sympathy come over him.
He squeezed her hand and she crumpled into him, her body wracked with heartfelt sobs. Moore held her to him and stroked her hair, whispering soothingly in her ear as she cried her heart out.
They stayed that way a long time, and eventually the tears abated but still she let him cradle her, safe in his arms.
Chapter Fifty Five
The contact who met them at the private airport outside Alexandria was a bearded man with a large gut threatening to burst free of his colourful Hawaiian shirt.
He drove a dusty grey twenty year old Nissan with fluffy black dice hanging from the rear view mirror like a pair of chimpanzee’s balls.
He gave them a cheery hello in a Kiwi accent, held the door for Katie and cranked up Leonard Cohen on the car stereo as soon as they were moving. The two passengers sat silently in the back and watched the city streets slide by as the grey Nissan mingled with the traffic and faded into the background. It was near midday and the city was humming.
Moore guessed the fat man was probably a retired spook or some other kind of former Government employee, living here as an ex-pat and picking up jobs like this as and when needed in return for a healthy retainer. At the end of the day he didn’t care-all he wanted right now was a hot shower and a cold beer.
The man parked outside a small hotel and left them in the car while he went in. He came back with a key and handed it to Moore, along with a bubble-padded postage pouch. Inside was a burn phone and another wad of cash-smaller than the one from Leon. This was the New Zealand Government, of course, and any expense was spared.
‘My number’s in the phone,’ the fat man explained across the roof of the car as they got out. ‘Call me if you need me.’
Katie stared at him. ‘Thank you. What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘I’m One,’ he said with a smile, and with that he got back behind the wheel. The Nissan pulled away, leaving them on the footpath.
Katie turned to Moore, a quizzical look on her face. ‘“One”,’ she said.
‘The man with no name,’ he replied.
‘You spooks are fucking weird,’ she said.
Two minutes later they were checking out the basic surrounds of their studio room, decked out in seen-better-days and floral.
‘Hardly palatial, is it?’ Katie muttered. ‘Reminds me of my Nana’s.’
‘Huh,’ Moore grunted, ‘it reminds me of my first flat.’
He made sure the door was secured and checked the windows. They were in the middle of the second floor, facing the roadside. No balcony, but a downpipe that was close enough if needs be.
He heard the toilet flush then the shower go on. He turned. Katie stood in the doorway of the tiny bathroom. He watched unashamedly as she stripped and dropped her dirty clothes to the floor. She glanced at him, checked the water temperature and looked back to him.
‘Well don’t just stand there,’ she said.
Moore gave a mental shrug and quickly undressed. His clothes felt scratchy and sticky and it was good to get them off. He could smell the cordite on his skin, mixed with stale sweat.
He stepped into the shower cubicle and pulled the cheap plastic curtain across behind them. Katie pulled him close and put her hands on his chest. She rested her head on them and he wrapped her in his arms.
‘Just let me be close to you,’ she whispered.
He nodded to himself and kissed the top of her head, holding her softly to his broad chest as the water fell.
Later they dried each with the rough towels that had once been white and made their way to the double bed. The mattress was lumpy but it didn’t matter. They made love with a tender passion, each yearning for something from the other, lost in their own vacuums as their worlds collided.
When it was over they lay quietly, holding each other close until sleep came calling.
Katie cried in her sleep, deep sobs wrenching through her core as her mind was terrorised by unseen monsters. Moore shushed her and kissed her forehead, pulling her closer and rocking her until the crying eased and she fell back to sleep again.
He eventually fell asleep himself, the deep slumber punctuated by flashes of light and visions of angels with wide feathered wings, the angels scowling at him with demonic eyes and serpentine tongues.
Chapter Fifty Six
He woke with a start and stared at the ceiling.
It needed a repaint. Katie was sound asleep beside him, snoring gently. He watched her sleep, marvelling at her beauty and innocence.
Maybe not so innocent now, he thought. He wondered if she could ever come back from the events of the day. He knew tough soldiers who had cracked from less, and others who had gone through the fires of Hell with barely a flicker. Only time would tell.
He rolled off the bed and padded to the bathroom. The tap water was tepid but enough to wake him up. The clock on the burn phone told him it was nearly 4pm.
Moore pulled on his dirty clothes and pocketed the phone and cash. He had no idea when Ingoe would turn up, but his stomach was complaining and he felt parched.
He let himself out of the room and locked it behind him, making his way through the crappy hotel to the street. The sun was hot and the street was busy. Moore instinctively turned left and walked a few minutes until he found a mart a
nd stepped into the cool interior.
Ten minutes later he re-entered the hotel lobby and crossed the worn red carpet to the stairs. The plastic shopping bag in his hand contained dried fruit, crackers, and bottles of water and iced tea. He emerged onto the second floor and as he took the first few steps into the corridor he saw the door at the far end softly closing.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt a chill run up his spine. He hurried to their room and inserted the key in the lock, putting the bag of groceries on the floor before throwing the door open and lunging in.
Nothing moved and the silence in the room was deafening. The window was still closed: the ceiling fan whirred slowly.
Katie was still in bed, curled on her side, her dark hair fanning onto the pillow beneath her head.
Moore paused, his senses screaming at him now. He ran his eyes across the room again, knowing something was wrong but unable to put his finger on it immediately.
He stepped to the bathroom and cleared it. Not a thing out of place. He turned again and his eyes fell to Katie. Her eyes were closed, a lock of hair falling across her face, one hand bunched into a fist near her chin.
Not moving.
Moore was at her side in a flash, his limbs feeling heavy as he dropped to his knees and touched her face. She was warm and soft. She wasn’t breathing.
He leaned in closer to check, convinced that he had to be mistaken, knowing she would be fine and he was just imagining it.
Nothing.
‘Oh Jesus, no,’ he muttered, ‘Katie? Katie, wake up sweetheart…please wake up. Oh Jesus Christ, please don’t…no, Katie, please no.’
He yanked the covers back, preparing to drag her onto the floor and commence CPR, when his hand came up wet. He stared at it, the redness so distinct that he couldn’t comprehend it. So much red. Red, sticky red everywhere, soaking the sheet beneath her. He couldn’t see the origin and couldn’t compute the brutality of it, but none of that mattered right now. The sheer volume alone told him that Katie was way beyond CPR.
He fell back to his knees and held her hand in his, pulling her to him and burying his face in her neck as his vision blurred and hot tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
Moore didn’t hear the footsteps until they reached the door, accompanied by a tentative knock. He heard it, knew what it was, ignored it. It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered right now.
Archer stepped into the room.
‘Rob,’ he said, ‘it’s me, mate.’
No response. Moore stayed on his knees beside the bed, his head buried close to the still form of the girl. Archer wasn’t even sure the man had heard him.
‘Robbo,’ he said louder, stepping into the room. ‘Robbo, it’s me. Look up at me, mate.’
Moore slowly lifted his head and stared at him from beneath a furrowed brow. His face was streaked with tears, crinkled into a painful grimace. The rawness of the pain was a palpable thing even across the room and Archer felt a kick in his chest.
‘You poor bastard,’ he said softly. He stepped in and shut the door behind him.
Moore continued to stare at him as he approached, his face a whirlpool of emotion. Fear. Exhaustion. Brutal agony and heart-breaking confusion.
Archer came round the end of the bed to him and lowered himself to a knee.
One glance at the girl told him all he needed to know. The sheet beneath her was saturated with blood. She was lying on her right side and an educated guess was that her carotid had been severed on that side, gravity assisting the artery to drain her life away. Nothing would have been immediately obvious from the door, nothing to stop Moore from coming into the room.
Archer’s head snapped up as he heard the door open at the end of the corridor outside. Footsteps approaching, hushed voices.
Time to go.
‘Rob, we need to move mate,’ he said calmly, and reached out to take Moore’s arm.
Moore jerked away, not comprehending.
‘You’ve been set up here mate,’ Archer said urgently. ‘The cops’re here and we need to go.’ Still nothing. ‘We need to move now.’
Archer pushed up and was at the door quickly, snibbing the lock and slipping the chain into place. He grabbed a chair and placed it across the door.
Moore slowly rose his feet, his chest heaving and a vein pounding in his neck. He looked at Archer as his old comrade came back to his side.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a pause then a knock. Firm; a cop’s knock.
Archer placed a hand on Moore’s arm and locked eyes with him.
‘We’ve gotta go, mate,’ he hissed, ‘out the back. Now. No time to fuck about.’
Moore nodded slowly as if he was just waking up.
Archer hustled him towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind them as the pounding on the front door increased. He opened the small window and peered out. The alley below them was lined with rubbish bins and skips, piles of shit everywhere. And a cop car, sitting there with the flashing lights going. Two cops stood by it, looking up.
One saw them and pointed, shouting something to his mate.
Archer pulled back and looked at Moore.
‘Change of plan,’ he said, ‘we’re going out the front. Hard and fast, right?’
Moore nodded, his wits coming back to him.
Archer darted back to the front door and ducked behind it just as it crashed open, the chain ripping free from the doorframe. The chair went flying. Two uniformed cops entered, both with heavy moustaches and thick waists. Both had pistols on their belts and moved with purpose.
They immediately saw Moore and began to shout. While their focus was on Moore, Archer made his move. He slammed the door forward into one of them, knocking him sideways into the other side of the doorframe.
The front guy started to turn but was too slow to avoid a side kick to his knee. The guy shrieked and began to go down. Archer stepped out and grabbed the first guy, yanking him off balance and burying his knee in the cop’s crotch. He too dropped, his eyes bugging in agony.
Archer stepped over him and checked the hallway. A terrified hotel manager was standing there, his hands up, quivering.
‘Down!’
Archer pointed at the floor and the guy went down on his face, whimpering.
He turned back to see Moore removing a can of pepper spray from the belt of one of the cops, along with his handcuffs. The cops were quickly cuffed together and given a squirt of gas each in the face, enough to take them out of action for a while.
Moore ripped their radios away and stripped them each of their handguns while Archer stood guard at the door. He had come unarmed-the Egyptians didn’t take kindly to armed foreigners.
He glanced back when Moore joined him, and accepted the pistol he was handed. It was a Smith and Wesson M&P .357SIG, the standard sidearm of the Egyptian National Police and a good weapon. He checked the load and safety.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
They walked past the cowering manager to the end door, took the stairs to the ground floor and into the lobby.
Another cop stood waiting, his head cocked to his radio as somebody babbled across the air.
He was younger and slighter than the other two, and looked nervous. Obviously the junior boy, relegated to guard the door while the big boys took the glory. He looked up as the two Kiwis approached him, uncertainty all over his face.
In two seconds they had him on the floor with a face full of gas and were moving to the front door. They moved together as smoothly as they had several years ago in the Group.
Archer took the lead, his stolen pistol tucked under his jacket as he exited the hotel and bleeped the locks on a plain red Hyundai Elantra parked near the entrance.
It was about the most common car in Egypt and he’d hired it for three days. He had a feeling the insurance had been a good investment.
Chapter Fifty Seven
Moore joined him and they moved off, seeing a hotel employee com
e running from the front door with a phone to his ear, looking after them.
‘Hold on,’ Archer muttered, and they both buckled up.
They got just past the side alley before a police car roared out, lights flashing and both occupants locking on them immediately.
Archer hit the picks and slapped it into reverse, slamming back hard into the front of the police car. A second later he raced off again, leaving the stunned cops behind as he threw a fast left at the first intersection, sirens ripping the air now nearby.
He hit the picks again and spun back the way they’d just come, tucking in behind another car as they crossed the intersection. Another police car skidded a left going the other way and they saw the car he’d rammed limping after it, steam rising from beneath the crumpled bonnet.
‘Nice and calm,’ Archer muttered to himself, checking his speed and taking a breath.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Moore wondered aloud.
‘Bad voodoo is what’s going on mate,’ Archer replied, taking a right then a left. ‘You did good back in Crete, but it’s not over yet.’
‘Tristan?’
Archer looked at him. ‘And some,’ he said.
A siren sounded and the rear view mirror filled with flashing red and blues. A cop car was right on their tail and he could see another behind it. They were in a one-way street with shops on both sides. The traffic was moving steadily.
Archer indicated to pull over to the right and began to slow. The car behind followed them, and the second car pulled out, overtaking to cut them off.
Archer jerked the wheel hard left and accelerated into the passing cop car, crashing it sideways and pushing it into a parked van with a shower of sparks.
The cop car behind them immediately rammed them, throwing them both forward. Archer floored it and steered away from the crash, making space while he sought an escape option. Horns honked and people shouted.
