‘Why you here? This ain’t federal.’
‘There’s an Englishman I want to talk to. A foreigner makes it more interesting to me.’
‘You mean Sumner or the other one?’ This was from a shorter boy.
‘Who is Sumner?’
‘Man used to live there with Jonah. He ain’t here today; he’ll be up the Safari or somewhere playin’ poker.’
‘And who was this other one?’
‘Don’t know,’ the hoarse boy said, ‘but he fucked us up.’
Gradually, Frank managed to elicit a description, and he looked at Debbie as he showed them the photo of Jack and they all nodded.
‘His hair’s wrong, though,’ one said. ‘He was fair.’
‘Fair, huh? What did he do to you lot?’
‘He came here, he spoke to old Jonah, and then came out here and beat up on us,’ the hoarse boy said.
‘You see him drive up?’
‘Yeah. A rental, I reckon.’
Frank shot him a look.
‘Not that car?’ he asked, pointing.
‘No, that was another guy, later.’
‘Who? A friend of Jonah’s?’
‘No. Just a man in a suit. Like you.’
Frank nodded. Then, ‘Debbie, we’re going off to the Sahara.’
‘Yeah. Better hurry, too,’ she grunted as they ran side by side to the car.
‘Yeah. I reckon someone else is already looking for Jack,’ Frank said.
*
19.31 Las Vegas; 03.31 London
Jack managed to tempt Sumner away from the table, and the two walked to a bar farther inside the casino. Sumner wiped his face with a handkerchief, and now sat shaking his head, immersed in sad memories.
‘What are you doing here, Sumner? Really?’ Jack asked.
Sumner shrugged.
‘I used to know what I was, what I existed for, when I was in the Army. I had a reason to wake up in the mornings. I did all I could to help my lads, and I understood the chain of command so I could protect them as well as the public. Because that was what we were there for, to look after the people of Iraq and Afghanistan, and those here, and at home. But when things started to go a bit sour, well, we couldn’t help but look at ourselves again and wonder.’
‘You tried to help others.’
‘Someone had to. You know, when I looked at my hometown, Salisbury, I found that of all the men sleeping rough, half of them were from the Army. Half of them! All the guys who’d put their lives at risk, soon as they came home, they were forgotten. What sort of country does that to its men and women?’
Jack motioned to the barista, a woman in her thirties who looked as though she should have been working as a model, not here serving tired men in a tired hotel. She had a smile as clean and fresh as the desert sky. He ordered two double-shots of espresso and sat on a stool with Sumner beside him.
‘So, how did you meet Danny?’
‘In Iraq, you mean? We used to wander about the place – as intel officers we would be thrown from one place to another, generally affiliated to one or other regiments while they went into a town to search for terrorists. Occasionally we’d end up together and swap stories like you do. I didn’t see him for some years after this,’ he added ruefully nodding towards his empty sleeve.
‘How did that happen?’
‘My stupidity. I was wandering about the Green Zone one evening in 2003, and a car drove past me too fast. Well, I heard the crunch when it crashed a few moments later. There were mercs all over the place then, ruddy fools who thought that they were God’s gift because they were paid double what the squaddies were, and drove like berks the whole time. It was they who caused half our problems because they would go shooting people. Nerves, I suppose. But they created most of our enemies over there.’
‘They crashed?’
‘That’s what I thought. I just went, “Wankers” to myself, and trotted off to see if I could help them. And there they were, in a ditch with smoke coming from the radiator, and I went on to get them out, if I could, before their truck caught fire. Well, cars and trucks always blow up on films, don’t they? Trouble was, the truck didn’t blow up. I did. Some bastard had made the truck crash by blowing a small bomb under it, and when I got too close, another bomb went off near me. Apparently it took my arm off in a flash, if you see what I mean, and almost completely undressed me. When the Gurkhas found me a couple of minutes later, I was trying to cover my shame with shreds of uniform I found lying about me. Not good. Anyway, I was brought back, and that was that.’
‘Which was when you tried to start your charity?’
‘Sort of. I met a chap who wanted to invest, and I shoved all my money into it to try to help the lads – especially the Gurkhas. Always had a soft spot for them.’
‘How did you get the money together?’
‘Ah.’ He looked at Jack with a twisted smile. ‘It always comes down to the money, doesn’t it? There was a fellow offered it to me, like I said. An American donor.’
‘Why’d an American help a British charity?’
‘He was a veteran from Vietnam, and he had lost his father in Korea. He said he always admired the way that the Gloucesters died and admired the British martial spirit.’
‘He didn’t see much of that in Vietnam,’ Jack commented. ‘Who was he?’
‘A man called Brian Peachfield.’
The Brain, Jack remembered from the journal. He’d wondered if that might be the nickname of a man called Brian.
‘Why?’
‘That was what I wondered, too. At first I thought he was a pleasant fellow who was keen to support our troops. He came along and suggested he could help me. I hadn’t thought about it too seriously. At the time I was in Headley Court with rehab on my legs, because they’d been pretty badly knocked about too. It was while I was there and heard about some of the facilities that I decided I should do my own level best to help, which is why I started investigating fund raising. Originally with the other charities, but then… well… my drinking was getting a little out of hand, and they all turned me down. So that was why I began to look at setting up my own charity. I mentioned it among some of my mates, and generally it was thought not a bad idea.’
‘How did this man Peachfield hear of it? Was he involved from the start?’
‘Yes – I couldn’t have started without him. He was keen. He told me he’d heard it from some other officer – don’t know who – and that he’d like to help out. Must have been a businessman who had a stash. Either that or he was a banker filled with shame at his disgraceful bonuses,’ he said drily. ‘Anyway, he deposited thirty thousand quid in my bank to get things moving, and did they ever! We started from a small end of terrace house in Kenley next to a railway line that he managed to rent for me, and within three months by using the internet to market, I had nearly a quarter of a million. It was brilliant!’ he said reminiscently. ‘I was looking at the cash and spending it all in my head. And then I had the idea of rehab on the move, sort of thing, for the guys who had already come most of the way through their pain, and I was planning skiing trips, walking on the road to Santiago de Compostela, a trek to Machu Picchu – you name it, I was thinking of it.’
‘What happened?’ Jack asked.
He was keen to return to Danny Lewin, but there was a remorseless pace to the story now that Sumner had begun, and Jack guessed he would have to tell his tale as he wanted before Jack could press him on Lewin again.
‘Look at me! I’m no bloody finance wizard, I realise that, but even to me it was obvious something was screwy. One of the lads had an accident on a trip and died, and while we were sorting the finances afterwards we found a hole. Chunks of money had gone walkabout. It was so frustrating.’
‘So you did what?’
‘What could I do? I did what I thought was best. I spoke to Brian and asked him for more, but the recession was starting to bite, and he put me off. He reckoned my best bet was to speak with a friend of his. Which is where
Danny comes in, too.’
*
19.32 Las Vegas; 03.32 London
Stilson pulled up outside the Sahara and checked the parking lot. He really hated driving this piece of shit. He felt as though the seats and ceiling were leaking foul fumes that were infecting his lungs: putrid, disgusting, nasty. Those were the words that summed up this vehicle.
He had dumped the two bodies into Bing’s own sedan. He couldn’t very well leave them in his rental. But having driven to the old man’s bungalow, he had hoped to find Sumner and kill him and the old man and make a good crime scene with Bing’s revolver. Nobody would miss Bing. The LVPD loathed him, because they knew he was providing guns for many of the Mafiosi in the city. No he wouldn’t be missed. And neither would a druggie woman, or a pensioner without a dime to his name. The only man who could have got somebody’s interest would have been Sumner, but he was a drunk and down-and-out now, so no one would worry too much about his death either. It had been perfect as a plan.
Not now. Since Sumner wasn’t there, all he could do was wind things up quickly, kill the old asshole and get out of there. He’d walked fast and caught a cab a few blocks away to get back to his rental, and now here he was, at this ancient casino, to find Sumner. Perhaps he could strangle Sumner in the washrooms. Make it seem like a sex perversion death. It was the right way for a man like him to die – drunk and alone.
He wasn’t comfortable, though. He didn’t like bad luck, and it appeared to be dogging him today. Things were growing a little too dangerous. He had left his throw-down piece in the old asshole’s bungalow, together with the old man’s .38, so all he had left now that was untraceable was the Springfield .45. He couldn’t use his Glock – it was too easily checked, and ballistics could work wonders with a used slug. Still, at least there was no apparent connection between him and the old bastard or Bing. That was the beauty of being a professional who killed those he was instructed to. It was so easy to make a hit and walk. The cops spent all their time trying to find a link to provide a motive. When there was none, it made their task impossible.
Stilson had to remove Sumner somehow. Best, probably, for him just to disappear. If Stilson could get him into the car and drive off, that would be fine. There were lots of places in the desert to lose a man. Alternatively, there was always the option of throttling him in the washrooms.
The old man had said Stilson’s vice was the cards. Stilson disliked doing it, but he couldn’t take risks. He took his Glock and its holster from behind his hip and placed them carefully under his seat. First place a thief would look after the glove compartment, but he couldn’t help that. He shut the door, locked it, and walked to the entrance. Weaving through the slot machines in case Sumner was there, he passed through and into the main card dealing area. There he saw the poker players, and he drew up a stool at a slot machine and began to push coins into it, his eyes watching the players. A large-breasted woman with a tray appeared with a bright, manufactured smile, and he asked for a soda.
He knew he may be here a while.
*
19.41 Las Vegas; 03.41 London
Jack sipped coffee.
‘How does that come back to Danny?’
‘It happened like this: Peachfield reckoned I needed a financial techie guru to advise me. This fellow saw in a flash what was happening…’
‘This is your computer whizz-kid, yeah?’
‘Yes. Jimmy.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Jimmy McNeill.’
‘Jesus!’ Jack stared.
‘Do you know him?’
‘I did,’ Jack said, thinking back to a scene in his mind: his wife, Claire, in Jimmy’s arms in the kitchen of her house in Devon, her body arched back, her pelvis thrust against his, her throat bare and open to Jimmy’s kisses. Jimmy, the handsome honey-trap, the…
‘Jimmy was my financial whizz. Brian Peachfield put me on to Jimmy, and it stopped the money gushing from the accounts, but it was a bit late. Someone in Ukraine or somewhere had got a software package onto our computer that meant all our details were copied to them. God knows how. I was at my wit’s end. From a small fortune the charity had gone to nothing.’
‘So the cash was all gone?’
‘Everything. All I could do was wind up the charity. That was 2009. And then in 2010 I got a call.’
‘Who was this, Roger?’
‘Another American. He said he worked with some associates who thought they could use my skills. Ha! New to me, that. Didn’t know I had any. Still, I spoke with this fellow on the phone…’
‘His name?’
‘None given. He told me that there was money for me if I would meet him. The job was helping America and Britain fight the good fight. Not quite how he put it, but that was his meaning. A week or two later, I had a ticket in the post. I met him in the Paradise Cafe restaurant at the Mirage. Never been to Vegas before, and I admit, it staggered me. I came with a little spending money, just two hundred pounds, and lost it all, but there was a short period when I was beginning to do quite well. I have those moments every so often, you see,’ he added.
Jack knew. Many people did. It was why casinos made so much money. The brief flaring of hope triumphing over reality. That was what kept gamblers returning for more.
‘What was his offer?’
‘He told me he represented a consortium which had decided that since Guantanamo Bay was to close and the troops were coming out of ‘Stan, there was a need for a non-governmental body to take over certain responsibilities.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘In short, pirates. Mercs. You have a government that thinks it knows a man or two who has information, and you kidnap them. Oh, in official terms it got to be known as “rendition”, but it’s kidnapping. Their idea was to kidnap their suspects, and fly them to Uzbekistan, or Azerbaijan, or Pakistan, and then send expert interrogators to pull them apart and suck all the intel possible from their marrow,’ Sumner said, but now his voice was closed. All enthusiasm was gone. He drained his coffee, but made no effort to rise and leave.
‘So you told him—’
‘To fuck off. I am no merc, and I am not a torturer. That’s what he wanted, really. Someone who’d be prepared to use cattle prods, stun guns, electrical wires, whips, coshes, water-boarding, stress – anything. And I’m not that sort of a man. I did what I had to when there were rules, when there were boundaries. These bastards were talking about capturing people and flying them halfway around the world. And what then? Uzbeks’d torture them, I’d get all the data from them, and then the poor bastards would remain there. Couldn’t exactly take them home, could we? So, for all I know, I’d have become the last European to see these fellows before they were condemned to life in prison or to a hanging. I’m not going to do that, I said. He asked where my boundaries would be, and I said “you’ve already passed them, matey.” And that was pretty much that.’
‘Except for Danny.’
‘Yes. Except for Danny.’
‘How did he fit in?’
‘Well, he and I happened to bump into each other in Manchester. He looked terrible, terrible. Thin as a straw, pathetically guilty, and anxious the whole time. He’d had a pretty torrid time after he left the military. And then they nicked him for trying to acquire a pistol. I mean, he’d carried one every day for years, and soon as he came back, he wasn’t allowed to protect himself! He did apply, and the police said it was illegal for him to have one at all, so he asked for protection from armed police and they said he didn’t merit it in their opinion. Bloody cretins! Anyway, he wanted to get away and he needed money, too.’
‘So you put him onto this guy?’
Sumner was quiet for a minute. He fiddled with the cup’s lid, tearing little strips of white plastic from it, dropping each into his now empty cardboard cup. Jack held his tongue. He had seen men in this mood before. There was something he wanted to get off his chest, but it was painful even now. He was ashamed, Jack guessed.
&
nbsp; ‘I had debts, you know? And I wanted to get cash for the charity. Did you see what I called it? The Heroes Rehabilitation Trust – HRT. I didn’t realise HRT could mean Hormone Replacement Therapy until some while afterwards. Never had need to think of such things when you’re only in your thirties, do you? But I did want some money. Like Danny.’
‘So although you refused to participate, you said you’d mention the idea to others?’
‘No, only that I’d give his number to people if they were on their uppers like I had been. And when I saw Danny, well, I thought it could help him.’
Jack nodded. Sumner’s suggestion had almost certainly saved his life at that time. The ‘Associates’ would not have been keen to leave a man with knowledge of their plans alive and well to spread the news, but if he was sworn to secrecy and ready and willing to act as their unofficial recruiter, perhaps they would have been more comfortable. In any case, the fact that he was an experienced interrogation officer meant he was used to keeping secrets – sometimes very dark secrets. He was perhaps more trustworthy than others could have guessed.
‘So you put Danny on to this guy.’
‘Yes. And Danny was offered a place to recover in Alaska. He told me about it.’
‘I see.’
‘The funny thing is, I saw the man again.’
Jack looked at him.
‘Who?’
‘The man who tried to hire me. It didn’t occur to me that he’d actually live here in Vegas, but I’ve seen him here a few times. He’s in charge of security at the Mirage. A fellow called Peter Sorensen.’
‘Has he recognised you?’
Sumner looked at him.
‘If he had, I think I would have left town. I don’t somehow think that a man who’s tried to hire me for something that secret would make a good friend.’
‘That’s why you come here, then?’
Sumner looked at him very sharply, and Jack felt that there was steel in those eyes even with his shabby clothing and surroundings.
‘No, Jack. I come here because I am broke and a drunk. I have just enough self-respect left to try to remain a little above the bums in this place, but that’s all. I have no arm, no job, and no hope. I have just a little money left, and the day I cash my last chips, I’ll shoot myself. I have an old revolver to ensure I do that properly. That’s why I’ll stay here in the US. So much easier to acquire guns than England.’
Act of Vengeance Page 28
